Chapter 3:Lily

Three shots of tequila later, I'm on the dance floor dancing with heartless abandon. I dance with a guy from the lacrosse team, then someone else, then someone else. I don't care who they are. I just want to feel something other than this hollow ache in my chest.

“Having fun?” Brett from the swim team appears beside me, his hand sliding around my waist as we move to the music.

“Tons,” I lie, accepting another drink he presses into my hand.

“You look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my neck. “That asshole Palmer doesn’t know what he just lost.”

I should step back. Should know that he’s taking advantage of my vulnerable state. But the alcohol has clouded my judgment, and part of me wants to feel desired after being so thoroughly rejected.

“Everyone’s heading to the pool. Come with me.”

Before I can fully process what’s happening, he’s leading me through the crowd toward the back patio where a group has gathered around Tyler’s pool.

“It’s freezing,” I protest, suddenly aware of how little I’m wearing, just a thin top and jeans.

“That’s what makes it fun,” Brett grins, his hand sliding down to the small of my back. “Live a little, Lily. You’ve been Miss Perfect for too long.”

The tequila makes his words sound reasonable. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I have been too careful and look where that got me, cheated on and humiliated.

“I don’t know…” I hesitate at the pool’s edge.

“Come on,” Brett coaxes, his fingers already tugging at the hem of my top.

Around us, phones are coming out. People are gathering, sensing drama. The rational part of my brain screams warnings,this will be online by morning but it’s drowned out by hurt and alcohol and the desperate need to prove I don’t care.

“Fine,” I hear myself say, reaching for the button on my jeans.

"That's enough."

The circle parts, and there stands Luca, his expression thunderous as he takes in the scene, me, half-undressed and clearly intoxicated, surrounded by eager onlookers with their phones raised.

"Mind your own business, Archer," Brett says, stepping forward. "She's having fun."

"Does she look like she's having fun?" Luca sounds angry in a way I've never heard before.

"I'm fine," I insist, but my voice wavers, betraying me. The night air is suddenly too cold on my skin and the reality of what I'm doing crashing over me.

Luca steps forward, and Brett’s confidence falters. “Let’s go home, Lily.”

“She doesn’t want to go anywhere with you,” Brett tries to maintain his bravado, but he’s already backing away from Luca’s imposing presence.

“I wasn’t asking you.” Luca’s attention is focused entirely on me now. “You’re making a mistake you’ll regret tomorrow. Let’s go home.”

I blink up at his face which is set in harsh lines, his eyes gleaming with anger.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I shove at his chest, which is like pushing against a brick wall.

The pool area spins around me , faces blurring together as tears fill my eyes. I hate that I'm crying. Hate that Luca is seeing me like this. Hate that some part of me is relieved he showed up.

"I am nothing like Palmer," Luca says, and there's an edge to his voice that cuts through my drunken haze. "Nothing."

"Whatever. That is way worse than he is. You think you're better than everyone else." I spit out the word like they are poison. "Well, you're not. You're just a guy who…who…."

And then, to my absolute horror, I burst into tears. Not the delicate, pretty tears kind of tears, but ugly, heaving sobs that rack my entire body.

The party goes quiet around us. Through my tears, I see pity on their faces which is even much more unbearable.

Luca sighs. Then, before I can process what's happening, he bends down and scoops me up one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back.

"Put me down!" I pound weakly against his chest.

"Not a chance." He starts walking, carrying me through the stunned crowd. "We're going home."

"But I hate you," I whisper against his neck, even as my arms traitorously loop around his shoulders for support.

"I know," he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair. "But I'm taking you home anyway."

****

I wake to the worst headache of my life, my mouth tasting like I licked the floor. Light stabs through unfamiliar curtains, sending spikes of pain through my skull as I force my eyes open.

This isn't my room was my first thought.

I bolt upright, immediately regretting it as nausea floods through me. The room spins as I take in my surroundings….navy blue walls, trophies on a shelf, textbooks stacked neatly on a desk. This room looks oddly familiar.

I look down at myself in horror. I'm wearing a faded gray T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and falls to mid-thigh. My jeans and bra are gone.

Oh god.

Fragments of last night flash through my mind…the party, Ethan with Megan, the drinking, the game. Everything after that is a black hole. Did I...? Did we...?

Panic claws its way up my throat. I reach for the sheets, checking for blood, for evidence of... something. Anything.

The door swings open, and I nearly scream.

Luca walks in like nothing's wrong, wearing basketball shorts and a white T-shirt, carrying a glass of water and two pills in his palm.

"Good. You're alive." He sets the water and pills on the nightstand. "Aspirin. You're gonna need it."

I clutch the sheets to my chest, heart hammering. "What happened last night? Why am I in your room? Why am I wearing your clothes? Where are my—"

"Slow down." He leans against his desk, arms crossed. "Nothing happened. You passed out in the car. I brought you home. You refused to let me take you to your room…something about 'not letting the enemy into your fortress.' Your words, not mine."

My face burns. "And my clothes?"

His expression remains neutral, but I catch a slight flush creeping up his neck. "You puked on yourself. Twice. Once in the car, once when I was trying to get you to drink water. I wasn't about to let you sleep marinated in your own vomit on my bed."

"You changed me?" My voice rises to a squeak.

"Don't flatter yourself. I closed my eyes the entire time." His mouth quirks up at one corner. "You're not exactly a Greek statue. So you'll live."

I want to die. Right here. Immediately.

"Did anyone... did my parents...?" I can't even finish the sentence.

"They were asleep when we got home. Your dad's snoring covered your very creative string of curse words when you stubbed your toe on the stairs."

I bury my face in my hands. "Oh my god."

"Relax. I've spent ten years pretending we barely know each other. I'm not about to blow our cover now." He pushes off from the desk. "Bathroom's free if you want to shower. I'll be downstairs."

He's almost at the door when I find my voice again. "Luca?"

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "For... bringing me home."

Something shifts in his expression…softening for just a moment before his usual mask slides back into place. "Don't mention it, Lilypad. Seriously. Ever."

Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my throbbing head and the scent of his soap on my skin.