Page 25 of Triple Play
“I can’t. And I’m here to learn, not gossip about my roommate’s sex life.”
Something flickers in his expression—satisfaction, like I’ve just confirmed something he wanted to know.
He leans back, finally giving me space.
But I can feel him watching me for the rest of class, cataloging every reaction. Probably texting Grant the moment we’re dismissed.
Lunch is worse.
The dining hall is massive—high ceilings, long tables, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light. It’s set up like a cafeteria but feels more like a country club.
I grab a salad and coffee because it’s cheap and filling, then find an empty table near the windows.
Five minutes in, a group of girls sits at the table behind me.
They’re loud and confident—the type who’ve never worried about money, belonging, or anything more serious than which fraternity has the best parties.
I’m trying to ignore them. Really trying.
Then I hear his name.
“Grant Wilder is so fucking hot.” The voice is high and excited. “Did you see him at practice yesterday?”
“Please. I see him everywhere. The man looks good doing literally anything.”
“I hooked up with him last year.” A third voice, smug. “Best night of my life.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth.
Don’t listen. Don’t care. None of your business.
“What’s he like?” The first girl again, hungry for details.
“Intense. He doesn’t talk much, but he knows things—” She makes a noise that’s half moan, half laugh. “Let’s just say the rumors are true.”
“Which rumors?”
“All of them.”
They dissolve into giggles. I force myself to take a bite of salad. It tastes like cardboard.
“He never calls, though.” The smug one again, less smug now. “We hooked up; it was incredible, and then nothing. He acted like I didn’t exist.”
“That’s his thing,” another girl says. “He doesn’t do relationships. Someone told me it’s because his twin died and he’s all emotionally damaged or whatever.”
My hand clenches around my fork.
“That’s kind of hot, though. The whole brooding, emotionally unavailable thing.”
“Until you catch feelings. Then it sucks.”
“Did you catch feelings?”
A pause. “Maybe. A little bit.”
“Girl, no. Grant Wilder is for fun, not feelings. Everyone knows that.”
I stand up. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor. Several people look over.
