Page 52 of The Heart Breaker

AURORA

Brrrrrrring.

I groan into my pillow as the sound of my alarm drills straight into my skull. My face is smushed sideways into the pillowcase, my cheek stuck to the fabric, and I pat blindly across my nightstand until my fingers finally close around my phone, squinting when the screen lights up.

Another groan slips out when I see the time, and I immediately hate the version of myself who thought setting an alarm was a good idea. My head throbs when I roll onto my back. After the team’s win, everyone wanted to go out, and apparently, I got a lot drunker than I remember.

The memories start coming back anyway as I force myself upright. The bar, the shots, and the exact moment Cole walked in with a group of guys I didn’t recognize.

Our eyes locked across the room, and every single thing I’d been trying not to think about came crashing right back. His hands. His mouth. The way my body betrayed me so completely, I’m still annoyed at myself for allowing him to fuck me against a tree a week later.

One look at the hard expression on his face and I already knew exactly what he was thinking. He was pissed I was there. Pissed that somehow, we always kept ending up in the same place, no matter how badly we clearly needed to stay away from each other.

I forced myself to look away and did some shots with the girls, doing my best to act like I didn’t care that he was there. But every few minutes, my eyes kept drifting back to him anyway. He never looked my way again for the rest of the night, too busy with the girls circling around him and his friends.

After a few more shots, I called an Uber and left before I could make another stupid mistake I promised myself I wouldn’t make again.

I really thought letting Cole fuck me again would finally get him out of my head. That whatever this is—that awful, sizzling feeling in my bones every time he’s near me—would finally burn itself out after the humiliation of letting him bend me over a tree. But apparently, shame isn’t a strong enough disinfectant to scrub a man like that out of my veins.

What was worse was that the morning after Halloween, I realized that he hadn’t worn a condom. We’d been so ravenous for each other that neither of us had noticed.

I got tested and then went straight to the pharmacy and took Plan B, because the only thing more horrifying than sleeping with Cole again would be letting that night leave me with—god forbid—a baby.

I plant my feet on the floor and stretch, wincing when the movement makes my head throb harder, then drag myself to the bathroom. I blink at my reflection, my mascara smudged under my eyes and my hair an absolute mess.

I quickly wash my face, then wrangle my hair into a bun. Goosebumps break out over my arms, and I shiver, suddenly remembering how stupidly cold this apartment gets in themornings. I always go to sleep in just panties and a T-shirt, since I like to sleep like a starfish, but the second the cold air hits my bare legs, it feels like a terrible decision.

I shuffle to the dresser, yank open a drawer, and grab the softest pair of sweats I own before heading out of the bedroom, following the smell of coffee, needing it in my bloodstream.

Isabella is at the stove flipping pancakes in an oversized sweatshirt while Ryan stands behind her, his arms looped around her waist, his chin hooked on her shoulder as he murmurs something in her ear that makes her cheeks go pink.

They’re so gross. I love them.

Isabella finally glances up when she spots me and her face breaks into a smile. “Hey,” she says, gently nudging Ryan away with her hip. “You’re up.”

Ryan twists to look at me, his eyes skimming over me. “Barely,” he replies with a chuckle. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan, shuffling toward the table.

“Want coffee?” Isabella asks, already reaching for a mug. “I’m also making pancakes, if you’re hungry.”

I sink into a chair and let my head tip back against the window frame behind me. “Please,” I sigh. “I will literally name my firstborn after you.”

“She says that to everyone who gives her anything sweet,” Isabella tells her boyfriend.

Isabella pours some coffee into a mug, adds a splash of milk and a spoon of brown sugar—the way she knows I like it—and slides the mug across the table. I wrap both hands around it, letting the warmth soak into my palms and take a sip.

It’s hot and strong and exactly what my soul needs right now.

“You left early last night,” she says, sounding suspicious.

“Didn’t feel like staying,” I say, taking another sip.

Ryan chuckles as he reaches for a plate. “It was because of Cole, wasn’t it?”

The coffee goes down the wrong way so fast I nearly choke to death. I cough, sputtering as I try to recover while Isabella freezes in the middle of flipping a pancake, her eyes going a little wide.

“What?” I manage between coughs. “What are you even talking about? Of course not. Why would I care about Cole? I don’t. Obviously.”