Not So Loved (West Coast Campus Series Book 2)

Chapter 6

"Sure." It's barely a whisper and I just wish I could gain her confidence back.

"Beckett." I give a curt nod to Rhys, his smile turning into an ear to ear grin.

"Leigh-Foster." God, I hate my last name as much as he hates his.

I flip him off.

He just rubs my head like a fucking child before I swat his hand away.

"Ava?" Cam blinks in surprise when he sees her standing behind me, a quiet squeak coming from her.

"Hi, Cam."

Now it's my turn to blink as I look between them. "How do you two know each other?"

"I tutor him." Ava tells me.

Cam wraps an arm around her. "That's right. She helped me pass my Econ quiz."

Ava blushes when he meets her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she looks down at her feet.

"That was all you." She tells him, blushing again.

Maybe I don't need to help her build her confidence. She's got a shit load of confidence standing right in front of her.

I give her a knowing nudge, which earns me a scowl before Cam offers to buy her drink.

I take the empty seat beside Mike in the booth, choosing to ignore the empty one beside Rhys.

"Mike? Or do you prefer Mikey? Micheal?"

Mike snorts beside me. "Mike is fine."

"Are you sure? I think I would love to call you Mikey."

Is my voice slurring?

Nah.

"How drunk are you, Nova?"

I huff at the nickname, narrowing my eyes on Rhys.

"I think I'm...five beers in?" I hold up seven fingers.

Rhys looks concerned. "Maybe I should take you home."

"Why? So you can leave me all over again?"

He flinches as if I slapped him. Good.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I point my finger at him before stomping over to the bar, throwing back a shot of vile stuff.

A hand grazes my shoulder. "Don't fucking touch me, Rhys."

"But I love touching you." His voice trickles into my ear.

I tilt my head at him, fog clouding my brain.

The world spins but Rhys stands still in front of me. He stands tall and clear even though I want him gone.

My feet trip over each other and I end up falling right into his chest.

And I don't even try and push myself away.

I mold right into him just like how I used to. And he just wraps his arms around me.

"Do you know I planned a funeral for you?" It's barely a slurred whisper in the air but he hears it clearly as he freezes under me.

"God, Maeve. I'm so fucking sorry."

The lights are too bright and the music is too loud but part of me is happy. Happier than I've felt in a long time.

So I let myself be happy. Just for tonight.

Because he's here.

I bury myself into the warm crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. His arms are still wrapped around my waist which I'm fucking glad they are because I'm pretty sure I would have fallen on my ass by now.

I let out a small giggle.

A. Giggle.

Is this is what I've been reduced to?

Giggling?

He pulls back, his eyebrows drawn into a V, cupping my cheeks with his big, strong hands.

If only they could inch lower.

"I hate you so much." I spit, suddenly sober.

I smack his chest, fire building inside. I'm shaking, pounding his chest with my fists like a toddler.

He doesn't try to stop me and I think that's worse. He just takes my hits with sad look on his face, his lips that are usually turned up now pulled into a fine line.

"I hate you. I hate you. I fucking hate you!"

I'm shouting towards the end of it but only he can hear me.

Like always.

I quickly send a text to Ava saying I'm going home and slap down what I owe on the bar table, stumbling through the bar until I'm out on the street.

I feel nauseous and wobbly even in sneakers, and I'm suddenly glad I opted for jeans and a top over a dress.

"Maeve! You can't walk through the skids this late at night."

I flip him off over my shoulder.

"Watch me!"

I hear heavy footsteps and then Rhys is right beside me, suddenly towering over me with distress.

"Let me walk you home."

He's grasping at straws but I'm too drunk to give a shit.

"I don't want to talk to you." I argue.

He wipes his hand through his hair, glancing behind us.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" I run my finger over his full lips.

"Please, let me walk you home. I won't even talk. I can walk ten feet behind you if you want. You wont even know I'm here."

He sounds so desperate. So broken.

And I won't be the one to stitch him back up.

No. I already did that.

And when he left?

He left and never helped me thread the needle.