14. Brielle

Istride across the college campus, my boots clicking against the pavement, heart pounding as Levi's words float through my mind. I'm still rattled, a week later.

"Hey, Brielle!" Sierra's voice slices through the fog in my brain. She jogs toward me, her blonde hair a bright light against the gray of the buildings.

"Sierra." My greeting comes out steadier than I feel. I try to mirror her energy, but my pulse hasn't settled. It's not just Levi; it's the tangle of Conrad's slow smirks and Grayson's intense stares that make me feel like I'm forever on the edge of something reckless.

Let them go. They don't matter to me anymore.

"Girl, you look like you need some serious fun." Sierra loops her arm through mine, steering me away from my path. "And I have just the thing."

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "What kind of thing?"

"Only the hottest party this side of campus." She grins, excitement bubbling off her like champagne fizz. "It's at my sorority tonight. I'm kind of the one throwing it. This whole being a good influence thing is kind of overrated anyways."

"Party?" I echo.

"Yep, and don't give me that I'm not a party girl speech."

"Parties really aren't my scene."

"Come on, Brie," Sierra urges. "It's just people, music, maybe a little trouble. You could use some new friends."

"I'm pretty happy with the ones I have, actually."

"I'm sorry if I made you feel like you had a choice. You don't." Sierra scribbles on a scrap of paper. "Here."

"Sierra…"

"Take it." She presses the paper into my palm. "Don't make me come find you, Brielle Rose. You better show up."

My fingers close around the note, crumpling the edges. "I'll think about it," I say.

"Thinking's overrated," Sierra calls over her shoulder as she walks away. "Feeling—now that's where it's at, and I have a feeling that you're going to be at this party. Otherwise I'll find you and drag you there myself."

One more look, and she's disappearing down the sidewalk with a grin on her face.

I shove the invitation deep into my pocket and move in the direction of my first class, debating whether or not I want to go.

A door opens, so quietly that I hardly even register it. Then, hands clasp around my arm and yank me sideways.

The world tilts as I tumble into darkness. A closet, close walls pressing in on me.

Oh no. I've read about things like this—I never thought it would happen to me.

"Let go!" My voice echoes in the closet.

"Shh, Brielle, it's just me." Grayson's voice, low and rough, washes over me.

Recognition douses the flames of fear. It's him. Grayson. A man who shouldn't send my heart skittering like a bird trapped against a window.

"Grayson?" His name comes out on a breath, a question mark curling at the end of it, but I know it's true. I can feel his presence, a magnetic pull even in the pitch-black.

"Yes. Grayson," he repeats.

His grip loosens and I shove him back, my hands finding his chest—a wall of muscle beneath his shirt. "What the hell, Grayson? You can't just?—"

"Sorry," he murmurs, but there's no regret in the way he stands too close, his breath a warm whisper against my cheek.

"Scaring me isn't a joke." My voice is sharp, a whipcrack in the cramped space. "And you have no right. Not anymore."

He takes a step back, shadows from the single sliver of light playing over his face. "I know," he says, and it's as if those two words carry the weight of every moment we've ever shared.

"Then why?" I demand, my heart thudding against my ribs, betraying the irritation that laces my tone.

"Because," he starts, the word hanging between us, charged and heavy. "I thought I could handle this—I thought I'd had enough, Brielle. I thought it was just the sex, but?—"

"Grayson…" His name is a warning, a plea, and something else I can't quite name.

"I can't stop thinking about you, Brielle." His confession slips into the air, raw and unfiltered. "It's like you're under my skin and I…"

His voice trails off. I stand motionless, every nerve ending alight with the proximity of him, with the echo of words left hanging in the stale air of our concealment.

I cut him off with a sharp inhale, the air around us crackling with tension. My heart's a wild thing in my chest, pounding out a solid rhythm. Every fiber of my being screams to hear the rest of his confession, to let those unfinished words spill from his lips and wash over me.

But I can't. I won't.

"Grayson, stop." The words slice through the thick atmosphere, severing the tenuous connection between us. It's a lifeline I refuse to grab. "Our agreement is fulfilled. We're done."

I can't get pulled into this again. I need to move forward.

"I can't…I know it's not right?—"

"I can't keep thinking about sleeping with my dad's best friends, and you're making it harder when you seek me out. I need you to stop."

My hand finds the doorknob behind me, cold and unyielding. I twist it, the click of the latch loud in the silent closet. The door swings open, a sliver of reality piercing our bubble of stifled emotions.

"Wait," he pleads, but I'm already stepping out.

"Goodbye, Grayson." It's a whisper, a ghost of a promise as I slip into the bustle of the hallway.

The light from the corridor stings my eyes, harsh after the dimness of the closet. Students pass by, their voices distant, muffled by the blood rushing in my ears.

I don't look back. Can't look back.

I push through the crowd, Grayson's words clinging to me like a second skin, an itch I desperately want to scratch.

Under my skin…

My breath hitches, catching on the edge of a sob or a laugh—I can't tell which.

"Focus, Brielle," I mutter under my breath.

The mere thought of him, of what could have been spilled forth if I'd allowed it, sends shivers down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself, a vain attempt to quell the longing that threatens to consume me.

"Just keep moving."