Page 54 of Cross Checked
The house looked less like college housing and more like a luxury ski lodge designed by somebody with unlimited money and unresolved anger issues.
Which honestly tracked.
My father’s firm had renovated most of Athlete Row back when KFU decided pretending college athletes lived like regular students was bad for branding. Football House. Baseball House. Soccer. Lacrosse. Hockey. Private gyms, recovery rooms, security systems, matte-black SUVs idling outside like we were a minor-league organization with homework.
People on campus joked Athlete Row looked like the Olympic Village with alcohol poisoning.
They weren’t wrong.
“Mercer,” Briggs yelled from the kitchen the second he saw me. “If you disappear upstairs again tonight, I’m telling everybody you’re secretly married.”
I tossed my keys onto the counter without slowing down. “You look like you moisturize with cooking grease. Worry about yourself.”
Easton nearly choked laughing from the sectional.
Briggs pointed at me dramatically. “That’s hateful.”
“You’ll survive.”
Easton sprawled farther into the couch cushions, one arm thrown along the back while he watched the room with that quiet defenseman patience that made him look calmer than he actually was. “Ignore him. He’s upset because one of the freshmen drank his protein shake again.”
Briggs looked ready to commit homicide. “I’m gonna start killing people.”
“That’s leadership,” Rider said approvingly from the recliner.
I barely registered any of it because the second I walked inside, my eyes automatically started looking for her.
Which was objectively insane.
Apparently obvious too, because Rider glanced up from his phone and grinned immediately. “Hell froze over. Mercer’s looking for his girl.”
“Shut up.”
“There’s the look,” Easton said, laughing. “That weird little smile.”
“I don’t have a weird little smile.”
“You absolutely do,” Briggs called from the kitchen. “It’s unsettling. Like a villain discovering affection.”
I started toward the staircase instead of entertaining any of them further because they were already too close to the truth for my comfort.
The problem wasn’t that I liked her. That part I could manage. The problem was the fixation.
Once my brain locked onto something, it consumed me completely, and lately everything circled back to her. Her voice. Her hands. The ridiculous way she said academic whenever one of us got too close to admitting this didn’t feel like school anymore. The smell of her perfume lingering on my hoodie after she stole it during a late coffee run and then claimed it was “community property due to weather conditions.”
My room sat at the very top of Hockey House, converted attic space with slanted ceilings and oversized windows overlooking Athlete Row below. It was quieter up there. Removed from the constant chaos downstairs. I dropped my bag near the door and scrubbed a hand over my face before my phone lit up across the desk.
Pip: outside :)
My entire chest tightened instantly in a way that was honestly becoming embarrassing.
Me: come downstairs. gym.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Pip: bossy :(
I grinned despite myself before tossing my phone onto the bed. She had absolutely no idea how bossy I could actually be if I wanted to bend her will.
