Prologue – The Morning After
BREANNA
Warm sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting pale stripes across my face.
My head throbbed, slow, heavy pulses that made my stomach churn. The kind of ache that came from too little sleep and far too many bad decisions.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying to steady myself.
Okay. Breathe.
Slowly, painfully, I blinked my eyes open.
I lay still, letting my eyes adjust, taking in the space around me.
The room was… unfamiliar.
A poster of a football team. A stack of textbooks I didn’t recognize. A half-empty water bottle on the nightstand.
This wasn’t my dorm room.
My chest tightened.
Oh no.
I became painfully aware of a heavy arm draped over me. Solid, warm…I went completely still, my heart thumping harder in my chest.
How did I end up here?
The arm shifted, dragging me closer. A low, sleepy murmur brushed my ear:
“Perfect… just perfect.”
I swallowed hard, pulse racing. He was still asleep, but the sound of his voice sent a nervous shiver through me.
Fragments of the night before flickered in and out of focus. The party. Loud music. Too many drinks. A stupid dare. Laughter. His smile. The way his hand had brushed mine. The heat of his lips against mine—
And then nothing.
Just black.
This is what happens when you drink on an empty stomach Breanna.
My stomach twisted as I forced myself to breathe slowly, carefully.
Think. So we started making out, and then—
My brain tried and failed to piece together how we ended up here, in his room, and in nothing but my underwear.
I waited, listening to his breathing. Steady. Deep. Asleep.
I swallowed, tried to think, tried to breathe.
Okay..Just get dressed and leave.
Carefully, inch by inch, I lifted my arm and slipped out from under him, trying not to wake him. The mattress barely shifted. He didn’t wake.
Only then did I turn to look at him. His tousled curls fell over his forehead, caramel skin glowing softly in the morning light. I paused, taking him in…the sharp jawline, soft plump lips, the curve of his shoulder and even his chest rising and falling in sleep.
My heart raced faster. Who is this?
I tried to remember his name: Charles? Cam? Definitely C… something.
A vague memory teased me: his smile, the warmth in his laugh, the way his hand had brushed mine. My stomach coiled with something dangerous, something electric.
I tore my gaze away before I got caught staring and quickly pulled on my black crop top and jeans. My eyes darted around, searching for something-my Seahawks cap. A sense of panic clawed at me. Then I found it on the floor near his desk.
I spotted his hoodie tossed on a chair. Heart hammering, I grabbed it, inhaling faint traces of him. The scent made something warm unfurl in my stomach, and for a moment, my pulse skipped again.
I looked back at him. His eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted, soft groan escaping as he noticed I’d moved. He passed out again, and I couldn’t help but smile faintly at how peaceful he looked.
Snapping out of my daze, I crept to the door and opened it carefully, but a figure blocked it. My breath caught.
That’s when I saw her, my friend, curled up on the hallway floor, mouth open, hair a mess, phone dangling lifelessly from her hand.
“Oh… of course,” I muttered under my breath. “Of course you’re here, because why wouldn’t you be?”
I nudged her lightly.
“Gianna?” I whispered.
“Hey… wake up. Come on, we need to move.”
My friend blinked, disheveled, blonde hair everywhere, eyes still half-closed .She groaned, eyes half-lidded, trying to process the sunlight and my frantic whisper. She looked like a hot mess, just as confused as I was.
“What…?” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
The hallway was empty. Sunlight streamed through the windows of what I realized was some kind of frat house. A few beer cans lay scattered on the floor. The quiet made it feel unreal, like the night hadn’t even happened.
I swallowed, tugging the hoodie tighter around me.
She blinked at me groggily, clearly questioning the universe as much as I was.
“Come on, move it,” I hissed. “We need to get to our dorms before…” I stopped. Before Brendan finds out. Before my life implodes. Growing up, Brendan didn’t need much to unleash his explosive anger. He went into full protective mode over almost nothing, just a hint that someone liked me.
She slowly untangled herself from the floor, blinking like a confused owl.
Gianna yawned and stretched, looking at me like I’d grown two heads. “Wait. Slow down. What are we doing? What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter!” I whispered, voice rising despite myself. “We need to get back to our dorm. Now!”
Her eyes widened. “Back to… our dorm? Girl, you look… oh my god, you’re—” She gestured vaguely at my outfit, the hoodie I’d stolen from… him.
“Yes, yes, I know. I look like a mess. I am a mess!” I muttered, tugging her hand.
Gianna groaned, stretching her arms over her head like a cat.
I whispered again, this time more urgently: “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Sneaking out like—This is real life.”
She smirked then winked. “Uh… you mean the walk of fame?”
I shot her a look that could have burned her, “The walk of fame? That’s NOT what this is.”
We shuffled down the hallway. Every step echoed.
I tugged his hoodie tighter, wishing it could erase last night entirely.
“And…” I whispered, my stomach twisting, “I don’t even know if,” my voice broke. “If we did anything. You know.”
She looked at me like I’d lost it. “Breanna… just… let’s get to our room first, then we can panic properly. You’re not dying. Maybe.”
I bit my lip, eyes watering a little, heart racing like a track meet. I couldn’t even process the fact that he doesn’t know me, and now I have to sneak away like a thief. My stomach twisting with confusion, anxiety and a strange pull.
I groaned and muttered to myself, switching between Portuguese and Trini English under my breath:
“Meu Deus… Que bagunça…” (My God… What a mess…)
“Dis a hot mess… real hot mess…”
She blinked slowly. “You’re being dramatic. Okay. I remember some of it… maybe.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, ‘maybe.’ I remember enough. I definitely don’t want Brendan finding out. Or anyone!”
Gianna gave me a slow grin, still groggy but catching on. “Girl… this is next level. You? In some hot frat boy’s bed?”
“Don’t make fun of me! This is a disaster!” I hissed. “I have no battery life, I stole his hoodie—it smells like him, and I. I don’t even know his name. Something starting with a C. And I. Ugh, just no talking, Gianna, let’s go!”
She laughed softly, rubbing her eyes. “Fine, fine. We survive this. Walk fast. Don’t look at anyone. Pretend we’re totally innocent college girls.”
I groaned, tugging the hoodie tighter. “Totally innocent. Yeah. Except. Not at all.”
She shook her head and gave me a mock salute. “Okay, general, lead the way. Let’s survive this morning disaster.”
Every sound of our shoes on the wooden floor echoed. I glanced back once, heart lurching,thinking about him asleep in that bed. Hazel eyes, caramel skin… that smile… My cheeks warmed.
Outside, the campus was bathed in soft morning light. Dew glittered on the grass. The buildings loomed silently, imposing yet beautiful. I felt the hoodie, still smelling faintly of him, and my stomach did a little flip. This strange, stolen connection from last night lingered like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
We walked quickly but carefully, passing empty quads and silent benches. Birds chirped lazily. I couldn’t believe how real it all felt, the mix of embarrassment, adrenaline, and that inexplicable warmth that fluttered in my chest whenever I thought of him.
Even through my panic, a part of me wanted to look back at the frat house, to see him again, to remember the laughter and the spark I couldn’t name.
But instead, I focused on getting back to the dorm, gripping his hoodie like a lifeline, and hoping…praying…that this awkward, scandalous morning wouldn’t define the rest of my college life.
Finally, we reached my building. My chest tightened. My phone was dead. No way to call Brendan, no way to explain.
Gianna nudged me, whispering, “You’re not thinking about him, are you?”
I hissed, embarrassed. “Shut up. I am not.”
We moved down the hall, silent except for our footsteps, both aware of how ridiculous we looked. And yet, every fiber of me was still buzzing from that stolen connection, that fleeting, electrifying moment I couldn’t shake…
I punched in my door code, heart in my throat. The door swung open… and there he was.
Brendan. Twin. Hockey star.
Protective and furious. Arms crossed, glare sharp enough to cut steel. Dark brown, shoulder-length waves framed his strong jawline, and his hazel eyes, so like mine, were narrowed in warning.
Standing 6’3” with a lean, athletic build, his tan skin showcased his Italian, Portuguese, and Trinidadian heritage.
Every inch of him radiated intensity and loyalty, the kind that made it impossible to argue when he was in “protective brother” mode.
“Breanna! Where de hell have you been?!” His voice boomed, half Trini-English, half-creole: “Yuh tink yuh could jus’ disappear like dat?”
I froze, mouth dry, fingers shaking on the door handle.
“I,” I started, voice catching. “Phone dead. And I—”
He cut me off, pacing, voice rising: “Dead phone? Dead brain? Yuh tink yuh could jus’ leave me waitin’ all night?!”
I muttered under my breath, switching to Portuguese to calm my own panicking mind:
“Calma… Respira… Não faz drama…” (Calm… Breathe… Don’t freak out…)
Brendan’s glare didn’t soften. “Talk! NOW!”
I let out a shaky laugh, half in disbelief, half out of nerves. “You don’t even want to know!”
He leaned closer, arms crossed like he was holding back his explosion, voice softer but dangerous: “Try me.”
I sighed, shoulders slumping, heart racing.
This is it.
My life is officially a mess.
