Campus Player

Rowan draws his lower lip into his mouth before chewing on it. A mixture of sorrow and regret fills his expression, and it’s almost enough to break my heart.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I want to smack myself for even thinking along those lines. I’m not the one who hurt or betrayed him. It was the other way around.

“I need to explain something to you and then, if you don’t want to speak with me again, I’ll respect that.” When I remain silent, unsure what to do, his voice turns pleading. “Give me five minutes, and then I’ll leave. You’ll never hear from me again. I promise.”

If I were smart, I would slam the door in his face. There is nothing he can say or do to change the way I feel about him. He’s the first guy I took a chance on and opened myself up to. I was prepared to lay it all on the line for him. Thank God, I didn’t get a chance to do that. It would have only made me feel more pathetic than I already do.

Whoever said—it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all was seriously mistaken. The whole loving-and-losing thing sucks major ass. And quite honestly, I don’t see it getting better anytime soon.

“Please, Demi?”

A huff of frustration leaves my lips. I wish I were strong enough to tell him to go to hell. Since I’m not, I begrudgingly move away from the door and wave him in. There’s a tiny part of me that’s curious about what he has to say.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, slipping past me and into the living room where he drops onto the chair. Needing as much distance as possible, I gravitate to the far end of the couch. Regret flickers over his expression as he watches me. It’s like he realizes what tactics I’m trying to employ to keep him at a safe distance. His elbows settle on spread thighs as he clasps his hands together in front of him.

An oppressive silence blankets us, and I shift restlessly beneath the heavy weight of his stare. This is more painful than I expected. Only now do I realize that allowing him inside was a mistake. I’ve changed my mind. No longer do I care what he has to say. His rationale of the situation won’t make a difference.

Rowan clears his throat and his gaze falters, falling to his fingers. I don’t realize how tightly clasped they are until the knuckles turn bone white. “I want you to know that nothing happened with Annica. That night or any other.”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, an image of them flashes unwantedly through my head, and my heart jackhammers a painful staccato against my ribcage. I jerk my shoulders, not wanting him to see how deep his betrayal has cut. “That’s not the way it looked.”

It’s a relief when my voice comes out sounding devoid of emotion. If he thinks he can waltz in here with some half-assed explanation, and I’ll fall all over him, Rowan has another thing coming.

“I know.” There’s a moment of silence before he admits softly, “That was the plan. I wanted you to find us together.”

What?

For a beat, maybe two, my mind cartwheels, and all I can do is stare.

He wanted me to find them?

I shake my head as my brows slam together. It’s almost impossible to wrap my lips around the question. “You deliberately set out to hurt me?”

My throat grows scratchy as thick emotion wells in the middle of it.

“No.” There’s a pause before he hastily amends, “I mean, yes.” Frustration vibrates off him in suffocating waves as he yanks off his black Wildcats ball cap and drags a hand through his long blond hair. “I wanted to make sure you would be pissed off and never talk to me again.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“Well,” I force out a mirthless laugh, “you got what you wanted.” I rise unsteadily to my feet. “I’m not sure why you felt the need to come here and share this with me, but I think you should leave.”

Desperation flares in his eyes as he jumps to his feet. “Please, Demi. Hear me out!” In two long-legged strides, he eats up the distance between us. “I’m doing a shit job of explaining this.”

I hold up a hand, not wanting him any closer. “I assume that’s because there’s no way to justify why you would do something so fucked up.”

When I try to move past him, his fingers lock around my wrist. All it takes is one tug to drag me closer. The force of the movement sends me stumbling, and I lose my balance before crashing into him. My hands go to his chest in an attempt to shove my way free. Instead of releasing me, his arms lock around my body until I’m rendered powerless.