I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, really. I was swimming with residual adrenaline, sore as fuck, more than buzzed from the whiskey I picked up on the drive home, and in no way prepared for Cassia to make any sort of move toward me.

I thought any interest on her part had long since fizzled, dispelled by years of barely exchanging trivial conversation, let alone anything meaningful. I thought, at most, there was maybe some physical attraction lingering.

Cassia isn’t a random hookup girl. She’s the girl you kiss on the front porch after a date, not the one you take upstairs to a spare bedroom at a party. But I didn’t think she was the girl who climbed on a guy’s dick to get herself off either, so maybe I misjudged her.

Based on the way she’s gone out of her way to ignore me ever since it happened, she regrets that it did. That grates at me, even more irritating than the possibility Cassia is not as inexperienced as I assumed.

She was brazen and bold around me when we were younger. But I hadn’t seen that side of her in years, the girl who goes after what she wants without second-guessing. Sure, she’s driven, especially when it comes to school. But I think that’s more about pleasing her parents than anything else.

And once again, I don’t know. I have no idea when or if she still seizes control. It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, considering I’m the one who ensured I wouldn’t—that I don’t. But it annoys me anyway, itches my skin like an irritation that can’t be scratched.

Finn keeps pace with me as we leave class and head toward the cafeteria. He’s still talking about my victory on Friday night, describing what he considers my most impressive moments. Completely oblivious to the fact I’m not paying attention to a single word he’s saying. More of our friends join us the closer we get to the cafeteria, and that distracts him.

I’m busy scanning the hall.

Mark asks me a question about the start of practice next week, which I focus on until we reach our typical table and sit. Grace and McKenzie appear, joining the group. Grace takes the seat next to me. Her hand finds my thigh under the table, stroking the denim.

“You okay?” she asks. Soft and quiet, not trying to draw attention to the question. Still, everyone else at the table is surreptitiously watching us.

Grace and I are primetime entertainment. Most of the guys have bets going on how long before we hook up again.

They’re going to lose.

Maybe before Friday night, those odds had a decent chance. Before then, Grace was a hot blonde distraction who was happy with casual and no strings.