Broken Rivalry : New-Adult Angsty College Romance (Silverbrook University Book 1)
Broken Rivalry : Chapter 17

The scent of freshly baked pizza wafts around me, a comforting familiarity amid the whirlwind of emotions that have become my constant companions. A part of me still hums, alive and tingling from the night with Ethan and the mind-blowing orgasm he gave me. Flashes of his naked body and the feel of his lips on my flesh flicker through my mind, a secret smile playing on my lips as I navigate through the pizzeria.

A pang of loneliness echoes through me as I remember waking up alone, the sheets beside me cold. But regret? Not even a little. Ethan gave me a night of passion, of connection, something I hadn’t realized I’d been craving until it was right there, offered on a silver platter.

My phone vibrates in my apron pocket, jolting me back to reality.

Last night was amazing. I didn’t want to leave, but I had practice. Have dinner with me tomorrow night, please.

My stomach flips with excitement, but it’s quickly dampened by a nagging guilt. I’m not doing anything wrong, am I? But if that’s true, why haven’t I told my mom about Ethan?

Memories flood back, reminding me of the pain his family caused mine. My mom. Struggling to keep us afloat, her eyes embodying determination laced with despair. It’s a stark contrast to the fluttering in my chest when I think of Ethan. My heart insists this is right, that Ethan isn’t his family. But my mind, ever the protector, urges caution.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the memories and focus on the here and now. On Ethan and the way he makes me feel. Alive. Wanted. Seen. And for now, that’s enough.

I would love to. See you tomorrow.

I send the text, my heart fluttering, and then slide the phone into my pocket, trying to keep my mind on the pizza dough beneath my fingers instead of the butterflies in my stomach. The rest of the shift passes in a blur, my thoughts constantly drifting back to Ethan, to his text, to tomorrow, and what it could potentially mean for our blossoming yet confusing relationship.

When my shift finally ends, I practically bolt out of the pizzeria, my mind racing ahead to the evening to come. The anticipation is a sweet, tingling sensation that follows me all the way home, making everything seem brighter. More vibrant. It’s the kind of excitement I have not experienced for a while, far too worried about helping Mom get food on the table and keep a roof over our heads. But money is a little bit better, especially with the monthly payment from Jeff to help with homework.

My mom wanted me to come to university to be the carefree young woman I deserved to be, and I didn’t think it was possible until now, mainly because of the most unlikely man—my former rival—Ethan.

Back at home, I replace the girls lounging in the living room. I take a deep breath, trying to sound casual. “I’ve got a date with Ethan tomorrow. I think… it might be the night.”

Eva raises an eyebrow, resting the novel she is reading on her chest. “Wasn’t it last night?”

Nessa grins. “I heard you scream his name last night, and I’m deaf.”

My face turns bright red, and my mouth hangs open, making her burst into laughter.

“Oh God, that’s priceless!” she says, wiping her tears of laughter. “Eva told me.”

I glare at them, but it lacks heat.

Eva sits up and rests her book on the table before patting the spot beside her. “Remember, Poppy, don’t mistake pleasure and lust for love. Just because he can make you climax doesn’t mean he’s a good man.”

Nessa snorts, “Wow, Eva. Didn’t expect that from you. You look like a stuck-up history professor who’s somehow trapped in a college student’s body. But that bitterness? I’m here for it.”

Eva smirks and rolls her eyes. “I’ve been around a cock before, Nessa.”

Nessa grins. “Speaking of cocks, remember, even if Ethan’s is impressive if the hips have no game, it’s a waste of a hammer.”

I blush again, remembering his manhood in my hand, in my mouth. “How would you even know that Ethan is impressive?”

Nessa leans forward, her mischievous grin widening. “Your blush says it all, and the guy transpires big dick energy.”

I frown. “Why do you call him Small Prick then?”

She scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “I would never call an actual small prick that. It would be cruel.”

I laugh and shake my head. I love the banter and how they have managed in a few minutes to ease my anxiety.

“Oh, one sec!” Nessa dashes off to her room, returning with a pack of condoms. “Here.” She drops the box on my lap. “Safety first, Poppy. Some guys would do anything to go bare.”

Eva deepens her voice, mimicking a macho tone. “I love being inside you without protection, babe. Don’t worry, I’m safe.” We all burst into laughter, the tension in the room dissipating even further.

Nessa winks. “Always be prepared.”

Eva adds, “And always trust your instincts. If something feels off, it probably is.”

I nod, taking in their advice. “Thanks, guys. I’m… nervous, you know?”

Nessa pats my hand. “It’s natural. But whatever you did yesterday pleased you, right?”

I nod. “More than pleased,” I admit.

Eva nods in agreement. “Then it’s a good start. Share your thoughts with him. If he’s the right guy, he’ll listen.”

Their words reassure me. Ethan, no matter our history, is a good guy. He was patient, caring, and loving yesterday, and I want to stop overthinking it now and do as I please for once.

The next evening, I stand in front of my mirror, my eyes tracing over the simple black dress that falls above my knees. It’s nothing fancy, a basic piece I found at a charity shop—something I bought for the scholarship interview process and a far cry from the designer dresses I used to wear. But it’s all I have, and neither Eva nor Nessa’s wardrobes offer any alternatives since we’re all different sizes.

My fingers trace the fabric, memories of a different time, a different Poppy, flickering in my mind. I used to be that girl, draped in luxury, every piece of clothing a statement of wealth and status. Now, this simple, cheap dress is my reality, and there’s a part of me that fears Ethan will see the change too starkly tonight.

Taking a deep breath, I try to steady the fluttering in my chest. Ethan has been nothing but kind and understanding thus far. He’s seen where I live, he knows the compromises I have to make daily, and still, he looks at me like I’m something precious. I saw it last night; it was plain in his face. The awe… as if he was the luckiest man on earth. I know that, and it makes my stomach flutter, but the fear of being seen as less, especially in the eyes of someone who knew me during my “better days,” clings tightly.

I apply a light coat of lipstick, trying to push away the nagging insecurity. My hand unconsciously goes to the locket around my neck, the only piece of real value I still own. It’s more than just jewelry; it’s a piece of my past, a reminder of who I used to be and who I’ve become.

I give myself a final once-over in the mirror, take a deep breath, and decide to embrace the evening, no matter what it may bring. After all, if Ethan and I are going to have any kind of future, he’s going to see all sides of me, not the polished, put-together version I used to be. And I have to trust that he’ll see beyond the Target dresses and charity shop replaces to the real me underneath.

With one last steadying breath, I grab my bag and my coat and head out, ready to face whatever the evening with Ethan brings.

My heart skips a beat as I see him, dressed impeccably in his designer pants and cashmere coat, leaning against his SUV. I tighten my used coat around me and stop a couple of steps in front of him.

He straightens up as I approach, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes my stomach do somersaults. “You look beautiful,” he says sincerely.

I wave him off. “Stop being nice.”

He steps closer and rests his forefinger under my chin, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. “We both know I’m not nice.”

“You’re nicer than you think,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles. A soft, genuine expression. “Let’s keep that between us.” He extends an Osiria rose toward me.

My breath catches in my throat. “Oh! It’s my favorite.”

“Is it?” His smile widens, taking on a mysteriously playful edge. “How lucky for me.”

Memories flood back to high school, to birthdays where I’d replace an Osiria rose in my locker. My heart pounds as I look at him, the question on the tip of my tongue. “You didn’t—”

He interrupts, “What?” His eyes are innocent, but there’s a twinkle in them that betrays his nonchalance.

I shake my head, choosing to let the past stay in the past for now. “Nothing. It’s lovely. Thank you.” I bring the rose to my nose and smell it. “Where are you taking me?”

“Chez Jacques,” he says, extending his hand to take mine.

I take a rapid step back and another. I forgot for a minute the circles Ethan still navigated, circles that even if my manners could help me blend in, my actual life could not.

“Poppy?” Ethan takes a step toward me, and my hand tightens around the rose.

I remember the kind of people who go to Jacques, and they are unkind and rude to lower-class people going for dinner there. Hell! I even joined in with the mockery on occasion.

Karma sure has a way of teaching you a lesson.

I shake my head and take another step back. “This was a mistake.”

“No, Poppy, please.” He grabs my wrist, his eyes looking sad, almost pleading. “I wanted to impress you. I don’t care where we go. Anywhere.”

I stand there, frozen, as Ethan holds my wrist, his eyes pleading for understanding, for a chance. My mind races, grappling with the stark contrast between our worlds. I’m not the same Poppy I was back in high school, and the life I lead now is worlds apart from his.

He speaks softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We can go wherever you want, Poppy.”

I hesitate, then slowly nod.

“There’s a place I like. It’s a diner called Josie’s Diner. It’s a modest place, nothing like Chez Jacques, but it’s the best meal I’ve had in the past two years.”

It was a gift from my mom’s colleagues at the trucker diner where she works, a generous gesture for her fortieth birthday.

“It’s perfect.” He lets go of my wrist and intertwines our fingers. “Come on, beautiful. Our date awaits.”

As we drive, I can’t help but steal glances at Ethan. He seems unfazed by the change in plans, his profile calm and composed under the streetlights. But beneath that composed exterior, is he judging me? Comparing this Poppy to the girl he once knew?

We pull up to Josie’s, its warm, inviting glow a far cry from the chilly evening outside. Ethan steps out and walks over to my side, opening the door for me with a gentle smile. It’s a simple gesture, yet it sends my heart into a flutter.

The inside of Josie’s is a comforting blend of homely and nostalgic. The walls are adorned with vintage posters and little trinkets from the past, each item telling a story of its own. The checkered floor and red leather booths give it a classic diner vibe, while the soft, mellow tunes from a jukebox in the corner add a soothing ambience. The air is filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, and the sweet scent of maple syrup. It’s a place that, despite its simplicity, holds a certain charm, a refuge from the complexities of the outside world.

Ethan pulls out a chair for me, and as I sit down, a pang of guilt washes over me. He’s trying so hard to make me comfortable, to fit into my world, and here I am, drowning in insecurities and doubts.

A waitress, her smile as warm as the ambience, presents us with menus. We scan them in silence, and I replace myself lost in thoughts of Ethan’s perception of this humble place.

“I have to say I like this place more than Jacques,” he says, putting the menu on the table as if he were answering my unspoken thoughts.

I regard him with a blend of skepticism and curiosity, to which he chuckles, hands raised in playful surrender. “I swear! Chez Jacques is not my scene; it’s way too pretentious. I’m more at home in the sports bar on Canal Street.”

I sigh, relaxing a little. We order the burger special with sodas, and I replace solace in the ease that Ethan exudes in this unassuming place.

“Are you coming to the game next week?” His question, casual yet laden with unspoken implications, catches me off guard.

“I’m not sure. Why?” I reply, a bit thrown off by the casual question.

He shrugs. A subtle vulnerability reveals itself in the way his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on the tabletop. “I don’t know. It’s something people do when they are—” His gaze lifts toward the heavens as if seeking the right words. “I’m really good at soccer, you know?”

I can’t help but smile a little, my chest warming at the clumsy way he’s trying to speak. I like this Ethan. The lack of perfection and usual smooth talking. This version is far more endearing and similar to me.

“Do you mean that’s what girlfriends do?” Even if I say it with lightness in my tone, my heart starts racing. I’d never imagined myself as being Ethan’s girlfriend, and we’re only one fooling-around session in. It’s a little too early to call this a burgeoning relationship.

Except that’s not true. It’s a secret I’ve kept to myself, one I might never confess, but my first glimpse of Ethan at his parents’ garden party had me spellbound. There he was, looking as broody and mysterious as a twelve-year-old could, and I felt an instant crush. He stood among his entourage, and as our eyes met, I daydreamed about him being my first kiss. But then my father intervened, yanking me aside. He warned me sternly to steer clear of the boss’s son, saying he couldn’t afford teen drama jeopardizing his job and threatening to cancel my art camp if I disobeyed. For the rest of the event, I feigned indifference, even as I sensed his gaze following me.

We both started at Crestwood Heights at the end of the summer, and the silly crush died right there as the teasing and hazing started. However, it was not in my nature to bow down, and we escalated it, making it a competition in every area of our lives until my life imploded. Now, here we are, sitting like longtime friends and potentially so much more, and I’m not sure how to fully settle into this new narrative.

“Isn’t it?” His voice, gentle and probing, pulls me from my memories.

I realize I’ve zoned out, lost in thought, and I shake my head marginally. “Sorry, what? Oh!” Our burgers had arrived, and I hadn’t even noticed.

He tilts his head, curious. “Where did you go just now?”

I laugh nervously. “Only thinking about the past.”

He nods, looking a bit uneasy. “I hope it wasn’t all bad.”

I pick up a fry and take a bite. “No, it wasn’t bad.”

His eyes linger on me, stopping on my lips, and a shiver of anticipation runs through me. “I was asking if being seen as my girlfriend would be that bad and if it has anything to do with Jeff.”

“Jeff?” I ask, confused.

He gives me a knowing look, and it clicks.

“Oh, Jeff!” I shake my head, dispelling the implication. “No, Jeff and I, it’s nothing like that.”

A mischievous grin dances on his lips, and my stomach performs an excited flip. “Good! I was wondering if I had to revert to my high school days and chase off suitors.”

I snort, amused yet slightly indignant. “I didn’t have any suitors in high school.”

“I know.” His grin widens, devilishly charming. “I was quite good at my job.”

Suspicion narrows my eyes, yet I can’t quell the heartbeats in my chest. “What do you mean?”

“Locker room talk. I told one guy you had herpes and gonorrhea, and it spread metaphorically just as fast.” He bites into his burger with an air of nonchalance.

My mouth falls open in shock. “You didn’t!”

He chews slowly, his eyes teasing. “Not my proudest moment, but”—he shrugs—“it did the trick.”

We finish dinner, sharing a few more stories and a lot more laughs. The comfort between us grows, and by the time we leave Josie’s, the earlier awkwardness has dissipated, replaced by a warm familiarity.

Ethan holds the car door open for me, and once we’re both inside, he turns toward me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.

“I’ll take you home,” he begins, his voice shaky. “Am I welcome to join you?”

I hesitate, then shake my head. “No.”

His face falls, disappointment clouding his features, but I reach over, placing my hand over his. “I think I would rather you take me to your home,” I say quietly.

He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, ensuring we’re on the same page. “Are you sure, Poppy?” His voice is gentle. Caring. Giving me every opportunity to change my mind.

My heart races, but my answer is firm. “Yes, I am.”

He lifts my hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, with a nod, he starts the car, and we drive away from Josie’s, heading toward a new chapter together.