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lee-laurent · 2 days ago

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The Heat in Hampton

Summary: Natalia and Quinn have a summer fling in the Hamptons.

content: alcohol, drug use (smoking weed), angst, implied smut

wc: 9.5k

notes: new fic!! this isn't the one i had planned to come out first, but it ended up coming to me more easily so here it is! not proofread, so sorry if there are any mistakes! enjoyyy!! more fics to come

The mini champagne bottle popped like a gunshot, and Riley screamed even though she was the one holding it.

"Jesus," Zoey laughed from the backseat, shielding her phone with one hand as she tried to film the moment without soaking it in sticky bubbles. "Point it away from my face next time, psycho."

Claressa (better known as Essa), in the driver's seat, didn't flinch. She turned the music up instead. The windows were down, the salty air pouring in, and the sun was low but blinding over the ocean. Natalia tipped her head back against the seat, sunglasses sliding down her face, a lazy half-smile forming on her lips.

They were almost there.

The Hamptons surrounded them, hedges and gravel driveways, shops with names that just made it obvious they were expensive, couples in tennis whites crossing the street even as traffic moved toward them. Natalia let it all pass by like she wasn't really seeing it, just another summer town. But the second the car turned onto the long driveway leading up to her parents' summer house, her chest twinged with something. Excitement, missed with a splash of nostalgia.

"We made it!" Riley said, raising her now half-empty bottle. "To a summer of mistakes but no regrets!"

"Regrets are character-building," Claressa muttered, but raised her water bottle anyway.

Natalia gave a half-hearted cheer and twisted the volume down. "Let's not get too dramatic on the first day."

"Oh, shut up," Zoey said, reaching over the console to grab some tissues. "You love this shit."

Natalia didn't argue. She just grabbed her bag from the floor and shoved the car door open.

Inside, the house was all polished wood floors and linen everything. It smelled faintly of fresh laundry and Natalia felt something in her shift, the weird click in her brain that always happened when she walked into the house. She hadn't been there since the summer before, but nothing had changed. Not the shell-shaped soap in the bathrooms or the white curtains that always fluttered too much when the windows were open. It was curated serenity. Her mom's aesthetic.

Riley immediately dropped her duffel bag in the entryway and kicked off her sandals. "Same rooms?"

"No," Zoey said, already making a beeline for the biggest bedroom upstairs. "I'm claiming the one with the balcony this year. I need room for my morning stretch. And fresh air is, like, good for a soul."

"You're disgusting," Claressa called after her, following more slowly with both bags in hand.

Nat hung back, letting them all scatter, and took a slow lap around the kitchen. The same bowl of fake, styrofoam lemons on the counter. The wine fridge humming quietly. She opened the sliding glass doors that led to the pool deck and stepped outside, bare feet hitting the warm tile.

The pool sparkled in the light. Somehow clean, as if it hadn't been a week since her parents had last been there.

By the time they'd all picked rooms and dumped out their overpacked bags, it was late afternoon. The sun stretched lazily over the backyard, and the girls were spread out on lounge chairs in bikinis that covered nothing, drinks in hand, music playing through a Bluetooth speaker.

Riley scrolled through her camera roll, deleting doubles from the drive. "Okay, my hair is like glowing in this one. Like, should I just go blonde for real?"

"Do it," Zoey said, already lighting up a joint with a practiced flick. "Blondes get away with more."

Claressa side-eyed her from behind oversized sunglasses. "You're literally brunette."

"Yeah, and I don't get away with jackshit."

Natalia snorted and took a sit of her spritz. She was in her favourite black bikini, the one that made her look like she had more curves than she did, stretched long on the lounger like she didn't have a worry in the world. But her phone buzzed against her thigh, and she peeked at it.

U in town??

Last summer's mistake. Cute, tall, zero personality.

She didn't respond.

"Who's that?" Riley asked, peering over.

"No one."

"Liar."

Nat shrugged. "Just someone trying to be a plotline again."

Claressa laughed. "That's a new one."

"Is it, though?" Natalia tilited her sunglasses down. "It's always the same shit."

The girls all nodded. It was true. It happened every summer.

Later, they dragged patio cushions into a circle and passed around Zoey's joint until the sun finally dipped below the trees. Someone opened a regular-sized bottle of champagne. Someone else had put on a new playlist. Nat leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the darkening sky, breathing in the fresh air.

"This summer," Riley announced, "we are NOT falling for anyone. Not even a little bit."

"Speak for yourself," Zoey said, but without much heat.

"No," Nat said, and the others looked over. "She's right. We're not doing that shit again."

"No drama."

"Just tan lines and too much booze," Riley echoed, then raised a brow at Nat. "And maybe try not to ruin any lives this time?"

"I didn't ruin any lives," Natalia rolled her eyes.

Zoey let out a cackle. "Bullshit, Nat. You need to come with a fucking disclaimer. Warning: She's not actually into you at all."

Nat flipped her off in response.

By nine, the buzz had faded and they were all pulling clothes from their half-unpacked bags and digging for makeup.

"Where are we even going?" Essa asked from the bathroom, swiping gloss on her bottom lip.

"Montauket," Riley said, pulling a tiny skirt over her hips. "That rooftop bar with the ocean view? It's supposed to be packed on weekends."

Nat leaned over the bathroom sink, curling her lashes in the mirror. "Packed with who, though?"

"Rich boys who know how to lie," Zoey said, voice muffled as she changed behind the door.

"Perfect," Nat said dryly. She wasn't even sure she felt like going out. But it was tradition, and traditions had a way of pulling her in.

She added one final coat of mascara and stepped back, giving herself a once-over. The mirror reflected back a version of herself she knew well--sparkling eyes, glossed lips, tanned skin, a shirt that made her tits look amazing.

Summer Natalia.

The one who regretted nothing until the end of the trip.

She tucked her lip gloss into her bra and turned to the others. "Let's go have some fun!"

Zoey grinned. "Let's get fucked up!"

Montauket was already packed by the time the girls got there. Bass-heavy music spilled out from the rooftop, shaking the strings of lights that hung overhead. The crowd was pressed tight at the bar, the humidity from the summer air making everything that much warmer.

Natalia adjusted the strap on her low-backed shirt as they climbed the steps. The fabric clung to her, the fabric of her jean skirt riding up her thighs with each stair. She sipped from her margarita the second it was handed to her, the salt rim already sticky from condensation.

The rooftop shimmered. Partly the heat, partly the alcohol. Groups were laughing too loudly, people leaning in too closely. Somewhere behind her, Zoey was ordering shots. Essa scanned the patio like she was on a mission. Riley had already disappeared into the crowd.

Nat was trying to take it all in, leaning against the railing, letting the burn of the tequila cut through the sugar in her drink. She liked people watching when they weren't looking back.

That's when she saw him.

He wasn't the type you noticed right away. He wasn't loud or trying. That's what caught her off guard. There was something about the way he stood, shoulders relaxed, chin tilted slightly as he listened to one of his friends. He had a beer in his hand, but it was more like a prop, like drinking it wasn't the point.

Brown hair that curled slightly at the ends. A white t-shirt and a Yankees cap. Athletic, but not showy. She couldn't see him perfectly, but she could tell from the conversation around him that he didn't feel the need to say much.

He looked... calm. Unbothered. And completely at ease.

He was surrounded by people. Two other guys that she clocked immediately as brothers, one with the same jawline but louder, the other a little younger, bouncing on his heels like he couldn't sit still. A couple more circled the edges: tall, cocky, all expensive sneakers and smirks.

She took another sip of her margarita. "Boys," she mumbled under her breath.

"See something you like?" Essa appeared at her side, a vodka soda in hand, smirking.

"Just people-watching."

"Uh-huh." Essa tilted her head. "You mean the quiet one?"

Nat just shrugged, her friends knew her too well.

It was Claressa who made the first move. She always did. She weaved through the crowd with ease, and by the time Natalia caught up, she was already talking to the group. Easily, like she wasn't surrounded by six boys who looked like they belonged in a GQ spread.

"--your tables in our spot," she was saying, cocking a brow as if it was her bar, not just a place she'd had to Google the hours of.

The loudest of the three brothers, Jack, Natalia would later learn, laughed like it was the best pickup line he'd ever heard. "Then I guess we owe you a drink."

"Or three," Zoey said, sliding in with her tray of shots like she'd been summoned.

"Fuck it," another guy said... Alex, maybe? "Let's merge."

And just like that, the night shifted.

Their groups blended together seamlessly. Essa and Jack were already halfway through some sort of debate about the best bars on Long Island. Zoey lit a cigarette for someone she hadn't even introduced herself to. Luke, the youngest one, was trying to explain something to Riley she definitely wasn't sober enough to remember.

Natalia, meanwhile, found herself across from him.

The quiet one.

He wasn't trying to talk to her. But every time she looked up, he was there. Watching, not staring. Clocking everything and saying nothing.

Eventually, he moved closer, just enough to make it obvious.

She glanced at him over the rim of her drink. "You're not much of a talker, huh?"

He shrugged. "Not when I don't have anything to say."

She hadn't expected him to sound like that. Low, but not shy.

"But when you do?"

His lips curved into a half-smile. "Then I say it."

Nat leaned herself more on the table. "What's your name?"

"Quinn."

Simple.

"I'm Natalia."

He nodded like he already knew.

She raised a brow. "You come here a lot, Quinn?"

"First time."

"Ah, so you're just winging it?"

He looked around the chaos of their joined group and then back at her. "Seems like it's working out."

She smiled into her drink. "You don't seem like a Montauket kind of guy."

"What kind of guy do I seem like?"

She tilted her head, studying him. "Hmm. The kind who watches everyone else go before he jumps in."

"And you're the kind who likes to be watched?"

She didn't flinch, just held his gaze. "Sometimes."

The air between them shifted. The kind that filled her chest without warning.

He didn't move closer, didn't reach out, but his eyes didn't waver from hers, either.

"Party's this weekend," Natalia said, as casually as she could, even though her pulse was suddenly in her throat.

Quinn's lip quirked up.

"At our place," she clarified. "We throw one every summer. Well... several. This is just the first."

"Is that an invitation?"

She shrugged. "Could be."

"Then I guess we'll be there."

He didn't ask where. Didn't ask when. Just said it like it was fact.

Natalia held her gaze for a few seconds longer than she needed to, then turned to help Zoey steal fries off one of the guys' plate.

When she eventually glanced back to Quinn, he was still there, watching the chaos.

But this time... with a smile on his face.

Nat stood in front of the mirror, squinting at her reflection like it might offer some kind of clarity.

"I hate everything I brought," she said, even though she'd tried on three different dresses and looked good in all of them.

"You say that every year," Essa called from the hallway. "And every year, you end up in something that makes people fall for you."

Natalia rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She tugged the second dress back over her head, adjusting it so that it clung to her in all the right places. She didn't do a full face of makeup. Mascara, a swipe of bronzer, and a cherry stain on her lips that made it look like she'd already kissed someone.

She touseled her curls with her fingers, debating whether to tame the frizz, then let them be. It was summer, the heat was going to make them messy.

From the other room, she heard the screen door slam and Riley yell, "Okay but if your Montauket guy doesn't show up, you have to do a shot with me!"

"He's not mine," Natalia said, stepping out into the hall.

Riley grinned. "Didn't say he was. But he did eye-fuck you from across the bar for like, forty-five minutes."

Zoey passed her four shot glasses in hand. "That's basically foreplay for straight men."

Natalia took one of the glasses and tossed it back, the burn sliding down her throat. "We talked for five minutes."

Essa's brows shot up as she walked past with a bundle of string lights. "And you invited him to our first party of the summer. That's not nothing."

"It's a party," Nat said. "I invited their whole group."

"Yeah," Zoey said, grinning. "And I don't even remember any of their names except Jack, because he wouldn't shut up."

Nat walked to the back doors and pushed them open. The sun was still setting, streaking the sky in orange. The pool shimmered, speakers blasted music, fairy lights were strung everywhere, coolers on the glass, patio chairs scattered everywhere.

It was perfect.

Somewhere across town, Quinn was staring into the fridge.

"Okay, but do we actually know where this party is?" Alex asked, tossing a ping pong ball at the kitchen wall.

Jack sprawled on the couch with a beer balanced on his chest. "The one girl said it's off Montauk Highway, past the beach club, second right after the white fence."

"That is a terrible set of directions," Trevor said, snatching the ball mid-air. "We're gonna get kidnapped."

"We're going," Jack declared, sitting up. "I didn't flirt my way through some aggressively competitive conversation about Long Island just to skip this."

Luke was already in a linen shirt and cologne that reeked of something way too expensive for a twenty-one-year-old. "We're absolutely going."

Quinn leaned against the kitchen counter, quietly unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. He hadn't said much all day. He'd gone on a run that morning, scrolled through Spotify for too long trying to find a playlist that matched the weird feeling in his chest.'

And now, standing barefoot in a kitchen full of idiots, he wasn't thinking about the party.

He was thinking about her.

Natalia. The girl who hadn't asked a single thing about him except his name, but already seemed like she knew him. She was the kind of pretty that made you look twice. The kind you didn't bother to chase because you already knew she wouldn't wait for you.

"You coming, Q?" Jack asked, cracking open another beer.

Quinn shrugged. "Guess so."

"You guess?" Luke said. "That girl was hot. Like dangerously hot."

"You guys are embarrassing," Quinn muttered, walking past them.

He disappeared into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror, thinking for a second.

Then he grabbed his cologne.

People started to spill in, some invited, some not, but no one cared. The speakers blasted a mix of 2000s throwbacks and remixes. Someone was already in the pool, red cups were appearing in everyone's hands like magic.

The girls were in motion, half-hosting, half-partying. Zoey was mixing drinks like a mad scientist while Riley took shots with some girls she swore she knew from somewhere.

Meanwhile, Nat was floating between groups, trying to keep cool, her curls brushing her bare shoulders. She smiled when she had to, took shots when they were handed to her. But every time someone new walked through the gate, she felt it in her spine.

Why are so obsessed? she asked herself. What are you hoping for?

The last time she'd hoped for a guy, it ended with him telling her you're not enough in a hundred different ways without ever saying the actual words in a voicemail she never returned. She still couldn't listen to certain songs without thinking of him and feeling stupid.

She didn't do that anymore. Now it was hookups, party boys, summer flings. Clean cut lines with simple endings.

She sipped from her glass and watched the lights flicker against the water. Then she saw him.

He came in behind Jack and Luke, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn't sure if this was the right place. He scanned the yard, then his eyes landed on her... and stopped.

Their eyes locked.

His shoulders relaxed, like making eye contact with her confirmed something for him.

Game on.

Natalia held his gaze, before Riley sidled up beside her, whispering, "Well, looks like your boy did show up after all."

It was hot, like way too hot for how dark it was outside, and everyone smelled like bug spray and sweat. Jack had taken his shirt off and was mid-dance with with Zoey near the edge of the pool, both of them laughing way too hard to be sober. Luke was climbing onto a raft with beer in hand and zero concern for personal safety.

Nat laughed when Riley shrieked, stumbling back in her platform sandals as Luke splashed water at her. But Nat's eyes still managed to find Quinn.

He hadn't moved much.

He was standing near the bar now, talking to Alex and some guy she didn't know, but his eyes were on every time she looked. But she wasn't going to crack first.

She was the host. She was busy.

Well... sort of.

Inside the house, Essa was weaving through the crowd with a seltzer can in hand.

"Stop moving the speaker," she snapped at a guy she vaguely recgonized from last summer. "Seriously. It's not yours."

Trevor popped up beside her with a lazy grin and a half-empty beer. "I was just about to come find you."

"I'm busy," she said without missing a beat.

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"You look good tonight."

"Thank you," she said, finishing her drink and immediately looking for another one. "Still not interested."

"Playing hard to get?"

"No. Just... not playing."

Trevor smirked and stepped aside, letting her pass. She didn't bother hiding her eye roll.

Nat handed someone a bottle opener, smiled at a group of friends-of-friends who were complimenting the setup, and gave a half-hearted thank you to a guy who told her she looked incredible.

She didn't care.

She could feel Quinn somewhere nearby. She wasn't going to look. She wasn't going to search.

But then he was there. Close.

She turned slightly, pretending to reach for a napkin, and brushed his arm.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he looked down at her, eyes catching hers like a magnet.

"Is crashing parties at random girls' houses your thing?" she asked.

He smirked. "You invited me."

"You didn't exactly RSVP."

Quinn's gaze dropped to the dips in her dress, then back up. "Figured showing up was enough."

She tilted her head. "Cocky."

"You're not?"

Natalia smiled into her drink, then looked up at him again. "I'm just good at knowing when I'm wanted."

He didn't say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched very slightly, like he was trying to hold back a smirk. He stepped a bit closer, enough that she could feel the heat of his body.

Someone bumped into her from behind, laughing loudly, and Natalia stumbled forward just slightly. Her hand landed on Quinn's arm to steady herself, letting it linger on his bicep before she removed it.

He looked down at his arm, shaking his head slightly.

"Told you," she murmured. "You like this kind of thing."

"Which kind?"

She smiled. "Girls who know what they want."

As he was about to answer, the music shifted to something slow and bass-heavy. People started to filter out onto the lawn again. She saw Zoey sitting fully on Jack's lap, gesturing wildly as she told a story.

And even if she was looking outside, Nat's entire body was tilted toward Quinn.

They weren't really talking anymore. Her breath hitched when his hand found her waist, thumb brushing the fabric of her dress like he was testing it.

She let him.

They stood like that for a few moments, the party around them, neither of them willing to break their silence.

"I'm working... hosting," she said.

"Yeah?" his voice was low. "Doing a great job."

She turned, brushing past him, shoulder grazing his chest.

"Come with me."

The hallway was cooler, dimmer, and empty compared to the kitchen and living area. Natalia walked slowly, heartbeat in her throat. She glanced over her should and he was right there. Hands in his pockets, mouth parted slightly, watching her as she led the way.

They stopped halfway down the hall.

She leaned against the wall, looking up at him like she wasn't sure who was going to make the next move.

He was closer now.

She laughed, quiet and breathy, and leaned into him slightly.

"I hate how much I wanna kiss you."

Quinn didn't laugh. He just pressed forward, hand on her waist again, his other braced on the wall. Their foreheads almost touched, lips close, heat rising between them.

The first kiss hit hard.

Her back hit the wall, and his mouth was on hers, rough and urgent. Teeth, lips, a gasp of air. He kissed her like their were mid-argument and this was how they fought. Like they'd both been waiting for this moment since the night before at Montauket.

His hand slid down her back, against the curve of her spine. His mouth dropped to her jaw, his breath hot against her skin. She gasped, tightening her grip on his shirt.

Her head dropped back. "Bedroom?"

He nodded as she grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall without looking back.

The guest room door slammed shut behind them.'

Nat practically shoved him down toward the bed and he pulled her down with him.

Her dress was half off, straps slipping from her shoulders. She straddled him, kissing him again, even harder if that was possible.

Short breaths. Nothing slow. No teasing.

It wasn't sweet or careful. But it was good.

So good she had to catch her breath after, sweat cooling on their skin, her head against his chest.

Then Quinn shifted and she let him go.

He stood quietly, back turned, grabbing his shirt from the floor. His chest still rose and fell like he hadn't caught up yet. Natalia sat up, resting on her elbows, curls falling around her shoulders, the straps of her dress still dangling down her arms.

He didn't really look at her as he got dressed. Just pulled on his shirt, buttoned his pants. No rush, but no lingering either.

Then finally, as he reached the door, he glanced back.

Expression unreadable.

"See you back out there," he said.

Cool.

Too cool.

The door clicked shut.

Natalia exhaled slowly, dropping onto her back, arms flung out across the bed like she'd just run a marathon. Her skin still buzzed, her lips still tingled. But maybe that was just the alcohol.

But her head?

Clear.

She stared at the ceiling fan above her, let her eyes unfocus.

There wasn't any disappointment, any regret.

She felt good. Amazing, actually. Loose-limbed, a little wrecked, but centred. Like she'd scratched an itch she hadn't even realized had been burning under her skin.

She stretched once and let herself smile.

"Cool. Perfect... got exactly what I needed."

The next morning, Nat padded into the kitchen, hair damp from her shower and curling at the ends. She wore an oversized shirt and her thong, legs slightly sore from last night's adventures. The memory was burned onto the back of her eyes, Quinn's hands on her hips, the feeling of his mouth on her neck.

She didn't linger on it. Just opened the fridge and grabbed the last Redbull, cracking it open and taking a long sip.

Zoey shuffled in next, wearing sunglasses and one of Riley's hoodies. She raised a hand in a half-hearted greeting and slumped into a chair.

Natatlia nodded back wordlessly.

Essa wandered in last, somehow already dressed, hair in a braid, a water bottle in hand like she hadn't had at least eight shots the night before.

"Anyone seen Riley?" she asked.

"Still in bed," Zoey muttered. "Probably died peacefully."

"Real."

They were quiet for a beat, sunlight pouring through the sliding glass door, reflecting on the water.

"So," Zoey said, snatching Essa's water. "Jack texted me."

Nat pulled a face.

"Already?" Essa asked.

Zoey smirked. "At like 3 AM. He sent a selfie of him eating cereal and said 'Wanna hang again?'"

"Men."

"I said yes."

Natalia leaned back against the counter. "So they're coming here?"

"They said they'd be free all day," Zoey replied. "I said we'd be by the pool. They're on their way."

No one objected.

The boys showed up an hour later, still looking half-asleep. Jack wore sunglasses the size of his face and immediately made a beeline for Zoey, who pretended not to be pleased.

Quinn?

Quinn didn't rush. He was in a white t-shirt and black swim trunks, hair pushed back from his forehead, that same low-key energy still around him. He nodded at the girls as he walked in, grabbing a beer from the cooler beside the bar.

He made his way to a lounger just as Riley emerged from her room, sunglasses on, sipping out of her oversized Stanley. She plopped down next to Nat, adjusting the umbrella to shield herself from the sun.

"Chicken fight," Luke declared, slapping the surface of the water.

"Oh my god," Zoey groaned, leaning into Jack. "We're not twelve."

"I'll go on top," Riley offered, already climbing into the water and onto Luke's shoulders.

Nat laughed and hopped into the water, treading gently. "Someone carry me then."

Quinn's voice was quiet but close. "I've got you."

She turned to find him behind her, hand already extended.

"You sure?"

He shrugged. "Do you trust anyone else not to drop you?"

She smirked and let him lift her, thighs over his shoulders, hands gripping his head to steady herself. His palms held her calves, warm compared to the water.

"Try not to decapitate me," he muttered.

"I'll try, but no promises," she shot back.

That earned a real laugh, rough and way too attractive.

Riley and Luke charged first, arms flailing, both laughing. Natalia braced, shifted her weight, and launched forward.

It wasn't even close.

Riley toppled instantly.

"YES!" Nat shouted, raising her arms in victory.

Quinn laughed. "Didn't even try."

She stayed perched for a second longer than she needed to, still high on the win, and his hands moved instinctively to steady her thighs. She glanced down, saw his face tilted up towards hers, smiling.

Her stomach flipped.

After the pool, everyone spread out across the deck, water dripping off their legs as they used the sun as a towel.

Quinn was sitting beside Nat, drying his hair with his t-shirt, knee bumping hers occasionally. He didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did.

Their fingers brushed once as she reached for his can to take a sip.

Nothing was said.

But at some point, they slipped inside.

It wasn't really planned. They didn't even look at each other before doing it.

The house was much cooler than the backyard. They moved through the hallway just like they had the night before. Keeping to their routine, if you could call it that, he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her hard, his hands already reaching for the bare skin of her waist.

She pulled him by the shirt, past the room they'd used the previous night and into hers, locking the door behind them.

They were in there for ten minutes, maybe less. But it was good. So good her head spun.

After, she straightened her swimsuit and slipped out first, fixing her hair in the hallway mirror.

No one asked where she'd been.

That night, she couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, one leg propped up, hair still wet from the shower. Her phone was buzing with notificaitons, Instagram tags, a group chat blowing up, a vague DM from some guy she'd slept with the year before.

She ignored it all.

The only thing on her mind was Quinn.

They'd only slept together twice, but for some stupid fucking reason it didn't feel like that.

It wasn't love. God, no.

But it was something.

And it made her want to bury her face in her pillow and scream until she lost her voice. Because Natalia didn't do this. The Natalia she knew didn't think about guys she's slept with twice all day. And she was now painfully aware of it.

The boys just kept showing up. Nobody minded. Luke always brought something in return for the girls letting them hang. A frisbee, a football for the pool, a watermelon. Quinn never arrived first, but he was always there eventually.

By Tuesday, it wasn't weird anymore.

By Wednesday, it was just routine.

Their morning always started slow.

Natalia would come downstairs in one of her oversized shirts, bare legs, curls pulled up off her neck, and they'd be there. Bagels on the counter and coffee brewing. Quinn would silently hand Nat a mug with the perfect amount of sugar and almond milk. Like he'd watched her do it one morning and memorized it.

She always mouthed a silent 'thank you' and took it eagerly.

By noon, they were on the back patio, feet on the furniture, passing around a joint. Essa was quick to declare herself as "supervising" and only smoked when she was tired of the peer pressure.

Nat would always sit next to Quinn, leg pressed alongside his. When he shifted, so did she. When he handed her the joint, their fingers would brush and only they could feel the little spark it set off.

They never made plans to sneak off

They just... disappeared.

It was usually mid-afternoon. Someone would be refilling the cooler or setting up a game of cards, and suddenly Nat was gone. Quinn too. No announcement, no whisper, no eye contact.

Just gone.

Once, it was one of the guest bathrooms, the door locked, the sink rattling slightly.

Another time, the pantry, her back against the shelves, granola bars falling around them, his hands lifting her up onto a stack of LaCroix.

Once, bold and stupid, it was outside behind the pool house. Too risky, but perfect. Natalia came back with her bikini strap twisted and a smug look on her face. Quinn returned a few minutes later, shirt inside out.

No one said anything. But Zoey raised both eyebrows and sipped her drink with so much judgment that Nat flipped her off on instinct.

It wasn't a secret.

They weren't together. There were no boundaries, no expectations. Just wandering hands and a magnetic pull that neithere of them was interested in fighting.

The others played along.

Sort of.

Riley would nudge Zoey every time Natalia left the room after Quinn. Luke kept making fake cough sounds when he caught them looking at each other too long. Essa watched it all with a quiet, knowing look.

"They're gonna crash and burn," she muttered once.

"Hard," Zoey agreed.

That night, they set up a movie on the projector screen in the backyard. Blankets thrown everywhere. Someone dragged out an air mattress to lay on. The firepit flickered low and bugs hummed in the trees.

Quinn ended up on Nat's left without saying a word. He settled in beside her, their arms brushing. Her breath hitched, but it was barely noticeable.

They didn't talk. Just watched the movie. She passed him popcorn. He held the bowl between them, his other hand sliding under the blanket and landed gently on her thigh.

She rested her hand on top of his.

No one could see.

And by the time the credits rolled, Natalia had her head on his shoulder. His thumb was stroking the inside of her knee in slow, absentminded motions. She pretended she didn't notice. He pretended he wasn't holding back a smirk.

They didn't kiss.

They didn't sneak away that night.

But if Nat didn't feel things like that... why did it feel like every time she looked at him, she was falling further into a bottomless pit?

The sun was blaring down the day the girls hauled bags of snacks, a packed cooler, suncreen, and beach towels down to the dock behind the house. The air was warm enough that no one questioned diving into the water fully clothed if it came to it.

"This is so rich of you," Zoey said, tossing a bag of grapes onto one of the boat seats. "Like your generational wealth is showing."

Natalia grinned. "My parents call it 'coastal modesty.'"

"Gross," Essa muttered, already applying her second layer of SPF 50.

The boys showed up, loud as ever. All of the guys were booking it down the dock, except for Quinn. He was taking his sweet time. Simple black swim trucks, faded grey shirt, sunglasses pushed into his curls. He didn't say much as he climbed on board, just brushed his hand along Natalia's lower back in passing and settled near the front of the boat.

They pushed off the dock with a soft hum, the speaker was playing something rhythmic as they drifted out past the quieter homes and onto the open water.

Tubing came first. Luke had insisted.

"Fast as fuck," he demanded. "Don't hold back."

He lasted all of twenty-seven seconds before the tube flipped and sent him face-first into the lake.

They took turns--Riley and Zoey screaming the whole way, Jack staying on longer than anyone else, and Essa filming it all from her seat with running commentary.

When it was Nat's turn, she turned to Quinn, now sitting in the captain's seat, steering like it was second nature, and raised an eyebrow.

"Try to throw me," she challenged.

"You sure?" he grinned.

"Make it worth it."

He did.

Ten seconds in, she was airborne.

The tubing ropes were coiled and drying. The boat rocked gently, anchored in a quieter spot, away from the buzz of jet skis and other boats. Everyone was sprawled out... on seats, on towels, on each other.

Quinn was still at the wheel, one hand resting lazily on the throttle. Natalia wandered over with a cup of something cold and slid into his lap like she'd done it before.

He didn't blink.

One arm wrapped around her waist. Her back against his chest, their bodies moving with the gentle sway of the boat. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles on the bare skin of her waist, just under the edge of her bikini top.

"What if I steer us into a dock?" she mumbled.

"I'll save us."

"You that confident?"

Quinn laughed against her shoulder, breath warm. "You're sitting in my lap. Confidence is kind of my thing right now."

She turned her head slightly, close enough that their temples touched, and whispered something he barely caught. He responded with a low chuckle, then grabbed her cup, taking a sip.

It didn't feel like flirting. It just felt right.

Eventually, everyone ended up in the water... except for Nat. She stayed dry.

She lay on a towel stretched across the bow, sunglasses on, the back of her hand resting over her stomach. Her legs were damp from earlier but drying fast in the heat. The sun kissed every inch of her skin.

Quinn joined her. Just like normal, no grins, no jokes. He just lay beside her, one arm slung over his head, the other resting across her leg... fingers curled lightly around her thigh like he'd forget they were touching if he didn't.

She didn't remember falling asleep.

Only that she woke up to the gentle dip of the boat and the sound of laughter from somewhere in the water. Her mouth was dry, her body warm. And Quinn's hand was still there.

Still resting on her. Still soft and unbothered.

She shifted slightly but he didn't move.

Her head turned toward him. He looked relaxed, lips parted slightly, breathing slow.

If she hadn't known better, she would've thought they were dating.

And that thought?

Fucking terrified her.

From the back of the boat, Zoey raised her phone and snapped a picture.

Riley looked over her shoulder, squinting. "What are you doing?"

"Proof," Zoey said. "For when she lies to our faces later."

"Good call."

The shutter clicked again.

By sunset, they were back on land. Everyone was a little sun-drunk, a little dehydrated, and still riding the high of tubing. Nat didn't really speak much after her nap. She was too deep in her head.

Her lips still tasted like the drink they'd shared. Her skin still tingled where Quinn had touched her.

But the ache in her chest?

That was new.

The boys' Airbnb was still half-unpacked and half-chaotic from a game of beer pong that got too competitive two nights before. Empty water bottles cluttered the counter. A beach towel had been pinned up as a curtain over the back sliding door. Someone's Zyns were sitting on the top of the toilet. But no one had the energy to ask questions about it.

Jack was pacing the living room, shirtless, sipping from a smoothie like it was doing anything to cure his hangover.

"Bro," he said, throwing himself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. "You're basically dating her."

Quinn didn't look up from his phone. He was lying across the floor, head on a throw pillow, fingers lazily scrolling.

"I'm not," he said.

"Are you serious?" Alex chimed in from the kitchen. He was standing in front of the open fridge door like something new might just appear. "You've spent every day with her for over a week."

"She's fun to hook up with," Quinn replied cooly.

Jack snorted. "You're literally acting like her boyfriend."

"I bring her coffee," Quinn said, shrugging "That's basic decency for letting us hang there so much."

"You bring her coffee," Alex said, shutting the fridge. "You rub sunscreen on her. You sit next to her at every hangout. She wears your fucking hoodie."

Quinn smirked. "It's just summer."

"Sure it fucking is," Jack said, leaning back. "Tell that to your stupid little smile every time she texts you."

"I don't smile."

"Man, shut up."

Quinn sat up slowly, stretched out his arms and stared out the window as the room dissolved back into its regular chaos.

It's just summer. He repeated it again in his head.

Then again, slower. Like saying it enough times might just make it true.

Across town, at Natalia's house, things weren't much quieter

Zoey was in the kitchen, half-sprawled across the island with a pint of ice cream. Riley was sitting on the couch, scrolling mindlessly and Essa was standing by the fridge, judging her options.

Nat came in, yawning, rubbing at the back of her neck.

Riley looked up. "You catching feelings?"

Natalia blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"No," Nat said, walking past them, grabbing the coffee pot. "It's fun."

"It's more than fun," Zoey said, chewing slowly. "You guys are acting like you're married."

Essa snorted.

"I'm not catching feelings," Nat said again, firmer now. "It's just easy. We hook up. We hang out. That's all."

"You've got hickeys on your neck like a fucking high schooler, bitch," Zoey said, pointing with her spoon. "What's easy about that?"

Natalia reached up instinctively, brushing her fingers over the spot.

"Yeah, okay," Riley said, smirking. "Totally chill. Definitely just friends."

"Didn't say friends," Nat muttered.

"Didn't say not in love with him, either."

"I'm not in love with him."

They all raised their eyebrows at the same time.

Nat sighed. "Jesus."

She turned and walked off, cup of coffee forgotten. The girls all looked at each other as her bedrooom door slammed shut.

She was totally in love with him.

That night, the hangout had moved from outside to the basement. A pool table sat at the centre of everything. The group was spread out around the room, everyone doing their own thing.

Nat was leaned against the wall, holding a very large glass of wine, watching Zoey hustle Jack out of twenty bucks over a game of pool.

Quinn was across the room, talking to Alex, laughing quietly. His hand moved when he talked, sharp gestures to help support whatever he was saying.

She hadn't talked to him all day. Not on purpose.

She just... didn't know what to say after her talk with the girls that morning.

Every time he laughed, she looked up.

Every time she moved, she felt like he noticed.

They were playing the same game they'd played the first night... see who cracks first. See who bridges the gap.

Nat looked up again.

And caught him already looking at her.

She didn't move, just tillted her head a little, curious.

He held her gaze, then looked away smiling.

Soft. Subtle.

Stupidly hot.

She rolled her eyes to herself and walked over to where Luke and Riley were playing cards, pretending that his stupid smile wasn't on the forefront of her mind.

No big deal.

Just summer.

Natalia woke up to the sunlight cutting across the ceiling in sharp slices, the kind that made everything look prettier.

She rolled over instinctively.

Empty.

The other side of the bed was cold. The pillow barely dented. The sheets rumpled slightly like someone had sat up and gotten out of bed.

Her eyes lingered on the spot.

She didn't feel surprised. She didn't feel anything really.

Until she saw the hoodie.

Folded once, not neatly, near the foot of the bed. Grey. Plush. The one he wore the night they watched that movie, the one that still smelled like smoke and Quinn. She stared at it for another moment, then pulled it toward her.

Her fingers had moved without her head catching up.

She brought it to her face, breathed it in and slipped it on. Still warm. Still him.

It hung loose over her shorts, sleeves swallowing her hands. The fabric was worn thin at the cuffs, a tiny tear near the seam. She rolled the sleeves up once, then didn't bother again.

She looked in the mirror for a second, hoodie draped over bikini top, hair a mess, mascara smudged just a little beneath her eyes.

What a look.

She could already hear voices downstairs. She must've slept in if the guys were already there.

Slowly, she wandered into the kitchen, hoodie still on.

Quinn turned from where he was standing by the sink, washing a plate. His eyes flickered down, once, to take in the hoodie.

"That mine?" he smirked.

She shrugged. "Found it on my bed."

"Right," he said, nodding slowly. "Weird how that happens."

She reached past him to grab a glass, brushing his arm. "Looks better on me."

"Not arguing."

She giggled as he splashed some water at her before turning and walking outside to join his brothers.

The day passed in what felt like seconds. And by the time dinner was over and the kitchen was cleaned, most of the group was half-asleep on the back patio. Except for Zoey and Jack who had claimed the hammock near the side of the house.

Nat wandered down the path toward the dock barefoot. The water looked scarily dark under the night sky. Like an endless black abyss. She stood at the edge of a moment, letting the silence surround her, until she heard footsteps.

Quinn.

"Thought you went home," she said, not turning.

"Thought about it."

A pause.

He stepped beside her and looked out at the water.

"I've never done a night swim," she said suddenly.

Quinn blinked. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Not in the lake."

He looked at her, amused. "You live on the water."

"Doesn't mean I'm always in it."

"Let's change that."

Before she could respond, he was pulling off his shirt, dropping it onto the dock. Nat stared at him, admiring the unbothered calm about him that made her feel like she was on fire.

He looked at her. "You coming?"

She just peeled off the hoodie, tossed it to the side, and stepped out of her shorts.

Then--splash.

He dove.

Nat grinned and jumped in after him.

She came up gasping, hair slicked back, laughing.

Quinn swam toward her, slow and easy.

"You okay?" he asked.

"No. I think I'm in shock," she said, spinning once in the water. "You just dragged me into unheated water in the dead of night."

"You'll live."

"You owe me."

"I brought you bagels this morning."

"Fair."

They floated next to each other in the stillness, shoulders bumping occasionally.

"I used to think I'd get married by twenty-three," she muttered.

He looked over. "Really?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd live in a big city, wear heels to work, have a guy who made me smoothies every morning."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "How's that working out?"

She laughed under her breath. "I'm twenty-three. I live in a shoebox apartment and sometimes forget to buy toothpaste and toilet paper."

"And the guy?"

"Don't have one. Just this guy who leaves hoodies in my bed and convinces me to ruin my hair with lake water."

He smirked. "He sounds like a menace."

"Total nightmare."

Quinn tilted his head. "Do you want that?"

She blinked. "What?"

"The whole thing. Marriage, smoothies, heels."

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I thought I did. Then I fell in love once, and it went to shit, and I think since then I've just been..." She trailed off.

"Floating?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Floating."

They went quiet again, bobbing gently in the dark.

Then Quinn said, "Maybe floating's okay. For a while."

Nat turned toward him and without thinking, without letting the moment settle too long, she reached under the water and grabbed his hand.

Not in a way that said hookup.

Not in a way that said I want something.

Quinn squeezed back.

Eventually, they climbed out and sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling above the water.

Natalia leaned her head on his shoulder, wet curls sticking to his arm. She stared at the ripples below and thought:

Shit. I'm so fucking doomed.

The last party the boys would be there for was messier than the first.

People spilled out of the house in every direction. Someone yelled for shots every ten minutes and someone else tried to climb onto the roof of the pool house before Essa dragged him back down by the belt loop.

"You break your neck, I'm not gonna be the one calling the hospital," she snapped, shoving a beer into his hand instead.

Natalia was drunk.

Not blurry or slurring or spilling things. Just loose. Bikini still damp from an earlier swim, linen shirt unbuttoned, cheeks flushed. She was laughing in the hot tub, some guy from the next town over sitting way too close. His name was maybe Chris. Maybe not.

He was saying something dumb and flirty. She laughed anyway.

Quinn saw her from across the yard.

He'd been leaning against the deck rail, half-listening to Jack's story about some girl he fake-proposed to once for free drinks. But his focus was clearly elsewhere.

Natalia in the hot tub. Natalia throwing her head back laughing. Natalia letting someone else lean that close.

He set his beer down. Walked past the grill. Past Riley and Luke playing some made-up card game. Stepped to the edge of the bed and jumped in. Shoes, shirt, everything.

Nat turned, startled, hair dripping against her neck. Quinn surfaced, blinked water from his lashes, and held her gaze like he was done pretending.

Then he reached up.

"Come here," he said lowly.

She didn't have to think twice, just took his hand.

He pulled her into the pool, denim skirt and all. Her body hit the water with a slap and a gasp. She came up laughing, sputtering, hair plastered to her face.

And then he kissed her.

Right there. In the middle of the pool. In front of everyone.

It wasn't soft.

It was a hand to her waist, pulling her in, mouth on hers like he'd been holding back. Possessive. Hungry. His fingers tangled in her hair, hers clenched at his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his waist without thinking.

The backyard fell slightly quieter around them. The kind of hush that meant people were watching.

Zoey, from the poolside, raised a brow. "Okay then..."

Nat didn't care.

She pulled back just enough to breathe, just enough to catch Quinn's eyes up close.

"You good?" she asked breathlessly.

He smirked. "Not really."

They disappeared into the hosue without another word.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind them. No lights, just the flicker of the string lights outside.

Quinn pressed her against the door.

This time was different.

Not frantic. Not messy.

Slow.

Like memorizing.

He kissed her again, but it was softer now. Surer. Like he was trying to say something she wouldn't let him speak out loud. It wasn't just about the fun of it anymore.

It was about knowing.

The way her breath caught. The way he looked at her after she laughed. The way her fingers brushed over the line of his jaw like she was scared she'd forget how it looked.

Later, she lay awake beside him, one sheet pulled halfway up, the ceiling fan spinning.

Quinn was asleep. His arm was slung across her stomach, his breathing even.

But she couldn't sleep.

Her chest ached from the way it suddenly felt like she'd made a memory that was already slipping through her fingers.

She didn't know what to do with that thought. So she buried her face in Quinn's neck and tried her best to get at least a little rest.

The morning after felt too still.

Half-full Solo cups lined the counter like ghosts of the night before. Someone had left their sunglasses in the fridge. The Bluetooth speaker sat lopsided on the table, blinking red, battery dying.

Riley was curled into the armchair with a bottle of water and her phone, scrolling aimlessly until she stopped dead.

"Um," she said. "Guys."

Natalia looked up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, nursing coffee and trying to forget how last night had felt.

Zoey and Essa turned too, drawn by the shift in Riley's voice.

Riley held up her phone.

A TikTok. Grainy and zoomed in.

The boat.

Them.

Nat, legs draped over Quinn's lap, laughing, drink in hand. His arm around her waist. The two of them so clearly wrapped up in each other they might as well have been alone.

The caption: "Are the Hughes bros in Montauk???"

The girls stared.

"Okay," Zoey said slowly. "What the fuck?"

Essa leaned in, typing quickly into Google.

Quinn Hughes

The results popped up instantly.

NHL. Defenseman. Number 43. Canucks.

Team USA.

Interview clips, highlight reels, Wikipedia.

Natalia froze.

She blinked at the screen. The man from the videos was the same man who had kissed her in the pool. Carried her up the stairs. Left a hoodie on her bed.

"You didn't know?" Riley asked, gentle.

Natalia shook her head.

"Holy shit," Zoey whispered.

Nat was quick to stand and walked outside.

Quinn was crouched near the patio, focused on fixing the leg of a deck chair with a screwdriver. He was humming something under his breath.

Calm and casual like the world hadn't just shifted.

"Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

Quinn looked up but didn't flinch.

He stood, wiping his hands on his shorts.

"Did it matter?" he asked.

Nat crossed her arms over her chest. "Kinda feels like it does."

"I liked not being that guy for once," he said simply. "No interviews. No cameras. Just... this."

Nat swallowed. Somehow that answer hurt more.

She stared past him, eyes stinging, but she blinked it away.

"You're leaving soon?" she asked.

He nodded. "Back to Michigan. Training. Couple weeks."

A pause that lasted a beat too long.

She forced a smile. "Right... of course."

Quinn opened his mouth like he might say more. Then didn't.

Nat turned before he could and walked back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Laughter filled the house. Glitter on collarbones and eyelids, the air heavy with perfume.

The girls were getting ready like it was any other night.

Zoey was dressed in red, Essa in something silver. Riley was dancing around the kitchen a White Claw in one hand and hairbrush in the other.

But Natalia wasn't with them.

She was face-down on her bed, Quinn's hoodie draped over her like a blanket.

The room was quiet, lights dim. Her phone buzzed once, then again, then stopped.

A knock.

Riley's voice on the other side of the door. "You coming?"

Natalia didn't move. "Not tonight," she called back.

Silence, then footsteps retreating.

It was later that she heard another knock, much softer than Riley's.

She didn't bother answering it, the door opened anyway.

Quinn.

He silently sat on the floor, back against the bed and waited for her to join him.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, like something in her chest had cracked open:

"I broke my wrist falling off a slide when I was eight," she said. "Told everyone I tripped. I was too embarrassed to admit I was just trying to walk up the slide."

Quinn chuckled. "I broke my front tooth playing mini sticks with Jack. I won and he hit me in the face with the stick."

"Wow."

He looked at her. "Yeah."

They kept going.

First concerts, favourite movies, stupid fights with siblings. The worst hangovers they'd ever had, songs that made them cry, people they wished they'd never kissed.

They talked until the house went quiet.

Until voices faded and headlights pulled away down the driveway.

Eventually, they moved to the bed.

There was no rush.

Quinn kissed her like he was trying to keep something. To lock it in.

It wasn't for fun.

It wasn't for the thrill.

It was for memory.

They laid side by side after.

No one said goodnight.

No one said goodbye.

His hand rested on her stomach.

Hers covered his. And they laid there until their breathing matched, even and soft.

Nat woke up to quiet. No arguing from downstairs or music blasting from the bathroom while someone showered. Just the hum of the AC and the breeze moving the curtains.

She reached across the bed before her brain caught up.

It was empty.

No surprise, but also no note. But the hoodie was still there, crumpled where he'd been lying.

She pulled it into her lap and stared at it for a second.

It still smelled like him, but she didn't put it on this time.

She just stood slowly and padded down the hall.

Her phone buzzed.

A screenshot from Zoey. It was a text that Jack had sent her. "headed back home! thx for the best hamptons trip ever!!"

That was it.

No goodbye. No "we'll talk." Just this vague, friendly send-off that made her feel sick to her stomach.

Essa knocked once before walking in with an iced coffee. "Your favourite," she said softly.

Nat took it and nodded.

Zoey climbed into bed next to her without a word.

Riley flopped dramatically onto the floor like her soul had left her body. "I think I fell in love with the bartender last night."

"You also called him Steve when his name was Dylan," Zoey added.

"Whatever. He knew what I meant."

Essa looked over at Natalia.

"Come on, Nat. We'll go out tonight. Find you a new guy."

Nat gave them a crooked smile. Half-crying, half-laughing.

That night, she let them dress her up.

Crop top. Denim skirt. Gold hoops. A little glitter under her eyes.

She stood at the bar with a drink she wouldn't finish, some guy she didn't know leaning close, saying something about the stars or the moon or whatever line he thought might work.

She smiled like she meant it.

Her phone buzzed and she casually glanced at it.

Quinn Hughes followed you!

Her breath caught and she let her real smile shine through.

Then she turned from the bar, scanned the crowd, and went off to find the girls without another word.

#nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #nhl imagine

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lee-laurent · 1 month ago

Text

In Your Shadow - Luke Hughes

Summary: In which Madi Sheridan hates Luke Hughes with every bone in her body. Or in which Luke bickers constantly with the hottest girl he's ever seen.

content: angst, arguing, underage drinking, not quite smut... but close

wc: 10k

notes: enemies to lovers, he falls first! sooooo this isn't the one that got voted to come out first... but i had more inspo for this one soooooo here we are!!! enjoy!! quinn fic in progress

The whistle blew, it's sharp trill filling the air.

"Let's go, Sheridan! I want fire under those spikes!" Coach Mallory barked from the edge of the track, clipboard in hand and zero sympathy in her voice.

Madi didn't respond; her feet were already moving.

The air was cold enough to burn in her lungs, but that didn't matter. Neither did the sting in her thighs, the pounding in her ears, or the way the lane lines blurred as she hit top speed. Just the next fifty metres daring her to quit.

She didn't.

Coach yelled again, something about pushing past limits, but it faded into the background. Madi hit the finish line and slowed only when her legs threatened to buckle. Her breathing came in short, measured gasps. She folded forward, hands on knees, sweat dripping down her back.

"Good pace," Coach muttered as she passed. "But don't get cocky. You've got two more sets."

Madi just nodded, still catching her breath. She was used to the grind. Thrived on it. She didn't run for applause or Intagram likes. She ran because she had to, her scholarship depended on it. Her degree depended on it. The life she was building, the one no one could take from her, depended on it.

That was enough to keep her running.

By noon, she was two workouts deep and dead-eyed in the back of her econ lecture.

She sat in her usual seat, third row from the back, directly under the overhead vent that always blaseted Artice wind. Her laptop was open, notes scrolled in neat, bullet-pointed order. Her hair was braided tight against her scalp, hoodie sleeves pulled over her fingers, earbuds in. Not for music, but for the illusion of being unapproachable.

Next to her sat her holy trinity: a large iced coffee, a half-eaten protein bar, and an energy drink she'd already forgotten buying. Survival mode.

Professor Dawes clicked through slides at a painful speed.

"Inelastic demand curves reflect products that remain essential regardless of price fluctuations..." he droned.

Madi sipped her coffee and typed with ruthless effciency. She didn't glance at the two girls whispering in front of her or the guy on her left who kept trying to catch her eye. She wasn't in econ class to make friends. She was there to get the grades she needed to walk across a stage in two years with zero debt and multiple options.

He phone buzzed against her thigh.

Beckett: Wanna grab food after practice later?

She stared at the message for three seconds, expression flat, then locked her phone without answering.

He'd ask again.

The house smelled like eucalyptus and leftover takeout when she got home.

Maia was in the kitchen with a clay face mask on and a spoonful of peanut butter in her mouth. Izzy was curled up on the couch, buried under an anatomy textbook and a heating pad. Val's shoes were already at the door, track bag open and spilling contents like a crime scene.

"You look like you got hit by a bus," Maia said cheerfully as Madi dropped her backpack by the door.

"That's because I did," Madi muttered. "Its name was Coach Mallory."

Maia grinned, peanut butter still in hand. "Tell me she made you run the pyramid."

"Twice."

Izzy looked up with a groan. "Why are you like this?"

"I'm funded by the university to sprint in a circle like a glorified lab rat," Madi said, toeing off her sneakers. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

Val emerged from the hallway, towel around her neck, sports bra soaked. "Honestly? She was kiling us too. I thought that one lanky kid was gonna throw up on the turf."

"I wouldn't have stopped him," Madi said. "Natural selection."

Maia raised an eyebrow. "You're so mean. It's hot."

Madi shrugged, pulling her hair loose from the braid. "You either burn out or you make it out. No in-between."

"That sounds like a quote you'd find on Tumblr with a graphic of a wolf running through fire," Izzy said.

"Whatever. I'd rather die successful."

Maia dramatically clutched her peanut butter like a mic. "And there it is, folks. The thesis of Madeline Sheridan."

"I'm gonna shower before I start on my econ project," Madi said, ignoring them. "Also Beckett texted."

"Ooooooh," Val sang from the fridge. "Are we still playing that game?"

"There's no game."

"Sure," Maia said, already texting someone. "And I don't have a list of list of every cute guy I've seen on campus."

"Sher," Izzy said in a fake-Beckett voice, "you're the only girl I know who could break my heart and my legs at the same time."

Madi flipped her off without looking back.

Her phone buzzed again after dinner.

Benders + Bitches Eddy: pregame at ours tonight Nolan: 8 sharp... don't be late Maia: if i get stuck talking to that one guy who smells like axe and sweat again i'm jumping off the roof Izzy: shotgun not dealing with Luke and Madi's sexual tension this time Madi: there's no tension. he's just annoying Maia: you say that, but you're already typing again Madi: because I have to mentally prepare to be in the same room as a dude whose ego could crowd out the whole team Val: let her cook

Madi tossed her phone face down and groaned into her pillow.

Of all the people she had to tolerate on a weekly basis, Luke Hughes topped the list of "least likely to survive if she were left alone with him in a locked room." Something about him just... grated. It wasn't that he was bad at hockey--he wasn't. He was good. She'd admit that. But the golden boy status? The name? The coverage?

Overhyped. Overcelebrated. Over it.

And he knew it. That was the worst part. The smug little smile when he got chirped on campus. The way he leaned into the whole "Hughes Dynasty" thing like he didn't care, but definitely did. She'd seen enough of TikToks of him to last a lifetime.

She scrolled up in the chat.

pregame at ours tonight

Gold help her.

Because she'd be there. Of course she'd be there. Everyone would be.

And if Luke opened his mouth one more time, she was absolutely going to break the no-fighting-inside-the-hockey-house rule.

Pregame? More like party.

The house was LOUD by the time the Madi and the girls rolled up.

The living room smelled like Febreeze. Someone had dimmed the lights just enough to make the mess less obvious. Beer pong cups stacked on the table, bluetooth speaker fighting to be heard, at least three-finished Natty Lights laying around.

Madi took it in with the same energy she approached everything: calculated.

Val beelined for the pong table. Maia started chatting up a guy in a Michigan hoodie she'd definitely ghosted two months ago. Izzy wandered off to hunt down tequila. Madi found a spot in the corner, wedged between the arm of the couch and a shelf stacked with empty bottles.

She nursed her cooler, eyes scanning the room, already clocking how chaotic the night would be.

"Sheridan," Ethan called as he passed, giving her a little salute with his beer. "You looked thrilled to be here."

"I'm about to set this place on fire."

Nolan walked by next and clapped her on the shoulder like they were teammates. "Try not to kill anyone until after beer pong."

"No promises."

She didn't hate the hockey guys... most of them, anyway. They were loud, sure, and always smelled vaguely of Gatorade and testosterone, but they were fun. And, to their credit, they hadn't treated her and her friends like groupies when they met during frosh week. They were just... their friends. Madi knew how to handle them. She liked how easy it was. The mutual respect they all had for each other.

Except for Luke.

Luke was a different breed of infuriating.

And as if right on cue, the front creaked open.

He walked in with Luca and Mark, nodding at a few people, eyes sweeping the room, completely relaxed in his own skin. That whole effortlessly cool thing? It would've worked on her, if she hadn't already built a mental firewall to block it.

Madi raised her can.

"Well, well. The prodigal son has returned," she said loud enough for him to hear. "Did you trip over your ego on the way here?"

Luke didn't even blink. "Still faster than you."

There it was.

A few heads turned. A couple of laughs bubbled up from nearby. Madi's smirk sharpened.

"Bold talk for someone who spends most of the game glued to the bench," she said.

He shrugged, completely unbothered. "I only need one shift to make it count. You wouldn't know anything about that."

"Oh," Madi said, stepping forward, "if I had your PR team, I'd be on a fucking Wheaties box by now."

Luke smiled, and not the friendly kind. The "I could fight you or fuck you and I'm not sure which is worse" kind.

"Keep dreaming, Sheridan."

She rolled her eyes and turned away, pulse annoyingly elevated. He always did that. Always got the last word, like it was competition only he knew the rules to. And she always let him.

Twenty minutes and a vodka soda later, Madi had settled into a buzz. The music got louder, the bodies packed tighter, and the familiar haze of house party chaos started to dull her irritation.

Maia came up beside her, cheeks flushed. "Okay, hot take: that guy I was talking to definitely cried during The Notebook."

"He looks like he owns a guitar he only knows how to play Wonderwall on," Madi muttered.

Izzy reappeared. "Okay, mean girls. Chill."

"No mean," Madi said. "Accurate."

"Speaking of accuracy," Val said, sliding in from the kitchen, "Eddy just told me he thinks Luke and Madi are gonna hook up before the semester ends."

Madi nearly choked on her drink.

"Absolutely the fuck not," she said, coughing. "That man gives me hives."

"Sexy hives," Maia offered.

"Stress hives," Madi shot back.

Izzy raised her eyebrows. "He's hot though."

"Statistically? Maybe. Personally? He's a walking migraine."

Maia leaned in close. "Yet somehow, he still gets under your skin faster than Beckett."

The name didn't hit her the way it used to. That was... interesting.

"Speaking of," Izzy said, glancing toward the door, "look who just walked in."

Madi turned her head, and there he was. Beckett, all tan and grins, shoulders draped in a windbreaker like he was in a Nike ad. His blond hair was messier than usual. He spotted her instantly.

"Sher," he called, moving through the sea of bodies.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders like it was second nature. Madi didn't push him off, but she didn't lean in, either.

"Hey," she said, her tone neutral.

"You look good," he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her temple. "Missed you at the game last week."

She shrugged. "Coach had us running circuits."

He nodded, not bothered. That was the thing about Beckett... he never got bothered. Never asked too many questions. Never pushed too hard. He was safe, predictable, easy.

She let him stay there, arm draped casually, while her eye flicked across the room.

Luke was at the kitchen counter, half-listening to Nolan talk, red solo cup in hand. His jaw was set, shoulders tight. He hadn't looked over once.

But Madi knew he'd seen.

Ten minutes passed. Beckett was off catching up with someone from the soccer team. Madi stayed where she was, a new cup in hand, cheeks flushed from the heat.

Luke walked by, brushing past her without a word.

She didn't even know she'd been waiting for something until he gave her nothing.

It irritated her more than it should have.

She turned to find Maia already watching her.

"What?"

Maia tilted her head, voice low. "He gets so weird when Beckett's around."

Val nodded. "Jealousy looks good on Hughes."

Madi scoffed. "Please. He's not jealous. He's just mad I'm not impressed."

Maia smirked. "You sure you're not?"

"Positive."

But her stomach was doing something weird, unsettled. She hated it because she didn't like Luke. Not even a little...

Right?

The locker room was quiet. Not silent though, it was never silent.

Luke sat in his stall, elbow resting on his knee, towel drapped over his shoulders, curls wet. Practice had been fine. A little sloppy. He wasn't in his zone. Coach hadn't mentioned it, but Luke could feel it in his movements.

He knew why, he just didn't want to admit it.

He leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his face. The buzzing in his head wouldn't stop.

Madi fucking Sheridan.

He pulled his phone from his bag and stared at it. No notifications or messages. Just the time and the way it mocked him. Four hours until conditioning. Probably six until he'd run into her again.

And she'd look right through him. With that sharp little smirk and her eyebrows cocked like she was perpetually unimpressed.

It had all started before he even knew what was happening.

He remembered the first time he saw her.

Everyone was still new, new campus, new teams, new people to pretend to be chill around. There was a mixer at one of the dorm rec rooms. Someone had ordered pizza, someone else had brought a speaker. Everyone was awkward in that freshman "we're all pretending not to be terrified" way.

Luke had been talking to a couple of guys from the swim team when she walked in with her (now) roommates. Confident, not trying at all. She was wearing bike shorts and a hoodie that said "St. Georges Track and Field" in peeling white print.

She didn't even look at him. That alone should've told him.

Eventually, someone had introduced them. Her name was Madi. Short for Madeline. She said it like she didn't care if he remembered it or not.

"You play hockey?" she asked, sipping root beer from a solo cup.

"Yeah," he said. "My name's Luke. Hughes."

She blinked once. "Cool."

That was it.

No follow-up. No "Oh my God, Hughes like Jack?" No fake excitement or name-dropping or asking what position he played. Just a flat, polite cool and then she turned back to Val to talk about which bathroom had the best lighting.

He'd never wanted someone to look at him twice so badly.

He remembered other things too.

The time he made a joke about sprinters being short-distance specialists because they were scared of endurance and she replied, "Don't be mad that my entire event lasts less than your warmup and still requires more skill."

The time he tried to cut in line at the on-campus café and she'd stepped in front of him with a, "Who told you that you could stand with me?"

The time she absolutely bodied a guy on the intramural field during a co-ed dodgeball game and didn't even celebrate. She just turned and walked off like it was nothing.

She didn't attention.

Madi wanted control.

And she had it, always. Perfectly. Except when she was arguing with him.

That was the only time she cracked.

A week ago, he'd gone to her meet.

He didn't tell anyone, just pulled a hoodie over his hat, grabbed a protein shake, and stood near the bleachers where none of the team parents were sitting. Her event was the 200. He knew that, had Googled it more than once.

She exploded out of the blocks like her feet were made of fire.

Arms tight, form clean, controlled chaos. She didn't lead until the curve, but by the final stretch she was untouchable. The rest of the heat faded behind her.

She crossed the line and didn't even smile.

Just bent at the waist, hands on knees, and breathed through it like it was all routine. Like winning was the bar.

He left before she saw him.

He wasn't used to be being subtle. He didn't know how to do it. With everything else, he just showed up, played hard, let the results speak. And yeah, okay, sometimes the name helped. He wasn't blind to that. He just didn't let it define him.

But with Madi?

With Madi, the name meant nothing.

Wore than nothing. She hated it.

Which made no sense. Because if it were about fame, she could've just ignored him. Most people who thought he was overrated just kept it moving. Not her.

She hunted him like a sport, gave him shit in front of everyone, picked him apart like she was trying to prove a point to the universe.

It should've pissed him off. And it did. Sometimes.

Bust most of the time?

Most of the time, it made him think about the way her mouth looked when she said his name. The way her tone always landed somwhere between sarcasm and challenge. The way she never smiled at him unless she was about to gut him.

He could deal with hate. He couldn't deal with indifference.

And she rarely ignored him.

The other night at the party?

She'd looked good.

Not trying-good. Just her usual ponytail, jeans, crop top, usual drink in hand. But when she'd raised her voice from across the room to mock him, something in his chest snapped.

He didn't even think. Just shot back, easy as breathing. "Still faster than you."

She smiled. Not nice. But real.

And then Beckett showed up.

Fucking Beckett.

Luke had no issue with the guy in theory--nice enough, decent soccer player, one of those effortlessly chill dudes who got by on charms and abs. But the way he said "Sher"? The way he wrapped his arm around her like he had access?

Luke had bailed to the kitchen before he did something stupid. And that's when it hit him.

He wasn't just annoyed. He was gone.

No version of normal crush territory would have him memorizing her event times or noticing the exact cadence of her laugh when she was having a good time.

She didn't like him. She'd made that clear.

But he still wanted her to look at him like he was more than just a name.

Madi hated him. Maybe not in the "wish you were dead" way, but enough to make it impossible to say anything real to her without getting sucker-punched emotionally.

And yet, he couldn't stop looking at her, like she had him in a headlock he didn't want to escape.

The living room looked like a Pinterest board. Textbooks were stacked on the coffee table, highlighters bled through paper, half-eaten snacks in mismatched bowls. Someone's laptop was blasting a Spotify "Focus Mode" playlist that wasn't helping anyone's focus.

Madi sat cross-legged on the floor, her notes spread in front of her like a crime scene.

Across the room Maia and Nolan were playing footsie instead of studying. Val had her laptop open but hadn't typed in twenty minutes. Ethan was half-asleep against the armrest, earbuds in, hood up.

Fake study night. Classic.

She needed caffeine if she was going to power through this next chapter without stabbing herself.

She stood, stretched her legs, and made her way into the kitchen.

The second she stepped in, she regretted it.

Luke was already there.

He had his back to her, rummaging in the fridge like he lived there. Which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth. The hockey guys were over often enough that their beer took up a drawer on the bottom shelf.

Madi inhaled once, calm and centered, and stepped around him to grab a mug.

"I'm not in the mood," she said flatly.

"For what?" he asked, still not turning.

"Whatever stupid comment you're about to make."

He finally looked over his shoulder. "You think I wake up every day thinking about ways to piss you off?"

"No," she said, pouring water into the kettle. "I think it just comes naturally."

He let the fridge close with a thud. "Cool. Thanks for the insight, Dr. Sheridan."

She arched a brow. "Did you just call me a doctor because I'm smarter than you, or because you're hoping I'll diagnose you with whatever makes you such a dick?"

Luke smiled. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"That defensive little jab. Every time."

"Maybe it's less defensive and more observational," she said, dropping a spoon into her mug. "Like noticing how you only ever show up with your boys and a half-assed opinion."

His eyes narrowed. "Why're you always on my ass?"

Madi didn't flinch.

"Because I don't like frauds with press coverage."

The air changed.

There was no one else around. No music or Val's cackling laugh. Just the two of them in the dim kitchen light, surrounded by the hiss of the kettle and buzz of the fridge.

Luke didn't move, his jaw twitching once.

"You don't know a thing about me," he said quietly.

Madi looked up, holding his stare.

"Don't need to."

They were close now. Not physically, there was still a sliver of space between them, but the kind of close that made goosebumps form on the back of her neck.

It wasn't flirtation or heat.

It was pressure.

He looked at her like he wanted to say something. Maybe scream it, throw it in her face. She wasn't sure which and she wasn't sure she cared.

The kettle clicked off behind her.

Madi didn't turn around. She walked right past him instead, mug in hand, and didn't pause until her shoulder clipped his arm hard enough to jolt them both.

He didn't say anything.

But when she glanced back over her shoulder, just for a second, he was still standing there.

Fists clenched. Jaw tight. Eyes completely unreadable.

Another week, another party at the hockey house. Another night of shitty music, too much alcohol, and too many people Madi disliked.

She was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, nursing a solo cup of something vaguely lime-flavoured and far too sweet. Her cheeks were flushed, her ponytail a little looser than it had been when she left the house, and her buzz was just strong enough to mute the part of her brain that kept her from running her mouth.

"Sher!"

She turned as Beckett appeared, golden and grinning as always, like he was the model in an expensive cologne ad. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing tan forearms that were probably illegal in some countries. He slid up beside her like he hadn't been flirting with half the girls in their one shared class earlier that week.

"Figured I'd find you near the alcohol," he said.

"Figured I'd find you still pretending you're not a lightweight," she replied, tipping her cup toward him.

He smirked and leaned in, way too close, breath warm on her cheek. "Admit it. You missed me."

Madi gave him a slow look. "I missed quiet."

He laughed and grabbed two shot glasses from the counter. "We're celebrating. Take one with me."

"They tied," she said flatly.

"A moral victory."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say no. They clinked plastic and tossed them back. Tequila, cheap and brutal.

He grimaced. "Yeah, I still hate it."

"That's because you're weak," she said, tongue scraping across her teeth. "Grow up."

Beckett just laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Luke watched the whole thing from the other side of the kitchen. He was near the wall, drunk untouched, jaw set. Nolan was talking next to him, something about the second period and missed calls, but Luke wasn't listening. He hadn't been listening for the past twenty minutes... not since Madi had walked in wearing black jeans and that cropped Michigan track shirt that made his blood temperature shift.

She looked good. Annoyingly so. Confident, relaxed, loose in a way he never got to see her. Unless it was aimed at someone else.

Someone like Beckett.

And when she threw her head back laughing at whatever the hell he said? Luke thought, briefly, about walking out the front door and never coming back.

But instead, he stood there, watching and waiting. His fingers curled tight around his beer.

Across the room, Madi climbed up to sit on the counter, leaning back against a cupboard, her girlfriends had come to talk with her.

"Okay," she said fairly loudly, eyes scanning her group, "honest question."

Izzy groaned immediately. "No."

"Yes," Madi insisted, grinning. "Important cultural debate."

Maia laughed. "God, here we go."

"If," Madi said, drawing out the word like a dare, "you had to choose one Hughes brother..."

Beckett booed. Some girl shouted "don't make me choose!"

"I'm just saying!" Madi went on. "One night. One chance. Who are you choosing?"

"Jack," Val said, sipping her drink.

"Wrong," Madi replied.

Maia shrugged. "I'd climb Quinn like a tree."

"Thank you," Madi declared. "See? Finally, someone with taste."

Across the room, Luke's expression changed. Just barely.

She went on. "Quinn Hughes? Now that's a man I'd risk it all for."

One of the girls giggled, "Someone text Vancouver!"

Luke didn't laugh.

"I mean, come on," Madi added, tequila coating her tongue. "If I got just half an hour with him--"

She didn't finish the sentence.

Didn't need to, her friends were already laughing.

Luke downed the rest of his drink and disappeared into the other room.

Fifteen minutes later, Madi stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing her hands dry on her jeans.

The hallway was empty. Just dim string lights overhead and music muffled by the door behind her. She didn't even see him coming at first... not until he stepped forward from the shadows by the coat rack, blocking her path.

She blinked. "Jesus. You lurking now?"

Luke's voice was low.

"Say it again."

Madi frowned. "What?"

He stepped closer. "What you said earlier. About Quinn."

She tilted her head. "Are you seriously still mad about--"

"Say it again," he repeated.

Her mouth curled up. "Quinn. Is. Hotter."

It happened all at once.

One second he was glaring at her, chest rising and falling like he was trying to calm down, and the next... his hand was in her hair, and his mouth was on hers.

Hard.

Not sweet or careful. Just full-on, pissed-off, tension-snapping chaos.

Madi froze.

Every nerve in her body lit up like someone had flipped a switch she didn't know about.

And then--against all logic, all sense, all everything-- she kissed him back.

Furiously.

Their teeth clashed. He backed her into the wall, one hand still in her hair, the other braced next to her head. Their mouths moved like they were trying to erase every insult, every eye roll, every "you're so fucking annoying" they'd ever thrown at each other.

She hated how good it all felt.

Hated how badly she wanted more of it. Hated him.

But she didn't stop. Not until reality slammed back in.

Madi shoved him off with both hands, breath ragged, chest heaving.

He stumbled back, blinking like he didn't know where he was.

She stared at him, fury sparking like static on her skin.

"You're such a fucking asshole," she said, voice shaking.

He didn't speak. Didn't move. She turned and walked away, not bothering to look back.

And Luke?

He just stood there, alone in the hallway.

The kiss never happened.

That was the rule.

Madi decided it the second she walked out of that hallway, still breathless, lips stinging, skin buzzing like she'd touched an exposed wire. She went home, peeled her shirt off like it was choking her, stared at her ceiling, and by morning?

It didn't happen.

That was that.

No one mentioned it. No one knew. And Luke sure as hell hadn't tried to bring it up... not that she gave him the chance.

She ghosted him. Effortlessly, professionally. Like it was her Olympic event.

At the next group hang, she made sure to sit at the far end of the room. Didn't acknowledge him. Didn't even look in his direction when he coughed just loud enough for her to hear.

When he passed her on the way to the kitchen and said a low, "Hey," she reached for the salsa and acted like the air had spoken.

Ice him out mode. Activated.

It wasn't that she regretted it--the kiss. Not entirely.

What she regretted was that she kissed him back.

Worse: she wanted to. Like, actually wanted to. Like some sick part of her had been waiting for it.

And that? That couldn't happen.

Because Luke Hughes was the exact kind of guy she didn't have time for.

The cocky, media-groomed, perfectly tousled poster boy of Wolverines hockey. The guy everyone loved because of his name and his stats and his shiny, effortless charm. The guy who had never once had to work for attention... until her.

She didn't want to be one of the girls in his comments. Or his DMs. Or in some whispered story after a party. She didn't even want to like him.

So she didn't.

Problem solved.

The days that followed were filled with controlled chaos.

Madi buried herself in training. She stayed late after track practice, doing extra intervals until her legs screamed. She told Coach she was prepping for a new time trial, even though there wasn't one. She left the house early. Avoided the usual run-ins. Dodged group texts with, "sorry, busy" even when she wasn't.

She picked fights with her roommates just because.

One morning, Maia knocked on the door of their shared bathroom, groggy and half-dressed. "You've been in there forever. Are you doing your taxes or shaving your legs?"

"I'm trying to shower without commentary," Madi snapped, flinging the door open.

Maia blinked. "Okay. Jesus."

Madi rolled her eyes and brushed past her without an apology.

Later, she sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and three empty iced coffee cups and chewed at the end of her pen until the plastic cracked. She scrolled through her econ notes three times and retained none of it.

All she could hear was his voice.

Say it again.

All she could feel was his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers, the way her heart jumped out of her body like it wanted to sprint from the room first.

She slammed her laptop shut and grabbed her keys.

Luke saw her across the quad two days later.

She was walking fast, track girl pace, earbuds in, sunglasses on, hair braided so tight it looked inpenetrable.

She didn't see him.

Or she did... and she ignored him.

He couldn't tell anymore.

He sat on the edge of the stone fountain, thumb running over the seam of his coffee cup. He hadn't said anything to anyone. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know what to say.

They'd kissed. She kissed him back. Then shoved him off like he'd spit on her.

And now?

Now she wouldn't look at him.

At practice, he'd snapped at two teammates and missed an easy drill. At lift, he added extra weight just to push himself. At night, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling replaying the exact second she said, Quinn. Is. Hotter.

It wasn't even about Quinn.

It was about her looking at him like he didn't matter.

And that? That messed him up more than he could explain.

"Dude," Ethan said the next morning, stepping into the locker room, "what's with you lately?"

Luke didn't look up. "What?"

"You've been all weird and quiet and... intense." He tossed his gear down. "Did you piss off Madi or something?"

Luke paused.

Then shrugged. "No idea."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You guys are usually fighting by now. Now you're just... silent. It's freaking everyone out."

Luke didn't answer. He didn't have one.

There was a Jenga tower on coffee table, a charcuterie board on the kitchen counter that no one had touched. A half-played game of Uno in one corner and a speaker playing Izzy's playlist in the other.

Group hang.

One of those things where everyone pretended it was just for the vibes but half the people there were just waiting to see who would crack first.

Madi sat near Val, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Her entire body language screamed don't start with me.

Luke was on the other side of the table with Mark, sprawled in a beanbag chair like he didn't have an insane amount of tension in his shoulders.

They hadn't looked at each other once.

But the air between them was thin.

"Alright," Nolan said, clapping his hands together. "Everyone's here. Time for a real question. Let's get straight into it."

"Oh god," Maia groaned, curling up against a pillow. "If this ends in trauma dumping, I'm leaving."

"No trauma," Ethan promised, shuffling a deck of cards.

"Perfect," Val nodded.

"Okay, first question." Nolan grinned. "If you had to fight one person in this room--"

"Luke," Madi said immediately.

Heads turned.

Maia made a sound that was mostly air. "Damn."

Luke didn't move.

"Wow," Nolan mumbled. "Didn't even let me finish."

"Didn't have to."

Luke finally looked up. "You're obsessed with me."

"In the way people are obsessed with plane crashes," she replied. "It's the horror."

Maia shot Val a look. Ethan whistled lowly.

Luke sat up straighter. "You've been on my ass for two weeks."

"I've been avoiding your ass for two weeks."

"Oh, avoiding? That's what you call it?"

Madi arched an eyebrow. "Jesus. Do you need attention that badly?"

Luke stood.

The room got quiet.

"Jesus," he snapped, "do you ever shut up?"

And just like that... silence. The kind that makes your skin go cold.

Madi didn't even flinch.

"Only when I'm not near clowns with NHL dreams and zero personality."

It was sharp enough to bleed.

Maia slowly stood up.

"Okay!" she said too brightly. "Game night's over. Everyone go... do something else."

Izzy frowned. "I didn't even get a turn, I--"

Val grabbed her wrist. "We're leaving before someone flips the fucking table."

Luke stormed into the kitchen. Madi stayed exactly where she was.

The rest of the room scattered, pretending they hadn't just seen two people emotionally detonate in front of a game of Jenga and a charcuterie board.

When the girls got home, the living room was quiet. Just Val and Madi on the couch, the others already in bed.

Val didn't say anything for a while, just scrolled on her phone.

Madi finally exhaled, putting her phone down.

"Was I out of line?"

Val looked up slowly. "Do you want the answer that makes you feel better or the honest one?"

Madi groaned. "Forget it."

Val shot her a look. "Why are you like this with him?"

"Because he's Luke."

"Okay, but like... why are you like this with him?"

Madi didn't answer and Val decided not to push.

"Night, Sher."

Luke stared at his phone. The message sat there on his screen in blue, taunting him.

Luke: We need to talk

He watched the three dots appear, then disappear. The read receipt popped up and that was that.

After a minute, he unsent it.

Then tossed his phone on his bed and yanked a hoodie on. By the time his feet hit the sidewalk, it was past midnight. But Luke didn't care, he just needed to clear his head.

It had been a long practice. Sprints on dead legs, hurdle drills that just felt like punishment. Her tank was soaked through by the end, her patience buried somewhere back at the start line.

She just wanted a protein bar, a hot shower, and to not think about Luke Hughes for five goddamn seconds.

So naturally, he was waiting outside the fieldhouse.

Madi's breath caught, then she tightened the straps of her backpack and kept walking, like maybe if she didn't break stride, he'd evaporate into the sidewalk.

No such luck.

"Sheridan."

She ignored him.

"Hey." His voice was closer now. "We need to talk."

She didn't slow down. "No, we don't."

"Madi--"

She stopped and turned around so fast it startled him.

He stepped back half a pace, but not enough.

"There's nothing to talk about," she said flatly. Final.

Luke looked at her like she'd just slapped him... which, to be fair, was still on the table.

"You kissed me like a joke," she went on. "And now what? You want a reaction? A conversation? You want to process it together like we're on some after-school special?"

His jaw tightened. "It wasn't a joke."

"Yeah? Could've fooled me." Her arms crossed over her chest, fists curling in her sleeves. "You didn't even say anything. Just ambushed me. Like you couldn't handle one more second of not being the centre of attention."

"That's not--"

"You don't get to do shit like that," she snapped, cutting him off. "Not when I've made it very clear that I'm not interested in playing your little golden boy games. You think you can just kiss whoever you want and walk away like you did something brave?"

Luke's face went blank. But his eyes were still lit. Still watching her like she was something he couldn't stop studying, even if it was tearing him apart.

She hated it.

Hated that he was listening. That he looked like he wanted to explain himself. That some part of her was still curious what he'd say if she let him talk.

So she didn't.

"Next time," she said, voice like frostbite, "find a puck to make out with. Maybe it'll be impressed."

He didn't move, didn't speak. Just stood there, stunned... blinking at her like she'd winded him.

Madi turned on her heel and walked away.

Maia was eating dry cereal out of a mug, legs tucked under her on the couch. Izzy was halfway asleep on the floor and Val was scrolling through her phone like she was getting paid to.

Madi stood by the kitchen, pretending to read something on the fridge that had been there since August.

"You good?" Maia asked casually, not looking up.

Madi shrugged.

"Gym looked brutal," Maia added.

"It was fine."

Maia didn't press, just let the silence hang for a minute. Then, as if out of nowhere: "So are we just not gonna talk about the fact that you and Luke are acting like you've got Cold War level beef and shared custody of a secret?"

Madi's spine went stiff

"I'm serious," Maia continued. "You don't even look at each other anymore. And you used to, like, actively hate each other. That was engagement. This is silence. This is, like, avoidance. It's weird."

Izzy looked up from the floor, bleary-eyed. "Something definitely happened."

Madi rolled her eyes and grabbed a water from the fridge. "It didn't mean anything."

Maia turned slowly. "So something did happen."

"I didn't say that."

"You just did."

"I said it didn't mean anything."

Maia stared at her.

"I don't care," Madi added.

Nothing.

No response. Just Maia's eyes, unblinking.

"You're such a liar," she said softly, getting a huff in return.

Beckett texted her two nights after run-in with Luke.

Been a minute. You still alive?

madi: barely

Beckett: Wanna come and not talk about it?

She didn't have to think twice about that. Just: omw

It was muscle memory. Beckett was easy, familiar. He was predictable in a way that didn't make her blood pressure spike. He never cornered her to talk about feelings or looked at her like she was a puzzle he had to solve in a time limit.

Beckett didn't make her feel nervous. In fact, he didn't really make her feel anything.

So she let him make her feel nothing.

The hookup was what it always was: casual, good, and forgettable the second it ended. No messy silence or fallout. Just a sleepy, low-commitment kiss on her shoulder before she pulled her hoodie on and left.

He texted again the next morning. Then again the day after that. They fell back into a rhythm, quick coffees, late-night couch makeouts, her name saved in his phone with a fire emoji.

She didn't call it anything. Didn't tell anyone either.

At least not until Maia cornered her in the kitchen and said, "You've been walking around with post-sex smugness for three days. Spill."

Madi blinked. "What are you even--"

"I know the difference between a protein shake glow and a 'someone just rocked my shit' glow," she said, grabbing a banana from the counter. "Don't play me."

Madi shrugged, trying to be casual. "It's not a thing."

"What's not a thing?"

Nothing.

Val walked in just in time to see the look on Maia's face and groaned. "Did she finally admit she's back on the Beckett train?"

Maia gasped like she'd won a game show. "I KNEW IT."

"It's not a train," Madi mumbled.

"It's a carousel," Izzy called from the other room. "Same scenery every time, but you're still dizzy."

"Girl's been getting the same dick for two years," Maia added. "Must be good."

Madi chucked a raspberry at her head. "It's consistent. That's all."

"Consistently what, though?" Val deadpanned.

That night, they were all crashed in the living room watching Pitch Perfect for the hundredth time when Val hit pause mid-song and said, "Real question."

"Again?"

"No," Madi shook her head.

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask!"

"You were gonna ask about Luke."

Maia sat up with scary speed. "Aha! Something happened!!"

Izzy raised a hand. "Wait. Shut up. No way. Are you telling me you and Luke like kissed?!"

Maia gasped so loud the neighbours probably heard it. "I knew it! I FUCKING TOLD YOU THAT ENERGY WASN'T PLATONIC!"

"WHEN?" Val demanded. "Where? What--how?"

Madi groaned and covered her face. "It was nothing. We were at the party. I made a stupid joke. He kissed me. That's it."

"That's it?" Maia shrieked! "You two have been dancing around each other like you're in a fucking made for tv drama and he just kissed you?"

"It was a mistake."

"His or yours?"

Madi didn't answer.

Maia leaned over and grabbed her face. "Tell me right now... was it hot?"

She stared at her, deadpan. "Disgusting."

"You're such a liar!"

"You're telling me you've been hooking up with Beckett post-kiss with Luke Hughes and you haven't gone fucking insane?!"

Maddi shoved her face in a throw pillow. "Goodnight."

"Admit it!" Maia cried.

"No!"

"Then say you'd never sleep with him!"

"I would never sleep with him."

The room went silent.

And then Izzy said, "You're so gonna sleep with him."

Luke saw them together outside the library.

It was 9:05 a.m., and he was walking back from class, earbuds in, half-distracted, when he saw Beckett's hand slide into Madi's back pocket like it belonged there.

She didn't shove him away.

They laughed about something and Beckett kissed her cheek. She leaned into it.

Luke walked faster.

At lift, he snapped at a freshman for dropping a dumbbell too loud. He showed up late to film, didn't speak to anyone except to curse when he missed something on the whiteboard.

Ethan pulled him aside after. "Dude. What the hell is going on?"

Luke just scowled.

The next time he saw Beckett, the soccer player was leaving the girls' house. It was early, sun still low. He had his hood up as he kissed Madi on the forehead before walking down the block back to wherever he lived.

Luke saw it from his car, parked a couple houses down.

He wasn't really supposed to be there. He had been dropping Nolan off to "see Maia." But when he saw the door open, he sat there like an idiot until the guy finally left and Madi went inside.

He was going to lose his fucking mind.

"You know what you're doing, right?" Val said, knocking her shoulder playfully against Madi's.

"What?"

"Hooking up with a guy who seems to actually want you," Val crossed her arms. "And pretending it's about him."

"Better than hooking up with a guy that doesn't."

"Madi..."

Madi's whole body buzzed with the afterglow of her last race. She'd PR'd in the 200, gold medal around her neck. Her coach had nearly cried, Maia had screamed herself hoarse.

Now her legs ached in a good way, her curls were slicked back with sweat and hairspray, and there was a cup of jungle juice in her hand that tasted like warm sprite and way too much vodka.

She was glowing and she knew it.

Maia kept grabbing her arm and yelling "fastest bitch ALIVE" while Val filmed it all for their group chat. Even Izzy was dancing. The hockey boys were scattered around, freshly showered from their own win earlier that afternoon. Spirits were high.

Except for Luke's.

He hadn't spoken to her all night. Hadn't even looked her way. Which was fine. Great, actually.

She didn't need him too.

Didn't care.

Didn't--

She saw him from across the room.

Ball cap backwards, black tee, leaning against the wall with a beer bottle in hand, watching with the quiet, brooding look he always had when he wasn't really in the conversation.

He looked good.

An hour later, she found herself alone in the kitchen. The noise was distant, muffled by the walls.

She leaned against the counter, sipping a new drink that was 90% tequila and 10% lime. Her medal clinked softly as she moved.

She felt a shift in the air before she even saw him.

Turned her head.

Luke.

"What?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

She rolled her eyes and pushed off the counter. But as she moved to pass him, he reached out and caught her wrist.

"What're you doing?" she grimaced.

"You're not even mad at me," he said quietly. "You're mad you liked it."

She pursed her lips for a moment before kissing him, hard.

It was setting a match to dry grass. Instant, violent, and desperate.

His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her closer like he'd been starving. She pressed into him.

Their mouths collided. He tasted like whiskey and pure frustration. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, yanking him forward, needing him closer and hating herself for it.

They stumbled, bumped into the doorway, and laughed bitterly against each other's lips.

He backed them into the hall, half-blind, gripping her hip, walking them until they hit a door. She fumbled for the handle, shoved it open, and they tumbled inside.

It was a spare room, barely lit, with no else around.

The door clicked shut behind them but they didn't even make it to the bed.

His hands were under her sweatshirt, rough palms on smooth skin, while hers found the hem of his shirt and dragged it up over his head. He ducked down, lips on her neck, collarbone, biting just enough to make her gasp.

"Shut up," she whispered when he groaned "Don't talk."

He didn't.

He kissed her harder, knees hitting the floor. Her back hit the wall with a thud. They were both breathing like they'd just a finished a sprint.

Jeans shoved down, hoodie tossed somewhere, fingers tracing the waistband of her underwear like he was daring her to stop him.

She didn't. She wanted this. Needed it like air.

Her hand found the back of his neck, nails digging in as he moved. Their mouths met again, clumsy and hot, teeth knocking, hands everywhere.

His name slipped from her mouth.

She hated that but she didn't stop. He didn't either.

When it ended, they were both wrecked. Breathing like they'd run five miles uphill. The air was thick with sweat and something that felt close to honesty.

She didn't speak, just pulled her underwear back up, fixed her jeans, and grabbed her sweatshirt, not bothering to look at him.

"Don't think this means anything," she said.

Luke, still catching his breath, didn't meet her eyes either.

"I won't."

Both of them were lying.

He ghosted her.

Not literally. Not like he blocked her or changed his number or dropped off the grid. But Luke Hughes disappeared in the most infuriating way: he went quiet.

No texts. No looks. No glances. Nothing.

They were in the same friend group, for god's sake. Same house parties, same campus circles. He had no excuse to vanish like that.

But he did.

And Madi?

She was losing it.

Not outwardly, of course. Outwardly, she was fine.

She woke up early, went to practice, blew past everyone in sprints like her lungs didn't matter, hit the weight room twice a day, and took on extra sets just to punish her legs.

She was sharp in lectures, sharper with her friends, snapping over nothing.

Maia coughed too loud during Love Island? Madi tossed a pillow at her head.

Izzy finished the oat milk without replacing it? Madi wrote a passive aggressive sticky note.

Val looked at her wrong once and Madi stormed out of the room.

So... maybe she wasn't completely fine outwardly.

The worst part wasn't that Luke wasn't talking to her.

It was that he wasn't reacting to her.

Not even a side-eye.

At their next group hangout, she looked good and she knew it. Beckett was there, throwing his arm over her shoulders, whispering dumb things in her ear. She let him.

Luke didn't even blink.

Didn't roll his eyes, didn't mutter a single snide comment, just leaned back in his chair and scrolled through his phone like the room didn't include her at all.

Which pissed her off more than if he'd screamed.

"Spiralinggg," Val sang out.

"I'm not spiraling," Madi said, scooting over on her bed to make room for her best friend.

"You iced out Beckett for like two weeks and now you're hanging off him like he's made of nicotine patches."

"We're friends."

"You think he's boring."

"I-"

"Mads. Whatever happened with Luke, you don't have to pretend you're fine."

"I am fine," she said, too fast. "He's the one acting weird."

"He's not acting. He's just... done."

That hit harder than she thought it would.

That Friday, the group met up at a bonfire party hosted by some people on North Campus. It was chilly out and Madi wore her team jacket over a tiny tank top that barely held her boobs. She was halfway through her second glass of cheap wine. Beckett handed her another and she took it.

The girls hovered nearby, whispering.

Luke was there too. He didn't look at her.

He stood by the fire, quiet, arms crossed, hood up.

At some point, Maia nudged Madi. "He hasn't said a word all night."

"Who?" she asked, playing dumb.

"Don't."

Val added, "You know you could just talk to him."

"No thanks. I like being ignored. Super hot."

Izzy rolled her eyes. But just as she was about to speak, someone suggested a round of Kings.

People sat in a circle, legs tangled over blankets and beer cans. Madi sat on one side, Luke on the other.

He barely participated.

Beckett made her laugh once and she exaggerated how loud she was.

Luke stood up five minutes later and tossed his half-finished drink into the bushes.

"Dude, you good?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah. I'm out."

He didn't say goodbye.

Madi stared after him until someone asked her to pick a card. She didn't hear the question. She just felt... stupid.

She hadn't meant to tell them.

It was supposed to be a regular girls' night. Candles, sweats on, eating Thai in the living room while watching trashy reality TV. The normal.

But Maia had a certain look in her eyes.

And Val kept glancing at Madi like she was tracking her movements.

And Izzy had lowered the volume on the TV.

"Okay," Maia said, crawling down to the floor to be eye level with Madi. "What the actual fuck is going on with you?"

Madi looked up from her noodles. "What?"

Val leaned her chin onto her palm. "You're being extra weird. Like extra extra."

"I'm literally just eating Pad Thai."

"I think I've seen you take about two bites since we sat down."

"I'm focused on the show."

"Correction. You're focused on something in your head.

Madi stabbed at her food. "I'm. Fine."

Val snorted. "Sher. Come on."

She hated when they used her last name in moments like that.

She sighed. "Okay, maybe I'm not fine. But it's not a big deal."

Pause.

Madi looked down at her bowl, then set it aside.

"Luke and I..." she started, then stopped.

"You didn't."

Izzy practically dropper her chopsticks. "You did."

Maia just blinked. "When?"

"After the meet," Madi chewed on her bottom lip. "The party. We were alone. I don't know. We just... happened."

"Sooo," Val said slowly, "was it good?"

"Val," Madi hissed.

"What? I'm trying to gauge the emergency level."

"It was..." She ran her hand through her hair. "It was messy. An fast. And intense. And..."

Maia leaned forward. "And?"

Madi exhaled. I liked it."

Silence.

"I liked him." She stared at her hands. "And I hate that I liked him."

Maia was the first to speak. "You just hate not having the upper hand."

Izzy nodded. "Or he made you feel something and now you're freaking out."

Val tilted her head. "And now he's ghosting you."

"He's not ghosting me."

They all looked at her.

She groaned. "Okay, maybe he is. I don't know. He hasn't said anything. He hasn't looked at me. It's like he flipped a switch."

"So talk to him."

"No."

"Why?"

Madi shook her head. "Because then it becomes real, and I don't want it to be real."

Izzy leaned back, arms crossed. "Because if it's real, it can hurt you."

No one said anything for a moment.

Then, quietly, Madi added, "I don't want to get hurt."

But she already was.

She made it clear what it meant.

That's what Luke told himself. Every morning. Every second he found her across the quad like reflex he couldn't seem to shake.

She made it clear.

It was just a hookup. Just a mistake. Somethig she wanted to forget.

So he let her.

He'd gone quiet before, sure. But this time was different.

This wasn't about ego or being mad. This wasn't about giving her the silent treatment to see if she'd crack first.

This was about survival.

Because if he kept looking at her the way he wanted to? If he let himself hope?

It would ruin him.

So he pulled back. All the way.

He stopped sitting across from her when the group was together. He skipped certain hangouts he knew she'd be at. He unfollowed Beckett on Instagram, then blocked him, and then unblocked him like a coward.

He shut down the part of him that cared.

Or at least he tried to.

But she was everywhere.

She was in the gym, muttering about how they were out of frozen strawberries. She was at the crosswalk outside his lecture, bouncing on her heels while waiting for the light. She was on the track, numbers posted on the athletic board like a punch to the chest. 200m: M. Sheridan. 23.02.

Her name haunted him. Her voice echoed. Her laugh hit him like a bullet every time he heard it.

It didn't help that the guys noticed.

Ethan had cornered him. "What's your problem now?"

"I'm tired."

"No, you're not. This isn't tired Luke. This is like full criptic mode Luke. Is this about Madi?"

Luke didn't respond.

"So it's about Madi."

Nolan had walked over to them, clapping Ethan on the shoulder. "You good?"

Luke shrugged. "She wins. I'm done."

Neither of them asked what that meant.

They just nodded.

It was Thursday, Luke had just finished practice, shirt still damp, headphones in. He walked into the rec centre, hoping the gym would be empty.

It wasn't.

Madi was there.

Leg press. Ponytail. Bike shorts.

He thought her could feel her before he saw her.

He should've turned around. Left. Come back later.

He didn't. He kept walking. Straight past her.

He didn't glance, didn't slow, just walked by like she didn't exist.

Her head turned, just slightly. Enough for him to catch it in his periphery.

She said nothing.

But when he looked back, just for a split second, her hands were still on the machine, unmoving.

Like she'd frozen.

Like it hurt.

He turned back around and kept on walking.

It wasn't about Luke.

That's what she told herself when she opened the door at midnight, hair damp from her shower, hoodie zipped up all the way.

Beckett stood there in a backwards hat and that dumb grin that used to do something for her.

Used to.

"Hey, Sher," he said warmly.

She didn't cringe or roll her eyes, just stepped aside and let him in.

It wasn't about Luke.

Beckett didn't look at her the way Luke did. He didn't kiss her like it was a dare. He didn't make her feel like the floor had disappeared under her feet.

He was routine. Safe.

She didn't have to think.

They didn't talk much. He didn't ask questions, just leaned against her headboard like he belonged there.

He rolled onto his side and tugged at the blanket after.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, not pushing, just casually.

She hesitated but ultimately nodded. "Yeah, it's fine."

But when he reached for her, she shifted onto her side, back to him, pretending to scroll through Instagram.

There was a full six inches between them the whole night.

And she didn't sleep.

Luke saw him leave.

He really hadn't meant to.

It was a morning walk, something he'd started doing just to clear his head before classes, music on.

He turned the corner past the girls' house, not thinking, not expecting...

And there he was.

Beckett.

Walking down the steps, shirt wrinkled, hoodie slung over his shoulder.

Beckett didn't see him.

But Luke saw everything.

The way he adjusted his snapback, the satisfied smirk, the relaxed saunter down the sidewalk.

Luke didn't flinch or scowl, he just kept walking all the way to the rink and straight into the worst practice of his season.

He missed passes, line changes. He was late to warmups and didn't say a word unless someone asked directly. And even then, it came out clipped.

At one point, his coach had barked, "Are you even awake, Hughes?"

Luke just nodded.

Ethan tried to talk to him about it again.

"Alright, what the fuck is up?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You haven't been fine since the track party. And now you're showing up late, looking like you haven't slept in a month?"

Luke shrugged.

"Whatever happened with Madi..."

That did it. Luke looked up, sharp.

Ethan continued. "I'm not saying fix it. I'm saying get your fucking head on straight."

Luke exhaled through his nose. Then, after a beat, he said, "I don't think she wants me to."

Madi saw him sitting in the corner of the little cafeteria in the gym building. He was sat with his headphones on, hat pulled low, stirring something into his coffee, jaw tense.

And somthing in her cracked.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't looked at her in two weeks. Maybe it was the way he acted like everything didn't happen. Maybe it was just that she missed him.

But whatever the reason was, she walked right up to his table.

He didn't look up.

"That the new thing now?" she asked. "Pretending I don't exist?"

Luke blinked slowly, pulling out an airpod.

"Hi, Madi," he said flatly.

She tilted her head. "Wow. A greeting. Progress."

"What do you want?"

She crossed her arms. "Nothing. Just checking to see if you're still sulking."

"I'm fine."

"You're always 'fine.'"

Luke stood, grabbing his coffee. "I'm not doing this here."

She stepped in his way.

"Of course you're not. Because that would involve dealing with something instead of running away from it."

He stiffened.

Madi smirked. "What? Too close to home?"

Luke didn't respond.

And she wasn't done.

"You know what's funny? For someone who acts like he's so above it all, you're actually the most dramatic person I know."

Still nothing.

So she said it.

The line she knew would cut.

"Maybe you should go back to being your brothers' shadow. At least then people will like you."

That did it.

His eyes snapped to her.

And finally, finally, he let loose.

"You act like you're too good to feel anything," he snapped. "But you do. You just hate that it's me."

Silence.

Madi didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

She just stood there, the wind knocked out of her, all her armour suddenly weightless.

She didn't deny it. Didn't throw something else back.

She just walked away.

Their next conversation was quiet.

No yelling, no pointed jabs.

Madi sat on the bottom row of the empty stands beside the track, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. The sun was setting, castling a golden glow across the rubber lanes. She could hear her teammates laughing on their way back to the showers.

Luke didn't say anything when he walked up, just dropped his bag and sat two feet away.

Neither of them moved for a good five minutes.

"You weren't supposed to matter," Madi said finally.

It wasn't as bitter as he'd expected.

Just honest. Raw.

He exhaled. "You weren't supposed to matter either."

Her fingers fidgeted with the fraying edge of her sleeve.

His hands stayed clenched between his knees.

Neither of them moved closer or reached out.

But something had softened.

Finally, she spoke again. "I don't know what this is."

Luke didn't even look at her.

"Then figure it out," he said quietly. "I'll be here if you do."

She looked down at her shoes.

She didn't nod or run.

Just sat there.

With him.

And for once, she didn't want to punch him in the face.

Game night wasn't dramatic-loud for once. Not fight-loud. Just normal, pre-finals, everyone's-burnt-out-and-living-off-caffeine-loud.

Cards scattered the coffee table, chips in a bowl, Mark yelling at Ethan over a rule he absolutely made up. Luca had put on a playlist that sucked but nobody could be bothered to change.

Madi walked down from her room like she hadn't spent the last half hour trying to decide if she should come down or not.

Iced coffee in hand, track hoodie half-zipped, hair braided. She was trying to give the illusion of being calm.

The other girls had already been down there.

And so had Luke.

He was sunk into the left corner of the couch, hands behind his head like always. He looked up at her when she walked in.

She didn't hesitate or hover. Didn't wait for him to ask.

She just walked over and sat... right in his lap.

Luke didn't flinch or blink. He adjusted slightly, one arm coming to rest casually around her waist like it was nothing new.

Because it wasn't. Not anymore.

The room went still.

Maia's eyes here huge. Val's jaw actually dropped. Rutger looked between the two of them like he was waiting for the punchline.

Mark shook his head, "So... you two finally fucked and made up?"

Madi took a sip of her coffee, deadpan, "That's a bold assumption."

Izzy smirked, "So not a denial."

"Not a confirmation either."

Val cocked a brow. "Madi."

Luke said nothing. He kept his arm where it was, fingers lazy against the hem of her jacket, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Maia leaned forward dramatically. "I just wanna thank god and Luke's actions for this moment."

They played some dumb game Luca had invented halfway through a game night a couple months before. Something with timers and too many cheating accusations to actually work.

Madi usually hated it.

Tonight, it was fine.

Better than fine.

Luke kept murmuring shit in her ear just loud enough to get her to elbow him in the ribs.

She stole food from his plate and he let her.

The thing was?

It wasn't performative. Wasn't about proving anything to anyone. They weren't making a scene.

They were comfortable. Real.

Finally.

Izzy raised her glass. "A toast to these two getting their shit together."

"I hate you," Madi muttered.

They weren't perfect. There were still sharp edges, still things unsaid. Still days where she wanted to punch him for looking at her for too long and days he wanted to shake her until she understood it wasn't a joke to him.

But they were trying. And that felt... good.

Real.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine

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