Chapter 10 Chapter 9
Harper POV
By Monday morning, the gossip has already spread through half the campus.
At the coffee line, two girls behind me whisper just loud enough:
“Did you hear? Logan hooked up again. Same girl from the Ice House—twice in one weekend.”
The other laughs. “Well, that’s Shaw for you. Can’t keep his hands off a pretty Latina.”
I keep my eyes on the barista, waiting for my latte, pretending not to hear.
Of course he did. That’s who Logan is. It’s practically his signature move—flash that grin, flirt a little, and disappear before anyone gets too close.
It shouldn’t bother me.
But it does.
I tell myself I don’t care, that he’s free to do whatever—or whoever—he wants. But the words fall flat, hollow in the back of my mind, because the truth is uglier than I want to admit.
It hurts.
It hurts because I know exactly what kind of girl he falls for, and I’ll never be her.
⸻
By the time I get back to the sorority house, my nerves are frayed. The place smells like fresh flowers and body spray; laughter spills down the hall from the common room. Someone’s blasting music in the kitchen. Life goes on, loud and bright, like my heart isn’t quietly breaking.
I climb the stairs to my room and shut the door halfway. The silence rushes in, sharp and heavy. My desk is covered in flyers for the charity gala—my job as sorority president. I’m supposed to be composed, confident, in control. Not sitting here obsessing over some hockey player who doesn’t even see me.
Except he does. Sometimes.
Or maybe I just imagine it.
We’ve known each other since high school—same halls, same small-town parties, same circles that overlapped just enough to keep him orbiting in my life. Back then, he barely noticed me, except maybe to borrow a pencil or toss me a teasing smile. And even then, my stupid heart took it and ran.
A quiet crush. That’s all it ever was supposed to be.
Except it never went away.
⸻
I catch my reflection in the mirror across the room—brown hair, pale skin, a body that looks fine in daylight but never enough next to the girls he chooses. His type is always the same: sun-kissed skin, curves that could make any man forget his name. Latina women who own their beauty like armor.
I could tan darker, change my makeup, maybe even starve myself thinner. I could get implants if that’s what it took to turn his head for one second longer.
But the one thing I can’t change is who I am.
And that’s what really stings—knowing he’ll never see me the way he sees them. Because Logan’s too obsessed with the physical to realize that something real could be standing right in front of him.
⸻
A knock at the door pulls me out of the spiral.
“Hey, you okay?”
Lila leans in, barefoot, hair wrapped in a towel, concern softening her voice.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”
She steps inside, perching on the edge of my bed. “You’ve been quiet. I thought maybe something happened.”
I force a smile. “Nothing happened.”
She studies me, not buying it. “You know, if this is about that hockey guy, you don’t have to pretend. Everyone heard the gossip. It’s not like it’s the first time.”
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Lila’s face softens. “Harper…”
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice cracks, betraying me.
She hesitates, then squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to be.”
I nod, blinking fast. “Thanks. I just need a minute, okay?”
She gives me one last look, the kind that says she understands more than I want her to, then quietly slips out.
The door clicks shut.
And suddenly, the whole room feels too big.
⸻
I sink onto the bed, stare at the ceiling, and let the silence press in. I wish I could stop caring, stop comparing, stop wondering what it would feel like to be his type—for once.
But I can’t.
Because no matter how many times I remind myself that Logan Shaw will never want a girl like me…
My heart hasn’t gotten the message.
And that’s the worst part.
Because I’ve known him my whole life—
and he’s never really seen me at all.