Page 90 of Hot As Ice

I do my duty the rest of the night, dancing, mingling, socializing, talking to my father’s important friends, making sure my friends are having fun but not getting too drunk. I don’t think my father can find much to complain about my behavior. Of course, that’s never stopped him before. I avoid him though. Our eyes meet a few times through the course of the night, but I look away every time.

When I choose to focus on Stevie instead, the rest of the bullshit all melts away.

And that’s how I like it.

twenty-eight

stevie

THE UNIVERSITY PAPER has a gossip section.

Yeah, it’s not particularly dignified, but people love it. It’s the only reason the paper even exists, in my opinion. The gossip column is called ‘Allegedly,’ and it mostly deals with relationship rumors and juicy scandals without naming anyone but giving enough of a description that most people can totally figure out who’s being talked about.

I never, ever thought I would be in the gossip column of the university paper, but you should never say never. Because I am in it today. And my mind hasn’t stopped spinning since I saw it.

I’ve read the passage several times already, but my brain can’t quite make sense of it. I’m hoping it’s about someone else, but the details are all there. It’s about me and Hunter. It’s about our stupid sex contract. And it’s killing me.

Tears prick my eyes as I read the passage one more time:

O, Captain! My Captain! This studly hockey player and a blonde sophomore he’s been seen with a few times reportedly have a very, shall we say, adult arrangement. When things get hot and heavy between them, it doesn’t just end in the big O for both of them – blondie also gets quite a hefty payment out of it. Nice gig if you can get it!

I. Want. To. DIE.

I rush home, skipping the rest of the day’s classes. I avoid looking at anyone on campus as I all but sprint to my car in the student parking lot. It’s most likely just paranoia but I feel like everyone is staring daggers at me. I’m Hester Prynne with a giant A on my chest. Or maybe it’s a P, for prostitute. Driving home in a daze and not even realizing how I get there, I walk into my apartment and beeline it to my room. Like a dramatic Disney princess, I flop down face first on my bed and let the tears flow like a dam has burst.

How did they find out? How could they have possibly found out when it was strictly between me and Hunter? Did he tell someone? Did he tell one of his stupid hockey friends and they told someone on the paper? But I haven’t heard a single rumor or anything about me and Hunter. Why does the first thing that gets out have to be the most humiliating thing possible?

I feel so sorry for myself.

I probably cry for a whole hour. Then I just lie there staring at my ceiling. Then, another hour later, the grief and self-pity are replaced by blinding rage.

I’m going to kill Hunter.

I really thought we had a bonding moment a week ago at his father’s wedding, but maybe I was wrong. And I blame myself too. Because I should have stood firm and had him end the contract. No, I should have never, ever, ever entered such a contract in the first place.

I’m such an idiot.

Maybe I deserve this.

My phone is on the nightstand beside my bed, face down. I don’t want to look at it, or check any social media. It’s been a couple of hours since the paper was published, so I’m sure plenty of people have seen it by now. I can’t face it. I want to pretend it’s not in there, right smack in the middle of the gossip section in bold letters, because it’s one of the more interesting things they’ve printed in a long time.

People will gobble it up like candy.

I convince myself to get up and get a drink of water. I lean against the kitchen counter after filling my cup, trying to pretend what’s happened is not a big deal. I stand there in a daze, not even taking a single sip, until I hear Becca at the door. She walks in, calling my name, but I don’t answer. Stepping into the kitchen, she sees me and immediately comes to stand before me. I must look insane, because she has the most worried expression on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Did you see today’s gossip column in the paper?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Apparently some hockey player is paying some blonde girl to sleep with him. It’s all anyone can talk about. Hockey players are so crazy, I swear.”

I just stare at her.

She stares back.

Slowly, I nod.

She blinks.