Parker (Face-Off 1)

That’s when I look at the other side of the room and see the same twin-size bed with a computer desk and chest of drawers, confirming I am in a dorm room.

Fuck!

I start to look for my clothes as I say to the girl, “How old are you?” I hold my breath, hoping that she’s not jailbait. The last thing I need is another scandal.

“I’ll be nineteen in a few weeks, remember? You told me last night that you would come to my birthday party and bring some of your teammates.”

I have to stop drinking.

I shake my head, relieved that she’s legal. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. I won’t be here in a few weeks. This was a mistake. Forget that I was ever here.”

I find my fitted gray shirt on the floor in front of her computer desk along with my boxer briefs, jeans, and sneakers. After dressing faster than I thought possible, I fix my shaggy brown hair, looking in the mirror next to her closet, and reach for the entrance door, about to escape this disaster, when something soft hits me on the back of the head. A pillow falls on the floor next to my shoe. When I look over my shoulder, the naked girl is holding up both of her middle fingers.

“Go to hell, Alex! Get the fuck out of my room!”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” I mumble as I open the door with a wave in her direction before closing it behind me.

I feel a bit of relief until it hits me that I’m on a college campus, and I’m standing in a crowded hallway full of young girls. Based on their surprised looks, some of them know who I am. This is an all-time low.

Disgusted with myself, I keep my eyes pointed toward the floor until I get outside, avoiding the stares from those around me. I sift through the throng, all while dodging young girls who want me and boys who are whispering my name. Some of them have their cell phones aimed in my direction.

This is just my luck.

“Is that Alex Parker?” a boy says, his finger pointing at me as I walk past.

“Can’t be,” says another boy.

“I heard he fucked Jason’s girlfriend.”

“I heard he fucked this chick in my Bio class.”

Bad news travels fast.

At twenty-seven years old, I never thought I’d be doing the walk of shame out of a college dormitory. I also never thought I would destroy my career with a one-night stand in an elevator.

Once I make it through the herd, I glance up at the six-story building, my hand pressing to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sunlight.

Where am I?

The amount of students flowing in and out of the place, some of them staring at me with curiosity, makes me want to bolt off this fucking campus. But my head and body are throbbing in unison, and whatever strength I might’ve had today was probably spent on the girl I just ditched.

I take a seat on a ledge to my right, blocking the sun from my face, as I pull my phone from my pocket. Using the GPS on my phone, I zoom in to get a better look at the streets and realize I am at Georgetown University. At least I know where I am. The who and the why are the parts of last night I am missing.

I can’t believe this is happening.

I tap my location and details into the Uber app and wait, praying they will be on time.

A large group—six boys and seven girls, all varying heights, skin tones, and builds—stops when one boy with spiked blond hair comes to a halt about twenty feet from me and points in my direction.

He slaps the husky dark-haired guy next to him on the arm. “Holy shit, man, look.” His voice is so loud, it carries through the air.

His friend’s eyes flicker with acknowledgment, a wide grin forming. They stroll toward me, the clear leaders of their group, judging by the way the rest of them follow behind.

I could walk away, but what difference would that make? It’s not like I don’t have fans coming up to me for autographs all the time. And I’m not one of those asshole players who refuses to give them out. But I can’t let them know why I’m here.

How the hell do I explain this? Uh, I was just boning some chick who lives here. Didn’t catch her name. The papers would love that.

Flanked by his companions and looking like a complete douche, the blond fixes his collared pastel shirt and tilts his head up at me in some lame attempt to look cool. “You Alex Parker?”