Chapter 85 Chapter 84
Logan POV
This is a bad idea.
Not in a vague, abstract way. In a very specific, very personal, very I am going to ruin my life way.
I stand in front of the mirror in my room at the Ice House and adjust my jacket for the third time in thirty seconds.
It doesn’t help.
Nothing helps.
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
Cole: Outside. Don’t bail.
I exhale slowly through my nose and grab my keys.
This is not a date.
This is a PR obligation. A staged, highly visible, carefully controlled appearance so donors can see that the “Golden Boy” and the “Perfect President” don’t look like they want to strangle each other.
That’s it.
That’s all.
Except…
I can still feel her under my hands.
I shove that thought straight into a mental locked box and walk downstairs.
Cole is leaning against his car, arms crossed, watching me with a look that says he’s enjoying this way too much.
“You ready, Romeo?”
“Don’t call me that.”
He grins. “You’re dressed like you’re trying.”
“I’m dressed like a functional adult.”
“Sure you are.”
He opens the passenger door. “You want to remind me again why I’m coming?”
I hesitate.
“The university wants a witness,” I say.
Cole raises an eyebrow.
“And?”
“…And I don’t trust myself.”
There it is.
He studies me for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. That tracks.”
We drive in silence for a minute.
Then he says, casually, “So what’s the plan? Be charming? Be distant? Accidentally set something on fire?”
“I’m going to be polite,” I say flatly. “We’re going to eat. We’re going to smile. Then we’re going to leave.”
“And if she looks at you the way she usually does?”
“I will endure.”
Cole snorts. “Good luck with that.”
We pull up to the restaurant — not fancy-fancy, but definitely nice. The kind of place donors love. The kind of place where people notice you.
I spot her immediately.
And my brain… stops working.
She’s standing just inside the entrance.
Black dress. Clean lines. Nothing flashy.
And somehow it’s devastating.
She looks like herself.
Just… turned up.
Confident. Calm. Untouchable.
Not the girl in my bed.
Not the girl who said my name like it meant something.
Just Harper Lane, Sorority President.
My chest tightens.
Cole follows my gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Well. Shit.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say you’re screwed.”
We walk toward her.
Her eyes go to me first.
Then to Cole.
Then back to me.
Her eyebrow lifts slowly.
“…Oh,” she says. “I didn’t realize this was a threesome.”
I blink.
Cole chokes on a laugh.
She looks at me, completely deadpan. “Maybe I should’ve asked Lila to come too. Make it a group activity.”
Cole is grinning like an idiot. “Hey, don’t mind me. I’m just the third wheel. Think of me like… wallpaper. Decorative. Emotionally uninvolved.”
“Wonderful,” she says sweetly. “I always wanted an audience.”
Her eyes cut back to me. Sharp. Controlled.
“So,” she adds, “you can’t even fake-date me by yourself?”
“That’s not—”
“Wow,” she continues, nodding slowly. “I didn’t realize you were that disgusted by me.”
My jaw tightens. “That’s not why.”
“Oh?” she says coolly. “Then why is he here?”
Cole lifts both hands. “For the record? This was not my idea. I was drafted. Possibly under protest.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself.
Barely.
We go inside.
The table is too small. The room is too public. The situation is a slow-burning disaster.
Cole talks. A lot. About practice. About Marco doing something stupid. About literally anything to keep us from killing each other.
Harper is polite.
Professional.
She barely looks at me.
Which is worse than if she glared.
When the waiter leaves, she folds her hands and looks straight at me.
“So,” she says, “is he here to supervise you? Or to make sure you don’t accidentally acknowledge my existence?”
“That’s not fair.”
She tilts her head. “Isn’t it?”
Cole clears his throat. “Again. Neutral furniture.”
“I didn’t bring him because of you,” I say. “I brought him because—”
“Because you don’t trust yourself?” she cuts in.
I stop breathing.
Her eyes sharpen. “Wow. That’s… flattering. In the worst possible way.”
There’s a pause.
Then she adds, quieter, sharper, “Do you know why two sororities stopped talking to your team for three days?”
Cole snorts before he can stop himself.
I look at him. “What?”
She keeps her eyes on me. “It wasn’t random. It wasn’t drama. It was a statement.”
“A statement about what?” I ask.
“About this,” she says, gesturing between us. “About the way you treat women like they’re convenient. Like they don’t matter once you’ve gotten what you wanted.”
Cole shifts in his seat. “To be fair… it did get your attention.”
I turn to him slowly. “You knew about this?”
He winces. “Uh… yeah. Sort of.”
Harper’s mouth curves in something that is not quite a smile. “See? It worked. For about five minutes.”
I stare at my plate, something heavy and uncomfortable settling in my chest.
The rest of the meal is… tense.
She laughs once at something Cole says, and something ugly twists in my chest.
Why do I care?
Outside, Cole goes to get the car.
It’s just us.
“You don’t have to avoid me,” she says quietly.
“I’m not.”
She looks at me. “You are.”
I don’t deny it.
“I don’t need you to want me,” she continues. “I just need you to stop treating me like I’m something you regret.”
That lands hard.
She steps back before I can answer.
Cole pulls up.
She gets in without looking at me.
At the Ice House, she gets out first.
“Goodnight, Cole.”
“Night, Harper.”
She turns to me.
For a second, I think she might say something else.
She doesn’t.
She just says, “Try being honest with yourself sometime, Shaw. It’s a wild experience.”
Then she walks away.
Cole watches her go, then looks at me.
“…You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
“No,” he says. “You are spectacularly bad at this.”
I stare out the window.
Because the worst part?
She’s right.
And I don’t know how to fix it.