Who Breaks First (Clearwater University)

REESE: Been having dreams about you.

I seriously don’t know how to respond to any of this, so I look down, keeping my head buried in my notes.

West doesn’t text me, but he doesn’t need to. He’s staring at me from where he sits on the other side of Reese, and the burning feel of his gaze is communicating plenty. I remember the confrontation he and I had last week after the group project meeting, and I have to shift in my seat as arousal floods my body.

He didn’t need to defend me against Peter. I’m able to handle myself, and Peter wasn’t threatening me—he was just pushing too hard for something I couldn’t give. But there’s something comforting in knowing that no one in the world would be able to hurt me if West was on my side.

Still, I can’t stop myself from returning his gaze, and I’m almost shocked that Professor Sykes doesn’t kick us out of class for eye-fucking each other behind Reese’s back, our gazes catching every time Reese looks down. It’s been a long time since we had sex, and West looks so different now. I find myself imagining what it would be like to be with this version of him—the one whose face is all hard angles and dominating features, no more hint of boyish softness.

Finally, I yank my attention back to my notes, throwing myself into studying so I can block out everything else.

Come on, Emma. Be smart. Keep your head on straight, focus on school, and then get the fuck out of here.

I try to keep my walls up, I really do. But over the next few weeks, they begin to crumble brick by brick.

Every time I put a brick back up, a sweet gesture or shared moment tears another one down. I continue to get nice texts from the guys, we meet for our project twice a week, and everything runs smoothly. The semester is winding down, an

d I find that I’m doing really well preparing for finals and whatnot. Then, out of the blue, I get another text from Trent.

TRENT: Hey, you want to hang out with the guys tonight?

I fumble with my phone—and my thoughts. I know I should refuse, but all three of the Icons have been so genuinely sweet recently. It’s harder to hate them when they’re like this. It makes me miss the way things used to be.

ME: Yeah, that would be fun.

TRENT: Cool, come by our house at 8.

ME: Okay.

So, this is going to be a real test of what’s truly going down. As I prepare to head to the house the guys share off campus, I find myself checking the mirror several times to make sure I look okay. Why should I even care? The Icons have hurt me. They’ve seen me at my worst and my best. Still, I find that I actually do care.

“Hey.” Trent greets me at the door, pulling it open almost as soon as I knock. Like he’s been waiting for me.

“Hey.”

I try to ignore how good he looks in his long-sleeved tee and faded jeans that hug his muscular thighs, but my gaze traces over him appreciatively in spite of me.

“We ordered pizza,” Reese says, walking into the room holding a beer.

I jerk, yanking my attention away from Trent. I still have no idea how to handle the attraction I feel for all three of them, especially now that I’ve slept with all three of them.

But for now, I’ll just pretend it’s possible for us all to be friends. That’s a starting place anyway, right?

“Nice.” I say, grinning at Reese. “I’m starving.”

“Want a beer?” Trent asks, ushering me inside with a hand at my low back.

Heat radiates outward from his touch. I really don’t know if it’s a good idea to drink around these guys, but I reason that just one won’t hurt.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Although West is sitting silently with his beer, I actually think he smiles at me. Not a fake smile—a real one, and it softens his face in a way that makes my heart ache.

For the rest of the evening, all of us sit around in the living room, talking and laughing, and it’s… effortless. It’s like that first semester after I transferred to Amundsen High, when we were all so close.

“I think our Anthropology project is going to be great,” I say. I caved and had a second beer, and I’m feeling relaxed and happy.

“Nope. No school talk allowed. It’s the fucking weekend.” Trent throws his hands in the air.