002

Melina’s POV

The kiss was a terrible idea. Honestly on a scale of one to invading Russia in the winter.. this was right up there. But tequila makes you brave. Tequila makes you look at a 6'4“ block of hostile hockey-playing muscle and think, 'Yeah, I can absolutely climb that.'

Jace went completely rigid against my mouth. For a second, I legitimately thought he was going to pick me up and throw me out the penthouse window. Instead, his hands clamped down on my shoulders and he pushed me back. It wasn't rough but it was firm enough to get the point across.

“Melina, stop,” he growled, his chest heaving slightly under his jacket. His icy blue eyes were wide, looking at me like I was an unexploded bomb sitting in his foyer.

Rejection? Oh, hell no. The alcohol, the exhaustion and the heartbreak formed a lethal deeply petty cocktail in my brain. I scoffed, slapping his hands away from my shoulders and crossing my arms over my stained, ruined dress.

“Wow, okay. My bad,” I spat, my voice dripping with venom. “I thought you actually wanted to stick it to Tristan. I mean, what better way to ruin his life than screwing the girl he just betrayed? But fine. Guess the big bad hockey captain doesn't have the guts. I’ll just go freeze to death in a dumpster downstairs.”

I spun on my heel, ready to storm out. Or well, stumble out dramatically and hope I could figure out the elevator buttons. 

I didn't make it two steps.

Jace’s hand shot out, wrapping tightly around my wrist and he yanked me back around so fast my teeth literally rattled in my skull. The polite disciplined guy from the bar was completely gone. His eyes were entirely dark now, ravaging my body with a sudden hunger that honestly made my knees buckle.

“You think this is about guts, Townley?” he murmured, his voice dropping dangerously.

Before my tequila-soaked brain could formulate a witty comeback, his hands dropped to my waist and he pulled me against his rock-hard chest and smashed his mouth down on mine.

Holy chimichangas..

If Tristan’s kisses were vanilla soft-serve, Jace’s kiss was a habanero pepper wrapped in fireworks. It was aggressive, messy and insanely hot. I let out a surprised muffled gasp against his lips and he took full advantage, his tongue sweeping in to taste the liquor on my tongue. My hands flew up on autopilot, fisting into his dark messy hair to pull him closer.

He backed me up against the hallway wall, his hands roaming, gripping and taking control of my body. I arched into him as his mouth moved down my neck, his hands finding the zipper of my ruined dress.

He handled me like I was exactly what he’d been starving for and I was acting like a total lunatic, fueled by grief and premium rage, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist as he carried me effortlessly toward the bedroom.

Jace Hamilton played a much 'much' better game than Tristan McGreggor. The stamina? Top tier. The execution? Absolutely flawless. He touched me with a demanding intensity that short-circuited my brain, leaning in to taste every inch of skin he exposed. 

I was a screaming, scratching mess, riding a wave of vengeful bliss and he kept me pushed right to the edge, refusing to let me catch my breath, making the world explode behind my eyelids multiple times until I couldn't even remember my own name. 

We didn't talk.. we didn't need to. There was no sweet pillow talk or gentle cuddling after. My exhausted drunken brain finally pulled the plug and I passed out cold against his chest.

 ***

 I woke up to the blinding violent assault of morning sunlight qnd my head pounded like a tiny angry drummer was trapped behind my eyeballs.

I blinked, taking in the sheets, the expensive modern art on the wall and the enormous sleeping demigod taking up three-quarters of the mattress.

Jace was out cold. He was sleeping on his stomach, the dark sheets tangled low around his waist, exposing a broad and scarred back.

'Oh, sweet mother of bad choices.'

I did it. I actually slept with the enemy and frankly? Ten out of ten, would highly recommend. The experience was mind-blowing and the petty satisfaction of knowing I just tainted Tristan’s sacred rival was a beautiful twisted bonus. But I couldn't stay here. I had classes and pride.. and a hangover that could kill a small horse.

I slipped out of the bed like a ninja.. a very stiff, achy and bruised ninja. My white dress was a crumpled tequila-stained tragedy lying by the door. There was no way I was doing the walk of shame in that disaster. I scanned the room and spotted a dark fabric draped over an accent chair.. a hockey jersey. 'Hamilton. Number 10.' Perfect. 

I pulled the jersey over my head and it swallowed me whole, hitting mid-thigh like a dress and it smelled like 'him' too. 

I grabbed my purse, scooped up my heels and tiptoed right out of the penthouse without making a sound.

I successfully navigated the subway ride of shame, keeping my head down and made it back to my off-campus apartment. Thank God my roommate wasn't awake so I practically power-washed myself in the shower, scrubbing away the frat house smell, though I couldn't quite wash away the phantom feeling of Jace’s hands on my skin. 

I threw on a pair of high-waisted jeans and a soft cropped sweater, chugged three glasses of tap water and bolted out the door.

I wasn't early but I wasn't late either. Just a girl ready to face her horrible cheating ex-boyfriend with her head held high but the exact moment my boots hit the campus quad, I knew something was wrong.

People were staring and I don’t mean the casual “oh, hey, nice sweater“ staring. I mean full-on, neck-breaking, whispering-behind-their-hands staring. 

I walked past a group of sorority girls holding iced coffees and they actually stopped talking, snickering loudly as I went by. One of them blatantly pointed at me.

'What the hell?' I frowned, pulling the strap of my bag tighter onto my shoulder. Did news travel that fast? Sure, college campuses are basically giant gossip mills but usually, being the victim of a cheating scandal gets you pity looks. These weren't pity looks.. these were the looks you give someone who just tripped and face-planted into a public toilet.

Tristan and Chloe were the ones caught naked, right? Why was I the one getting the modern-day scarlet letter treatment?

I kept my chin up, marching aggressively toward the student union for caffeine and that’s when I saw her.. Chloe.

She was standing by the fountain, surrounded by three of her cheerleader clones. She looked perfectly put together, not a single blonde hair out of place laughing loudly at something one of them just said. Laughing.. after what she did to me yesterday. My blood instantly turned into battery acid.

“Hey, Regina George,” I called, closing the distance between us in three long strides.

Chloe turned, her perfectly glossed lips curving into a wicked patronizing smirk. The clones fell completely silent, their eyes dancing with malicious glee.

“Melina,” Chloe cooed, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Wow. You look... incredibly tired.”

“And you look like a girl who steals her best friend's boyfriend,” I shot back, keeping my voice loud enough for the surrounding students to hear. “I'm just trying to figure out why you're standing here laughing when you should be hiding under a rock from the sheer embarrassment of being a terrible treacherous human being.”

Chloe didn't flinch and she didn't even look guilty. Instead, she let out a mocking laugh that grated against my eardrums like sandpaper.

“Embarrassment? Me?” Chloe stepped closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear the venom underneath. “Oh, honey. I think you're projecting. You clearly have absolutely no idea what's going on, do you?”

“Enlighten me,” I growled, clenching my fists.

“I'd rather let the internet do it,” she said smoothly, stepping back as ahe tapped against her phone screen. “Check the university group chat, Mel. Or the local blogs.. or honestly, just open your eyes.”

She turned her back to me, tossing her hair dramatically over her shoulder and walked away with her clones laughing in tow.

I stood there frozen. The whispers around me suddenly felt a million times louder and the staring felt suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides.

My hands started to tremble as I reached blindly into my bag, my fingers fumbling against my keys and lip gloss until they wrapped around the cold metal of my phone. I pulled it out.

The screen lit up with seventy-four missed messages.. thirty notifications from the campus gossip page and I

swallowed hard, a cold knot forming in the pit of my stomach as I clicked the top notification…