Jake Challahan

We won by one goal, which apparently means half the academy needs to personally congratulate me before I’m allowed to get within fifty feet of food.

Coach catches my shoulder on the way off the field. Two first-years want a picture. Somebody from the student paper asks me a question I barely hear over the music coming from the festival lawn.

I answer anyway. Smile for the picture. Thank Coach.

Then I look toward our usual table.

And find her.

She’s sitting beside Nova, exactly where I hoped she’d be.

Mason got there first.

Of course he fucking did.

He’s leaned toward her, saying something that makes her laugh, and even from across the lawn I know the difference between that laugh and the polite one she gives people she doesn’t know well.

Two years.

Two years since she dropped into the empty seat beside me in Statistics, looked at my worksheet, and informed me I’d done the problem wrong.

She hadn’t known who I was.

Still doesn’t particularly care.

Everyone else eventually gets around to Silverpine. Future Alpha. Callahan. My father.

She asks if I studied for the exam.

I start toward the table.

[Mate.]

I stop.

Someone clips my shoulder from behind and mutters an apology, but I barely register it.

My eyes stay on her.

What?

[Mate.]

Cairn has never said that word before.

Not once.

And he’s not confused.

My stomach drops.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

[No.]

Across the lawn, Nova catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. Mason says something else to her.

She laughs again.

[Go.]

Yeah. Working on it.

“Jake!”

Arms wrap around me before I make it three steps.

Blonde hair. Expensive perfume. Cheer uniform.

Vivienne.

“Barbie.”

She pulls back with a bright smile, still holding my arms.

“You won.”

“That was generally the objective.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Asshole.”

Normal. Familiar. Vivienne has been doing this since we were kids.

Cairn, apparently, has developed opinions.

[Wrong.]

I almost laugh.

Yeah. Got that.

Vivienne reaches for the hem of my jersey.

“You still owe me this, Callahan.”

Right.

Months ago. Some stupid conversation after practice. She’d wanted one of my jerseys and I’d told her she could have one at the end of the season.

From the table, Nova’s voice carries effortlessly over the crowd.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not the jersey again.”

Mason laughs.

Vivienne turns toward her.

I look past all of them.

Back to her.

My friend.

The girl I’ve been trying very fucking hard not to want for two years.

And, apparently—

[Mate.]

Jesus Christ