Chapter 3

Imani's POV

“Imani,” I heard my name, sending jolts to my soul.

I just got caught.

My eyes fixated on Brittany who was rushing angrily towards the door that leads to the main party as I tried to act all good.

Poor girl… she must be so hurt.

“Is that you?” He asked, his eyes curiously glaring hard at the oak tree I was resting on. “Why are you out here?”

I gulped down, scratching the back of my head as I smiled awkwardly. “I was going to call Ty.”

He looked drunk, not sloppy drunk, but the kind of drunk that made his gaze unfocused. He took a few steps toward me. “How much did you hear?”

I hesitated. “Not much.”

His expression sharpened into a suspicious one. “You're a bad liar, Imani.”

He called my name again.

I crossed my arms, holding my ground. “Well, does it even matter?”

He studied me for a minute before he chuckled humorlessly. “You always were curious about things that didn't concern you.”

“Right,” I said flatly. “Because watching someone get slapped totally means I was eavesdropping for fun.”

His brow furrowed, but the smirk remained. “Still sharp mouthed as always.”

“Still a manwhore I suppose,” I muttered.

He ignored that, pushing off the tree and stumbling slightly. I moved quickly without thinking, straying him by the arm.

And the contact startled both of us.

His eyes flicked down to where my hand rested, then up again, something unreadable passing through them.

“Easy,” I said, guiding him back to the tree. “You should sit before you fall. You wreck so much alcohol.”

“I don't fall,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

I arched my brow. “Is that so?”

“Ask your brother.”

The mention of Trique made my stomach twist.

“You don't get to use him as a reference anymore,” I said quietly. He didn't respond. He just sank to the ground with a groan, resting his head against the bark.

I crouched beside him, unsure whether to stay or go.

He tilted his head slightly, squinting at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You've changed.”

“Yeah, I grew up.”

“Mm” his gaze drifted down to my dress. “You’re out here dressed like that?” He asked, half in disbelief. “Does your brother even know?”

I blinked, taken aback. “Excuse you?”

He leaned forward slightly, his mouth wrecked with alcohol. “Trique would've killed me if I ever let you out like that. You look like…”

“Don't.” My voice came out sharp, enough to cut through his sentence.

He stepped, surprise flashing across his face.

“You don't get to say that,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “Not you.”

His mouth opened, then closed again.

I turned away, pulling my phone out of my bag, unlocking the screen.

“Who are you calling?” He finally managed to find his voice.

“Someone who won't try to parent me,” I said, already dialing.

He watched as I pressed the phone to my ear. “Trique?”

“His driver,” I corrected. “I'm not in the mood to explain any of this to him.”

The driver answered quickly, and I gave him the address. “Yeah. I'm outside the Sigma house. Then minutes? Thanks.”

When I hung up, Nicolas was still watching me with an unreadable expression. “You're running away,” he finally said.

“I'm leaving.” I corrected.

“Same thing.”

I folded my arms. “You always think people running from you means they're scared of you. Maybe I just don't care enough to stay. Don't flatter yourself.”

For a while, neither of us spoke and out of nowhere, he asked, “How's life been?”

I blinked. “What?”

He shrugged, his head resting back against the tree. “It's a simple question, Imani. We don't get to talk like this and you have avoided me for the past four years.”

“Life's been fine,” I said carefully, avoiding his gaze.

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the only one you're getting.”

He chuckled. “Still guarded. You used to tell me everything. From the new updates, to your new plans. I guess everyone is guarded now.”

“Yeah. Since you stopped being the person I know.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them and his smile faded.

For a moment, I almost regretted saying it.

But then I remembered the night Trique came home after their fallout, the hurt in his voice when he said Nicolas sold him out to the coach to save his own record.

I exhaled, rubbing my temples. “You're drunk, Nicolas. Just…stay out until you sober up a little, okay? The driver will be here soon.”

He didn't answer right away. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the house, where more people were spilling out, laughing and stumbling.

Then I saw him.

Ryder Blake.

He was crossing the yard, phone in one hand, jacket slung over his shoulder. The same Ryder I had been quietly crushing on for a year. A grad student. Thoughtful, calm, reserved and entirely out of my league.

My stomach fluttered nervously.

He saw me almost instantly, his expression softening into that easy smile he always gave me whenever he saw me. He started toward me.

But before I could even open my mouth…

“Hey!” Nicolas's voice cut through the air.

Ryder paused, frowning. “Yeah?”

“She's good,” Nicolas said, pushing himself to his feet. His tone bold, and authoritative. The same one he used when barking orders on the ice. “She's waiting for someone.”

This guy must be kidding me!

Ryder glanced between us, confused. “I just wanted to..”

“Go inside, man.” Nicolas's voice hardened. “Party's that way.”

Ryder's gaze flicked from Nicolas, over to me, perhaps looking for confirmation but I was too shocked to speak.

“Right,” Ryder said finally, awkwardly. “Have a good night, Imani.”

He turned and walked back toward the house and I watched him go, disbelief twisting into anger.

“Are you kidding me?” I snapped, turning on Nicolas.

He blinked, unbothered. “What?”

“What was that?” I demanded, stepping closer. “You just chased him off!”

“He didn't look like he belonged here.”

“And who do you think you are to decide who belongs here or not!”

“Then he should know better than to come near you dressed like that.”

“You're unbelievable,” I said, my voice trembling in anger. “First, you insult me, then you ruin the one chance I had to actually talk to someone I like, and you think you're doing me a favour?”

His brow drew together, confusion written in his face. “You like him?”

“Yes.”

He scoffed, taking a step forward. “Sweet and normal? You think that's what you need? Guys like him don't notice girls who hide behind their books all the time.”

I felt my chest tightened. “Excuse me?”

He gestured vaguely toward me, his movements looser now, “You’re too shy, Grayson. Always have been. Always will be. You want a guy like Ryder to notice you? You’ve got to make him see you.”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“Don’t be salty Mani, I’m just trying to help, I have known Ryan for a while now and I can tell you for a fact… he would never look at you the way you’d want him too.”

Taking my silence as a go ahead, he continued, “Not when you go to classes dressed in sweats and bulgy glasses… I mean you have to be bold!”

I stared at him, anger bubbling up fast and hot.

“Bold,” I repeated, incredulous. “Like you? You mean arrogant and reckless and too drunk to know when to shut up?”

His smirk faltered. “Careful.”

“No,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “You don’t get to talk to me about being bold when you’ve spent your whole life using your charm like a weapon.”

He exhaled slowly, the breath turning into a humorless laugh. “Still got fire,” he murmured. “You’ve always had it out for me… if only you could channel that fire in talking to your crush.”

I glared at him, every muscle in my body tight. “You don’t get to have an opinion about me!”

God! I hate him!