Better Be Sure (Harrison Campus 1)
Chapter One
Pi Kappa Phi versus Theta Omicron.
Jackson took the snap and dropped back. Holding the football in front of him and yelling, “Hut!” hardly qualified as a real snap, but the stakes had Jack in game mode.
Theta players counted out Mississippis, and Jack scanned the field for his receiver—Ryan? Rodney? Ray! That was it. The guy played for the Harrison football team and ran like the wind. And damn could he run a pass route and be where the ball was going to end up.
Grunting loudly, his fraternity brothers met the Theta rush long enough for Jack to let the ball fly. A perfect tight spiral soared the length of the field, heading for the spot where Football Team Guy sprinted. He’d put six or seven steps between him and the flailing defenders and was in the clear.
A pass rusher shoved him in the chest with both hands—clearly too late to be a sack. Jack staggered back but kept his eyes on the flight of what promised to be his tenth touchdown pass of the game. Game? More like an annihilation. Theta Omicron should have known better than to pick a touch football game to settle the bet. Football Team Guy glided over to the ball right as it came down, gathered it in, and all but danced into the end zone.
Jack pumped his fist. “Yes!”
“Fuck!” someone shouted. Jack glanced over. The guy who’d shoved him was shaking his head. “Who is this dude?”
“Jackson Murphy and bestest friend ever.” Marcus Reynolds slapped him a high five that had his palm stinging. “Awesome, man.”
The guys from the neutral frat who’d agreed to referee blew the whistle seconds later to end the game. Seventy-seven to twenty-eight. Pi Kappa won, no contest.
Marcus nodded toward the other team, and he and Jack changed course to head over.
“What happened?” the Theta captain asked the Harrison football team players who had joined them. “You guys said you’d help us win.”
“You didn’t tell us that guy—” One of the team hitched his thumb at Jack. “—could throw like Aaron Rogers.”
Jack preferred Tom Brady, but Rogers wasn’t so bad.
The captain glared over his shoulder at Marcus. “Come to gloat, Reynolds?”
“Just came to confirm you’re moving your formal to a different weekend.”
Jack didn’t give a shit about the stupid formal, but he had no problem trouncing Theta Omicron’s collective ass—despite their attempt to cheat by recruiting three ringers from the university football team.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’ll change our date.”
Marcus belched out a hoot as they moved back to their team. Their fraternity mobbed Jack. No one in Pi Kappa Phi had doubted they’d win, but now that it was over, they could celebrate for real. To Jack it was a tiny victory. They could easily have moved their formal event one week either way.
It mattered to Marcus, though, so Jack had given it his best shot. Literally.
Someone dumped the ice water bucket over his head. The cold water ran down his back and made his boxers stick to his buttcheeks. He shook his head violently, hurling water over the guys, and laughed. “Seriously, guys, the formal means that much?”
“As much as winning against Theta.”
That Jack understood.
Who didn’t like to win a bet?
Chapter Two
Jack tripped up the bookstore staircase.
He cursed under his breath as he caught his balance and subtly checked for witnesses. None, thank God. A Rise Against poster caught his eye, and the caption at the bottom had him beelining toward it. They were touring here in July? Shit! He had to get tickets. Now that would have been a great birthday gift if Marcus had any taste in music.
Jack made for the “how to” area and thumbed his way through the books until he swiped over the title: Build Your Own Electric Motorcycle. He pulled out the green book with hungry yellow lettering. A step-by-step guide to building from scratch. Damn, that would be cool.
He snapped the book into a firmer grip, then lost his self-congratulatory smile. Marcus’s dad, their dad, would kill him for encouraging this. No way he’d let either of them get or build a motorcycle.
Jack muttered as he slipped the book back onto the shelf. He looked up to find a customer in the next aisle staring over at him. Tall, hair the color of sand, light dusting of stubble that gleamed golden in the store light. Hot. Tall Guy quickly averted his eyes.
Too bad.
Jack grabbed a book off the adjacent shelf, one that gave him license to check out the other aisles. A woman crouched in the aisle to the left, and Tall Guy had his head buried in a…. Jack squinted to catch the title. Something about businesses.
Tall Guy looked up before Jack could look away. A slither of a smile quirked his lips, and Jack rushed a small acknowledging smile before sharply turning to the shelves behind him.