“So you guys are over?” Daphne asks as we stand in line for caffeine at a campus coffee stand. We have the same eight am class on Thursdays, and it just finished. We didn’t have time to get coffee before class started, but now we are desperate. I’m going to need an extra large dark roast to get through the day.

I was up half the night studying for the Theories of Global Justice test I have today.

“Hmm?” I ask, not really paying attention to my roommate.

With her phone in hand she repeats, “You and Spencer Beckett, you guys aren’t like a thing anymore?”

Leaning in so the people behind us don’t hear I whisper, “We haven’t labeled the relationship, but we’re a thing. I mean, I think we’re a thing.”

She twists her lips. “Um, you should have a look at this then.”

Before I can glance at her phone, the barista asks to take our order. But I don’t get a chance to order my basic black drip coffee before Daphne asks for two extra large, extra shot, peppermint mochas as she hands over her credit card.

“’Tis the season,” she says as we walk to the queue to wait for our drinks.

“Thank you,” I say, shoving my crumpled one dollar bills back in my purse. I rewrap the scarf around my neck and wiggle my toes. The temperature seems to have dropped ten degrees overnight. Christmas is inching closer and closer and I am no nearer to sorting out how I’m going to get home. “Now what were you saying?”

“Don’t get upset, but...” She hands me her phone.

I frown as I look at some guy named Yates Bradford. The image is of him at a dance club with a bunch of semi-familiar looking girls. “Who is this?”

“Oops, this one,” she says, swiping up.

My stomach drops.

“Wait, when was this taken?” I ask, zooming in on the image of Spencer Beckett and Winslow Harrington. The photo is tagged in Atlantic City. Winslow’s arms are wrapped around him, and he’s cupping her face with his hand. They are mere inches apart with a blackjack table behind them, and they look...intimate.

Daphne places her hand on my arm and gives it a small squeeze. “It was posted late last night.”

My heart sinks. “Are you sure? How did you even find this?”

“Two peppermint mochas,” the barista calls out and Daphne grabs our drinks just as Tatum approaches us.

“Hey ladies,” he says, draping his arms around our shoulders. “It’s fucking cold as balls out there.”

I bite my lip, scared I’m going to start crying. Daphne notices and takes control. “Um, we’re in crisis mode.” She grabs her phone and shows Tatum.

“Oh, shit, Hayes.”

Daphne nods. “Exactly. We need carbs. Pancake carbs. Now.”

“Your next class isn’t for an hour and a half, right?” he asks, looking at me, but he already knows the answer.

Numb, a million emotions and thoughts clamoring inside me, I let them lead me out of the coffee shop.

Don’t cry, Charlie, I warn myself. You knew what you were getting into when you hooked up with Spencer Beckett.

But I‘d still let myself fall for Princeton Charming, even knowing how it would end.

Ten minutes later we slide into a booth at an off-campus diner and I focus on drinking my mocha as Tatum and Daphne order for the table.

“Are there any more photos?” I ask when the waitress leaves. My voice sounds distant, metallic, detached.

Tatum and Daphne share a look.

“What? If there are, just show me so we can get this over with.”

Daphne hands me her phone again, this time it’s Winslow’s Instagram feed. There are half a dozen photos of her in Spencer’s lap. Her arms are around him, and in some of them, another woman is with them too. She’s captioned it, Double the fun.

My stomach turns.

“I really thought. I mean, he seemed so sincere.” Don’t cry, don’t cry. But I can feel the stupid tears forming, burning my eyes.

“The guy’s a player. What did you expect?” Tatum says.

“Not helpful.” Daphne smacks his shoulder.

“What? I tried to warn her—”

“I can’t do this right now.” I push out of my seat. “I have to go.”

Both Tatum and Daphne call after me, but I dart out of the restaurant, and when I’m finally outside and I know they aren’t following me, I let my tears fall.

“He’s just a guy,” I mumble. “Just a stupid, asshole, inconsiderate—”

“Charlie?” Ava, Spencer’s younger sister, is waving at me from the steps of one of the campus buildings. “Hey, wait up.”

Not now. I haven’t seen her since the night at the hospital. As she approaches, her smile drops.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m just in a rush to get to class.” A small lie.

She doesn’t look like she believes me. “I hope it’s not something my idiot brother did.”

I laugh at that, but there’s no humor in it. I just need my space. Time to process that the guy I gave my heart and body to isn’t who I thought he was. Spencer Beckett is the ultimate player...and he did a good job playing me.

“I never got the chance to say thank you for helping me that night.” She winces. “It’s pretty embarrassing.”

“I’m just glad you were okay. But I should really go.”

“Sure. But maybe we can have coffee sometime? Now that you and Spencer are dating—”

“We’re not.” The words come out clipped because I’m trying to hold back my tears again.

“Oh, I thought...” Her brows are drawn down. “He cares about you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so into someone. He even...” She chews on her bottom lip before saying. “It’s probably for the best. You’re sweet, Charlotte.” She winces. “And in our world, sweet gets eaten alive. I love my brother, but he’ll hurt you even if he doesn’t want to.”

I know she’s not trying to be mean. I can see the concern in her eyes. But I’m reminded once again that I’m not good enough for Spencer Beckett.

“Hayes,” a deep voice says behind me, filled with something that sounds like triumph. Prescott slings a heavy arm over my shoulder then says to Ava. “And little Beckett. What are the two of you scheming about?”

I shrug him off. “I was just leaving.” I say to Ava before I walk away, “Thanks for the advice.”

Anger has replaced all sadness as I start to jog toward the building where my class is. So when Prescott catches up to me and spins me around, I can barely control my response.

“What do you want, Prescott? To rub my face in those pictures?”

He fucking grins at me. “So you saw them already. News travels fast. I tried to warn you—”

“Right. I need to watch my back, right?” I repeat the words he said to me at the coffee shop a couple weeks ago. “What was the other thing, about a bet? Were you both playing me the entire time?”

He leans closer. “I enjoy games, Charlotte. They make life interesting. Blackjack, roulette...And you.” There’s something dark in his gaze as it focuses on me. “You were a bet I knew I’d win.”

“You didn’t win anything.”

He chuckles. “I knew you’d never go home with Beckett that night at the gala. So yeah, Hayes, I won. A night in Atlantic City, all paid thanks to Spencer Beckett’s inability to walk away from a challenge.”

That’s what I was to him - a bet, a challenge.

“You’re an asshole, you know that,” I spit out, turning to walk away.

He steps in front of me. “It should be Beckett you’re pissed at, doll. I’m not the one who fucked you over.” He winks, expression filled with lascivious suggestions. “Even though I wanted to. If you want to get back at Beckett, I can think of a way that will benefit us both.”

I have to squeeze my fists to my side in order not to slap him. “Get out of my way, Prescott.”

“What? You think you’re too good for me?” He sneers, grabbing my arms. “I’ve got deeper pockets and a bigger cock than—”

I don’t see Spencer approach, and I’m pretty sure Prescott doesn’t either, because one second he’s leering over me, and the next he sprawled out on the lawn in front of me. Spencer has him by the collar of his jacket, his fist inches from Prescott’s face. I can’t hear what he says, but from the tone I know it’s a threat.

“You’re brainwashed because of a little virgin pussy,” Prescott says, loud enough for me and the small crowd that’s started to gather around to watch. He pushes Spencer away and they both stand.

“Just stay away from her or we’re done.”

“You’re losing it, Beckett. I get the need to slum it every once in awhile, but—”

Spencer raises his arm, and I know he’s about to punch his best friend in the face. And while I’d really like to see it, I know it won’t solve anything.

“Spencer, stop.”

Mid-swing, he stops, his breathing heavy, eyes wild as they pin Prescott with a murderous look.

“Just stop,” I repeat, my own breathing coming out labored. Confusion, frustration, anger, the swirl like an out of control vortex inside me. I haven’t even begun to process the pictures of Spencer and Winslow together, let alone Prescott’s words, or Spencer swooping in like a dark knight willing to protect my honor.

But it’s him I need protection from.

The crowd has grown bigger now, and I notice more than a few phones are out.

Without another word, I turn and run. I know I’m forgetting something. But I can’t remember what. And right now I don’t care. I just need to find a dark cave to burrow myself in and cry. Tears blur my vision, and I have no idea where I’m going. I just need to get away.