Chapter 1: Harper

Three hundred dollars was a small price to pay for revenge.

The student center ballroom buzzed with an energy that made my skin crawl. String lights cast everything in a romantic glow that felt completely wrong for what was about to happen, and the folding chairs filled with excited sorority girls made me want to turn around and walk right back out.

But I had three hundred dollars burning a hole in my purse and a very specific target in mind.

“I still can’t believe you’re actually going through with this,” Rachel whispered beside me, clutching her own auction paddle. My roommate from the music house had insisted on coming for moral support, though I suspected she was mostly here for the entertainment value.

“Neither can I,” I admitted, scanning the crowd of mostly female students. The hockey team’s fundraiser had drawn quite the audience. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

And Drew Dumontier had it coming.

He’d found endless ways to humiliate me over the years, but I knew nothing would stroke his ego like me betting on him and making him think I actually wanted to go out with him.

As if.

I’d rather eat a stranger’s toenail clippings than go out on a date with him.

But after rehearsal one night, right as we’d passed a sign for the hockey bachelor auction, Brody, the cellist in my orchestra, mentioned our need for crew support at the recital next weekend. And an idea had sparked in my mind that I couldn’t let go of.

It would kill Drew to have to play gofer for a Tinsley, so it seemed like the perfect way to get back at him for his most recent set of pranks. Honestly, I was overdue for payback.

I patted my purse again, hoping I really wouldn’t need to spend all three hundred dollars on his lame ass, but I knew how thirsty sorority girls got around these hockey guys, so I was prepared for the worst-case scenario.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first annual Clark Fork University Hockey Bachelor Auction,” Ava Dumontier’s voice boomed through the microphone as she took the stage. Drew’s twin sister looked completely in her element, beaming at the crowd with the kind of confidence I both envied and despised. In another life—one where our families hadn’t been feuding for generations—I imagined we might even be friends. “I’m Ava Dumontier, your emcee for the evening. All proceeds tonight go directly to supporting our hockey team’s travel and equipment costs. Remember, you’re bidding on a date with these fine gentlemen, nothing more. And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let the bachelor bidding begin!”

The crowd cheered, and I forced myself to smile and clap along, even though the idea of supporting Drew in any way had me gritting my teeth.

Just picture him wearing the shirt Brody made and getting to post it all over social media, I thought to myself, and for the first time tonight, my smile was genuine. It might’ve looked a bit like how the Grinch smiled when he got the idea to steal from the Whos, but I didn’t care.

I would win this stupid feud between us and get back at him for all the bullshit pranks he’d pulled on me over the years.

“Let’s get this show on the road with bachelor number one—the man, the myth, the legend—Liam ‘the Hot Irishman’ Farrell!”

I shook my head subtly as Liam strutted onto the stage to wolf whistles and excited squeals while “I’m Too Sexy” blared from the speakers. He’d always been overly confident when we were kids, but he’d really found his element in college as a total ladies’ man. I’d probably find him attractive if he wasn’t best friends with the devil Dumontier.

Ava read from a card. “Liam is a sophomore defenseman from Montana who enjoys long walks to the refrigerator and has been known to quote poetry when drunk. Ladies, the starting bid is twenty dollars. Who wants to try their luck with the Hot Irishman?”

The bidding started immediately and escalated quickly, finally ending when some blonde in the back won him for $175.

Several more players were auctioned off, each introduction more ridiculous than the last. I watched the bids climb higher and higher, my nerves ratcheting up with them as I realized the stakes were steeper than I’d anticipated. Thank God I’d brought way more money than I’d thought I’d actually spend—this crowd was definitely as thirsty as I’d feared.

“Next up,” Ava announced, “we have the strong, silent type—Harrison ‘Gordy’ Gordon!”

I wasn’t super familiar with Gordy even though we were neighbors. He was tall with black hair and gray eyes. He was the quiet type and far more serious than the other hockey guys. I wasn’t even sure I’d ever heard him talk.

Right now, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere but on that stage.

“Gordy is our star goalie who stops pucks with the same efficiency that he stops conversations with his dry wit. Starting bid is twenty dollars!”

The bidding for Gordy was competitive but not outrageous, ending at $120. He looked relieved when it was over, giving a polite nod to the girl who’d won him.

“And now,” Ava said, building suspense, “our team captain. The man with the moves both on and off the ice—Foster ‘Candy Kane’ Kane!”

I figured this one would be an easy win considering everyone knew how in love Foster was with his girlfriend, Abby Walker. He’d never been a big dater as far as I could tell, but anyone with eyes could see he was totally sunk for Abby. I was pretty sure in Foster’s world, no other women existed.

What was it like to have someone love you that completely?

To my surprise, the bidding wasn’t as cut-and-dried—or cheap—as I expected it to be after another girl started competing with Abby for a date with Foster. Who the hell was this girl and what on earth was she thinking?

I saw Abby turn to her friend when the bidding hit two hundred dollars, and I sympathized with her look of panic. I almost gave up my revenge plot right then and there to give her the money in my bag, but then Gordy sat behind her and whispered something to her.

She raised her paddle. “Two hundred and fifty.”

The other girl raised her bid again.

Seriously?

“Three fifty,” came another voice I recognized easily from growing up around his subtle Irish lilt. Liam appeared beside her, stuffing more bills into her hand.

It hit me like a lightning strike—the other players were helping her win the bid.

Warmth filled my bones. It really was too bad that they were friends with Dumontier because apart from that obviously terrible taste in judgment, they seemed like great guys.

Drew even joined in to help, which managed to remove any warmth I’d felt about the display of loyalty they were showing their captain’s girlfriend.

He could carry an old woman across the street and I’d still think he was scum of the earth.

Samantha Lowe, who, in a strange turn of events, had recently moved into the hockey house after Foster moved out, stood up and glared daggers at the other girl. I sure as shit wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that stare off. No wonder she and Abby were best friends. She was kind of a badass.

Finally the girl realized that not a single soul in the room was on her side, and she dropped her paddle down, effectively letting Abby win her boyfriend.

Ava took over again once Foster got off the stage.

“Next up, we have my brother, Drew ‘Monty’ Dumontier. Despite being related to me, he’s actually not terrible at hockey. He enjoys long walks on the beach and getting caught with his pants down in inappropriate places—wish I were kidding. Starting bid is twenty dollars, though personally, I wouldn’t pay more than ten.”

I wish I only had to pay ten. Fuck knows that really was all he was worth.

Drew flipped her off discreetly as he walked on stage in jeans and a tight-fitting white T-shirt. I hated to admit that he looked good, but he had honed his body through years of hockey and it showed. He had the same easy confidence as Foster but with an added edge of mischief in his smile.

His sandy-brown hair was perfectly tousled in that effortless way that probably took him twenty minutes to achieve, and when he flashed that trademark mischievous smile at the crowd, I was positive several girls actually swooned.

God, he was insufferable.

The bidding started fairly tame until two seconds into it when he pulled off his shirt—because of fucking course he did.

The bids took off after that, and with every raise of my paddle, I truly questioned my sanity.

When it hit two hundred dollars, most of the other women dropped out, except one blonde sorority girl, based on the letters she was wearing on her shirt.

“Two twenty,” I called out with way more confidence than I felt.

Fake it ’til you make it and all that.

“Two forty,” the blonde called.

Fuck my life.

I needed to end this. I could already see Drew’s glimmer of glee, and like hell would I lose when it was just down to me and one other girl. I could already vividly imagine the taunting I’d get from him.

Hell, no.

“Three hundred.”

My heart thundered loudly in my ears, but I saw the other girl shake her head and lower her paddle, and relief hit me so hard, I almost sagged back in my chair. But I had to maintain this picture of confidence as long as Drew was around.

“Sold to Harper Tinsley for three hundred dollars!” Ava announced, looking so surprised I almost laughed.

But it was Drew’s expression that was absolutely priceless—a mixture of shock and suspicion. He was right to be suspicious.

He stepped off the stage and approached me. This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for. I was practically shaking from the giddiness of seeing what his reaction would be when he learned the true reason I just dropped three hundred dollars on him.

“I’m surprised you bid on me,” he said as he leaned over the chair in the row in front of me. “Where do you want to go for our date? Dinner? Movie? I know a great spot by the river.”

Was he serious?

I burst out laughing, absolute glee filling me. God, this was going to be even better than I’d planned.

“Oh, Dumontier, I don’t want to date you. I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man alive.”

His arrogant smile faltered. “Then why—”

“I need an assistant for my recital next weekend. Someone to fetch coffee, carry instruments, hold cue cards, and act as my personal hype man. You’ll be perfect.”

His face fell and I wished Rachel would snap a pic for me because damn did I want to remember this moment. “You’re shitting me.”

“I even had a special shirt made,” I continued, pulling a folded T-shirt from my bag and holding it up. It was black with “#TinsleyHypeCrew” printed across the chest in bold white letters.

I couldn’t decide if his expression was more shock or horror as he took the shirt, but it didn’t really matter because I felt ten feet tall right then. He thought he could continue to get the upper hand with me, but that was absolutely never going to happen. I would never stop fighting him.

“Cheer up, Andy. I’ll make sure you earn every penny of that three hundred dollars.”

He glared at me. “Don’t call me that.”

I knew he hated that name. He’d gone by Drew for as long as I could remember, but I never forgot that his real name was Andrew, and “Andy” was my preferred taunt when he was especially pissing me off. Right now it felt like rubbing salt in the wound of my victory.

He turned away without another word and walked back to his seat, while I leaned back in mine and tucked a piece of my curly hair behind my ear.

Despite spending the entire amount I’d brought, I’d call this a win overall.

“Holy shit, Harper. I can’t believe you just did that,” Rachel said excitedly beside me.

“Worth every penny.”

Dumontier should’ve learned by now—a Tinsley never gives up.

 

 

Chapter 2: Drew

Three days had passed since the bachelor auction, and I was still fucking pissed.

The black T-shirt sitting on my desk mocked me every time I looked at it—. “#TinsleyHypeCrew” in obnoxious white letters across the chest.

Harper had left a Post-it note on our front door this morning. Saturday. 7 PM. Recital Hall. Don’t be late, Andy.

And that had just enraged me further. She knew I fucking hated that name.

The worst part? I actually had to show up. Three hundred dollars was three hundred dollars, and as much as I wanted to tell Harper Tinsley exactly where she could shove her recital, I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of saying I’d backed out.

That didn’t mean I had to make it easy for her, though.

I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found what I was looking for. Jake Morrison was another CFU hockey player who happened to work for the maintenance department as part of his work-study job.  

“Jake? It’s Monty. Listen, I need a favor.”

Twenty minutes later, I was walking across campus actually feeling good for the first time since Saturday night’s bachelor auction. Harper’s recital was this weekend, which meant she’d be camped out in those practice rooms for the next few days, perfecting whatever piece she was planning to torture an audience with.

Too bad those practice rooms were about to be mysteriously inaccessible.

As long as my man Jake could pull through.

My phone vibrated from my pants pocket and I pulled it out, a Cheshire-cat grin spreading across my face when I saw Jake’s name.

“Please tell me you’ve got good news for me.”

“I think you’ll find this news better than good knowing how much Harper pisses you off. So here’s the plan,” he said, and I could practically hear the grin in his voice. “I’ll lock down the practice rooms around noon tomorrow—put up some ‘Maintenance in Progress’ signs, make it look official. Then I’ll keep my supervisor busy on the other side of campus with some made-up emergency. Rod never answers his phone anyway, so even if someone calls about the rooms being locked, good luck reaching him.”

“And you’re sure this won’t blow back on you?”

“Nah, Rod is notorious for forgetting to tell people about maintenance schedules. Everyone just assumes he screwed up the communication again. Happens at least once a month.”

Perfect. Harper’s precious practice time would be fucked, and she’d have to scramble to prepare for her recital with whatever scraps of time she could find elsewhere.

“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

I hung up as I made my way across campus toward the hockey house, an extra spring in my step as I pictured Harper’s face when she showed up to practice tomorrow. Yeah, she could practice at home, but everyone knew the practice rooms were like heaven for the music students.

She’d probably figure out it was me eventually—she was smarter than I wanted to admit—but by then it’d be too late. She’d lose her precious practice time and have to perform knowing she wasn’t as ready as she should be.

Maybe next time she’d think twice before humiliating me in front of half the campus.

The thing about Harper Tinsley was that she never backed down from a fight. She was smart, determined, and knew exactly how to hit where it hurt. The bachelor auction proved that—she’d turned what should have been my moment of triumph into her personal victory lap.

Well, she was about to learn that two could play that game.

I was still smiling when I got back to the house and found Gordy in the kitchen, building what appeared to be a sandwich with every lunch meat we owned.

He glanced up as I walked in and immediately raised an eyebrow. “You look way too happy. Should I be worried?”

“Nope,” I said, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Just evening the score with Harper Tinsley after Saturday night.”

He arched a brow.

“She got me good with that whole assistant setup. Three hundred dollars to make me look like an idiot.”

“You mean by bidding on you during the event that you volunteered for?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” He reached for the mustard. “You signed up, she bid and won. So she didn’t want to actually go on a date with you. Big deal. She still gave us three hundred bucks for equipment and travel costs.”

I stared at him. “She humiliated me in front of half the campus.”

“Did she though?” He assembled the rest of his sandwich. “I mean, she paid three hundred bucks for your time, whether it’s a date or this recital thing. It doesn’t seem like it needs to be that big a deal.”

“You don’t get it and besides, it doesn’t matter because she had this coming You can never let a Tinsley think they’ve won.”

Gordy paused mid-bite. “What did you do?”

I shrugged and walked over to the fridge to grab a beer. “Nothing major. Just made sure the practice rooms are going to be unavailable this week.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

He set his sandwich down. “Come on, man.”

“What?”

“That’s fucked up, even for you. You’re not just screwing her over, but any other music student who needs to use those rooms.” He leaned back against the counter, studying me. “What is it with you and this girl?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been pulling shit on Harper Tinsley for as long as I’ve known you. Why? Is there a point to it or what?”

I took a long drink of my beer, buying time. How was I supposed to explain decades of family bullshit and the way she looked right through me like I didn’t exist? How she made me feel like that twelve-year-old kid who’d had a crush on her before I learned the hard way why you should never trust a Tinsley.

“She’s a Tinsley.”

The excuse fell off my tongue with ease, but Gordy’s stare like he was waiting for more of an explanation left a niggling sensation at the back of my neck that I hated. Why couldn’t he just support me without asking questions?

When I didn’t elaborate, he picked up his sandwich again.

The uncomfortable twist in my chest returned. “She shouldn’t have messed with me at the auction.”

Gordy stared at me thoughtfully as he chewed and then gave a subtle shrug. “If you say so.”

His casual indifference was somehow worse than if he’d argued with me. I stared at my beer, trying to figure out why his reaction bothered me so much.

“Look, she started this,” I said finally. “I’m just finishing it.”

“Started what, exactly?” Gordy picked up his plate and put it in the dishwasher before walking toward the stairs. “Because from where I’m sitting, this looks like you two going back and forth for however long you’ve been at each other’s throats. So, how’s this supposed to end?”

He gave me a look before he walked out without another word, and I took another swig of my beer.

I’d been born into this feud. How the hell was I supposed to know how to end it? Every time I thought I’d gotten the upper hand on Tinsley, she retaliated in kind. And I could not, under any circumstances, let her have the last word.

My phone buzzed with a text.

Liam: Murphy’s at 9?

Me: See you there.

Getting drunk at the only bar in town where we could use our fake IDs would be a good distraction. And if I played my cards right, maybe I could find some uncomplicated fun with a girl who didn’t make me question every stupid decision I’d ever made like a certain curly-haired redhead always did.

 

 

Chapter 3: Harper

I stood backstage in the recital hall, peeking through the curtain at the modest but respectable crowd that had gathered. A few of my professors were scattered throughout the audience, and I could see my roommates, Rachel, Ayanna, and Talia, sitting in the third row, probably ready to cheer way too loudly when I finished. Brody’s boyfriend, Jared, was sitting next to them.

But the real entertainment wasn’t in the audience at all. He was standing near the backstage exit, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else on the planet.

Drew Dumontier, in all his reluctant glory, was wearing the black “#TinsleyHypeCrew” shirt that fit him annoyingly well. His sandy hair was more disheveled than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his jaw was clenched so tight I was surprised his teeth hadn’t cracked.

He looked like he was about to lose his damn mind.

Perfect.

“Harper, you’re on in five,” Brody said, appearing at my elbow with his usual pre-performance buzz of excitement. He would be on cello during our quartet performance, but my violin solo was first. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” I said, and I meant it, despite the huge wrench that had been thrown into my plans when the practice rooms ended up locked for three days straight. I’d only gone into a minor panic at first—okay, maybe I’d full-on hyperventilated that first day because I had a strict practice schedule to make sure I pulled off this piece tonight. But by day two, I decided it was time to take things into my own hands and got creative with my practice spaces. It had meant some very late nights and a few favors called in to get access to other places to rehearse, but I was ready.

More than ready, actually. At this point, I could probably play this piece in my sleep. Which was good, since I suspected that Drew was behind the locked practice rooms and I wanted nothing more than to show him exactly what he’d tried—and failed—to sabotage.

But before I went out on stage, I had some tasks for my assistant.

“Drew,” I called out sweetly, making sure my voice carried across the backstage area. “Could you come help me with my shoes? I think the strap is twisted.”

His jaw clenched as several professors and other performers turned to watch him make his way toward me. His hazel eyes were filled with disdain as he approached me like I was his personal executioner. 

“The strap looks fine,” he muttered, dropping to one knee to examine my performance flats.

My breath caught at the sight of Drew Dumontier kneeling in front of me with his broad shoulders filling out that ridiculous shirt. His hair fell forward as he bent his head, his fingers brushing over the strap in a caress that felt too tender for someone who was supposed to hate my guts with every ounce of blood that pulsed through his veins.

He looked up at me, and my pulse skipped in a way that had nothing to do with pre-performance nerves.

It was really inconvenient that my archrival had to be so damn attractive.

“Oh, you’re right! But could you adjust it a little? It feels like it might be too loose.” I smiled down at him, making sure my voice stayed bright and sugary sweet in a way that wasn’t me at all. “I’d hate to have my shoe slip during my entrance.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched as he pretended to adjust the perfectly fine strap on my shoes. “There. Happy now, Freckles?”

My spine stiffened at the way he spit out that word, but I didn’t let my face give away that I was bothered. He’d been teasing me about my freckles almost my entire life, and I hated how hearing that word now made a sliver of self-consciousness wiggle its way under my bravado.

“Thank you so much,” I said as he stood. “Oh, and I almost forgot—could you hold my water bottle? And my extra rosin? And my backup bow? And this spare cloth for my strings?”

I kept adding items until his hands were completely full, watching his expression grow darker with each addition. A few other musicians were openly staring now, some trying not to laugh.

It wasn’t every day we had a hockey god as our gofer for our small music recitals.

“Anything else?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Actually, yes. Could you test my water? Sometimes the bottles get too warm and it affects the taste. Just a tiny sip to make sure it’s okay.”

Drew stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “You want me to taste-test your water.”

“Well, you are my assistant,” I said innocently. It was taking everything in me not to break character and laugh at the expression on his face. “That’s what assistants do, right? Make sure everything is perfect for their performer?”

Drew glanced around at the observers and then shook his head before taking the smallest possible sip.

“It’s fine,” he said flatly.

“Wonderful! Oh, and one more tiny thing—could you adjust my music stand?”

He blinked. “You want me to what?”

“It’s crooked. I can’t carry it out there like that.”

The look he gave me could have melted steel, but he set down the various things I’d handed him on a table nearby. He sighed and reached for the stand, muttering something under his breath.

“Too high,” I said immediately. “Oh, shoot, now it’s too low.”

I bit my lip to hold back my grin as a low rumble came from him. God, this was fun.

I was pretty sure I heard someone chuckle.

“There. Happy now?” His look told me if I pushed him even a millimeter further he’d lose his shit.

“Perfect,” I said, just as Brody stepped forward.

“Harper, you’re on, babes. You all set?”

“I am now, thanks to my amazing assistant.” I beamed at Drew, who looked like he was contemplating homicide. “He’s been so incredibly helpful.”

Before he could say anything, Mr. Peterson, the chair of the music department, spoke from the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our next violin soloist of the evening, Harper Tinsley.”

I took a deep breath and walked out into the soft stage lights, leaving Drew backstage with all my accessories like the world’s most reluctant roadie. The applause was warm and encouraging, and I could see my friends beaming from the third row.

My revenge on Drew no longer mattered as I soaked in the energy from the audience.

“Good evening,” I said into the microphone set up at the front of the stage. “Thank you all for being here tonight. I’ll be performing the Sarabande, the third movement of Bach’s Partita No. 2 in D minor for solo violin. This piece holds special meaning for me as a music therapy student, because it captures the emotional complexity music can carry—from joy to sorrow, hope to despair, and everything in between.”

I positioned my violin and raised my bow, catching Drew’s eye one more time. For just a second, his expression shifted from irritation to something that looked almost like curiosity.

Then I began to play.

The opening notes of the Sarabande flowed through the hall, and everything else fell away. There was no Drew, no revenge plots, no family drama, nothing. When I played, the world made sense in a way it never did otherwise.

The Sarabande was a dance of profound introspection, each phrase lingering like a breath held too long, then let go with aching resolution. I let myself sink into Bach’s masterful architecture, where every note served a purpose in the greater emotional landscape. My fingers found each position with precision, but more than that, I felt the gravity behind every sustained note, my body swaying with the movement of the music as I fully immersed myself in my performance.

I was no longer aware of the audience, my attention solely focused on the haunting music that I felt vibrating through every inch of my body. I lost myself in the way Bach built tension before releasing it into something achingly beautiful, the slow, deliberate rhythm that made every note feel important, the way he made a single violin have the impact of an entire orchestra.

When I reached the final phrase, I let the last note ring out in the silence before slowly lowering my violin. For a moment, the hall was completely quiet, and then the applause erupted.

I smiled, my nerves finally catching up with me. It was always like this—I’d be composed until I finished the performance and then be a jittery mess afterward, wrung out from pouring my soul into the music and the vulnerability it took to stand on that stage. I took a small bow, my heart still racing from the performance high, and then walked off the stage with my head lifted, even though my hands were trembling. There were two other soloists before our quartet performance, so I had a few minutes to pull myself back together.

My eyes landed on Drew, and my stomach braced for him to say something mean, but before he could open his mouth, Brody was pulling me into a hug once I was out of sight of the audience and fully backstage.

“Babes! That was fucking incredible. You damn near brought me to tears.”

My trembling settled as my chest warmed. “Thanks, Brody.”

And it was in that moment when I’d started to let my guard down that Drew spoke.

“Nice performance, Tinsley.”

“Thank you,” I said, still warm from Brody’s praise. 

“Really touching, actually,” Drew continued, and there was something in his tone that made my stomach tighten. “I’m sure your parents are so proud. Oh wait—they didn’t bother showing up, did they?”

The words knocked the air right out of me, and Brody stiffened at my side. Not many people knew the truth about my family and their lack of support for my music, but Brody did.

Drew’s expression shifted slightly, like maybe he’d realized he’d gone too far, but it was too late.

“Must be nice to have such supportive family,” he added, but his voice had lost some of its edge.

I stared at him for a long moment, feeling something cold and sharp settle in my chest. He had no idea what he’d just said, no idea that my parents thought my music was a “hobby” I needed to grow out of, no idea that they’d been pressuring me to switch to a “practical” major for years.

To him, this was just another day feuding with me.

And I was so sick of it. I wanted to crush him until he was a pile of dust on the ground—or a social pariah since that seemed to be the only thing he cared about.

But like hell would I give him the satisfaction of knowing how perfectly he’d just struck me down.

“Your services are no longer needed. You’re free to go.” I kept my voice businesslike and neutral even though I felt like I’d just turned into an ice queen in the span of three seconds.

He clenched his jaw and then nodded once and walked out without another word.

But I knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Because I’d been playing nice, but now it was time to go in for the kill.

 

 

 

Chapter 4: Drew

“I’m telling you, man, the blonde’s been eye-fucking you for the past twenty minutes,” Liam said, taking a swig of his beer and nodding toward the table across the bar. “And her brunette friend keeps looking at me like she wants to climb me like a tree.”

I glanced over at the two girls Liam was talking about. They were both hot, but the blonde caught my eye and gave me a smile that was pure invitation.

“Not bad,” I admitted, turning back to my own beer. “Though I’m pretty sure that brunette would eat you alive.”

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.” Liam grinned and stood up. “Come on, let’s go say hi. You need to get out of your own head.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been weird since the auction thing. All brooding and shit.” He nudged me. “Look, I get that Harper gets under your skin, but you’ve never let her stop you before. And yet, I can’t remember the last time you left Murphy’s with a girl, which is not the norm for you.”

No, it wasn’t. And yet, despite my best efforts, I hadn’t been able to follow through on a hookup since the auction. And that block had only gotten worse since her recital last weekend. I’d never seen her like that before. Sure, I’d seen her play her violin plenty of times, but what she did on that stage was something different. It was like she was in a world of her own and I felt every feeling she did.

Which was probably why I’d felt the need to dig at her when she got off that stage, glowing brighter than the sun with warmth and happiness. Except I’d never expected for her to react the way she did—like I’d physically hit her. I watched her warmth evaporate faster than water on the sidewalk on a one hundred-degree day.

I’d struck a nerve I hadn’t known was exposed, and instead of feeling victorious for one-upping her, I felt lower than pond scum.

I didn’t understand it and couldn’t explain it to save my life. But Liam was right about one thing—I had never let Harper get in the way of me living my best life, and I shouldn’t start now.

He smacked my arm and nodded his head toward the girls, so I followed him, mostly because I didn’t want to sit alone nursing my beer while he charmed his way into someone’s pants. They looked up as we approached, and the blonde’s smile widened.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice overly enthusiastic in a way that felt unnatural. “I’m Tatum, and this is my friend Sienna.”

“Drew,” I said, sliding into the booth next to her. “And this is Liam.”

“We know who you are,” Sienna said, giving Liam an appraising look. “Hockey team, right? I was at the bachelor auction a couple of weeks ago. That was quite the show.”

My jaw tightened involuntarily. The fucking bachelor auction. Where it felt like all my problems had started—even though that wasn’t even close to the truth since Harper and I had been trying to one-up each other for years. Why the fuck was I still thinking about her when I had a hot blonde in front of me? I put on my most charming smile. “Hope you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, we did.” Tatum moved closer to me, her hand finding my arm. “Though I have to say, I was disappointed someone else snatched you up.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m available tonight,” I said, falling back into the familiar rhythm of flirtation. This was easy. This was what I was good at.

The conversation flowed easily enough—Tatum was a business major, and Sienna was in education. They were both juniors who lived in one of the nicer apartment complexes off campus. Standard sorority girl territory. After about an hour and several more drinks, Tatum leaned in close enough that I could smell her vanilla perfume.

“So,” she said, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a seductive whisper, “Sienna and I were thinking about heading back to our place. Want to come keep us company?”

Perfect. This was exactly what I needed—a night of uncomplicated fun with a girl who didn’t know about family feuds or have opinions about my character. A girl who wouldn’t challenge me or make me question every decision I’d ever made.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said.

“Let me just hit the ladies’ room first,” Tatum said, standing up. “Sienna, you coming?”

“Yeah, be right back, boys,” Sienna said with a wink.

I watched them walk away, admiring the view, while Liam leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin.

“See? Told you this was what you needed,” he said.

“And like always, you were right,” I said with a laugh. No one knew me better then Liam.

We talked about our upcoming hockey games while we waited for Tatum and Sienna. Liam frowned and I followed his sight line to see them making their way back across the bar.

But something was different. Tatum’s flirtatious smile had been replaced by a cool, distant expression, and Sienna looked downright uncomfortable. They stopped at our table, but neither of them sat down.

“Actually,” Tatum said, her voice noticeably chillier than before, “we’re pretty tired. We’re going to head home. Alone.”

I blinked. “What? Is everything okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Sienna said, avoiding eye contact. “It was…nice meeting you guys.”

They were already walking away before I could process what the hell had just happened. I stared after them, completely confused.

“What the fuck was that about?” Liam asked, echoing my thoughts exactly.

Before I could answer, our waitress—a girl named Katie who’d been working here for as long as we’d been coming—stopped by our table with a sympathetic shake of her head.
“I wouldn’t normally say anything,” Katie said, lowering her voice, “but…that review site? It’s spreading faster than mono in a freshman dorm.”

Liam choked on his beer as I stared at her in horror.

The what now?

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” I asked slowly.

Katie blinked. “Oh, shit. You didn’t know.” Her eyes widened a little and her tone immediately shifted from casual to apologetic. “There are posters with your picture. In the women’s bathroom. They link to this review site where people can rate your…performance.” She winced. “Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She backed away quickly, clearly realizing she’d just lit the fuse on a nuclear bomb.

What the actual fuck was going on?

Liam had started laughing so hard he was practically crying. “Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Oh my fucking God, this is beautiful.”

“This is not beautiful,” I snapped. “Did she mean what I think she meant when she emphasized performance?”

“Sure sounds like it,” Liam said, still laughing. “Dude, you have to see what’s in that bathroom.”

I was already standing up, my blood pressure spiking.

“Go look. I’ll wait here and try not to die of laughter.”

“Fuck that, you’re coming with. I need someone to stand watch so I don’t get caught in the women’s bathroom looking like a pervert.”

That only made him laugh harder, the fucker. If he wasn’t my ride or die best friend, I’d punch him right now.

We made our way to the women’s bathroom, my hands clenched in fists as my mind raced with all kinds of awful scenarios. Who would even do—

No.

No fucking way was Harper that mad at me.

There was no way Harper would have the balls to do something like this. No fucking way. How would she even get posters in here? She was a rule follower. I couldn’t see her using a fake ID like Li and I did.

I knocked on the women’s bathroom and put my ear to the door but there was no response. After a quick check to make sure no one was looking, I opened the door. “Anyone in here?”

Silence, and both stall doors were open.

I turned back to Liam. “Do not let anyone come in here.”

He saluted me with a smile, but I knew he had my back.

Once the door was closed behind me, I looked all around the room but didn’t see anything besides the “don’t drink while you’re pregnant” warnings that seemed to be in any establishment that served alcohol.

Where were these supposed posters?

My gaze caught on the open stall doors. I hesitantly walked into the nearest stall and closed the door, and there it was, taped to the inside where every woman who used that stall would see it.

A blown-up photo of me from our win against Idaho last weekend, arms raised in celebration, huge grin on my face—the same photo that had been all over the campus sports page. And underneath it, in bold letters:

THINKING ABOUT HOOKING UP WITH DREW DUMONTIER?
Check the reviews first.

Scan the QR code to visit: www.RateMyPerformanceCFU.com/drew
Spoiler alert: 2.3 stars.

Below that were quotes in smaller text that had to be fake:

“All talk, no stick handling.” – Anonymous
“Got more action from my electric toothbrush.” – Disappointed but not surprised
“Took longer to find the condom than he lasted.” – Would not recommend
“Came, saw, ghosted. Did the same to my roommate.” – My vibrator does it better

I ripped the poster down, my vision going red around the edges as I exited the stall. What the fu—

“Fucking Tinsley.”

But there was no longer a doubt in my mind that she had done this. She was the only one who hated me enough to be this vindictive.

“Drew?” A girl’s voice made me look up from the poster in my hands. Two girls I recognized from campus stood in the doorway, staring at me with a mixture of confusion and alarm. Seriously? Where the fuck was Liam? Could this night get any worse?

“I was just—” I started, then realized how bad this looked. “There was a poster—”

“Okay,” one of them said, slowly backing away. “We’ll just…come back later.”

They fled, and I was left standing there holding the evidence of Harper Tinsley’s revenge, rage coursing through my veins like liquid fire.

I walked out of the bathroom, not wanting to get caught in the women’s restroom by anyone else, and bumped into Liam.

“Dude! What the fuck? Where did you go? You were supposed to guard the damn door.”

“I’m sorry. Some drunk girl was getting harassed by a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I went over to help get rid of him and make sure she and her friend got out of here without being hassled. It only took like two minutes. Sorry, man, but I couldn’t just stand by.”

That deflated some of my annoyance with him. Even with a manwhore reputation that rivaled mine, he was still a good guy. And being raised by a single mom had made him extra protective of vulnerable women.

“Fuck. No, you did the right thing, man. I would’ve done the same. But we need to get out of here.”

The walk back to campus should have been a quick ten minutes, but we’d barely made it two blocks when I heard snickering behind us. Two girls from my economics class were walking about twenty feet back, and when I glanced over my shoulder, they quickly looked away, whispering to each other.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Liam asked. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Before I could answer, we ran into Ryan Donovan from the football team. He was with his girlfriend, and when he spotted me, a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“Yo, Monty!” he called out. “Tough break about the reviews, man. That’s gotta suck.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “What did you just say?”

“The reviews? Sarah told me about the posters.” He gestured to his girlfriend, who was trying very hard not to look at me. “I mean…damn, bro. Someone seriously has it out for you.”

“How do you know about that?” The words came out through gritted teeth.

“Dude, there are posters everywhere. Sarah said she’s seen them in like three different bathrooms just today.”

No, no, no.

This was not happening.

My phone chose that moment to buzz with a text. I pulled it out with shaking hands.

Ava: Are you aware that your face is currently plastered in women’s bathrooms all over campus advertising a bad hookup review site? Please tell me this is some kind of joke.

Another text came through immediately after.

Ava: Because if it’s not a joke, I’m going to kill whoever did this to you.

I showed Liam the texts, and watched his expression shift from confusion to understanding to barely suppressed laughter.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “This isn’t just one poster, is it?”

“Apparently not,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Who hates you enough to—” He stopped before he could finish the sentence, coming to the same conclusion I had.

Only one person on this campus hated me enough to pull this kind of stunt.

Harper Fucking Tinsley.

I no longer felt guilty for how I’d made her feel after her recital because fuck her.

I crumpled the poster tighter in my fist. “This isn’t over.”

“Drew—”

“No. She wants to play dirty? Fine. Game fucking on.”