Would You Rather: A College Romance (Campus Games Book 3)

Sketches and soulmates

I don’t expect anyone to be in my room.

Least of all a strange figure that I can’t make out in the dark. My pulse races, and I quickly lift myself up, and do what any sane person would do. I throw a pillow at it, letting out a scream.

“What the hell?” the voice says, groaning when the pillow hits him in the chest.

Wait. I know that voice. “Lucas?” I ask, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark. Thankfully the lights turn on, and I let out a breath when I see Lucas’ face scowling at me, liquid dripping down his clothes.

“Who else?” he asks. “Why the hell did you just throw a pillow at me?”

“I thought you were an intruder,” I tell him, slumping back down into bed when I feel my body give up on me. But I know exactly who I thought it was in my head. And the thought made my stomach churn. “I was defending myself,” I admit, pulling the covers over my body again.

He shoots me a glare, placing down a bowl on my nightstand. “With a pillow?”

“It was the only thing I had next to me.” My eyes drift down to his shirt, which is sopping wet with a big, ugly stain. Great, now I feel bad. I let out a sigh. “Take off your shirt.”

He freezes, turning to face me with wide eyes. “What?” He swallows.

Heat travels to my cheek when the implication dawns on me, and I shake my head. “To wash it,” I explain, pulling back the covers and… oh fuck, it’s cold. My body breaks out into a shiver when I feel the cold air hit my skin.

“Stop that. Get your ass back into bed,” he tells me, covering me with the blankets again. God, that feels so nice. “You’re going to get worse.”

“But your shirt—”

“Is fine,” he finishes, staring down at me. “You’re not.”

“I am.” My teeth chatter as I bury myself back in bed. “It’s just cold in here, that’s all,” I say, glancing at him.

“Right. That must be it.” Sarcasm drips from him as he picks up the bowl from my nightstand and hands it to me. “Here,” he says, placing the hot bowl in my hands. “Eat this.”

“But your shirt is—”

“Oh, for crying out loud.” He steps back and pulls his hoodie over his head. My eyes widen for a second, and they drift down to where a slither of his stomach is exposed when the black t-shirt he has on underneath lifts, showing the chiseled cut of his abs. Five, six, seven… do they ever end? “Are you happy now?” My eyes snap back to his face and I feel my face heating from the realization that I was ogling him. “I’ll take care of it when I get home.” He sits beside me on the bed, glancing down at the bowl. “Now eat.”

I follow his gaze, looking down at the bowl in my hands. “Chicken soup?”

“Yeah,” he says, scooching closer to me. “Or as my mom calls it, Canja de galinha. My mom used to make it for me and my sister whenever we got sick. It always made me feel better, I thought it might do the same for you.”

I roll my eyes. “But I’m not—”

“If you deny being sick one more time…” He shakes his head. “What is it with you and wanting to be perfect all of the damn time?” he asks. “Hair never out of place, makeup always on, nails done, outfit perfectly matched.” A harsh breath escapes his lips. “Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

I press my lips together, frowning at the accusation. I guess it’s just something I’ve been doing for so long, it’s become like second nature to me. “I don’t look perfect right now.” I’m guessing I look like a mess. My hair feels heavy and tight, my skin is clammy, and my body… ugh, I don’t even want to think of what I look like.

But you’d never know with the way Lucas is looking at me. His jaw clenches as he scans my face, landing on my eyes. “You’re pretty damn close.”

My heart beats faster, and I force myself to look down at the soup. I pick up the spoon and dig in, the small pieces of pasta and chicken floating around in the broth as I bring it to my mouth. Damn, it’s so good. I glance up at him, seeing him look at me, and I think back to what he said.

“I don’t have any memories before I was adopted,” I tell him, watching as his forehead creases with a frown. “I don’t remember my birth parents, not even a flash of a memory. All I’ve ever known are my parents.” I sigh. “I look just like my mom,” I say with a laugh. “I know that’s not possible, but it’s true. I have her hair, her nose, even her lips. I didn’t even know I was adopted until they told me.”

I shake my head, my nose tingling with the urge to cry. “I was young when they told me, but after that, everything changed for me.” I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “Once I knew that my birth parents had given me away and didn’t want me anymore, I thought the same thing would happen with them,” I admit. “I tried my hardest to be the perfect daughter. I guess I didn’t want to give them a reason not to want me either.” I blink away the wetness building in my eyes, letting out a strained laugh. “I don’t even know why I care that my birth parents didn’t want me when I have an amazing family. They chose me, they wanted me, but…”

“It still hurts,” he guesses.

I nod, pressing my lips together to keep myself from crying. “Yeah, it really fucking does.”

He’s quiet for a minute, and then he shakes his head. “Your birth parents are fucking idiots.” Our eyes lock, and I’m sunken into his gaze, his golden brown eyes flickering. “I met you a month ago, and I hate the thought of letting you go once this ends.”

My body breaks out into shivers again, but it’s not the cold weather or my fever. It’s the way he looks at me. It’s the words he’s saying and how it affects me. And I hate it. I hate that I don’t hate it. I look down at the bowl again, swallowing the lump in my throat. “What are you doing here?” I ask, having another spoonful. “It’s late.” I don’t even know how long I slept, but the dark sky gives me an inkling that it’s been a long time.

He tilts his head. “You don’t remember asking me to stay?”

My brows tug together. “I did?”

“Madeline.” He smirks. “You practically begged me to.”

My mouth gapes open. “I did not.”

He shakes his head, a cocky grin on his lips. “I’m pretty sure I heard a please in there somewhere.”

I shake my head, having another spoonful. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re allergic to common decency,” he says with a laugh. “You realize you haven’t even said thank you for the soup yet?”

I glance down, seeing it’s already half gone. It was delicious, and my body warms at the thought of Lucas doing that for me. “Thank you,” I mumble.

“Holy shit,” he says with a laugh. “You have manners.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You want me to take it back?”

His chest shakes with a chuckle as he settles into the bed beside me. “You’re welcome, Mads.”

I blink, glancing up at him. “You called me Mads.”

“Yeah,” he says, running a hand over his chin. “I guess I did. Is that okay?”

I nod, a smile slipping on my lips. “Nia used to call me that.”

“Your sister?” he guesses.

I nod again. “Yeah. She actually named me,” I tell him. “When my parents adopted me, they were set on the name Amelia, but my sister hated it, demanding I be called Madeline.” I let out a laugh, thinking back to when she told me that story. To every memory I had of her. Of us.

“She sounds amazing,” he says, giving me a sad smile.

“Yeah,” I agree. “She was.”

“Good taste, too. Madeline suits you way better.” He grins, and it makes me feel a sense of familiarity. I haven’t spoken about Nia in a while, and I like it. I miss it. I miss her.

I let out a laugh, bringing another spoonful to my mouth. “You must have been bored out of your mind, though, while I was asleep.”

He shrugs, leaning back against my headboard. “I kept myself busy.”

“With what?”

A smirk slides on his lips as he leans closer to me. “Hearing you snore, for one.”

My body grows hot as I narrow my eyes at him. “I do not snore.” Do I?

His laugh makes my stomach flutter, and I don’t know what to make of it. “Oh, trust me, you do, but don’t worry, it’s cute.”

Cute? “So what did you do?” I ask him.

“Is that another question?”

“Question number nine,” I say with narrowed eyes. “What did you do while I was asleep?”

His laugh settles as he gestures with his head to my nightstand, where a folded piece of paper lies. My brows furrow as I reach out and unfold it, staring down at the rough sketches on the paper.

“You draw?” I ask him, enamored by the strokes, creating a beautiful piece. I swallow hard, looking down at my face on the paper.

“Sometimes,” he says, his voice hushed. “Whenever I have time, or I’m stressed. It’s a way for me to escape sometimes, I guess.”

I lift my head, and when his eyes lock with mine, my heart starts to beat out of my chest. “It’s amazing,” I tell him, his smirk making the knocking against my chest even harder. “Why me?”

He blows out a breath at my question, running a hand through his hair before he shrugs. “I like to draw beautiful things,” he mumbles. “Whether that’s buildings or people, it eases my mind a little.”

His words repeat themselves over and over in my head until I blurt out, “You think I’m beautiful?”

A light scoff escapes his lips as he glances at me, a small smile on his lips. “Of course you’re beautiful, but you already know that. You don’t need validation, not from me or anyone else.”

I turn away, feeling my cheeks flush with heat, and stare down at the drawing of me, looking at all of the intricate details. “So when you said you had nothing else to offer,” I start, glancing back up at him. “That was a lie.”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Not really,” he says. “I meant what I said. Modeling is the only thing that brings me money.”

“There are more important things than money, Lucas.”

“You’re right.” He nods. “Like making sure my family is taken care of. That’s important.”

My shoulders drop, knowing he’s right. “But you could still do something you love and make money,” I offer. “You said you like to draw buildings?” I raise an eyebrow, and he smirks when he catches on.

“Are you going to talk about how much potential I have and that I could be an architect?”

My nose scrunches as I shake my head. “I would never compliment you that much,” I joke, my chest feeling light when he laughs along. “But… yeah.”

His laugh settles as he sighs. “I thought about it,” he admits. “Back when I was in high school, a few teachers told me I was good, and I did think about it.”

“But…?”

With a shrug, he shakes his head. “But it wasn’t meant to be,” he says, a frown forming on his lips. “I was making money by then, and my mom could finally rest. She worked non-stop after my dad died, and I could tell it was killing her. I couldn’t risk it all for some dream. I just had to accept that it was never going to happen.”

I frown, thinking about how Lucas had to give up his dream in exchange for stability. Will I have to do that someday? I hope not.

“Question number ten,” he says, crossing his arms, his elbows touching mine in the process. I shoot him a look, but he just shrugs. “Hey, you started it. Besides, I still have things I want to know.”

“Fine,” I say, leaning back against the headboard. “What do you want to know?”

His thumb runs over his bottom lip while he scans me from head to toe. “What do you see in Connor?”

“You’re serious?” I ask with a glare. “This again?”

“I just want to know what you see in him,” he says with a dismissive shrug, but nothing about the tone of his voice says he’s dismissive about this.

I let out a sigh. “I like his smile, I guess. It’s the first thing about him that caught my attention. He smiles with his whole chest, and I like that. I like how happy he is.”

“So that’s it?” he asks. “You like him because he’s happy?” He puts so much emphasis on the last word it makes me rethink everything.

“I guess so.” My brows furrow, and the conviction behind my words isn’t there.

“Happy is overrated,” he says with a scoff.

“You don’t want to be happy?” I ask him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug. “I do. Of course, I do. I just meant that happiness is fleeting. It’s here one minute, and the next… gone.” His face is hardened, and I wonder if he’s thinking of his dad or what his friend went through. “It doesn’t last forever.”

“Neither does beauty,” I retort. “But isn’t that the leading factor in why people get together?”

He rubs his chin. “I guess. But beauty can last forever if you love someone. Even when they get old, gray, and saggy, their beauty doesn’t fade with age in the eyes of that person. It grows.”

His eyes fix on mine, and the thought is nice. Forever beauty. Someone loving you through everything. But if it’s anything like what I had with Daniel. I don’t want it.

“Question number eleven. Is that what you want, then?” I ask. “Are you looking for a soulmate?”

He sighs, tipping his head back. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know if I believe in soulmates. While I love the thought, I don’t know if it even exists. Or if it just doesn’t exist for me.”

My brows furrow. “Why not?”

He shrugs, glancing my way. “I can’t see myself getting lost in someone like that, where they’re the only thing that matters, my whole world,” he admits. “Besides, the only girls I ‘date’ are hired by Ana.” He smirks. “Can’t exactly start a loving relationship like that, can I?”

You never know. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I shove them back down. He’s had other fake dates. And there will be more after me.

“Do you?” he asks, snapping me out of whatever the hell those thoughts were. “Believe in soulmates and all that stuff?”

My face falls into a frown. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’d like to think there are some people who find their true match, that give their other half everything they want, like love letters and a room full of flowers, but… I don’t think I’ll ever find that.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks, with a tilt of his head. “Love letters and a room full of flowers.”

I let out a sigh. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but if I have to get into a relationship for that to happen, then I’ll pass.”

He lets out a laugh. “Guess we have more in common than we thought,” he muses.

Yeah. I guess so.

Although this is the closest I’ve gotten to an actual boyfriend since I was sixteen, and if I’m being completely honest with myself… it’s not so bad. Sure, we have to pretend while we’re in public and do photoshoots and interviews, but—

“Shit.” My head snaps to Lucas. “The interview.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I told you I’d handle it.”

I narrow my eyes. “You said it got canceled.”

“Oh, well.” His cheeks start to turn pink, and… is he blushing? “I might have…lied.”

I frown. “Why would you do that?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You were sick, Madeline.” I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me. “Don’t even try to deny it. We both know it. You were holding onto me, you know that? You hate when I touch you, and you were grabbing onto me, for fucks sake.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t let you go out like that. No way in hell.”

My cheeks start to warm, and I want to tell him I don’t hate when he touches me. Not at all. Instead, I look up at him sheepishly and flash him a smile. “Thank you.”

“It was no big deal,” he says with a shrug. “We can do the interview another time.”

“Was Ana mad?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine, Madeline. You’re allowed to be sick, and you’re allowed to admit it. As opposed to what you think, you don’t have to be perfect. No one’s expecting that of you. We just want you to be… you.”

A smile spreads across my face, and I’m surprised to find it’s because of Lucas. “Thank you,” I repeat. “For everything. I know I was a pain, but—”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, and our eyes lock. I don’t think I realized how close we were to each other, but his shoulders are pressed against mine, and I can see his chest rising as he breathes, and his lips… they’re right there.

I wonder, only just for a second, what it would feel like. Would he like it? Would I like it? Would he push me away or let me explore? But I don’t get another second to think about it because the door bursts open, and Gabi walks in.

Lucas and I break apart just as she tumbles onto my bed, and I squeeze my eyes closed, letting out a harsh breath. What the hell was I thinking? It’s this stupid sickness. It has to be.

“Oh hey,” Gabi mumbles, her eyes widening when she spots Lucas in the corner of my room. “You again.” Her slurred speech makes my brows pinch together. Is she drunk?

“Yeah,” he says, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi,” I brush back her hair from her face, and she grins up at me. “Were you at a party?”

She nods with a grin. “It was fun.” She mumbles the words, but then her eyes drop, and a heavy sigh escapes her. “I miss him.”

My brows furrow as she kicks off her shoes. Oh god, not the shoes in my bedroom. “Who?” I ask her.

She falls back onto my bed, her eyes drifting closed. “My best friend,” she mumbles.

“I thought I was your best friend,” I joke, trying to make sure she doesn’t fall asleep.

“You are,” she drifts off, her voice turning into a whisper. “But he’s…”

The words die on her lips as she starts to breathe heavily, falling into a deep sleep. I let out a laugh, lifting my head to see Lucas standing at my door.

He runs a hand through his hair and presses his lips together. “I um… I should go,” he gestures to the door with his thumb. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks, glancing down at Gabi.

I nod, even though something weird happens in my chest at the thought of him leaving. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I lick my lips, glancing up at him. “Thanks again. I know I’m hard to be around.” My eyebrows knit together. “Not everyone would stay to look after someone they don’t like.”

He turns his body to face me, brows furrowed. “You’re not hard to be around at all, Madeline. You just have to let someone in.” My lips part at his words and he gives me a smile. “I’ll see you,” he says before he leaves my room. I hear the front door close, and I know he’s gone.

“Madi?”

I glance down at Gabi. “Yeah, it’s me. Want to go to bed now?” I ask her.

She nods, eyes cracking open. “You had that interview today, right? How was it?”

“I didn’t go, I um… I was sick.” The words taste funny in my mouth. I don’t get sick. I make sure of it. I take care of my body, I take so many damn vitamins, and I’ve even started drinking those green smoothies Leila likes so much.

Gabi’s eyes widen. “Are you okay?” she says, lifting herself off the bed. “Do you need anything? Do you want me to make you some soup?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No,” I tell her. “I’m good, Lucas made me some.” Good thing, too, because this girl has never cooked a day in her life. The kitchen would likely catch on fire.

“Come on,” I tell her. “You need to sleep.” Especially because Gabi has two modes when she drinks. Party animal and dead asleep. And she’s, without a doubt, heading toward the latter right now.

She manages to drag herself out of my bed, and walks out of my room, mumbling to herself. When the door closes, I shuffle back beneath the covers and close my eyes, attempting to fall back asleep. But the same seven words repeat themselves over and over in my head.

You just have to let someone in.