I grin. “Then you can see me soon.”
“Soon?” There’s a hint of impatience in his voice, but I ignore it.
I nod. “Text me later?”
He agrees.
“Now kiss me,” he says, pulling me back into his arms. My hands are already curling around his neck, missing the feel of his, the hardness of his muscles, the scent of him that lingers on his shirt. He leans down and brushes his lips against mine, our tongues tangling, and when he pulls back to end the kiss, my mouth chases after his, wanting more.
He tells me he’ll text me later, and with a kiss goodbye, I walk to my car, crank it, and drive away.
I glance in the rear-view mirror and he’s still standing there, watching me.
Ryker
Blaze is adjusting his shoes when I walk into the locker room. The place is mostly empty since most of the team is already on the field. I’ve just come from working on the sidelines with the quarterback coach and popped in to grab a new jersey.
“Is that a hickey?” he says, laughing.
I touch my neck and grin at the memory.
“You look radiant as shit,” he comments with an eye waggle. “Get lucky last night?”
I smile. I’m already jonesing to see her. To slide between those perfect legs and feel like I’m home.
I just shrug.
He walks in closer. “Oh, you’re being tightlipped. Nice.” He grins. “You know I can’t stand that shit. Who was she?”
“Hmmmm.”
“You didn’t come back to the dorm,” he continues. “And you never do that. I even texted you this morning to check on you.”
It’s true. If I’m with a girl, it’s at my place and on my terms. But she’s different.
“Well?” he presses. “Who’s the girl?”
“Ah…” My eyes go to the bet board on the wall. The bet isn’t there, but it may as well be. Every guy on the team knows about it.
I scratch my jaw, not sure what to say.
I decide to play it off.
“I helped Penelope with her car. Flat tire. It was late…” My words linger off.
I turn back to my locker, hoping like hell he doesn’t ask more questions.
“Her tire? Again?”
Again? I toss a look at him over my shoulder. “Yeah. Why?”
He darts his gaze away but doesn’t say anything.
I frown. “What is it?”
He scratches his head. “Nothing. Just…she had a flat last week outside of Sugar’s.”
A spark of jealousy flashes through me at realizing he knew something about her that I didn’t. “I got her a new tire, so it won’t be flat again.”
“Cool.”
I study his closed-off face—which is weird. Blaze is an open book. In fact, usually he never shuts up.
I face him, giving him my full attention. Something is off. “So when was this? Did you help her?”
He fidgets, moving from one foot to the other. “A while back. I was just driving by after hanging out at Cadillac’s and her car was in the parking lot and…” He stops.
“And?”
“It was late so I pulled over. Archer was with her.” He shrugs. “Not a big deal.”
My spine straightens. He’s buried the important part in the middle of that. “Archer? What was he doing there? Was he changing her tire?”
He chews on his lip. “He was drunk…” His voice trails off and my hands clench.
“Spit it out, Blaze. What happened?” I’ve taken a step toward him and he holds up his hands. “I know exactly how Archer is when he’s drunk. He’s belligerent as shit. Did he hurt her? Threaten her?”
“Hang on, dude. She was fine. Archer was just messing around and left as soon as I showed up.”
I picture Penelope alone with Archer in a parking lot at night and anger simmers. My jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Look at you—you’re jonesing to rip his head off right now.” He shakes his head.
I rub my jaw, scrubbing at my unshaven face. I look at the bet trophy, and my teeth snap together. I’m so sick of this shit.
He shrugs. “Just let it go, man. We have a big game this week to focus on. It’s homecoming. Put everything else aside. Nothing else matters.”
Whatever.
A few minutes later I’m on the field with the rest of the team as we run through some scrimmages. The offense gets in the huddle, and I call a play, a new one we’ve only used a couple of times. We clap and line up, getting into formation.
Archer reads the line and calls his defensive play. There’s a bit of indecision in his voice as he yells out a change, and they move around, adjusting to what they think we’re going to do.
The ball is snapped and I do a fake pump then hand it off to Blaze, who runs past the defense and straight in for a fifty-yard touchdown.
Fuck yeah.
We celebrate and I’m pumped.
Coach yells out his approval and tells us to run another one.
We get in a huddle, and I call the play—the same one, but we line up differently. My eyes are on Archer, watching as he reads us and calls his formation then changes his mind and runs back and forth along the line of scrimmage, telling his guys what to do.
“Get your shit together, Archer,” I call out.
He sends me a glare. “Just snap the goddamn ball.”
My fucking pleasure.
The ball is snapped and I catch it, smooth and easy. I fake a throw and although the play calls for me to pass it off, I see an opening in the defense and take off running. Typically, I don’t run a lot even though I’m fast. If a defensive guy tackles me or lands on me wrong, it can hurt like hell—or worse.
But I didn’t get to be number one in the country for nothing. I take my chances when I see them—and I want to rub it in Archer’s face.
My offense catches on and tackles the line that comes for me.
With a quick sidestep, I dodge the slower guys and dart to the right. The field is wide open and adrenaline pumps as my feet smack against the green turf. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow behind me, looming fast. Archer. He’s one of the fastest guys on defense, plus he never took his eyes off me. Makes sense he’d be tailing me.
I see the goal line. Must get there.
I’ve gone at least thirty yards, enough for a first down, and I realize I’m not going to make the touchdown, so I aim for the sideline to get out of bounds.
Just as my feet cross the white line and the play is done, my shoulders are shoved and a foot is kicked in my lower back. I can’t stop the momentum as I plummet down on the turf. My head bangs inside my helmet as it hits the ground. Fuck. I’m jarred for a full five seconds. Blinking, I turn over and stare up at the sky.
Archer’s face blots out the sun. “I beat your ass, quarterback.”
I swallow, mentally taking inventory of my body. I’m okay, although my head is rattled. I didn’t lose consciousness, so odds are it’s not a concussion.
I whip my helmet off and toss it over to the side, gasping in air. I hear running and, in my periphery, see Blaze up in Archer’s face.
A couple of the other defensive players jog over, and they join the shouting match. The offensive guys are next, and pretty soon it’s a shoving match. I push myself to standing, swaying a bit. Coach blows his whistle for us to settle down. I shake myself off, blinking as I focus on Archer, who’s danced off toward the other sideline.
Anger ignites as rage sweeps every cell in my body. I march toward him.
Blaze is next to me, gesticulating wildly as he tries to talk me down. Dillon is with him, repeating everything Blaze says. “Dude, don’t freak out. He’s just showing off. You shouldn’t be running anyway…”
I ignore them. My fists curl as my equilibrium returns. I’m so goddamn sick of him. I was fine and dealing with his shit until Blaze said he was flirting with Penelope.
He’s never getting near her again.
Stalking, I reach the sideline
and grab Archer’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Take your helmet off,” I bite out.
He smirks. “You gonna cry about the late hit? Maybe if you could win a bet then your game might improve.” He laughs and looks around at the other players. “Oh wait a minute—word is your girl is dating some other guy. She left you at Cadillac’s. Saw it with my own eyes.” He pouts. “Does that make poor little Ryker sad?”
Rage boils. “Take. It. Off.”
He shrugs and looks around the field nervously, his gaze landing where Coach Alvarez is, but I already know Coach is watching. The man knows when someone has taken down his quarterback. My guess is he’s letting us vent for a few. He knows how tense we’ve been.
Archer twitches, his head fidgeting as he looks back at me. “Get over yourself,” he hisses. “It’s just a game. Penelope Graham is just a game.”
“That he can’t win,” one of the defensive players says under his breath.
Enough. I put my hands on Archer’s helmet and tug it off his head.
“Get off me, man!” he shouts as I throw it on the ground. “You ran the play. What did you expect?”
I rear back and hit him square in the face, splitting his lip. Pain shoots through my hand and arm and I flex my fingers to shake it off.
He backs up with his hands out, and I give him a grim smile. He’s not getting away from me this time. Everything rushes at me like a tsunami—the shit from last year, my Heisman snub, the fact that he harassed Penelope. He’s pushed me past the point of caring. “Isn’t this what you want, Archer? You mess with me over and over and want a reaction. You got it.” I hit my chest with my fist and his eyes flare. “Come on, take your shot. Or are you scared?” I grin at him, feeling that rush of power that comes when you know you have the upper hand with someone.
Archer’s face reddens and his lips make a thin line. “Fuck you.”
A sardonic laugh comes out of me. “You’re a pussy. All you want is to ride me about some stupid bet. Look around, asshole. We’re playing football. Not schoolyard pranks. I can’t fucking wait until Maverick is back on the team and you go back to the little nobody you always were,” I say. “And Penelope is mine. She’s always been mine. That bet is won, paid in full.”
The words rush out and part of me wants to tug them back because I know what it means, but I’m running on pure adrenaline. I’ve cracked wide open and everything is spilling out.
Some of the guys from the team edge closer.
“…did he say he won…”
“…yeah, he did…”
My guys whoop and fist-bump each other.
I block it all out and focus on Archer. “You’re the loser. Now take your hit. I’ll even let you.”
His entire team is watching and murmuring as he dives for me and gets in a tiny pop to my face, but I’m back and on him in an instant. I’ve got him up by the collar of his jersey, and I’m aiming for his face again when three of my offensive guys pull me off.
I struggle and fight as they drag me across the field.
“Stop, man. Enough already! We fucking won! Let it go.” It’s Blaze’s voice and he’s tugging at my arms. “Think about your hands, dude! Protect the arm.”
They push me to the other sideline and form a wall so I can’t get to Archer. I fume and pace the field as they murmur at me to settle down.
But I’ve reached a point where they can’t talk to me. I shove them all away.
It dawns on me that I’ve cracked, that I’ve messed up somehow, but I push those thoughts away. Not now. Not now.
The quarterback coach is up in my face, checking my hands, and I grimace as he barks out an order for an ice pack. I don’t even care if I’m hurt.
On the other side of the field, support staff checks on Archer. I see him running his mouth and pointing at me.
Blaze hits me on the back. “It’s cool. It’s over. Slow your breathing, man. Take a breath.”
I ease back as one of the staff puts an ice pack on my hand and then dabs at what I assume is blood around my eye.
Coach Alvarez has gotten Archer’s side of the story, and I watch as he marches across the field to where I am. I’m still pacing when he gets up in my face. “Do you think that solved anything, Voss?”
I glare at him.
“Well?”
My teeth grit and I spit out the words. “It made me feel better.”
He bites down hard on the pen in his mouth. “You got a lot of nerve, son. Is it out of your system?”
My gaze bounces over to Archer. “Not by a long shot.”
“Then get your ass to the showers. I expect to see you in my office in half an hour. Understood?”
I nod.
He gives me a grim look. “You’re dismissed.”
I straighten my shoulders and shove everyone off me then stomp across the field.
After I shower, I plop myself down in Coach’s office and wait for him to show up. My left hand rubs at the part of my fist that hit Archer’s face.
Coach walks in and takes a seat on the edge of his desk. His eyes are hard as nails as he rakes them over me. “That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”
I straighten my posture and lean forward in the chair. “Sir—”
He holds his hand up. “No excuses. I know it was a late hit. I know you guys have your differences, but that’s what makes being number one so goddamn elusive. You have to want it enough to let that shit go. Do you want it? Do you want to be the first pick in the draft? Do you want to have the world at your fingertips when you leave this shithole of a town?”
I swallow. “Yes sir.”
He gives me a short nod. “Then show some leadership and coolness out there. You looked like a high school kid who’s pissed off that someone’s dating his girl. Get over this…rift you have with Archer.”
But…
Archer doesn’t respect me. He’s the one who should be sitting in here. Not me.
“Life isn’t fair, Voss,” he says, as if he’s reading my mind.
My fists curl. “I didn’t start the shit—”
“No excuses.”
“Or what?” I say.
His eyes harden. “Don’t make me have to decide.”
Oh, I know what he’s insinuating. That he’ll replace me with the backup, Dillon.
Screw that. I respect the hell out of him, but I won’t be forced into a corner to behave when I’m not the one who needs an attitude adjustment.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that, sir.” I stand up and stalk out the door even though he hasn’t dismissed me.
Penelope
“Sine, cosine, and tangent are the main functions used in trig,” I explain to the small study group I meet with each week in the library, pretty much my favorite place on earth. In fact, I make sure my study section always meets on the floor right smack next to the romance section. Sometimes I even think if the whole writing gig doesn’t work out, I can always be a librarian and live around books forever.
My phone buzzes for the third time, and I set down my notebook. “Guys, my phone keeps going off. It must be important.” I smile at them. “Let’s take five then meet back here.”
They nod and stand up to stretch as I grab my purse to retrieve my phone. I read the text.
Want me to rescue you?
I grin. Ryker. I didn’t see him last night, and he missed class this morning, but he hasn’t been far from my thoughts.
Being apart from him has given me a chance to catch my breath. Our night together, the memories of it, still swirl in my head. I can’t wait to see him.
From what? I say.
You look bored as hell. I can make that look go away.
I look around the library, but all I see are tall stacks of books and a few study tables. He isn’t at any of them. Where are you?
Next to some books.
I shake my head and smile. There are books everywhere.
Just know that I’m watching you. ☺
Are you a stalker?
Maybe. You look pretty by the way.
I blush.
Nice shirt, he sends.
I look down at his practice jersey. I wore it on purpose.
I’ll give it back to you.
Keep it. It looks better on you. I have a surprise for you.
A couple of the students are tapping their pencils against the table, and I send a quick look at them. One of them gives me a questioning look. “You ready?”
Time to get to work. I have to go, I text then tuck my phone away.
Half an hour later, most of the students have left, and I’m packing up my things.
I push the chairs up to the table and lean over to wipe it off.
“Hey,” comes Ryker’s voice from behind me.
I flip around, and there he stands, his broad shoulders leaning against a tall bookcase, half of his face in shadow.
It doesn’t lessen the impact of him.
I wonder if he’s been waiting for me this entire time.
“Hey,” I reply softly. I’ve replayed our conversation from when he dropped me off at my car a hundred different ways, trying to decipher where we stand.
“I missed you in class,” I say. “We covered differential equations.”
“Nice. Did you take notes for me?”
“Not a jersey chaser or your secretary.”
He laughs. “The claws are out. I didn’t expect you to. We can plan a study session at your place if I get behind.”
I toy with the straps of my backpack. “Yes, we could.” I’m already picturing him in my bedroom, spreading me out naked on my bed while I recite math facts.
“No more work tonight?”
“All done.” I walk over to him, and he steps forward out of the dimness of the shadow. “Ryker! What happened to your face?” I scan his features, taking in the purple bruise around his right eye. Moving closer, I wince at the puffiness and the worn look on his face. “A fight?”
He sighs, looking away from me. “You could say that. Archer and I…” He shakes his head. “There’s some bad blood between us.”
I inhale sharply. Ah.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing you have to worry about.”
I Bet You Page 17