Chapter 1

Tessy's POV

"Fuck," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

Another dream.

Another ridiculously vivid dream about Tristan.

At this rate, I was going to lose my mind before sophomore year even started.

I pushed myself out of bed, stripped the damp sheets, and tossed them into the hamper before heading for the bathroom.

Cold shower. Definitely a cold shower. I needed to cool the hell down.

It was the first day of sophomore year, and I refused to start it looking like a disaster. After getting dressed in my usual black sweatpants and oversized T-shirt, I grabbed my bag and headed into the kitchen.

“Good morning, roomie!” Sophie sang, already perched at the counter with a bowl of cereal. Her smile faltered. “Whoa. You look like you didn’t sleep.”

I slid onto the stool beside her and popped a grape into my mouth. “Because I didn’t. Not really.”

She raised an eyebrow, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Dreams again?”

I buried my face in my hands. “I swear I’m cursed.”

Sophie laughed softly. “You’re not cursed, Tessy. You just want to jump his bones. Why don’t you actually talk to him instead of torturing yourself every night?”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “Have you seen him? He’s the star of the hockey team. Girls literally throw themselves at him. And I’m… me.” I gestured at my outfit. “Dressed like a comfortable toddler most days.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “You’re beautiful. You’re talented. You’re funny. Any guy would be lucky. Especially Tristan.”

I gave her a flat look. “I love you, but you’re delusional.”

She grinned. “And you need to believe in yourself more. You’re an amazing artist and you cook better than my mom. That’s wife material.”

I smiled despite myself. “Flattery will get you everywhere… but I’m still not risking public rejection. I’d rather not spend my weekends ugly-crying over a guy I can never have.”

“Fair. But you can’t keep living in dream-land either.” Sophie paused, then lit up. “Speaking of which — there’s a party tonight. My friend Owen from the hockey team invited me. You’re coming.”

I groaned. “A house full of hockey players? Pass.”

“No way. Tristan will probably be there. This is your chance to actually talk to him instead of just drooling in your sleep.”

I gave her my best deadpan stare. “You have way too much faith in me.”

“Are you coming or not?”

I sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’m not wearing anything of yours. My boobs are staying covered.”

Sophie grinned wickedly. “We’ll see about that.”

After breakfast, I headed to class early. I wanted the best seat in Art History. The room was still empty when I walked in, and I smiled, claiming my usual spot near the front.

“Second,” a familiar voice said behind me.

I turned and grinned. “Landon!”

He pulled me into a quick hug. “Missed you this summer, Tessy. My family’s lake house wasn’t the same without you.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Work was brutal.”

We were still chatting when a deep voice cut through the room.

“Do you mind? You’re blocking the door.”

Ryder King — arrogant hockey player extraordinaire — stood there looking annoyed. We quickly moved aside. He strolled past like he owned the building.

“What’s he doing in this class?” I whispered.

Landon shrugged. “Apparently suffering with the rest of us.”

Professor Zoey arrived a few minutes later and jumped straight in. “Welcome back, sophomores. For your first assignment, I want you to create something that tells us who you are. One week. I want to see your soul in it.”

My heart lifted. This was my kind of project.

The rest of the morning flew by. After two more classes, I rushed to my shift at the campus café.

I was wiping down the counter when a smooth, deep voice cut through the chatter.

“Can I get an iced latte?”

I looked up and froze.

Tristan Hale stood right there—tall, broad-shouldered, and stupidly handsome in a backward cap and team hoodie. His storm-gray eyes met mine, and for one terrifying second, I forgot how to breathe. My stomach flipped.

He tilted his head, a half-smile forming. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah! Iced latte. Coming right up.”

My hands shook the entire time I made his drink. When I set it down, he slid the cash across the counter, his fingers brushing mine for half a second.

“Thanks,” he said, then winked. Actually winked.

He walked out, and I stood there stunned.

“Oh my fucking God,” I whispered. Then louder, “He just winked at me!”

Half the café turned to stare. I quickly waved them off. “Sorry! Carry on.”

I floated through the rest of my shift and my second job delivering meals. By the time I got back to the dorm, I was still buzzing. I burst through the door.

“Sophie!”

She jumped. “Jesus, you trying to kill me?”

“Tristan came into the café. He winked at me. Like, full wink.”

Her eyes went wide. “Shut up!”

“I’m serious!” I squealed, doing a little happy dance.

“See? I told you. Tonight’s party is going to be the start of something. We’re getting you ready.”

I grinned, adrenaline and nerves mixing in my chest.

“I’m so fucking in.”

Sophie had turned our tiny dorm room into a battlefield of clothes, makeup, and hairspray. I stood in front of the mirror in my safest outfit — dark jeans and a simple black top — while she circled me like a stylist on a mission.

“Nope. Absolutely not,” she declared, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “We are not doing baggy comfort tonight. Tristan already got the nervous barista version of you. Now he needs to see the hot artist who can actually hold a conversation.”

I swatted her hands away. “My boobs are staying in the house, Soph. That’s non-negotiable.”

She sighed dramatically but compromised, handing me a fitted emerald green sweater that actually looked cute with my jeans. It hugged my curves without screaming “trying too hard.” I added my favorite silver necklace — the one with the tiny paintbrush charm — and called it a win.

“Better,” she said, fluffing my hair. “Now stop fidgeting. You look gorgeous.”

My stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics the entire bike ride to the hockey house. Music thumped from the big off-campus house before we even reached the front lawn. Cars lined the street, and people spilled out onto the porch with red cups in hand.

Owen spotted us immediately as we walked in. He was tall, built like the rest of them, with an easy smile. “Sophie! You made it.” His eyes flicked to me. “And you brought a friend. Nice.”

“Tessy,” I said, offering a small wave.

“Nice to meet you, Tessy. Drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourselves.” He leaned closer to Sophie, and I took that as my cue to wander.

The house was packed. Bass vibrated through the floor, and the air smelled like cheap beer and cologne. I grabbed a cup of something fruity and tried not to look like a lost freshman. My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for one person in particular.

And then I saw him.