I snicker, now walking toward her, ignoring her previous comment. “You have a date to the party. I’m still looking for one in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, I didn’t forget. How could I? You’ve only mentioned it to me a thousand times since you had agreed to come.”
I sling my purse over my shoulder and laugh. “Please. I haven’t been that bad.”
She peels strands of sweat-matted blonde hair from her face and shoves them behind her ears. “Yes, you have. Don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been driving me insane all week. After making it this long without speaking to Bash, you can make it through a game and a stupid jock party no problem.”
A ball chaser to the core, she’s wearing a replica of her boyfriend’s jersey and dark blue eye shadow to match the color of the shirt. The jersey is so tight it could fit a child. She paired it with strappy sandals that show off her perfectly tanned legs and jean shorts that ride up her ass. Our tastes are similar, except I don’t date athletes. Not anymore.
I was like her once. But my relationship with Bash had only lasted a few months before the incident that ruined everything. He destroyed what we had and for what? Now, he’s the hot shit star of our football team and can get any girl he wants. Since our break up, I don’t think Bash has kept a girl around for more than a weekend if that. We were never meant to be together. Coming from different worlds, the two never meshed. It just took me longer to figure that out than him.
As the daughter of a former model, Jessica looks the part as the girlfriend of Clay Summers. She inherited her mother’s long lashes, perfect complexion, and rocking body. And, then
there’s me. The artsy, giving zero fucks best friend who likes to dance in the Quad when it rains and do plenty of odd things that have made me an outcast at events like the one I have to attend tonight. I don’t fit in with these people. Never did.
Jessica tugs on my hand, dragging me through the crowd of screaming fans. The stadium is on fire, brought to life by the energy of the people around us. Making our way through the throng, we start jogging again when Jessica hears Clay’s name over the loud speaker.
We move so fast that my heart pounds out of my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, igniting a fire under my skin. Turnover. That’s the only word that registers in my head as we move along the sidelines to look for our seats. I have no idea if the call is on our team or our rivals. Either way, I could care less. I’m here for moral support. Nothing more.
Oblivious to my surroundings, I drop my purse on the metal bench once we find our spot. Clay is so grossly in love with Jessica that he had our seats reserved. I pick up the piece of paper with my name on it, shaking my head. It’s cute, but I do hate jocks, even if this one, in particular, breaks the mold with how sweet he is when it comes to Jessica.
Scaring the shit out of me, Jessica screams my name so loud I turn around to face the field. But I get more than what I was expecting. A thick wall of man comes barreling toward me, reaching for the football as it smacks me in the head It happens so fast that I don’t have time to brace myself for impact, and the sting from the edge of the ball causes me to touch my left cheek reflexively, as I fall backward.
He somehow manages to slip his hand around me before I hit my head, but he can’t stop himself from landing on top of me, as we hit the ground together. As if thrown around like a ragdoll, my head and body hurt. I shut my eyes for a few seconds. Strong arms hold me tight, so tight, that I think he’s sucking the air from my lungs.
When I open my eyes, I feel his hot breath on my face before I stare into his bright green irises.
“Bash,” I mutter, out of breath, because he has always taken my breath away. That’s why I avoid him whenever possible.
Up close, Bash is even more handsome than when he’s strutting around campus. Of all the people to knock me over, it had to be Sebastian Prince. His cocky grin makes my lip curl with revulsion even though he seems to have the opposite effect on my body. One glance from Bash was all it ever took to make my heart pound. Today is no different.
He brushes my hair off my face to get a better look at my cheek. “Are you okay, Queenie?” His voice is deeper, sexier than I remember from the last time he approached me in class. We haven’t had many classes together since I’d made it a point to drop every class we shared over the years.
It’s been so long since we’ve spoken to each other. What do I even say? He makes me nervous, always has.
I blush ten shades of pink from my cheeks to my neck, distracted by the eye black smeared beneath his lower lids that draws even more attention to his eyes.
When I don’t respond to Queenie, the nickname he had given me years ago, he chooses the name only close friends use when speaking to me.
“Tori, can you hear me?” His voice is softer but still firm. “Say something.” He takes off his helmet and sets in on the ground next to him.
“You’re not allowed to call me that anymore,” I say through clenched teeth. And I have always hated the name Queenie. It’s stupid—just like him. “Get off of me, Bash.”
He doesn’t bother to move, just holds me with a firm grip and continues touching me, sending chills down my spine that leave tiny bumps on my skin.
People hover over us, talking amongst themselves. But all I can focus on is the sound of my heart beating so loud I hear it pounding in my ears. My cheek burns from where the football struck me, and with Bash touching it, my skin is even more sensitive. His fingers are calloused from years of playing football, yet there’s still has a softness about him as he caresses my face.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I croak out. “This was a stupid idea. A mistake.”
He’s infuriating but beautiful. I can’t stop zoning in on his lips. He has nice lips. Every part of me wants to lean in, kiss him, and shove my fingers through his dark shaggy hair. To this day, no guy has ever affected me like Bash, which is why I need to get away from him. With tanned skin, chiseled features, and toned to perfection, he has the appearance of a fitness model. And he knows it. Owns it.
Bash rubs his thumb along my jaw, letting out a sigh of relief. “Why was it a stupid idea to come to the game?”
“Because you’re here,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes at him.
I wiggle free from his grasp, our faces only inches apart as I break away from him. The sexual tension burns between us like a lit match. We share a short-lived moment with Bash staring at me as if I’m an actual person. For once. That is until his eyes find my breasts that are spilling out of this stupid football shirt, and he has the nerve to wink at my chest.
“I see you haven’t changed,” I say, irritated. “Once a pig, always a pig.”