Lessons in Falling: English Edition by LYX E-Book

Selina Mae

• Herausgeber: Lyx.digital
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 418

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

»I DON‘T WANT YOU HERE, CADEN.«
»I’ LL GET OVER IT!«

Valentina Rhodes has put herself last her entire life. So, before pursuing her masters at HBU, she vows this summer will be different. With her friends, Oakport Island, and a secret bucket list meant to help her be selfish for a change. Finding soccer captain Caden Callahan in her room was not part of that plan though, and that they’re bunking together even less. The No-Fraternization Policy between her friends runs deep, and if she’d known he’d be forced into their circle, she wouldn’t have slept with him four months earlier. Now, staying away from Caden is a given, but gets damn-near impossible between her new-found love of selfishness and the realization that he’s the only person she can truly be herself around ...

»LESSONS IN FALLING combines everything a good romance book needs: humor, tension and themes to make you think - a perfect match!« CARINA FROM QUEEN.CARI

English edition of LESSONS IN FALLING by WATTPAD-superstar Selina Mae

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Title

About the Book

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Author’s Note

The Author

Books by Selina Mae published at LYX

Reading Sample

Content Warning

Imprint

SELINA MAE

Lessons in Falling

A Novel

English Edition by LYX

ABOUT THE BOOK

As a chronic people pleaser, Valentina Rhodes has put herself last her entire life. When even graduating with honors doesn’t get her the recognition she deserves, she vows that the summer before her masters at Hall Beck University will be different. The plan’s the same as every year: her best friends, a beach house on Oakport Island, and eight weeks of endless fun. Except this time Valentina wants to be selfish. And ticking off her secret summer bucket list is the start of taking baby steps that should help. Only that she finds Caden Callahan in her usual room, and that they’re bunking together turns those baby steps into giant leaps. If she’d known that the next captain of the HBU soccer team would be forced into her inner circle, she wouldn’t have slept with him four months earlier – her friends’ No-Fraternization Policy would have made her run the opposite direction instead. So, staying away from Caden should be a given, but gets damn-near impossible between her new-found love of selfishness and the realization that he’s the only person she can truly be herself around …

This book contains explicit content.

For more detailed information, please see here.

Disclaimer: The content warning includes spoilers for the entire book!

We wish you the best possible reading experience.

Love,

Selina & LYX

To those who love others much more than themselves. Thank you, but it’s time to think about you.

CHAPTER 1

VALENTINA

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I didn’t speed often, really. Usually, I followed rules and drove the speed limit—and I was quite proud of the fact that I’d never been pulled over by the cops before. I was a good driver, and not much would make me jeopardize my reputation as one. But (accidentally) drifting around corners and squeaking to a stop almost with emergency-break swiftness didn’t scream safety to me, so maybe I had changed.

I was late, though. For the best day of the year, no less.

Bottomless Margaritas. Karaoke performances that became progressively worse the longer the night went on. Sandy feet, the sound of waves rolling against the beach in the near distance. My friends. A shabby bar on Oakport Island on the first weekend of July—where we’d stay for the rest of summer break.

Two months in which I didn’t have to worry about my sister (impossible), Mom (always did), or the burden of upholding my imperfectly perfect college life for the sake of my family’s validation. Two months in which, for the first time, I wanted to think about myself. Sometimes, at least.

So: late. Drifting. Screeching to a stop in front of the grey colonial style house I could almost call home. The blue shutters by the windows were open—probably hadn’t been closed since the house had been built ten years ago. I could see the window to my room and already had the sheets of the upper bunk in my head.

Bunk, because I’d always stayed in the kids’ room by myself, while my best friends were split into the other bedrooms that had a much more grown-up, no-bunkbed feel to them.

All three of them stood on the curb now, performatively tapping one foot against the pavement, and checking the time on the nonexistent watch around their wrists. Synchronized.

My windows were rolled all the way down, so I heard when one of them yelled, “You’re late!”, just in case I hadn’t realized. Iris grinned widely, gap between her two front teeth on full display when she emphasized, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you late for anything.”

Alfie—his red hair wild from the coastal winds—nodded, then dramatically narrowed his eyes when our gazes met. “The invite says eight, and Valentina Rhodes will be on frat row at eight on the dot. It’s an unwritten law.”

“But here she is. Our favorite honors student,” Anni jumped in, her German accent, as always, heavier after the month she’d spent back home. “Late. For the best day of the year.”

Shutting the car door behind me, I tried to glare at them. Really, really hard.

And failed.

The corners of my mouth lifted, and everything that was happening—the deep, goofy smile on my lips, the way my cheeks hurt, the sparkle in my eyes and the way my arms opened widely—was beyond my control. Like my body had a natural reaction to seeing my best friends, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Our group hug (more of a tackle, really) was inevitable. Anni squealed first. She broke formation to jump those four steps toward me, her blonde hair whipping in every possible direction when she collapsed into me, and the rest followed.

It had only been a month—one month and eight days, to be exact—since we’d last seen each other. Since Anni had flown to Stuttgart, Iris had gone back to her family in California, before they took off for a dream vacation to Cancun (which I’d not only been forced to follow on social media, but had received at least a thousand texts about, including beach and sea and pool pictures). Alfie had been here: his family’s summer home on Oakport Island. And the rest of the Dunbridges—Mom, Dad, two younger brothers—had left yesterday.

“I missed the ferry,” I mumbled my explanation into… somebody’s hair. “They switched ours with the pedestrian one and let it go early. For reasons unknown.” Iris pulled back, and I finally knew it was Alfie’s wild, naturally red hair that had been tickling my nose, because Iris’ unnaturally red hair followed with her. A color she’d said she’d picked to match his… gingerness. Only that it had turned out far more orange-pink-looking on her first dye-job two years ago, and she’d stuck with the pastel color since.

When I first dyed my hair a week later, I’d kind of done it for the bit. Same as Iris, though, I’d stuck with the cherry red. Her brown eyes were scrutinizing me now, narrowing and assessing. “You’re usually an hour early to departure, anyway. What—?”

“Mom.”

There was no need to explain that my Mom had been out all night, and hadn’t come home until an hour after I’d wanted to get going—even less that I couldn’t leave my sister without knowing if she’d come home at all. Because my best friend closed her mouth and gave a single understanding nod, without my having to spell it out. “Ah.”

I expected a moment to breathe when the rest started to untangle from me. Some time to take in the hydrangeas around the house, always at their best right after Alfie’s family left. When we’d come here in the spring or autumn, sometimes over winter break, they did not look… well. But instead of marveling at their colors or hurling my luggage into the house or texting Mom that I’d arrived (not that she’d care, necessarily), Iris glanced at her phone, presumably saw the time, and locked eyes with me.

“Now we’relate!” she screeched, and I barely had time to lock my car—still half-heartedly parked on the curb—before she dragged me toward her mint green rental Bronco, in front of the garage. The first time she’d rented it, our first summer here after our first year of college together, she’d said, affectionately: OnedayIwillbuyyou. Before kissing its hood goodbye.

For now, she’d opted for renting it every time we were here, and insisting she always drive to make sure she spends, “as much time with her as possible”. Her being the car.

It must’ve been less than a minute before all four of us sat in Iris’ beloved Bronco, and I didn’t even attempt to request getting my luggage inside or having a glass of water or generally just a moment to breathe, before we took off again. Alfie and I sat in the back, Anni in the passenger seat, and Iris glanced at me through the rearview mirror as she reversed out of the driveway. “I cannot believe you were late,” she snickered in amusement.

“The ferry was early.”

With a cruel smile, her eyes flicked back to the road. “Because the ferry was early,” she repeated, pointedly, still smirking in that loving, know-it-all way of hers. “We’re close to missing Chester’s opening performance.”

“And we cannot start our summer without a seventy-something guy singing Dancing Queen to us!” Anni cried in agreement, and Iris sped up.

Our first weekend on the island always looked the same. Friday night was karaoke and margaritas, and Chester always opened the stage at eight-thirty with the same song. Saturday morning was always full of regrets: a big hangover breakfast assembled from whatever Alfie’s family had left behind, before we stumbled into town, sometimes still half-drunk (Alfie had thrown up on the twenty-minute track at least twice already), to get ice cream, window shop and eventually get another alcoholic drink once the Friday Night Margaritas had settled.

We’d walk back slightly buzzed, sun burning, the breeze never breezy enough to feel relieving. Anni would be slightly sunburnt by then. Alfie as red as a lobster. And despite the inevitable nausea, I’d be the happiest I’d been in a long time. Sundays—Mom used to say, like God intended—we’d rest. Read books, swim in the pool or ocean or take long, cold showers to cool down, depending on how warm the respective bodies of water would be.

It was eight thirty-one when we rolled into the parking lot of Blitz now. “If we miss even a note of Dancing Queen, I’m blaming Valentina!” Iris yelled, already half-way to the bar’s entrance.

Alfie was, apparently, less worried about missing something. No urgency in either of our strides, we strolled up to the wooden door, its blue paint chipped by the salty sea. “You know,” he snickered. “You could’ve taken that pedestrian ferry, if you’d stop insisting on driving all the way down here with a vehicle that’s not guaranteed to make the two-hundred mile trip. Rent a car here that doesn’t break down twice a month.”

I would’ve also made it if I’d just stop insisting on cleaning messes that, technically, weren’t mine to begin with. Though minding your own business became a lot harder when it was your mother’s mess, and you’d been growing up doing nothing but trying to please her.

I snorted, something between a laugh and a cackle as I shook my head. “Instead of eating when I get back to Hall Beck for grad school, right?”

“I’d take care of it.”

“The eating part? Or the car renting part?”

“Either.” Alfie shrugged. “Both.”

But he always did. It was half the issue. Feeling like I was inconveniencing my friends when they got me gifts or paid for stuff or went out of their way to do something nice for me, without expecting anything in return. It kind of just felt like they’d get tired of… providing eventually, and I’d lose them. Which was something I couldn’t afford, ever.

“You know I don’t want you to. It’s enough you’ve been bringing us here for the past four years. Free of charge, by the way.” I leveled the ginger with a look, pushing the creaky door to Blitz open.

The chatter was loud inside. Someone shouting orders at the pretty woman behind the bar, every kind of alcohol imaginable illuminated on the wall behind her. The stools were all filled, and she gracefully maneuvered from one paying customer to the other. The booths were strung along the walls, some of the red leather seats torn—but never enough to justify replacing them. Most of them were full, but I spotted Anni and Iris in the one closest to the stage, set up on the left, opposite the large French doors leading to the patio and beach.

My gaze snapped back to my friends, their full attention on Chester, taking up the entire stage with his presence. A maximum of ten grey hairs on his head, big nose, small glasses, wearing a flannel and shorts and birkenstocks, he spotted us in the door, and at eight thirty-three, his first “Ooh!” barrelled through the bar’s speakers. The crowd went wild.

I was on my second margarita (frozen, watermelon) when I noticed Anni’s boyfriend was missing. He’d been a pleasant addition to our trips since last year, which meant he’d experienced a summer, winter and spring on Oakport and had become an official part of the group in March. “Where’s Mike?”

For a dreadful second, I feared they might’ve broken up. Then thought, there’s no way Annika Schmidt would go through a crisis like that without altering the group chat. The way she carelessly shook her head—a tipsy, endearing smile on her face—confirmed that, and threw the rest of my worries out the window. Her lips pursed, she was probably about to say something like Late or Waiting at the house (becoming an official part of the group also meant knowing where the spare keys were hidden).

Instead, Iris leaned across the booth. Her arms sprawled over the table, fingers curling around the opposite side. “Mike!” she drawled, then sipped on her fourth margarita. It took her five tries to get that straw into her mouth before she distractedly went on: “Even if we’d all been friends with him before, I might’ve still been fine with you two, you know?”

Alfie, beside Iris on the other side, gasped. “Despite the No-Fraternization-Rule?” he whisper-shouted, and on the other side of Blitz someone howled the high-notes of My Heart Will Go On into the microphone.

“Despite the No-Fraternization-Rule,” she agreed. “And despite the fact I’m not particularly fond of men right now.”

The No-Fraternization-Rule.

Something that had started as somewhat of an inside joke four years ago and had turned into a solid ground-rule between all of us since. We’d met through a happy coincidence called free booze at a freshers party and no one to share it with. Around an illegal bonfire in somebody’s backyard, for the sake of keeping our conversation going, Iris talked—and cried and shouted to us—about the ugly breakup she’d been going through.

That she’d lost her entire friend group because it’d been his friends, too, and he must’ve been cooler, apparently, because they’d all stayed his friends and quite quickly—and unanimously—agreed not to give Iris the same courtesy. She’d lost her boyfriend, her friends and her entire support system in the blink of an eye, and we’d been the strangers she could let it all out to.

We’d all grasped quite quickly that we wouldn’t stay strangers, though, and Iris had made it official thirty minutes later. She’d looked all of us in the eyes—Anni first, then Alfie, and I’d been last before she said:

No dating within this friend group.

We’ll only adopt new people into it if none of us want to sleep with them.

Four years later, it was still just us: something that would make it seem like we were a bunch of horny twenty-somethings, unable to find people we wanted to be our friends, without the desire to sleep with them coming up.

Not the case.

I’d had a handful of hookups since—something I had my physics major to thank for, among other things (I was much more likely to fuck up my sleep schedule with revisions than another person)—and exactly one of them had been memorable. So the problem wasn’t having too much sex to find other friends. The problem—and it wasn’t really one—was, simply put: we didn’t need anyone else.

Probably didn’t want anyone else.

So the No-Fraternization-Rule (NFR, for short) had never been a problem. Anni started dating Mike—HBU’s soccer captain, very far removed from our social circle—and he started coming to Oakport as Anni’s plus-one a year later. He seamlessly became a part of our Us because we really, truly loved him for her. He also got us into great parties, invited us for pizza after games, snuck us alcohol when we’d still been underage, and was incredibly fun to be around (when the soccer team was doing well and none of his guys were getting into trouble).

The latter was rare, the former much less so.

Then there was the fact that my one memorable hook-up had been thanks to him—some guy on his team—which awarded Mike some more brownie points.

“God, Iris,” Anni gushed, endearingly rolling her eyes, smiling brightly. “Thank God we have your blessing!” Then she looked back at me to answer the initial question. “He wouldn’t have made it here on time. Said that if he wouldn’t catch Chester’s performance, what’s the point, babe?” Her voice pitched three octaves lower when she imitated his voice impressively well. “He’s waiting at home.”

And the word brought that familiar, fuzzy warmth back into the pit of my stomach—the one I’d been searching for since I’d been a child. That made me feel safe and accepted and like I belonged. Home: a feeling, more so than a place.

So while Anni’s boyfriend waited for us to get home, we demolished a last round of margaritas—on the house, courtesy of Iris’ shrill, out of tune, but very passionate performance of What Makes You Beautiful. At this point, Alfie struggled to get the straw into his mouth as well. Iris was ready for another rendition of an iconic 2010’s song. Anni kept her from going back up to the mic, almost falling out of the booth, laughing and squealing. And all three of them had to keep me from texting my favorite Oakport-fling so I wouldn’t seem desperate, laughing and throwing my phone around the table, to keep it away from my very desperate hands.

I couldn’t have seen it coming: how big of a turn the night was about to take, the second I’d get home.

CHAPTER 2

CADEN

I’d always thought of Valentina Rhodes as this whimsical, perfect figment of my imagination. Don’t get me wrong, I knew she was real, and I was about… ninety percent sure that what had happened between us had been real, too, but the second I’d laid eyes on her four months ago, she’d seemed a little impossible.

Her cherry red hair, big brown eyes, round, rosy cheeks. The way she’d timidly sipped on her drink, smiled at me from across the bar—and the fact she’d clearly had no idea that the way she walked and talked and danced had affected me so wholly.

That when she’d asked, after an hour of talking in some secluded corner of the party we’d been at, Are we leaving together, Callahan?, I’d nearly combusted. And that sometimes, when I’d had a particularly bad day, I’d replay the way she’d said my name.

But because I hadn’t heard from her since, I’d convinced myself I must’ve conjured her up. Ten percent of me, at least, believed I had imagined the whole thing.

Until now.

Four months later, a little past midnight, too—but without a smile on her lips. Without that palpable tension between us, the need for more than flirty nothings exchanged in a loud college bar radiating off her. Because I was in her room, and, judging by the scowl on her face, she had not expected me here.

In my defense: when Mike had warned me that I’d be sharing a room with one of his friends, the last person I’d expected to walk through the door was Valentina. Then again, when I’d walked through that door of our shared room a few hours earlier, the last thing I’d expected to find there was a bunkbed.

I’d been thinking about her a lot since we’d first (and last) seen each other four months ago, and still nothing could’ve prepared me for the visceral reaction I had when our eyes reconnected for the first time.

Like something had been unleashed, a sense of awareness that flooded through me. Reminded me of every single perfect thing about her—and why I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. She’d been breathtaking then, in my mind, where I’d redrawn her from memory more often that I’d like to admit, but she’d still exceeded expectations. Somehow.

“What…?” Her eyebrows drew together, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to react to my presence. Fair enough, honestly. A (somewhat) strange man in my bed wouldn’t exactly elicit a different response from me.

Valentina blinked rapidly, round eyes narrowing as she searched for the right words. Going by what I’d learned about her in those few hours months ago, I expected a What are you doing here? Maybe a What is happening?

Clearly, I did not know her half as well as I’d liked to.

“What the fuck?” The words basically flew out of her mouth, and at least she seemed a little surprised by them as well. Then, she caught herself—planted one hand on her hip, while the other pointed an accusatory finger at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Did she remember? The way she’d whimpered my name, then cuddled into my chest like we’d been married for years? Then left before I’d woken up? It had only been a few minutes, but the fact she hadn’t acknowledged what had been my highlight of the fucking year… pissed me off.

I sat up straight, almost hit my head on the ceiling, and promptly remembered why I hadn’t done that before. “Valentina, you wound me,” I pouted. She narrowed her eyes—I wasn’t even sure if she could still see me. “I missed you so much, I simply had to break into your room and ruin your summer.”

The fact I knew I wasn’t being fair kind of made this worse. Obviously she deserved to know what the fuck I was doing in her room—I owed her an explanation, almost as much as her friends owed her an apology for the missing warning.

A simple, Hey, you’ll have a bunk-mate this summer would’ve done the trick.

“Cut the shit, Callahan.” Finally, Valentina stepped into our room. She forgot her suitcase in the hallway and swayed with each step until she could hold onto the dresser against the wall, to her right. She was clearly plastered. Drunk off her ass. Would probably not remember this conversation tomorrow. But all I could focus on was my name coming out of her mouth.

That, despite the fact there was nothing flirtatious in her tone, it still sounded just as beautiful as it had the last time.

So she did remember.

The satisfaction uncurling in the pit of my stomach was almost embarrassing—the urge to ask, Why didn’t you call? even worse. Juvenile, petty, not at all me. I was supposed to be the one who didn’t call. The one who didn’t care. I wanted no-strings-attached, and Valentina had done me a favor by leaving.

If I repeated it often enough, maybe I’d actually start believing it.

The women I hooked up with weren’t usually this averse to seeing me again, either. Mad because I hadn’t called; maybe? Or shy because I had called, and they hoped I’d be trying to make whatever thing between us more than casual sex—which I never would, and had made abundantly clear from the beginning. But neither of those seemed to be the case for Valentina. She seemed annoyed by my presence, not by the fact that I hadn’t called. And there was nothing shy about her.

“Maybe you should ask your friends.” The words were out before I could stop myself, and for a second, I wondered if I’d been the one who’d had too much to drink tonight. It would explain the way none of my bodily functions were under my own control, and that I was still thinking about why she hadn’t called. Or that it annoyed me way too much.

Unfortunately, I was not drunk. That captain spot waiting for me two months down the line made sure of it.

“They’re not here, are they?” She crossed her arms, leaned against the dresser to face me on the top bunk. At this point, it seemed kind of ridiculous to still be up here. But getting down would feel too much like defeat. “Why would I go into their room, when you’re here. In mine.”

And she couldn’t have given me a better in. I smiled. “Ours.”

She blinked at me. The silence between us felt louder than most stadiums, and the next moment more crucial than a penalty shot. Like she was about to set our dynamic for the rest of the summer into stone.

Valentina burst out laughing.

She literally bent over, hands on her knees, and laughed so hard she lost balance for a dreadful second. Her entire body was still shaking when I honest-to-God thought she’d hit her head on the dresser behind her, sprinkling the white wood crimson. I didn’t even realize getting off the bed, all traces of my own amusement wiped away, until I stood right in front of her.

She must’ve caught herself, though, because she slid down to the ground, back against the dresser, and there was no visible sign of a laceration, and no blood on the wood. She was still laughing, and my heart was still beating twice as fast, for some reason.

I did not need my new roommate to bleed out ten minutes after she got here.

“You okay?” I asked unnecessarily, crouching to her level. She was okay. Clearly. Smiling up at me, round eyes wide, still visibly amused.

Valentina snorted. “All that bleach must’ve gone to your head, Callahan,” she said—slurred, really—one hand driving across my platinum-blond buzzcut.

I didn’t think she meant for the touch to be as electrifying as it was. I think it was meant to be condescending. Her gaze held mine when her hand fell back into her lap, and I could breathe again. “If you think I’m sharing a room—a bed with you for eight weeks.”

“Really?” My lips quirked. “You didn’t seem to mind the last time we shared a bed. In fact, I remember you were sound asleep when I was barely out of you.”

The reminder shot color into her cheeks, and she scrambled off the floor to gain some semblance of control over the situation. Meanwhile, the words directed blood into a completely different part of my body. Any and every thought about that night did, really.

Valentina shook her head, and I straightened back up to my full height with her. I could tell she tried not to let her eyes wander… up my chest, across my shoulders, all the way to the smirk on my lips. She was obviously failing. Her eyes were glued to them right up until they flicked upward to meet mine. “Why are you here, Caden?”

And I swear, I would’ve given her a proper answer this time. That I wasn’t quite sure myself. That this was my first vacation in… ever, probably. That, when Mike had asked during penalty practice if I’d wanted to join him and his friends, the no before I scored had been an automatic response. I hadn’t even thought about it.

“Come on, man,” he’d said, walking to the other corner of the goal to get the ball. “You could use a vacation.”

“Are you trying to tell me I look like I could use some rest and relaxation?” I’d asked, but the bags under my eyes probably answered for me. “How dare you!”

Mike had snickered, but the look my captain pinned me with said he hadn’t been joking. “The dark circles under your eyes have dark circles, dude. You missed four out of five penalties today. You’re supposed to take over this team, and you need to be back on your A-game by then. Two months on Oakport, and we can get you there. You want to be captain, right?”

His question had been rhetorical, which was why I’d lied. Of course, I’d said—but that was just the thing, though. I didn’t want to be captain. I wasn’t even sure if I still wanted to be on the team. After winning the NCAA championship, one would think the school might take it easy on us; that there’d be less pressure. After all, we’d won them a trophy. What more could they expect? Not all of us could be Henry Pressleys, going pro and earning millions.

Turned out: a lot. To defend that title, for example. Apparently, for me to carry the team that was supposed to defend that title. Which came with a truckload of pressure and expectations I hadn’t expected and had made enjoying the game significantly harder.

So, Mike had been right that day. The circles under my eyes were beginning to look criminal. I had not been playing as well as I could have. And there was at least one person that did deserve my best.

Valentina didn’t give me the chance to say any of that—at least a shorter, less whiny version. Because right after the words left her lips, her gaze diverted. Like she’d forgotten she’d asked me a question in the first place, her eyes darted through the room, looking for something she, clearly, couldn’t find. She twisted and turned, walked from one side of the room to the other, and only remembered I was there when I said, “Outside.”

Her eyes latched onto me, and I couldn’t help my chuckle—although I did try to hide it with a cough. “Your suitcase,” I elaborated. “It’s by the door.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for.” But she went out into the hallway, anyway. Her head still shook in denial when she rolled the thing back into our room and closed the door behind her.

Our room.

It sounded more intimate than I’d like—as if there was more than that bunkbed we shared about our lives. As if we’d made a conscious decision to be here together and liked the fact that we were. Which was very obviously not the case.

I watched Valentina roll her suitcase through the room before I answered her earlier question. “Mike invited me. That’s why I’m here.”

Which wasn’t all that much more revealing than my previous cryptic answers.

She groaned, but I wasn’t sure if it was in response to my bullshit (yes, I could admit to that much) or the fact she’d discovered my clothes in the top two drawers. Which, judging by the noise, she must’ve wanted for herself. Probably a combination of both.

“Your things are in my drawers,” she confirmed. “You are in my room. In my bed.” Valentina took a deep breath before she turned back, finding me leaning against the ladder of our bunkbed. “And I’m so drunk, I’m not even sure if I’m just imagining you. I mean, what are the odds? I let myself think about you once, and—” She shook her head again, turned back around like I might really just be a hallucination. Like she could get rid of me by simply focusing on something else.

Which was taking my clothes out of the top two drawers and moving them to the bottom ones. With no regard to how neatly they’d been folded, she threw them into their new home.

I thought she might be more careful with her own things when she began unpacking, but nope. She just threw those in as well. And I couldn’t care less. “You were thinking about me?”

For a brief second, she stopped unpacking. Froze mid-motion, with her back still toward me. I tried not to let my eyes wander to the underwear bunched up in her hand, on their way into the drawer, but I did wonder if she’d brought the lacy pair she’d been wearing at my place that night.

Another rush of blood where it shouldn’t be going forced me to shove all thoughts of her in those panties—of me, sliding them down her soft thighs—into the furthest corner of my mind. Jesus, I was worse than a teenage boy.

Valentina cleared her throat, threw her underwear into the drawer and closed it, too forcefully to be casual. When she turned, her cheeks still seemed a little warmer.

She shook her head. “Briefly,” she confessed. “I don’t make a habit of thinking about you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

I do, I thought. Getting you out of my head has been a problem, and I don’t know why.

“Good enough for me.”

She huffed, and I think she was giving up. Her shoulders sagged, and she leaned back against the dresser, crossing her arms lazily as her features relaxed.

And God, she really was beautiful. Even now, frustrated, flustered, and defeated. It felt appropriate to thank some higher power for making me come here, for making our paths cross again, and for making me realize that if there was one thing I wanted more than getting back my A-game, it was having her again.

“Well.” Valentina swallowed thickly before she pushed herself off the wooden dresser. And for a second, I truly thought my silent prayer was about to get answered and my wish granted—mere seconds after thinking it up. With the way she stopped only a foot short of where I was standing, I seriously considered finding my way back to God.

I looked down at her, our eyes connected and I could swear everything that swam between us the last time we’d met—lust, awe, anticipation—was there again. For a very brief, very beautiful second. Her lips quirked, before she burst that bubble of mine when she simply said, “The top bunk is mine.”

CHAPTER 3

VALENTINA

I woke up where I always did in July. On the top bunk, in the guest room, in Alfie’s Summerhouse. On Oakport Island. I felt the way I always did, too: violently hungover.

And although never here, I’d had the occasional dream about Caden as well. Just never a bad one before.

When I usually thought of him, it would be with his hands on me, his body between my legs, and ended in an amazing orgasm. Then, I’d remember that he’d given me three of those when I couldn’t have known him for longer than a few hours, and wistfully fell asleep.

So, maybe it wouldn’t have been all that bad, if he’d actually been here—if only because I could finally thank him for whatever he’d done to me that night. Changed my perception of what sex could be, maybe. That men were actually capable of getting you off, and you didn’t have to fake every orgasm when you wanted them to finish. It was a glorious discovery.

Disoriented, I glanced around the room. There was no sign of him, nothing that could hint at the possibility of last night being anything but a dream. Which was… relieving. Otherwise I’d feel bad for being rude and snarky, and—dare I say—an asshole for so long, it would get exhausting even for me.

Because if Valentina was one thing, it was nice. Easy and accommodating. Thinking about being anything else made me feel physically sick, although that could just be the alcohol still swimming around in my system.

Getting off the top bunk still a little drunk, without falling off or throwing up, was significantly harder than I remembered, but I managed. My suitcase, half-unpacked in front of the dresser, made me wonder what ghost of productivity had possessed me to unpack last night, and why it hadn’t made me finish the job.

I fished the T-shirt I’d originally packed to sleep in out of my suitcase, which drunk-me had clearly seen no benefit in doing. She’d thought climbing into bed in our sweaty, drenched-in-margarita-spill clothes from last night was a good idea. It was not.

I shrugged out of them, then into the oversized shirt, and continued my first full day the way I always did: heading downstairs, rummaging through cupboards for leftovers, trying to prepare breakfast with whatever I could get my hands on. As the first one up, that burden always fell on me.

Although, honestly, I hardly saw it as one. Being able to maneuver around a kitchen like this—with its long counters, professional equipment, and the massive island in the middle— felt like a small blessing in itself. And after weeks spent at Mom’s, cooking meals for three with one working stovetop and unsure if we’d still have electricity by the time we’d get to eat it, I appreciated it just a little more. This one, though, was spacious—and we definitely didn’t need to worry about the Dunbridges’ energy bill.

The kitchen was an extension of the living room, in a big alcove to the left. Gold handles, white marbled counters, blue cupboards matching the window shutters outside. The theme extended into the rest of the house, too. The couch was white, the pillows dark blue, the vases and lights with golden accents. The TV hung above a fireplace, opposite the couch, which the dining table stood behind.

I looked around, letting the feeling of Home settle, and got started. After three glasses of water that were needed before feeling physically able to scramble the eggs I’d found in the fridge. Then another glass before I trusted myself with a sharp knife to cut up some of the fruit basket’s contents. When I heard shuffling from upstairs, sounds that gradually turned into groans and curses, I toasted the bread and cracked the last two eggs into the pan—Iris preferred hers sunny-side-up.

My best friend staggered into view a second later. Still groaning and cursing, she came up behind me, slung her arms around my torso, and whispered, “You’re an angel” right as I plated her eggs. “I love you. How do you think my future husband will react when I tell him our wedding day could never live up to the moment of waking up on Oakport Island, violently hungover, not sure if you’ll survive, only to see Valentina Rhodes behind the stove when you get downstairs?”

“How do you think my husband will react when I tell him the exact same thing?” Alfie materialized in the doorway, throwing another compliment at me before I could even soak up the first one.

The smile on my lips was too wide—my cheeks hurt. And no matter how hard I tried to play it cool (rolling my eyes, shaking my head, waving them off), how much I loved all of this was apparent. Being showered in the loving kindness my family never really gave me. A thanks here and there, sure… but I couldn’t remember the last time they’d truly appreciated me, or any of the things I’d done or accomplished.

Graduating summa cum laude from Hall Beck University got me nothing but a disinterested nod, paired with: “Cool. Congrats.”

But this—my friends’ smiling faces, their laughs and words of actual appreciation—almost made me remember why I’d craved the exact thing from Mom and my sister for so long. It also reminded me of why I needed to stop. Why I’d come up with a stupid plan to hopefully help me get there.

I had people who loved me, and that should be enough to keep me from seeking validation elsewhere. In a perfect world, they’d be enough, and in an even better scenario, appreciating myself would be all I’d need. Standing up for myself. Doing things for myself.

Unfortunately, I’d never been the selfish type.

Anni kissed my cheek when she joined us, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts by taking Iris’ plate out of my hand to give to her. “We can ask what my future husband will think when I tell him.” She snickered in amusement at our synchronized eye rolls. As we carried plates, cutlery, and food to the outside dining area, she explained, “Him and Caden should be back any second. Think they went for a run.”

I halted. So abruptly, Iris walked straight into me. Thank God she’d only had the bread in her hand, because she balanced the full basket like a pro (after a shrill, high-pitched gasp at my sudden stop) and sidestepped me to get outside.

I still hadn’t moved an inch. Still stood in front of the sliding doors leading into the backyard. I could feel the light summer breeze, smell the salt in the air—but I could not move.

“Who?”

It was unnecessary to ask. Everything I’d chalked up to a funny nightmare suddenly felt paralyzingly real. Our entire conversation flooded back to me in one giant wave of regret.

Details I’d struck up as trivial (because they’d only been a dream) suddenly seemed life-changingly important (because they’d not been a dream). The way I’d barged into that room so drunk, I could barely keep upright. Then the way I’d unpacked my underwear like he couldn’t see those lacy things in my hand.

If I remember correctly, you were sound asleep when I was barely out of you.

And my cheeks burned bright red even before he was just suddenly there. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, Mike and Caden jogged around the corner of the house, through the yard, and slowed when they approached the laid table.

Caden wore a cap, backwards, that he adjusted as he came to a stop. Black shorts, grey shirt I couldn’t see a drop of sweat through, despite the fact they’d clearly been working out. His usual blond buzzcut was hidden, but that only left me focusing on his face more. A face that, unfortunately, was just as handsome as it had been four months ago. Just as carved and defined and unique as it had been last night.

Our eyes met, and the piercing blue of his finally snapped me out of my stupor—if only to get away from his gaze.

Fuck. He’s real.

If possible, my cheeks turned an even darker shade of red as I sat down and continued remembering every single awful thing that had been said last night. That none of it had been a dream, and all of it had actually happened. To distract myself (to try, at least), my eyes flickered across my friends so fast, I felt dizzy again.

None of them seemed surprised by his presence at all, though.

“Oh,” Iris said when she looked at him, and I thought finally. Finally, someone would say What the fuck? in the same way I had last night. Ask why he was here so that I didn’t have to.

Her gaze jumped back and forth between us, and she pointed her fork first at him, then me. “How’s the roommate situation working out for you guys?”

All I could do was blink at her. Like a deer in headlights, mouth open. “What?”

Iris, full fork now on its way to her mouth, looked at me like I was the one losing it. “You guys are bunking together, no?” she asked, too casually for my liking. “How. Is. That. Working. Out?” Around a full mouth, she annunciated every word loudly and slowly, like I might actually be hard of hearing.

What the fuck is going on?

My eyes flew around the table again, quite manically. Caden, of course, had taken a seat opposite me. Mike and Anni sat next to him on the bench, Iris and Alfie on my side of the table. None of them made it seem like my confusion was justified.

Caden cleared his throat, and I made a point of not looking at him when he broke the silence between us. “It would’ve probably gone better,” he said, reaching for a piece of bread. “If she’d been warned about the roommate beforehand.”

Alfie gasped. Anni honest-to-God shrieked.

Iris, as always, said what the rest of them were probably thinking. “We forgot!”

“Oh my God,” Anni repeated, over and over again. “Oh my God. We didn’t tell you. We forgot to tell you. Oh my God.”

It seemed my friends could interpret the look on my face correctly, because they all wanted to explain—and started with a different part of the story, at the same time, making it an unintelligible mess for anyone who wasn’t used to it.

“Because you were late—” Iris began.

“It must’ve been during that power outage at your Mom’s—” Anni.

While Alfie thought out loud, “You missed that weekly FaceTime call once, could it be—?”

I glanced at Mike and Caden. Unfamiliar with our group’s dynamic, they were probably two seconds away from giving up on us. But there was a subtle smile on Caden’s full lips when his gaze flicked between my friends, and Mike was just listening to his girlfriend talk. I love you written in the blue of his eyes.

“This is so fucked,” Alfie concluded their rendition of Why We Didn’t Tell You You’re Sharing A Bed With A Stranger.

A quick summary: Two weeks ago, there’d been a power-outage in Mom’s neighborhood. It had been around six when the light in the oven turned off and ruined my dinner plans. When I’d grabbed my phone to tell Mom and Lisa, it was dead. I couldn’t charge it, and therefore had no way of telling my little sister get something on the way home. And no way to tell Mom have dinner at the bar.

So, instead of the lasagna baking in the oven while I caught up with my friends on FaceTime, I drove across half the city (which, granted, wasn’t very big) to blow some of my savings on takeout Chinese. Lisa and Mom wouldn’t be happy, I thought—and they hadn’t been. But it was all I could do to avoid how a lot of my childhood meals had looked: empty table, a shrug from Mom in front of the TV, who’d probably been too high or too depressed to feel any hunger in the first place. And had probably forgotten that just because she wasn’t hungry, didn’t mean we weren’t.

Anyway, that night must’ve been when my friends conspired to put a near-stranger in my room. When I’d gotten power back the next day, there were 300+ new messages in the group chat, and when I asked if I’d missed anything important, they’d moved through three other topics and had landed on Sophia Fischer’s new hairstyle (which they weren’t fans of). Their earlier question (“Hey, Val, Mike wants to bring a friend to Oakport. Is it fine if you guys share a room?”) had been completely forgotten.

Which was how we’d ended up here.

Alfie shook his head. “We can put him in the room above the garage—no offense, mate.” He seemed to realize as his head cocked toward Caden. “The bed is just a mattress on the floor. And we’d still need to buy that mattress. But it’s got a private bath—”

“If you like your water pressure reminding you of a calm, trickling creek,” Iris threw in.

“And I’m not quite sure if we fixed the plumbing…” Alfie muttered, then glanced back at the guy. “Anyway,” he said. “I don’t mean to kick you out, but if Valentina—”

Before I could help it, I heard myself say, “It’s fine.”

And immediately regretted it.

But I couldn’t tell if Alfie felt guiltier for forgetting to tell me, or having to put Caden into… well, a glorified attic space without a bed or working plumbing. And this was much less about Caden’s comfort than not wanting Alfie—or any of my friends, for that matter—to feel bad. So…

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” I repeated. “A heads-up would’ve been great, but it’s all good. We actually hit it off last night.” My fingers crossed when I said, “This close to best friends.”

Caden looked at me like I’d just committed a crime—or like he was trying to figure out if I had. Eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, lips a thin line. Probably because our encounter had been anything but buddy-buddy. Thanks to me, and that fourth margarita that had given me the rest.

I needed to apologize for that. Not the alcohol—but maybe that, too?—but for how rude I’d been. After breakfast, when we’d be trapped in the same room, anyway, I’d apologize, beg him to forget last night ever happened, and turn over a new leaf. One in which the only time we’d met, was when he’d given me three great orgasms before letting me fall asleep against his chest.

And if there was no bad blood between us, would he still flirt the way he had last night? Look at me that way, too? Would there be anything to stop us from falling into habits we’d created in the few dark hours we’d had together?

The thought—of the way he’d touched me, and the way his body had felt beneath my fingers—kind of made me want to apologize faster.

Like a friendly reminder (that Valentina Rhodes rarely ever got what she wanted), Iris guffawed across the table. At something Caden had said, presumably, because she was pointing at him, still laughing.

I must’ve been so occupied thinking about him that I missed whatever incredible joke he’d just made, and I had no time to ask about it. Iris, still cackling, said, “You fit right in, Callahan. Like a part of the group we didn’t know we were missing!”

They all hummed and snickered in agreement, jokingly raised their glasses of orange juice in a toast of initiation as conversations continued animatedly. My glass was up there with theirs, but my thoughts had gone somewhere else entirely.

Part of the group.

My eyes met Caden’s blue ones, and for a brief second, I mourned that I’d never see them up-close again. Wouldn’t feel his soft lips against various parts of my body. Would never again hear that guttural “Fuck” he’d groaned against my skin when he’d finally pushed into me.

Because there’d be no apology. No friendly smiles and flirty banter. No fraternizing.

Not now, after Iris had ambitiously declared him part of our group. Not now, when sleeping with him could cost me the greatest people I’d ever met.