The morning my boyfriend dumped me, I was sitting in the worst possible place to receive life-changing news.
A public restroom beside the tennis courts at Ridgemont University.
And someone in the stall next to mine appeared to be fighting for her life against cafeteria food.
My phone rang.
Nolan Vetter.
The guy I had liked since freshman year.
The guy who had finally kissed me at a party the night before and drunkenly agreed that yes, maybe we should actually date.
I answered immediately.
“Morning.”
There was a pause.
Then Nolan said, “Hadley, we should break up.”
I stopped breathing.
Not emotionally.
Literally.
The smell in that restroom was already dangerous enough.
“What did you say?”
“We should break up.”
His voice was painfully clear.
“I drank too much last night. I don’t know why I said yes.”
I stared at the stall door.
Then he added the part that made everything worse.
“You know I’ve always liked Sabrina.”
Of course I knew.
Everyone knew.
Sabrina Keene was the kind of woman people described as “effortlessly beautiful” even though I knew for a fact her effortless hair took forty minutes.
Campus darling.
Communications major.
Cheerful.
Elegant.
Always photographed at the right angle.
And apparently the actual owner of Nolan’s heart.
I had spent three years buying him coffee, helping him study, remembering his birthdays, listening to his problems, and pretending friendship was enough.
Yesterday, for approximately twelve glorious hours, I thought I had finally won.
This morning, I was being dumped while somebody suffered digestive warfare six feet away.
Even my heartbreak had terrible production value.
“Fine,” I said.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to do? Beg?”
“No.”
“Great. Then goodbye.”
I hung up.
A horrifying sound erupted from the neighboring stall.
That was my cue.
I washed my hands at record speed and ran outside.
I did not stop until I reached the tennis courts.
Then I bent over, hands on my knees, gulping clean air like I had escaped a burning building.
“This is officially the worst breakup in human history.”
I dropped onto a bench.
I expected myself to cry.
Nothing happened.
Not one tear.
Three years of pathetic devotion, and apparently my tear ducts had resigned.
Instead, frustration exploded out of me.
“Why would anyone build a restroom right beside tennis courts?”
Someone laughed.
I turned sharply.
A man stood near the fence holding a tennis racket.
Morning sunlight hit him from behind, outlining broad shoulders and a tall athletic frame.
He looked about twenty-six.
Dark hair.
Clean jawline.
Sharp eyes.
An annoyingly calm smile.
The sort of face that made a woman briefly reconsider whether personality mattered.
“Something funny?” I asked.
“You.”
“That’s rude.”
“You’re sitting beside a tennis court yelling about plumbing.”
“I’ve had a difficult morning.”
“I noticed.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Careful. Keep irritating me and I’ll marry you just to punish you for the rest of your life.”
His eyebrows lifted.
Then he laughed.
Not politely.
Actually laughed.
“You’re still funny.”
Still?
I sat straighter.
“Have we met?”
“Not exactly.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
He walked closer.
“You run here most mornings.”
My eyes narrowed further.
“You know my schedule?”
“You usually do two laps, complain about being tired, then sit here.”
“That is disturbingly specific.”
“You also talk to yourself.”
I stared at him.
“Oh my God. You’re a stalker.”
“Possibly.”
I reached for my phone.
“Should I call campus security?”
“That would make breakfast awkward.”
I hesitated.
“Breakfast?”
He smiled again.
“Merrick Hale.”
The last name made me pause.
Our university president was Dr. Corbin Hale.
Same name.
“You related to President Hale?”
Merrick shrugged.
“Plenty of Hales in America.”
Suspicious answer.
Before I could question him further, the restroom door opened.
Sabrina Keene stumbled out.
She looked pale.
One hand pressed against her stomach.
She took three miserable steps.
Then turned around and hurried straight back inside.
I froze.
No.
There was absolutely no way.
I looked toward the restroom.
Then at my phone.
Then back toward the restroom.
Merrick followed my gaze.
“You know her?”
“That,” I whispered, “is the woman my boyfriend dumped me for ten minutes ago.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Thank you, counselor.”
I opened my messages.
Merrick leaned slightly closer.
“What are you doing?”
“Being supportive.”
I sent Nolan a message.
Your dream girl is having a medical emergency in the restroom by the tennis courts. This is your moment.
His call came almost instantly.
“Hadley, Sabrina is there?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Is she okay?”
“No idea.”
“Stay with her. I’m coming.”
I blinked.
There it was.
The old Nolan.
Giving orders.
Assuming I would obey.
Something inside me finally snapped.
“Nolan.”
“What?”
“We broke up.”
Silence.
“So?”
“So speak to me like a person, not your unpaid assistant.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
I hung up.
Merrick looked impressed.
“Growth.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Ten minutes later Nolan came sprinting across the quad.
He barely noticed me.
He rushed toward the restroom just as Sabrina emerged again.
“Sabrina!”
Her face brightened weakly.
Nolan immediately wrapped an arm around her.
Then, apparently deciding walking was beneath true romance, he picked her up.
Actually picked her up.
Full princess carry.
I stared.
Merrick stared.
Nolan carried her toward the campus health center.
I let out a long breath.
“There goes campus royalty.”
Merrick sat beside me.
“They look good together.”
I shot him a glare.
“Traitor.”
“I didn’t say they’ll last.”
I turned toward him.
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“People who spend their lives being admired sometimes struggle when relationships require actual compromise.”
I considered that.
“That was surprisingly intelligent.”
“Thank you.”
“You usually hide it well.”
He smiled.
Then leaned slightly toward me.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Am I better-looking than him?”
I nearly laughed.
“Your ego is enormous.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
I stood.
“I’m leaving.”
“See you tomorrow, Hadley.”
I stopped.
“I never told you my name.”
His expression changed for half a second.
Then the smile returned.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Over the next several days, Nolan and Sabrina became impossible to avoid.
They ate together.
Studied together.
Walked across campus holding hands.
Nolan even biked her between classes while she sat behind him with her arms around his waist.
Meanwhile, I became aggressively single.
I jogged.
I studied.
I told myself repeatedly that I was thriving.
I was not thriving.
Then one morning Merrick appeared beside the tennis court again.
“You disappeared.”
“Busy.”
“Heartbroken?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
I glared at him.
He tossed me a racket.
“One game.”
“I just ran.”
“Two laps.”
“You were counting again?”
He grinned.
“Scared?”
That did it.
An hour later, I was lying flat on the tennis court wondering whether death would be less embarrassing.
Merrick stood over me.
Sweaty.
Barely winded.
Infuriatingly attractive.
“You alive?”
“Unfortunately.”
“You wanted competition.”
“I wanted exercise. You attempted murder.”
He laughed.
I covered my eyes with one arm.
“Why is your stamina so ridiculous?”
“You wanted to test me.”
I lowered my arm.
“That sounded inappropriate.”
“You made it inappropriate.”
For the first time since Nolan dumped me, I laughed until my stomach hurt.
And somewhere between losing six games in a row and arguing with Merrick about whether sports drinks counted as breakfast, I realized something unsettling.
I had stopped checking where Nolan was.
I had stopped wondering whether Sabrina was prettier than me.
I had even stopped replaying the breakup.
Instead, I had started wondering why Merrick Hale seemed to know so much about me.
Why professors greeted him whenever he crossed campus.
Why he never answered questions about his job.
And why every morning, no matter how early I arrived at the tennis courts, he somehow seemed to already be there waiting.
The Breakup Happened in a Bathroom – “Hadley, we should break up.”
