Chapter 15
774 Words
Skylar's POV
Morning hit differently when you knew the day involved sports. Not like, oh wow, fresh air and exercise, but more like, please let me survive whatever form of public humiliation this will take.
We were still half-asleep when the dorm doors burst open and some senior with a whistle marched down the hall like she was leading troops into battle. “Breakfast at the cafeteria! Ten minutes!” she barked.
Mila shot out of bed like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. I swear, the girl had a built-in energy reserve. She was already throwing on shorts and a tank top while I was still convincing my body that moving was necessary.
“Sky, let’s go! Don’t drag!” she said, yanking open my drawer.
“I am dragging,” I muttered, fumbling with my hoodie. “It’s called pacing myself.”
She rolled her eyes, but her grin was impossible to resist. Mila loved this kind of chaos. I didn’t, but her excitement had a way of pulling me along anyway.
By the time we reached the cafeteria, the line stretched out the door. Students everywhere, buzzing like bees, and the smell of scrambled eggs and toast was basically the only thing keeping me alive.
We grabbed trays, piled on food, and tried to dodge elbows and backpacks. That’s when Mila nearly tripped, froze mid-step, and then leaned in close.
“Fine boys at three o’clock,” she whispered, eyes sparkling.
I glanced over. She wasn’t wrong. A group of guys were laughing loudly, all tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of boys who looked like they were born on sports fields. One caught my eye and grinned, and I immediately looked away.
“Don’t you dare,” I hissed.
Mila smirked. “What? Smile back? Wink? Throw my phone number?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re boring.”
We slid into a table before she could embarrass me further. She was buzzing, talking about how she was going to crush the games today, and I just focused on my food, pretending the world didn’t exist.
After breakfast, we were herded outside like cattle. Basketball courts were already set up, and groups were being divided. Mila bounced on her toes, practically begging to be picked first. I got shoved into a team before I could protest.
The game started, and I’ll admit it was fun. Mila darted around like a professional, sinking shots while I mostly tried not to get hit in the face. We laughed, we yelled, we actually scored a few points. It was chaos, but the good kind.
Then came football. Which, if you ask me, is just organized violence disguised as a game. I spent half the time dodging people and the other half wondering why anyone thought this was fun. Mila, of course, loved every second, sprinting across the field with the ball while I trailed behind like a lost puppy.
By the time the whistle blew, I was sweaty, tired, and ready for a nap. But apparently, the day was just getting started.
“Now,” one of the seniors announced, “time for hockey!”
The crowd actually cheered. Hockey, apparently, was the main event. The “real OGs,” as Mila called them, were stepping onto the field.
We moved toward the rink set up on the far end, and that’s when my stomach dropped.
Because standing there, helmets in hand, looking like they’d been summoned by my personal demons, were two faces I least wanted to see.
The first: Liam. My ex. My what-was-I-thinking phase, wrapped in a boy-next-door smile that used to make me melt and now just made me want to gag.
The second: Ryder. My mistake from two nights ago. My first s*x partner. The rude, infuriating boy who had no business looking as good as he did in sports gear.
And of course, they were standing side by side, laughing about something like the universe was putting on a comedy show at my expense.
I stopped dead. Mila almost crashed into me.
“Sky, what’s…” She followed my line of sight. Her jaw dropped. “Oh. Oh no. Please tell me that’s not…”
“It is,” I muttered, heat rushing to my face.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, then started giggling like this was the best drama she’d ever witnessed. “Your ex and your one-night stand on the same team? The gods have blessed me.”
“Don’t call it blessed.”
She grinned wickedly. “Oh, I’m calling it blessed. This is TV-worthy. I need popcorn.”
- Writer
