hot american nights

Will slid into the seat beside you, sleep in his eyes, hair still damp from morning skate. He handed you a cup of orange juice without asking. You smiled.

Two tables over, a girl leaned into her friend. “Is that seriously Will Smith? The hockey kid?”

“I thought she’d sworn off hockey guys entirely after Macklin.”

They were whispering as if you weren’t right there. But it didn’t matter, because you were too sleep deprived to care as the girls continued to chatter on.

“I don’t get it. He’s like… hot, captain and all that but he’s on the same team as Macklin, that’s gotta be weird, right? Also, he kind of looks like he’s always just a bit confused about what’s going on.”

Will glanced over. Raised an eyebrow. You almost died laughing into your eggs.

“Uh—I can hear you,” he called.

The girls went red. One of them whispered, “What did she see in him?”

You reached across the table, picked a crumb off his cheek, and popped it into your mouth.

“You said it yourself. He’s hot.” you said simply.

Will flushed to the tips of his ears.

2. The two of you found yourself at a joint party, where it was loud and weirdly sticky. It also reeked of vodka and the smell of cigarettes.

You were tipsy, and although you usually didn’t drink because of the hangover the next day, Will was very charming in convincing you to take a few shots. He obviously was wasted. And, in his defense, it was your fault he was kissing you against the hallway wall like he forgot other people existed.

You giggled into his mouth. “Will, someone’s gonna see—”

“I want them to,” he mumbled, hands on your hips, voice low and slurred and sweet. “They should know who you’re going home with.”

Two girls stepped out at that exact moment and froze. One clutched her bag close to her side. “Is that—?”

“Oh my God, it’s her. With Will. Smitty.”

“I thought she was still recovering from Mack?”

“Nope. She’s out here healing with another hockey boy.”

Will finally noticed them. Looked up. Smiled. “Hey,” he slurred. “That’s my girlfriend.”

You shush him. “Will.”

The issue was—he didn’t exactly ask you to be his official girlfriend just yet. And he couldn’t. Despite most people on campus catching onto you and Will, Macklin was none the wiser. It kind of had a lot to do with how everybody was self aware and Macklin was lack of, and how he really meant it when he told you he just wanted to focus on hockey.

He didn’t even have time to realize that you were seeing his best friend.

“No, no, let me have this moment.” He grinned at the girls. “She likes me. On purpose.”

They both stared. “Good for you Smitty.” The taller one of the two says. “Heard she was a keeper.”

3. Although Will was his close friend, Gabe didn’t exactly see what you saw in him.

He walked to his car after a long day of skating practice, and funny enough, he had parked right next to Will’s car.

He was just going to scare the boy by loudly knocking on his window until his eyes focused on you, who was curled up in Will’s passenger seat, sipping a matcha with both hands while he argued with the CarPlay that wasn’t connecting.

“Perreault!” You say excitedly, rolling down your window. “Come with us for dinner?”

He should’ve said no. He had a lot—and by a lot—it was at least 7 pages of literature homework to get through. But he wanted to see how the two of you worked in action.

“Jesus,” Gabe said later that night, watching you giggle as Will tried to parallel park and failed three times. “At least she’s not with Mack anymore.”

When Will finally drops you off home that night, he gets out of his car and walks you to your dorm, making sure you’re all cozied in before retrieving back to his car.

This makes Gabe smirk, and Will notices right away, eyes already ready to roll.

“Shut up,” Will muttered, cheeks red. “We’re just hanging out.”

But “just hanging out” didn’t explain the way Will remembered your matcha order down to the oat milk ratio. Or the way you wore his hoodie to the dining hall and Econ like it belonged to you now. Or the way Will’s voice softened, every damn time he said your name.

You two weren’t supposed to make sense.

You were Friday night by the sea with a movie playing on a projector. Tea at 4pm with a book in hand. A girl who journaled her feelings and told people thank you with eye contact.

Will was a commitment issues on legs—except to hockey—God, what was it with hockey boys and their commitment issues to everything but their sport?

He missed dinners, skipped hockey meetings, and hated obligation like it was contagious.

You two weren’t supposed to fit. He was your ex boyfriend’s best friend, teammate, the guy who skated with him since the start of college. It just didn’t make sense how you two could even fit.

But you did. And that confused Gabe more than ever.

But Will’s his close friend, and over the past few months of sitting with you in Econ, you were starting to become one of Gabe’s friends as well. When you were with Mack, you barely interacted with any of the hockey guys.

To them, you were just someone who was in the passing. You’d come to their practices, obviously, but you were reduced to someone who was just in Macklin’s world.

So the two of you were happy, which it sure as hell looked like it, Gabe was happy for you.

+ 1 The next party was supposed to be chill.

It wasn’t hosted by Signu, thank God. It was just some house off campus, filled with some of the hockey guys and a really good playlist on for once. You were having a good night—wearing a black mini skirt with a short top, sipping a strawberry seltzer, and laughing at something Gabe said about the freshman who tried to body slam him into the boards.

Will was close by. Always close. Arm around your waist, chin brushing your temple when he leaned in to make some snarky comment. Every time he laughed, it rumbled against your back. You were warm and buzzed and exactly where you wanted to be.

Until she showed up. You didn’t know her name. But the moment Will stiffened beside you, shoulders tight and mouth in a line, you knew she was someone from the past. His past.

“Will,” the girl practically whined as she approached, red cup dangling from her hand. She was tall, tanned, and clearly drunk.

You stepped slightly aside, but Will didn’t let go of your waist. If anything, he held you tighter.

“Ava.” Will says, clearly already over the conversation.

“Oh wow,” the girl, who you now know as Ava, steps right in front of him and glances at you like you were some inconvenient barrier to her night. “You’re still with her? Like actually, with her?”

Will blinked once. “Yeah. I am.”

She scoffed. “Seriously? What happened to you?”

You raised an eyebrow. Will didn’t say anything. But his grip didn’t loosen.

Ava takes a sip from her cup. “You used to be fun. Like… remember that night welcome week of freshman year? In the upstairs bathroom at Dickinson’s thing?” She leaned in, eyes twitching. “I don’t remember you being into the whole soft boyfriend thing.”

You opened your mouth, stunned. But then she said it. Loud enough for you, and everyone nearby, to hear.

“What? Is she friends with all your hockey buddies or something? I know she was Mack’s ex, that’s gotta mean something if she can get both him and you, huh? Easygoing like how you like them? Or does she give really good head?”

The silence was immediate. You froze. So did Gabe, whose jaw was practically on the floor by now. And cruelly enough, the music too for a second, as someone tripped over the aux cord—Dickinson, too gagged by your conversation—didn’t chew the person out right away.

“Say that again.”

Ava blinked. Eyes starting to water in frustration. “What?”

Will stepped forward. “You think it’s funny disrespecting her like that?” he said, voice low, steady. “You think now that you’re in some fucking low tier sorority that you get to talk about her like she’s a joke?”

Ava’s breath hitches.

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Will went on, “So if you’re bitter, if you’re mad I moved on from your drunk ass and actually found someone who matters—go scream into a pillow or something. But don’t talk to her that way.”

Ava stares at him, stunned.

“I don’t go about things like that,” he said, louder now. “I don’t hook up behind backs and I don’t keep people around to use when I’m bored. You and me? That was a mistake, and I’m sorry that you were under the impression that it was otherwise.”

Ava’s crying by now, her drunken rambles from earlier now gone as she sobered up right in front of you from Will’s words. You almost feel bad because she got humiliated right in front of the whole hockey team and some more, but you then remember what she had just said about you.

“You’re a jackass, Will.” She cries, storming off into the backyard.

Will’s chest is heaving, and you can tell he’s stressed out by the way his hands shake and his eyes are darting back and forth between you and where Ava just stormed off.

“Hey,” you say, pulling him upstairs. Gabe gives you a nod, as if he was thanking you for being there for his friend in such a weird moment like this.

“Breathe.” You place your hand on his chest, your other hand comes to hold his shaking one, and he finally lets out a deep exhale.

“Sorry.” He says.

“No.” You shake your head. “Why would you be sorry?”

“I usually don’t do that.” He says.

“I know.” Your voice is so soft it makes Will want to cry. You’re just so sweet, too sweet, and it makes Will feel horrible that people like Mack and Ava treated you so badly.

“Thank you for defending my honor.” You joke. “Even if she was right about some things.”

“Nah,” he finally smiles, the same smile you grew to love each time you saw it on Will’s face. “Maybe one. The really good head one.”

You elbow him in the side, making blonde boy groan out in pain.

“Sorry, sorry.” He says, throwing his hands out in surrender.

✧

The first time Luke saw how badly Rory treated you, it wasn’t subtle.

It was at a random Delta Sig and Theta Pi mixer. Red cups in every hand, thumping bass shaking the floor, and someone already puking on the back deck by the time Luke showed up late with Mark. It looked straight out of a classic American college movie.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs and laughing softly at something one of your sisters was saying. You looked like a dream, hair tucked behind your ears, a loose sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder that had Rory’s swim number on its side. You were clutching your phone, glancing at it every few seconds.

Luke wandered to the drinks table, half drunk and half of what he liked to call “too sober” for the night. Rory had promised he’d be there early. Had made a whole announcement about it at frat breakfast like it was something important. What an idiot.

But Luke didn’t expect to hear your voice behind him.

“Hey, have you seen Rory anywhere?”

He turned and almost fell back when he realized you were much closer than he thought.

You smelled like vanilla and some type of fall scent that he had gotten used to thanks to all the girls who sat next to him in his intro to business class last semester.

He blinked, then shook his head. “No. You waiting on him?”

Your lips pressed into a soft line. “Kind of. He said he’d be here at 9.”

It was almost 10.

Mark came up behind them, already wasted. “He’s not coming. I heard he’s at Kellie party.”

Your face faltered. And even though you masked it well—with your eyelashes fluttering, and a smile that seemed just too tight, Luke could tell.

That was the one thing Luke could do that was impressive. He could read people’s emotions like the back of his hand.

“Oh, alright.” You turned, mumbling something about needing air.

Luke had watched you leave that night, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach, and staying there.

✧

Luke doesn’t know why, but he keeps seeing you.

Like in the hallway at frat meetings, your arm linked loosely with Rory’s, only for him to pull away the second you weren’t looking.

Or at the library, where you’re studying with your color coded organized highlighters, and that cute face you always have on when you’re deep in thought.

He sees you again at the cafe down the street from campus, where you’re waiting alone with an untouched iced latte in front of you, phone flipped upside down like it was mocking you.

And then of course because the universe likes to play cruel jokes on him, he sees you again, the next weekend, at another party, though this time at your sorority house.

“Luke!” you chirped, grabbing his hoodie as he passed. “You made it!”

He caught you before you could stumble. You were flushed, warm, and grinning like he was someone you’d actually wanted to see.

Luke, always the gentleman, helped you sit on a bench in the backyard, far enough from the noise but close enough for the dim led lights to cast a glow on your skin.

“I like you, Luke Hughes,” you sighed, head falling on your shoulder. “You’re a quiet and weird but, like… nice.”

He laughed under his breath. “Thanks for the backhanded compliment?”

“You know,” you added, eyes half closed, “you’re kind of obsessed with my boyfriend.”

That made him choke on his drink. “Excuse me?”

You punch his side jokingly. “You so are! Always glaring at him. Always talking about how dumb his ideas are. Do you wanna kiss him or kill him?”

Luke didn’t answer right away. You were teasing him, he could tell, but there was something sad behind your eyes.

You always looked sad these days, though.

“I just think,” he said slowly, “that he doesn’t deserve you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—he doesn’t even notice when you leave the room.”

You stared at him. “You notice?”

Luke looked at you for a long moment. “Yup. Every time.”

It’s not long before your drunken state takes over and you kiss him.

It was messy. Stupid for a lack of a better word. Warm and drunk and full of something that is a bit more than just a mistake. You tasted like watermelon vodka and sadness. Lots and lots of sadness.

Luke kissed you like he was trying to get rid of it.

But when you pulled back, eyes wide and lips parted, he didn’t feel like he had won.

He felt like he wanted to kiss you again, sober this time. With all the things he couldn’t say behind it.

“I—” you started, but your phone buzzed.

It didn’t take a genius to realize it was Rory calling and texying you.

You didn’t answer right away. Just stood up, swaying slightly, brushing your hands over your now messed up skirt.

“I should probably go.” You say, although it’s honestly the last thing you want to do.

Luke nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

You looked back at him once before disappearing inside.

For the first time maybe in his freshman year, Luke didn’t sleep well that night.

✧

From then on, things were clearly different.

You didn’t ghost him like most sorority girls would after they’ve done something forbidden.

You being so you, just kept showing up—beside him in Econ, or on the quad, accidentally brushing his hand when you passed him at the frat charity events.

Luke felt like he was orbiting the sun, warm every time you smiled and burned every time you left.

You were still with Rory. That didn’t change. And Luke hated how much he found himself caring.

Because now, now when Rory is shitty and makes you cry, you went to Luke.

When Rory forgets a date, you texted Luke.

And when Luke finally kissed you again, really kissed you, in the hall as he walked you to your dorm, it wasn’t some drunken mistake made by a frat boy and sorority girl at a party.

This time, you clutched his hoodie and chased his lips like you meant it.

And Luke, despite being scared out of his mind at this new feeling, found himself falling deeper in love with you.

✧

You found out on a Wednesday.

It wasn’t from Rory himself. Of course not. No, it was from your sorority sister, Madison, who had way too much sympathy in her voice when she knocked on your door, her phone already open to the picture before she even said your name.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

There he was. Blurry on a picture on Madison’s phone, but recognizable nonetheless.

Rory Jackson. Frat president. Your boyfriend. Smiling into Kellie Brighton’s neck like she was the center of his entire world. Her arms were locked around him. Her lipstick—the exact same lipstick you wore (cruelly enough)—was smeared across his mouth.

It was in front of Zeta’s house. Clear as day.

You didn’t cry. Didn’t break down in Madison’s arms for the whole house to hear.

You just stood there, staring at the screen, your heart thudding once in your chest like it was trying to catch up. The world felt muffled. Like you were underwater.

Madison had tried to talk to you, offering some comfort, yet she still felt so far away

So you end up doing what you do best. You pivot and shut down.

You skipped your sorority meetings. Ignored every call, every text. You didn’t go to Econ 102.

You couldn’t go anywhere. You just couldn’t. No matter how hard your sisters knocked on your door and begged you to come outside, or how many texts you were getting from Mark and Luke.

Right. Luke.

You had almost forgotten about him due to everything that was running through your mind.

Luke, who kissed you like it meant something. Luke, who noticed when you left the room. Luke, who wasn’t Rory, but who made you feel so safe and warm that it hurt worse than the betrayal.

And so, combined with the heartbreak and sadness you were going through, you disappeared.

Not literally, but no one heard from you apart from your sisters.

✧

Luke didn’t know at first.

He just noticed your seat was empty in Econ. That you hadn’t reposted anything on your tiktok in two days even though you always do, and it’s always some dumb video that makes Luke laugh. He even noticed that your Spotify activity was dead silent.

It was Mark who finally told him.

“She caught Rory with Kellie,” he said one night, tossing a hockey puck between his hands as they sat in Luke’s room.

Luke stared at the wall. “What?”

“Behind Zeta. Maddie saw it and showed her. She’s been radio silent since.”

Luke felt the breath leave his body.

He pulled out his phone and clicked your name in DMs. His last message was still left on read.

U good? Wanna go to the matcha place we always go to after parties? The one with the uhm… yummy hazelnut syrup.

No response.

He clicked to your Instagram next. You hadn’t posted anything new. But he scrolled through your older pictures, thumb shaking as he hovered over one where you were laughing in a yellow sundress, your hair up in a lazy claw clip, looking like the kind of sunlight he never deserved.

And then he cried.

Like full on, hand over mouth type of cry.

And it wasn’t because you’d picked Rory. Not even because you kissed Luke and then vanished. But because you looked happy in that photo. So, so happy. And now?

Now you were gone.

“Okay,” he finally said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve as he stared at the ceiling. “I need a plan.”

Mark blinked. “A plan to…?”

“Get her back.”

Mark lowered the puck he had been holding. “Luke, man, I don’t think she wants to be around anyone right now—”

“She kissed me,” Luke snapped, standing up. “And I know it meant something. I know she was gonna leave him. I know it.”

Mark sighed. “I know you like her. Everyone knows. The skunk down the street near our dorms probably knows too. But this isn’t just about you, dude. She’s hurting.”

Luke paced. “Exactly. And I want to be there. Not like Rory, who probably hasn’t even texted her. I just—” he stopped, voice cracking, “—I miss her so bad, man. And I hate that guy so much I can’t even walk past his room.”

Mark was quiet for a second.

“You remember that park by the Econ building? The one near the library where she always went to study before class?”

Luke nodded.

“She might be there. Or at least, she used to go there when she needed space. Bring her favorite matcha order. And don’t—don’t do your big one and try to fix her and all that. Just let her talk.”

Luke swallowed hard. “Okay.”

✧

He ends up going the next morning.

The barista probably rolled her eyes when he was giving your long matcha order, but it didn’t matter because all he could think about was you.

Luke leaves with two drinks in his hand, your matcha and a caramel macchiato for him. His hoodie pulled was pulled over his curls and his hand sweated through the cardboard cups.

Luke feels like his heart starts beating again when he spots you on the far bench under the trees, knees pulled to your chest, your hoodie sleeves covering your hands, eyes fixed on some invisible point in the grass. Your eyes looked tired. Like you hadn’t slept in days.

To be fair, you probably hadn’t.

Luke approached slowly.

You didn’t move. Not even when he sat down beside you.

He placed the drinks on the bench between you and for a while, you both said nothing.

“I didn’t block you.” You finally said. “I just couldn’t talk to anyone.”

Luke nodded slowly, his throat tight. “I get it.”

“I wanted to be mad at you. For kissing me. For making it harder. But I couldn’t. Because when I saw Rory with her… all I could think about was you. And how I wished I was with you instead.”

Luke’s head snapped to look at you.

You were crying, but you weren’t hiding it anymore.

“I’m so tired of people loving the idea of me and not showing up when it actually matters.”

Luke leaned closer. “I would’ve shown up.”

You looked at him or the first time in days. “I know.”

And then, gently, you leaned into his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you without hesitation.

You stayed like that, warm in the quiet, for a long time.

Luke didn’t “do his big one” like Mark had warned and say that he loved you. But he didn’t need to.

Because he was the one who noticed when you left the room. And more importantly, he was the one still sitting there when you came back.

✧

Rory, classic Rory, decides to text you a week after Madison had shown you the photo.

You didn’t respond.

He called. Twice. Left a voicemail that started with, “okay, I know it looks bad, but baby, I swear, listen, it wasn’t what it looked like—” and somehow ended with him cursing you for ghosting him.

You delete it without a second thought, and this time, no tears come out.

The next week, you did what you should’ve done months ago.

You unfollowed him. Deleted the old pictures. Took off his favorite hoodie that had been buried at the bottom of your laundry basket and tossed it in the donation bin near campus. And finally, you blocked him.

There was no dramatic breakdown. No paragraph on your story. Just silence, and moreover, acceptance.

Luke found you that afternoon, sitting on the quad with Mark and a few other hockey guys, legs stretched out under the sun. You were laughing. Actually laughing. Your shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkled.

Luke blinked. It was like watching color bleed back into a photograph.

You glanced up when you saw him, and without hesitation, waved him over. “Come sit, Hughes!”

He dropped beside you, passing you a granola bar he grabbed from the campus cafe. “You look… good,” he said, a little breathless.

You smiled, biting into it. “That’s because I’ve been eating granola and not emotional trauma.”

The boys around you howled. Mark practically choked on his Gatorade.

Luke grinned. He couldn’t help it.

“You know,” you said, turning toward him, your voice a little quieter, “Rory always hated when I hung out with you guys. Said it made me look—” your eyes flicked up in a mock glare, “like a groupie or something stupid.”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “He was really a dick, wasn’t he?”

“Yup.” You took a breath, tilting your face up to the sun. “I’m so done pretending I’m too much for people who were never enough.”

Mark clapped a hand over his chest. “Preach sister.”

“Seriously,” you went on, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this surrounded by actual good people. Like real friends. People who show up. Who don’t treat me like I’m some image to protect or control.”

Luke leaned back on his elbows beside you, his fingers brushing yours just barely. “You’re not too much, you know.”

You glanced at him, your smile softening. “You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep forgetting.”

You turned to face him more fully, your voice low. “I think I used to feel so small with Rory. Like everything I did had to be done perfectly so I didn’t piss him off or embarrass him. He even got on me about following you on BeReal.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Said it was ‘too casual’ to be following athletes like I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Rory is just fucking insecure.”

“No,” you corrected gently. “He’s just a fucking asshole.”

The group laughed again, but Luke’s eyes stayed on you. Not possessive, not overeager. Just… proud. Proud that you were finally stepping out from under the shadow of someone who never deserved your light.

✧

Later that night, you found yourself sitting on the bleachers at the empty hockey rink, wrapped in one of Luke’s spare hoodies, your knees pulled up and his water bottle balanced on your shins. He sat next to you, knee knocking into yours every time he shifted.

You watched the boys do their rounds. The rink smelled like fresh ice.

“I’m really glad I met you,” you said softly.

Luke looked over. “I’m really glad Rory messed up.”

You snorted. “That’s fucked up, don’t you think?”

He grinned. “What? It’s true. If he hadn’t been such a dumbass, I’d still be pining like an idiot in the back of Econ 102.”

You smiled, fiddling with the string on his hoodie. “You were really that obsessed with me?”

He raised his eyebrows, dramatically offended. “I was obsessed with your ex, remember?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh right. How could I forget the tension between you two. It was very… homoerotic.”

Luke burst out laughing. “Shut up, oh my god.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll ever let someone make me feel like I’m too much again.”

Luke gently reached for your hand. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re not too much. You’re it. At least, for me.”