Fishpond Crash

As the Campus Prince's veteran Devotee of three years, I was once again dutifully delivering Hangover Remedy Soup after their drinking session.

His friends relentlessly teased me, calling me a Devotee, but he just sneered.

I turned a deaf ear to it all, carefully and gently bringing a spoonful of soup to his lips. "Don't worry. I know you're allergic to honey, so I didn't put any in."

I kept rambling on, completely oblivious to the chilling atmosphere and the Campus Prince's darkening expression.

"What's wrong, Ron Rivers?"

His wolf-like eyes glared at me as he gripped my wrist tightly. "I've never been allergic to honey. And my name isn't Ron Rivers."

'Crap. I've been a Devotee to one too many guys, and I've finally crashed and burned.'

1

I was woken up late at night by my ringing phone. The screen's glare made me squint. I tried to see the time, but the numbers were just a blur, so I answered with my eyes squeezed shut.

Loud music and a jumble of voices blared from the other end. Through the noise, I could just make out a slightly drunken voice. "Mia Sommers, I'm drunk. Come pick me up from the bar... and bring some Hangover Remedy Soup."

He told me the bar's address and then hung up. With a sigh of resignation, I got dressed, prepared the Hangover Remedy Soup, and headed out the door with it in tow.

Winter had already set in, and a biting wind cut through the early morning air. I pulled my clothes tighter around myself and waited for what felt like an eternity before a ride-share finally arrived.

Seeing the thermos in my hand and the bar set as our destination, the driver made a casual comment. "Picking up your boyfriend, Miss?"

I lowered my head, rubbing my face, which was red and raw from the wind. "He's not my boyfriend," I mumbled quietly.

He's our school's Campus Prince, and I'm his Devotee. It all began the summer I first enrolled. He was a volunteer helping me move my luggage, and sweat had soaked through his thin white shirt. The vague outline of his muscles was like a stag appearing through a white mist, and the sheer force of his youthful, hormonal presence sent my little heart into a tailspin.

For the following three years, I pursued him obsessively. If he played sports, I was on the sidelines to hand him water. If he was sick, I'd skip class to keep him company while he got an IV drip. If he so much as gave the word, I would have walked through fire for him.

For three whole years, I was at his beck and call. It gradually became a habit for him, but he never once acknowledged me as his girlfriend.

And I never brought the subject up, either.

I made it to the bar, found the private room, and pushed the door open to a roar of laughter.

"HAHAHA! See? What did I tell you guys? I knew Mia Sommers would be here within half an hour!"

"You've got to hand it to our Campus Prince. So much charm. One phone call, and he's got someone coming out on a day this cold. Aren't you going to show a little appreciation, man? If it were me, I'd be moved to tears."

"Appreciation for what? It takes two to tango. Mia Sommers is happy to give her all without asking for a title, so you should just stay out of it."

Their voices were laced with malicious mockery. My gaze found him in the middle of the group, sitting on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other. A nonchalant smirk played on his lips as he let his friends ridicule and taunt me.

I took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and sat down beside him. I opened the thermos, but he couldn't even be bothered to reach for it. He simply tilted his chin up to look at me. In the dim light of the bar, his jawline—sharper than my five-year plan—and his prominent Adam's apple created a pulse-pounding sight.

Seeing he had no intention of lifting a finger, I took the spoon myself, scooped up some of the Hangover Remedy Soup, and brought it to his lips. "Don't worry. I know you're allergic to honey, so I left it out."

He remained motionless, his eyes narrowing slightly. I figured he was deliberately trying to embarrass me, to save face in front of his friends. So, I kept up my smile and said a few more placating things, but he still wouldn't open his mouth.

"Ron Rivers?" I ventured. "What's wrong? You don't want it right now?"

The room suddenly felt quiet. The Campus Prince's devastatingly handsome face was now as black as coal.

"I've never been allergic to honey. And my name isn't Ron Rivers."

The room fell deathly silent. I froze, my hand hovering in mid-air, unsure whether to lower the spoon or leave it there.

'Crap. I've been a Devotee to one too many guys, and I've finally crashed and burned.'