Chapter 5

Nicolas's POV

“This will be a good kick for you, Imani” Dean Martin tried to talk her into it, but she shook her head.

“No. I’m sorry, I don’t think I can.”

She turned to stare at me briefly, “We both can’t stand each other's guts so I’m certain we wouldn’t last a day without killing each other.” She added firmly.

The moment Dean Martin dismissed us, I stayed standing in the office longer than I should have.

I was bothered.

My fingers dug into my jeans, jaw locked tight enough to ache.

Mentor. Tutor. Academic probation.

I could already picture my father's face when he found out—tight-lipped, disappointed, the same look he gave every time I missed a shot or slipped curfew for a night game.

With Mark Jamieson, hockey doesn't just sound like a game. It sounded like an achievement to him and something I must always win, especially now that Hayden was a hotshot… The same goes for the scholarship. When I finally turned toward the door, I caught her reflection in the glass panel—Imani Grayson.

Tyrique's kid sister, I reminded myself as my eyes trailed up and down her petite figure.

She was halfway to the hallway already, standing stiff as if every cell in her body wanted to bolt. The last time I had seen her up close was years ago—awkward braces, too-big glasses, always hiding behind a notebook whenever Tyrique dragged me home for dinner.

But the girl in the hallway wasn’t that version anymore. Even though I had teased her yesterday night.

I knew it was all a lie.

She looked older, sharper, and more gorgeous with her soft curls dangling at the sight of her every move.

And seeing her now… I shrugged away those thoughts.

“Dean's lost his mind,” I muttered under my breath, shoving my hands into my pockets as I slowly closed the gap between us.

Imani spun on her heels without a word, heading straight for the closest door.

“Wait,” I called, pushing off the pride I had in me. One thing was for sure—I didn't want to lose the scholarship.

But she didn't wait, so I followed.

Students milled across the quad, laughing, shouting, and tossing footballs. Imani walked fast, her curls bouncing.

“Imani, please don't be like this.” I tried again, but she ignored me.

When she finally stopped, it wasn't because she wanted to; it was because I stepped right in front of her.

Her eyes narrowed instantly. “Move.”

“Why are you running? What's with the attitude?”

“I'm not running. I'm leaving.”

“What’s the difference?” Her jaw clenched, and for a heartbeat, neither of us said anything. The breeze lifted a loose strand of hair across her cheek, and she tucked it back with shaking fingers.

“You really think I'm going to tutor you?” She snapped. “After everything you said last night? And your beef with my brother? You really think you can talk me into it? Forget it.”

“Hey…”

“No,” she cut me off, “you don't get to act surprised. You somehow made high school hell, Nicolas, after your fight with my brother. You and your stupid hockey buddies. So if you think I'm about to play academic babysitter for you, you're out of your mind. You should probably have a rethink.”

Her words hit harder than I expected.

I should've laughed it off as always—made a joke, smirked—but instead, I felt my stomach knot.

Then again, I had leverage. One I didn’t want to use but I had so much to lose.

The memory of her drunken late-night confession played through my mind again.

That was the cue. The digit Imani had sent a voice note to was mine, and the thought of it made me want to laugh out loud.

Before I could stop myself, the words fell off my tongue, low and deliberate.

“God, this is embarrassing, but… I think you’ve completely ruined me for anyone else.”

She froze completely.

Her notebook nearly slipped from her hand.

And slowly, she turned back to me, eyes wide with shock. “What did you just say?”

I shrugged, leaning lazily against the brick wall. “Sounded familiar, doesn't it?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How…how did you?”

I smirked before adding, “This is so stupid but I keep thinking about you. All the time and It’s driving me crazy.”

I watched the color drain from her face.

Then she grabbed my arms and dragged me off the main walkway, behind a tall row of hedges that shielded us from passing students. Her fingers gripped my sleeve.

“Start talking,” she demanded. “Right now. How did you get that clip?”

I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Uhm, I don't know. It just…you know—appeared.” “Nicolas.”

The way she said my name—half threat, half plea.

I met her gaze, close enough now to see the faint freckles dusting her nose. “Relax, Grayson. It's safe—for now.”

Her expression hardened in disbelief. “For now?”

“Depends on you.”

Her breath hitched. “Are you threatening me now, Nicolas Jamieson?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” I crossed my arms, forcing my voice into a drawl to hide the guilt clawing up my throat. “See, I need a tutor. You need… Ryder’s attention, and you also need to keep the clip in my hand out of sight.”

Her glare could’ve cut glass. It was as though she wanted to murder me, right in that spot. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m saying,” I continued evenly, “I’ll keep your little confession private ‘and’ help you get Ryder to notice you—if you go back in there and agree to tutor me.”

Her mouth parted in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

I smiled faintly. “More like negotiating.”

She took a step closer, her eyes blazing. “You think this is funny? You think you can humiliate me like… like…”

“Like old times?” I said quietly.

That shut her up.

For a second, I hated myself for saying it.

Her breath came faster, and her voice was filled with disappointment when she whispered, “You haven’t changed at all.”

I wanted to tell her she was mistaken. That I wasn’t that kid anymore. That I hadn’t slept properly in weeks because the rink didn’t feel like home anymore, because my father’s voice haunted every missed pass, because the scholarship I’d tried hard for was slipping away like melting ice… I also wanted to match up to my MVP cousin.

But my pride.

So instead, I said, “Believe what you want, Grayson. But I’m offering you a deal.”

She shook her head, fury bright in her eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe.” I leaned closer. “But I’m also your best shot at getting Ryder and you know it.”

Finally, she exhaled brokenly. “You’re an ass, Nicolas.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Her eyes glistened with frustration. “You’ll regret this.”

I watched her walk back into Dean Martins office, wiping her eyes hurriedly as she did.

I already regretted it.