Ohmygod. Thinking about how he sees me hurts. Why does it hurt so much? Clay’s not worth this, not worth the amount of pain knowing he sees me the same as he sees every other girl—as a disposable piece of ass. Someone he can throw away when he’s finished and never think about again.

As I walk back to my dorm alone, I wish Scarlett hadn’t been so quick to leave me with him. I’d give anything to have someone to talk to about this, someone who won’t judge me for being so stupid. Instead, once again, I’m by myself. I could call my sister, but she has a life too. A job, an apartment, friends who need her more than I do. Peyton would listen, but I don’t want to intrude on her and Wyatt right now. Actually, if I’m honest, I don’t want her to know how freaking pathetic I am. I don’t want her to pity me for thinking he could be different. The emotions I feel about and for Clay are so confusing now. If you’d asked me six months ago, I would have told you I loathe him. But, lately, I’ve been seeing a different side of him. A softer side. Or, well, at least, I thought it was. I was so wrong, though.

Before I know it, I’m standing in front of my dorm building, my arms wrapped around my waist like I’m trying to hold myself together. I look up, and for a split second, my heart beats faster at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered guy. One who stands when he sees me. Clay? How did he get here before I did?

The man steps out from under the awning shielding him from my eyes, and my heart falls. It’s not Clay at all. It’s Max. The other Mitchell brother who hurt me, even if it was in a completely different way.

“Kat,” he says, his voice deeper than normal, almost gravelly. I take an automatic step back when he begins to walk closer, but his legs are much longer than mine, and each step of his is easily two for me. “Wait,” he says, holding a hand out like he’s going to grab my arm, but dropping it just before it reaches me. “Please, talk to me, even if it’s just for a second …” his voice trails off, and I finally meet his eyes.

He looks about as miserable as I am. Both sides of his mouth are tipped down in a frown, and his shoulders are hunched in like he’s trying to make his frame smaller. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest at the sight, and I have to force myself to stay where I am. This isn’t the Max I’ve known for years. The one who’s always been there for me, the one who knows me better than anyone else—this is the one who hurts me just because he can. Even knowing that I can’t just turn my back on him and walk away.

I sigh heavily, my own shoulders slumping with what feels like the world settling on my shoulders. “What do you want, Max?” My voice is soft, wavering slightly on his name, but I keep my eyes on him, refusing to run away, no matter how much I might want to.

He breaks eye contact, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that makes him look so much like Clay. It’s jarring to realize I know Clay well enough to be able to pick out similarities in their gestures. Until recently, that wouldn’t have even been a possibility. Everything is so turned around; I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

Max walks over to one of the few benches just outside the dorm building and sits, patting the spot beside him, so I’ll do the same. I sit as far from him as possible on the tiny wooden bench; my hands clasped together in my lap and my gaze on everything but him. I wait for him to start talking because he’s the one who came to me, not the other way around. I’m not going to make this any easier on him.

“Look,” he finally starts, saying only that one word before he lapses into silence once more. Then, Max takes a deep breath and speaks quickly, so fast I have to concentrate to decipher what he’s saying. “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have said the things I did, and that conversation shouldn’t have even happened with everyone around.”

I can only look at him, my mouth dropping open. He started out great; the apology was nice … and then he completely negates it by saying it shouldn’t have happened in front of everyone. So it’s not so much that he was a douche, it’s that all of our friends know he is. Hell, he’s probably only here because he wants to save face with everyone. Now, when I tell him to screw off, I’ll be the bad guy.

Standing, I look down at him, hands curling into fists at my side, and wanting nothing more than to punch him in his asshole face. This is the guy I was hung up on for so long? Why? I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. Max Mitchell is not someone I should be upset over. I’m moving on from him, from Clay, from all of it.

“It’s fine, Max.” His head snaps up, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “I understand, and it’s okay. We’re cool.” We’re the furthest thing from cool, but he doesn’t have to know that. “Actually, you know what?” His expression turns wary, his eyes shuttering and his arms crossing over his chest as he waits for me to continue. “I think that ‘conversation’ was a good thing. Possibly even the best thing to happen to our friendship.”

Max raises one eyebrow, another mannerism that makes him look more like his older brother. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because,” I shrug, “seeing you for the jerk you are helped me realize that you’re not worth my time or my emotions.” He flinches like I actually did punch him, but I keep going, wanting him to hurt as much as I did the other night. “And honestly, it really is okay. You have Sophia, and I have a date with someone this weekend too, so we’re all good.”

At first, he doesn’t catch what I said other than to correct his booty call’s name. “Her name is Sophie,” he snaps. I wave off his words, not bothering to apologize, and watch, waiting for him to catch on to the rest of my sentence. I don’t have to wait long. His eyes widen, and he starts to talk, choking on the words. “What do you mean, you have a date?” I start to walk away, and he calls from behind me, “A date with who?”

He can’t see me, but that doesn’t stop my smile. “Just a guy. It doesn’t matter who.” I don’t bother to turn around to see how my words are continuing to affect him, but once I’m safely behind the tinted dorm lobby windows, I chance a look back to where he was standing. My smile turns into a self-satisfied smirk when he’s not there any longer.

I practically skip up to my room, and when I push the door open, Becca’s sitting on her bed, her fingers flying over the screen of her phone. She’s studying whatever’s on it so intently she doesn’t even hear me come in. I’m not sure why, but I don’t immediately announce my presence. Instead, I walk over to where she’s sitting on her bed, and I can see part of a text on the screen.

“Who are you talking about?” Becca jumps so far she drops her phone.

I grab it just before it hits the hard faux wood floor, but before I can take another look at it, Becca jerks it out of my hand. “No one you know.” The pissy tone she’s using startles me. Usually, Becca tells me everything, things I don’t even want to know when there’s gossip going around. But lately, she hasn’t talked to me much at all.

“Okay, jeez. Chill out, Bec.” I watch as her eyes scan the screen one last time before she snickers, shoving the phone under her pillow before turning to give me her attention.

“Sorry, just drama from a girl I knew back home.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the way her eyes shift away from mine make me think she’s lying. “What have you been up to today?” she asks, still looking anywhere but at me.

I flop back on my bed, putting my hands under my head and looking up at the ceiling. “Not much. Clay was his douchey self, I made a date with a guy who plays Basketball with Wyatt, and Max was waiting for me when I got home a few minutes ago.”

Becca whistles. “Damn, girl. You went from no men to all the men, huh?” Then she shrieks, jumping up from her bed to tower over where I’m lying on my own. “Wait a minute! You have a date with a non-Mitchell guy? How did that happen?”

I explain the conversation that took place in the coffee shop, and she listens intently. When I’m finished, she asks about Clay and Max, so I tell her that too. She listens impatiently, and as soon as I stop spilling my guts, she straightens and is almost vibrating with excitement. “O.M.G! This is soo exciting!” she squeals. “Please, please, please tell me I get to help you pick out what you’re going to wear on this date!” I can’t help but laugh at how she’s completely ignoring everything I said about the brothers, and choosing to focus solely on my upcoming date. Before I even tell her yes, she can absolutely help me, she grabs the phone from under her pillow and heads for the door. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“Wait, Bec,” I sit up and stare at her back. “Where are you going?” It’s so odd how one minute she was so excited about helping me pick an outfit, and now she’s leaving? What the hell?

She freezes, her hand on the door knob. “Oh, uh … sorry. I have a study group in a few minutes and just realized I’m going to be late.” I can tell she’s lying just by the fact she’s refusing to look at me again. I start to call her on it, but she scoots through the door with a wave and a, “Back later!” The door shuts behind her, and I fall back onto my pillows. What was that all about? Becca’s being shady, and something tells me that text from earlier? That wasn’t about some friend from home.