Chapter 16 Chapter 15
Harper POV
The night air hits harder than I expect — crisp and biting, the kind that steals heat and forces honesty.
If cold could shock common sense back into me, I’d welcome frostbite.
It doesn’t work.
My heels snap against the pavement, echoing in the quiet stretch between Greek Row and the athletic houses. Leaves skitter across the sidewalk like they’re running from something too.
I can relate.
Every step away from the Ice House should make it easier to breathe.
Instead, my chest feels tight, heart knocking around like it’s looking for an exit.
Logan’s voice still threads through me, low and dangerous, the memory almost warm against the cold:
You really shouldn’t look at me like that.
Maybe both.
I shouldn’t like that I heard desire under the annoyance.
I do.
And that’s the problem.
I wrap my coat tighter — armor against air, against him, against myself.
Then the Ice House door bursts open behind me. Music explodes into the night. Laughter. Someone yelling “dude, get off the table!”
Boots hit the steps.
“Harper! Hold up.”
Not the voice I feared.
The one I could handle.
Cole jogs up, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie like there’s no world he doesn’t belong in. The streetlight hits the curve of his grin.
“You walking alone?” he says. “That’s how people get murdered in Netflix documentaries.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
He snorts. “Yeah, and I’m a Nobel-winning poet. Come on. I’m walking you. Don’t fight hero-mode, it gets embarrassing for everyone.”
Despite myself, I laugh — a small crack in my armor. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Full-time job,” he says proudly, falling into step beside me.
We walk past frat houses strung with lights, music muffled behind doors. The whole campus looks like it’s breathing — warm windows, cold shadows.
I should feel better. I don’t.
Cole side-eyes me. “So. You Irish-goodbyed.”
“I… needed air.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone says sure, Jan. “And you left Shaw looking like someone kicked his favorite puppy.”
“That’s not—”
I stop. Sigh. “Cole…”
He lifts both palms. “I’m not judging. I’m just saying dude looked like he was fighting ghosts. You two should sell tickets at this point. Emotional UFC.”
A tiny, traitorous laugh escapes me. “Please don’t ever call it that again.”
“Can’t promise. It fits.”
We walk a few more steps. My breath fogs in front of me. I shove my hands in my pockets.
“Looked like you guys had… company,” I say, trying to sound disinterested. I fail.
Cole barks a laugh. “Puck bunnies.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Plural?”
“It’s Thursday. They migrate like clockwork.” He shrugs like it’s morally neutral. “They show up, flirt, sometimes leave with somebody. No big deal.”
It shouldn’t sting. It does.
I picture glossy hair, bronze skin, curves, confidence, that loud easy laugh Logan seems to gravitate to like gravity isn’t a law, just a person in a short skirt.
I could fake tan.
I could lose weight.
I could even—
No.
I exhale sharply.
I could turn myself inside out and still never be what women like that are without trying.
Cole kicks a pebble, hands jammed deeper into his hoodie. “People cope in weird ways. Some drink. Some cry. Some hook up. Some… glare at spreadsheets like they owe you money.”
I shoot him a look. “That sounds personal.”
“Oh, totally,” he says. “Our goalie and Excel are basically in a toxic relationship.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. It’s ridiculous. It helps.
Then he glances sideways, quieter now. “And then there’s Shaw.”
I shouldn’t ask.
I do anyway. “What about him?”
Cole blows out a breath. “He pretends he doesn’t care. Acts like nothing touches him. But the second you walk in a room? Man short-circuits. It’s kinda beautiful, if you like disasters.”
“I don’t,” I lie.
Cole gives me a look that says sure you don’t.
We turn onto sorority row. My house glows warm — fairy lights, pumpkins on the porch, the sound of laughter drifting from inside. Everything soft, safe, controlled.
It feels like a different planet.
“You know what sucks?” Cole says lightly, hands in pockets. “You two could probably set the world on fire. Instead you’re busy lighting matches and throwing them at each other’s feet.”
I swallow. “Cole.”
“All good,” he says, stepping back onto the walkway. “Just saying — don’t pretend there’s no spark. The campus might sue for emotional damages.”
I can’t help laughing softly. “Goodnight, Cole.”
He grins, backing away. “Night, Harper. And hey — if you storm back there, text me first. I want popcorn.”
He turns, whistling as he walks away — like the world is simple for some people.
Lucky him.
⸻
Inside Alpha Chi, everything smells like vanilla candles, coffee, safety. Someone’s laughing upstairs. Music hums low. My heels click against hardwood before I toe them off and climb the stairs.
My room is exactly as I left it — neat, polished, curated.
Tonight it feels like a cage made of routines I built myself.
I sit.
Then flop backward, staring at the ceiling like it’ll blink first.
I shouldn’t still feel him.
His voice.
The heat in his eyes when he leaned in, like he couldn’t decide whether to hate me or—
No.
Not finishing that thought.
I drag a pillow over my face and groan into it.
“This is ridiculous.”
My phone buzzes.
I shouldn’t look.
I do.
Unknown:
Check your email. Budget’s good.
Next time, don’t show up at my house uninvited.
My pulse trips. I type before logic can interfere:
Me:
Try answering your phone then, captain.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Return.
Logan:
Maybe I like when you come find me.
Heat flares low and sharp. I lock my phone like it’s dangerous and toss it facedown.
I lie there staring at the ceiling again, heart in my throat, pulse refusing to calm.
If he told me to stay away again tonight…
I don’t think I could.
And that terrifies me more than the dark outside ever could.