Unloved: Chapter 3

I’ve changed my outfit an embarrassing number of times, and yet I still feel ridiculous and as I step out of the elevator onto the third floor of the library.

White pleated tennis skirt and a lavender short sleeve, a matching bow in my hair—it’s exactly , but for some reason harder to be confident in these days.

I find a study table easily. Summer B semester is usually empty anyway, but it’s the middle of finals week for them, so there’s a few people settled around the floor in groups.

The air-conditioning is loud, echoing in the large space to combat the rampant heat pouring through the wall-to-wall windows and poorly insulated walls, so I toss my headphones on and turn to Sadie’s Spotify page, spotting one playlist labeled Amped Up.

A loud song by a band I’ve never heard of kicks on, and I wince.

Skipping to the next track, I bounce my knee to the quick beat as Wet Leg starts up in my headphones.

And, like a scene out of a movie, or one of my dreams from freshman year, Matt Fredderic exits from the sliding elevator doors.

He’s as tall and well built as I remember, resembling some type of clean-cut supermodel with that slight mischief burning like green embers in his eyes. It’s his personality, the raw sex appeal that seems to drip off him, on and off the ice. He’s always dressed heart-stoppingly perfectly, somehow annoyingly never in just joggers and a T-shirt like most of the other sporty boys.

In the summer, though, he’s dressed indecently. A baby-blue linen button-down hangs off his broad shoulders, the buttons undone one below what most guys would wear so his shining tanned chest glows even in the fluorescent light of the library. His shorts are short, arguably shorter than the hem of my skirt, with muscular legs on display, one sporting a tattoo that I haven’t seen before—a butterfly of all things—on his upper thigh.

There’s so much tanned skin showing that my mouth goes dry and I grab my water bottle. Looking like he does shouldn’t be legal, all sharp lines softened by boyish charms.

He grasps one girl’s swivel chair, spinning her as he walks by with a wink. She giggles and halfheartedly chides him, which he takes like a well-loved class clown. For a moment, his eyes move across the room like he’s looking for where he’s supposed to be.

But they catch on someone else, a girl arching on her tiptoes for a book off the shelf, the frayed hem of her shorts cutting into her dark thighs. He leans over her and grabs the book she was reaching for. She sinks against the bookcase behind her, while his hand stays planted over her.

And… I’m a little worried I’m drooling.

“Hey,” Rodger says, and I nearly jump out of my seat, realizing I was so focused on Freddy that I didn’t see or hear my coworkers’ approach.

“Oh, wonderful,” Tyler mutters, sliding into the seat next to me. “He’s here.”

I feel a little sick, the guilt of mooning over Freddy when I have a semi-maybe-boyfriend mixing with the thrilling lust of being in his presence. Nothing he’s doing is inherently sexual, but I’ve been plagued with dreams about Freddy for years.

“I told you that I didn’t need you here,” I mumble, still a little frustrated with Tyler’s inability to do what I ask. But I’m borderline used to it now.

Rodger has to be here, to officially hand over files and go through the plan change with Freddy present. Tyler most definitely does need to be here. In fact, he shouldn’t be. It’s a violation of student academic privacy.

Instead, he laughs. “What? Don’t want me here so you can pant over Matt Fredderic?”

I roll my eyes and shove him with my shoulder a little.

“C’mon, Ro. Don’t tell me you still think he’s hot. The guy couldn’t pass an STD test, let alone freshman-level bio.”

“Stop it.”

Tyler’s not wrong; Freddy does have a reputation. But it’s more complicated than that. I’ve overheard enough stories about him to last me a lifetime—and not one of them is negative. Girls fawn over him, but I’ve never heard a single crazy story about him breaking anyone’s heart. They have a good time, then they move on. Everyone seems to leave happy.

Freddy is still chatting up the girl at the bookshelf, his hand tracing patterns beneath the hem of her shirt, and she looks mesmerized, like his beauty and aura are a swinging pocket watch and she’s the hypnotist’s willing subject.

Meanwhile, I’m plastered to the seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs and wishing I hadn’t worn a skirt.

As if the shifting in my seat has drawn his attention, Tyler eyes me up and down, his gaze flickering from my ruffled short socks to the lavender bow pulling half my frizzy curls off my face, disapproval evident in his eyes.

“Thought you’d grow out of that look by now,” he mutters under his breath.

My face flushes and everything feels too tight. I feel ridiculous, hating how easily his words get to me. I’ve loved Tyler for years, and I he hates when I dress like this. But the one who decided that we aren’t together.

I stand without preamble and shove back from the table, nearly tripping as I grab my backpack.

“Whoa, where are you going?” Rodger asks, scooting away in his rolling chair to give me space.

“I—um, the bathroom. It’s my period,” I say, lying. “Just go over the plan with him and tell him to meet me next week. Same time, same place, okay?”

I’m gone before either of them can respond, nearly running toward the hallway with the bathrooms, my phone in my hand to text Sadie—

—before slamming into a brick wall.

That wall being Matt Fredderic.

“Sorry,” I sputter, backing up and nearly tripping over my own feet.

“You’re good, princess.” He smirks, winking a little as he picks my phone up off the ground and checks it. “Not a scratch. You’re in luck.”

“Clearly,” I blurt, only serving to make myself blush further. My hands fumble for the phone, nearly dropping it again. “I’m—I have to go. Thanks.”

I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast in my life.