The Endgame Is You (Rixon Raiders 4)

Cameron’s laughter filled the line again. I was fucking ecstatic that he found this funny. “Anytime. Now go grovel.”

We hung up and I climbed out of my car, grabbing my bag from the trunk. Our apartment was on the top floor with views of the Schuylkill River.

When I got inside, it was quiet. “Babe?” I called.

Throwing my keys onto the sideboard, I moved deeper into the apartment. The lonely plate on the draining board made my chest tighten. She’d eaten alone.

It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did.

Felicity

I heard Jason before I felt him. Measured footsteps in the hall, the creak of the bedroom door, the rustle of him stripping out of his clothes. Part of me ached to glance over my shoulder and greet him. But the part that had stewed all night on Darcy’s words kept me rooted in place, eyes closed and heart heavy.

The covers moved behind me and a rush of cool air hit my back, and then Jason’s hard, warm body brushed mine. “Babe, you awake?” He slipped his arm around my waist and tucked me into the lines of his chest. Usually this was my happy place, but tonight, the distance between us felt bigger than ever.

What was happening?

We’d survived freshman year. That was supposed to be a couples big test, wasn’t it? Survive freshman year—the lure of new experiences and endless parties—and you could survive anything.

Jason’s lips ghosted over my neck, trailing a path to my ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and those two words damn near broke my heart. They were so full of regret and sincerity, but they didn’t promise the one thing I really needed to hear.

That it wouldn’t happen again.

Jason

We were leading the Ivy League four to none, with three games left to play. The pressure was on after what could only be described as a flawless season. Probably my best football season to date. My passing yards total was already a season best and I was currently tied second with a kid out of Cornell on the Division I FCS season passing yards leaderboard.

I was heading for the single most perfect season of my life... and yet, my personal life was a fucking mess.

Letting out a frustrated breath, I pushed open the door to the hotel bar and found Asher and Cameron sitting in wait.

“Hey, it’s good to see you.” Cam got up first, pulling me into a guy hug. Seeing my friends was like coming home. I loved my team at Penn: the guys, the coaches, the fans; but it wasn’t Rixon.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t sweat it, we know the drill.” They did. They’d seen me captain the Rixon Raiders, witnessed how deep I became when handed such a responsibility. I didn’t just carry my own thirst for the win, I carried every single player’s.

“Everyone is on edge. This could be a perfect season—Penn’s first in almost a decade. It means a lot to the team, to Coach.”

“And it should,” Asher said, taking a long pull on his beer. “Just don’t let it go to your head.”

“Fat chance of that.” Cam shot me a smirk, and I flipped him off.

“Between classes and the team there isn’t time to let it go to my head, trust me.” The bartender pushed a beer toward me, and I nearly drained the thing in one.

Fuck, I needed this. A night shooting the shit with my friends; friends who didn’t want to talk plays or game tapes or team stats.

The girls had gone to a fancy spa in Michigan to celebrate Mya’s birthday in style, while we’d decided to join Asher at his place. Thanks to his sizeable trust fund, their apartment building was like a five-star hotel, complete with a fully equipped gym, bar and restaurant, and roof top terrace.

“So, I was looking at your stats,” he piped up. “You know Heisman could come knocking this year.”

I snorted. “There hasn’t been a Heisman Trophy winner come out of the Ivy League since the fifties.”

“It could happen. You’re dominating ESPN chatter.”

Yeah, when hell froze over.

“I’ll just be happy to see us maintain our perfect record and win the league.”