Campus Player

Possibly.

Ugh. I should probably give him a status update so he can knockoff this weird behavior. It’s a little freaky. I’d thought it would be better to have that discussion with Justin before I tell my father. And since I didn’t want to slide into the car and have that uncomfortable convo on the way back to campus last night, I kept my mouth shut. It’s also not something I’m going to delve into before my game. So...tomorrow. I’m going to end it with Justin tomorrow. There’s no point in letting this relationship limp along when my feelings aren’t there.

“You can stop pretending to be so nice,” I finally grumble. “I don’t think it’s going to work out with Justin.”

He straightens in the chair as his lips tug down at the corners. “What? Are you serious?” Before I can verify the information, the frown disappears, and he’s throwing his arms in the air. “Oh well, that’s a shame.”

Please...I am totally on to him. “Uh-huh. You seem heartbroken by the news.”

“Trust me, I am.” He taps his chest. “On the inside, where you can’t see it.”

With a shake of my head, I readjust the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and head to the office door. As I reach for the handle, it occurs to me that Dad never mentioned which player is in need of tutoring. I pause and glance over my shoulder. “Who needs help with stats?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Rowan.”

And just like that, my belly goes into freefall, dropping to my toes where it settles.

When I remain silent, he continues, “Row mentioned that you two are in the same class. I figured that would make it easier.”

Easier for who?

Certainly not me.

FML.

6

Rowan

From the corner of my eye, I watch Coach’s closed office door. Barely do I hear the guy next to me yapping my ear off. Every once in a while, I grunt to let him know I’m paying attention even though I have no idea what he’s talking about. More than that, I don’t care.

What the hell is Demi doing sauntering into the locker room? She doesn’t belong in here with a bunch of half-naked guys. Anger slides through me as I take in the scene. Some of them are full-on naked, standing around with their junk hanging out for all to see.

For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t need to be looking at that.

“Dude, are you even listening to me?”

The question snaps me out of my Demi-filled thoughts, and I reluctantly drag my gaze to Brayden Hendricks. This is our fourth year playing together. He’s the best wide receiver the Wildcats have. Like me, he’s a senior who will enter the draft come the spring. He’ll leave a huge gaping hole in the program when he graduates.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

He crosses his arms against his chest and jerks a brow. “Really? What did I say?”

Busted.

I drag a hand through my hair in annoyance and jerk my shoulders. “Dunno.”

He flicks a glance toward Coach’s office. “Does your distractibility have anything to do with a certain dark-haired soccer player?”

Fuck.

I don’t make a habit of talking about my feelings for Demi. It’s something I avoid at all costs. Although, I shouldn’t be too surprised that Bray has figured me out. He’s an astute dude. It’s what makes him so damn good at his position.

Well, there’s two ways I can tackle this situation. I can man up and come clean or—

“Nope.”

Deny.

Deny.

Deny.

He snorts before grabbing a T-shirt from his locker and dragging it over his head. “Whatever you say, man.”

The door to the inner sanctum opens and out walks the girl we’ve been discussing.

“Speak of the devil,” he murmurs, smile simmering in his voice.

If it were possible to force my attention away from her, I’d shoot him a death stare.

“Hey, Demi,” Brayden yells in order to be heard over the raucous noise inside the locker room. When she glances in his direction, he adds, “Good luck with your game tonight.”

Her expression softens as she smiles. “Thanks.”

When I remain silent, Brayden clears his throat. “Is there anything you want to say, Rowan?” A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. Barely is he able to suppress the laughter attempting to break loose.

Her gaze skitters to mine, and I feel the intensity of her dark depths like a punch to the gut. Getting sacked by a defensive tackle doesn’t addle my brain nearly as much as being in her presence. It’s as if everything around us falls away before she rips her gaze from mine and hastens her pace, silently disappearing from sight.

“Wow, that was a super smooth move, Casanova. Your rep as a player has clearly been well earned.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I grunt before scowling.

“You might have a thing for her, but she definitely wants nothing to do with you.”

Tell me something I don’t know.