Chapter 3 — Cracking the Ice

Abby

The bass from the speakers vibrated through the walls, a steady thrum that tangled with my thoughts. I tugged at the hem of my emerald green dress—far too fancy for my liking—and shifted uncomfortably in the heels Jenny had gleefully forced on me. Every step felt like I was walking on stilts, a precarious balancing act that only added to my unease. My leather satchel hung against my side, feeling out of place but comforting nonetheless. I clung to its strap like a lifeline, as if its presence could anchor me in this sea of chaos.

“Relax, Abby,” Jenny’s voice rang out over the music as she glided past me, her strappy gold heels and oversized hoop earrings catching the light. Tonight, the hoops were bold, unapologetically her. “You look amazing. Seriously. Trust me, this is exactly what you needed.”

“Right,” I muttered, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my dress. “Nothing screams confidence like foot pain and the vague scent of spilled beer.”

Jenny rolled her eyes but grinned anyway. She was in her element—bold, magnetic, thriving in the center of the whirlwind that was this sorority formal. Meanwhile, I clung to the sidelines, gripping a cup of suspiciously sweet punch like it held the answers to life’s mysteries. This was her world, not mine. Yet here I was.

Because you’re tired of always saying no, the irritatingly honest voice in my head chimed in. Because you promised yourself you’d start taking risks, even the small ones.

Jenny had insisted this was a step toward breaking out of the careful, constrained bubble I’d built around myself. And while I appreciated the sentiment, in practice, it felt more like walking into a lion’s den of glittering dresses, sharp suits, and the hum of too-loud laughter. The air was thick—perfume, sweat, maybe desperation—and the room buzzed with voices overlapping the steady throb of music. I hovered near the drink table, scanning for a quiet corner to escape to. But there was no refuge here, no real place to hide.

I sighed, fiddling with the strap of my satchel as I took a cautious sip of the punch. The syrupy sweetness made me wince. Definitely spiked.

And that’s when I saw him.

Christian Beck.

You didn’t need to know who he was to know who he was. The room subtly adjusted around him, a ripple effect that seemed to follow wherever he moved. He stood near the makeshift bar, laughing at something one of his friends said, his easy confidence practically radiating off him. He was tall, with a lean, athletic build and caramel skin that seemed to glow under the dim lights. The tailored suit he wore fit him like a second skin, exuding effortless charm.

But it was his smile that caught me off guard—devastating, as though he knew precisely how to wield its power. People glanced his way, stealing glances or whispering behind their hands, and he seemed either oblivious or entirely accustomed to the attention.

I tore my gaze away, silently kicking myself. So what if Christian Beck was here? He was just another overconfident athlete, coasting on charm, skill, and the adoration of people who should know better. Guys like him didn’t notice people like me. And even if they did, it wasn’t for any reason that lasted beyond the next game.

“Stop scowling,” Jenny’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. She nudged me with her elbow, her grin sly. “Go talk to him.”

“What?” I nearly choked on what might have been the punch and not-so-subtle vodka. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because… no,” I said flatly, waving a hand as if that explained everything. “Also, don’t you have someone else to pester?”

Jenny’s laughter bubbled out, loud and unapologetic. “You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s just a guy, Abby.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem.”

Jenny leaned closer, winking. “You might be the only girl in this room who isn’t fawning over him. He’d probably find that refreshing.”

“Or boring,” I muttered, gripping the strap of my satchel a little tighter. But she’d already swept off into the crowd, leaving me stranded. Again.

I sighed and turned back to the drink table, setting my cup down with a little more force than necessary. My fingers brushed the edge of my satchel, its worn leather grounding me. Maybe I’d been right to say no to this whole event in the first place. I adjusted the strap on my shoulder, considering making a break for the exit. But before I could move, I felt myself collide into someone.

“Whoa, easy there.” The voice, low and warm, made me freeze.

I looked up—way up—and found myself staring into a pair of dark, curious eyes. Christian Beck. Of course.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, stepping back quickly. “I didn’t see you.”

“No harm done,” he said, his smile disarming in its ease.

I waited for him to move on, to drift back into the crowd that seemed to shape itself around him. But he didn’t. Instead, he studied me, head tilted slightly as though trying to place where he’d seen me before.

“You’re in my chemistry class, right?” he asked, breaking the silence.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. I think we’re lab partners.”

“Abby, right?”

“Right.” I crossed my arms, suddenly hyperaware of the small space between us. “And you’re… Christian.”

His lips twitched, amusement flickering in his expression. “Guilty as charged.”

I was keenly aware of the ridiculousness of stating his name, as though there was anyone on campus who didn’t know it.

“You don’t come to these things much, do you?” he asked, his tone light but observant.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” he said, with a crooked smile that made my stomach flip. “You look like you’re plotting your escape route.”

“And you look like you’re holding court,” I shot back, trying to regain my footing.

His laugh was quick and genuine, catching me off guard. “Fair enough. But trust me, these things aren’t really my scene either.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He shrugged, casual and unbothered. “Part of the job, I guess.”

“Job?”

“Being on the team. People expect you to show up to stuff like this. Smile, shake hands, play the part.” He paused, his gaze flicking over my face again. “You really don’t do small talk, do you?”

“Not if I can help it,” I quipped, before adding, “Do you really have time for it with all your fans?”

His grin widened, but there was something else there—a flicker of tiredness, maybe? “Sometimes, it’s nice to just have a regular conversation. No expectations.”

I hesitated, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. For a moment, something in his expression softened, the charm stripped away to reveal something more vulnerable. It was just a flicker, gone almost as soon as it appeared, but it unsettled me. He wasn’t what I’d expected.

“Well, Abby,” he said, his tone softening, “it’s nice to officially meet you. I’ll see you in the lab.”

“Yeah,” I said, quieter now. “See you.”

He gave me one last smile before turning and disappearing back into the crowd. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart inexplicably racing.

Christian Beck wasn’t just another athlete. And that unnerved me more than I cared to admit.

“Crushing already?” Jenny’s voice startled me, and I turned to find her smirking.

“Absolutely not,” I said, too quickly.

“Mmhmm. Sure.” She looped her arm through mine, dragging me toward the dance floor despite my protests. “You’re going to thank me for this, trust me.”

I doubted that. But as the night wore on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Jenny might have been right about one thing—this was exactly what I needed.