“I’ll do whatever needs to be done.” Which really meant I didn’t want the cops sniffing around here. Girlfriend of Max Kent Involved in Hit and Run would be the headlines whether it was true or not. The media would run with it and Coach Williams would flip his lid. No thanks. I rubbed my forehead. “Damn groupies. I wish they’d leave me the hell alone.”
She mulled that over, her nose scrunching up. “So you really didn’t have sex with her.”
“Swear. She’s been with half the team. I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.”
“He hates easy tail,” Tate chimed in from the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, watching us with interest. He indicated me with a nod, like we were members of some Hot Guy Club. “He’s an alpha, love—like me. We like to work for it. I’d work for you.” His gaze roamed over Neighbor Girl lazily, with an intent that was so obvious I half-expected porn music to play in the background.
Seriously? I gave him a look that said back off.
Wait. Why did I care?
I glanced back at Neighbor Girl, and the earlier palpable tension between us had eased somewhat although I could tell the jury was still out on if we were going to end this on a happy note. A grimace crossed her face as she checked the time on her phone. “Okay, we can deal with this later. I have to go.”
Thank you, baby Jesus.
She played with the bottom of her shirt.
We just stood there. Staring.
The air around us thickened, becoming charged with electricity.
Sometimes in the middle of a normal day, a life-changing choice is thrown in front of you. Right then, you’re one decision away from a completely different existence. You decide your future even though you aren’t even aware you’re doing it. Your choice might result in finding love or death or winning the fucking lottery—you don’t know.
Was it like that with this chick at my doorstep?
Losing my mom made me think about that kind of shit all the time. One minute she’d been there—and then she’d been gone.
“I really need a ride to class,” she said, pulling me back. She gave me a sheepish look. “I have Whitt first thing and he’s a jerk.”
Oh, right.
I cleared my throat and focused. “Sure, I can get you to class. And thank you for coming to me before you called the police.” I tilted my head. “Maybe this little incident brought us together for a reason.”
“Like what?”
“Like we should go out,” I said, my voice growing husky. “I can make it up to you.”
She flushed. “You mean like have sex with me? I’d rather have a car.”
My lips twitched. Again.
“I don’t hang out with jocks,” she added. “It’s a rule. Nothing personal.”
I shrugged. “I’m an athlete—not a jock. Big difference.”
“Not to me, Quarterback,” she said curtly.
I grinned. Her snippiness didn’t faze me. It amped me up like I was staring down a blitz and had to throw a Hail Mary to win the game.
I took a step back and snatched up my backpack off the floor. I slung a casual arm around her shoulders, much like I would any girl I was friends with.
“What are you doing?” she asked, giving my arm a bewildered glance. I noticed she didn’t pull away though.
“We’re leaving. Let’s get you to Whitt’s class. I’m assuming that’s Anatomy and Physiology?”
She nodded.
“I’m in the same class.” I grinned, broader this time. “Coincidence or destiny?”
Her mouth parted, a puff of air escaping as she stared up at me.
And what did I do? I stared right back at her, feeling a whole lot of déjà vu.
Her body brushed against mine, and I caught a whiff of her scent . . . vanilla with a hint of lemon. It was different. Fresh. Sweet.
I glanced down at her full pink lips, wondering how they’d feel pressed against mine.
Fuck no. Forget that.
Focus on football.
Right. No hooking up with Neighbor Girl. The season had just begun, and I didn’t need a girl mucking up my year. Been there. Done that.
I tweaked the tiny line of freckles across her nose. “Hope you like listening to Snoop Dog, Blondie.”
Sunny
BLONDIE?
Please. Kill me now.
How easy did he think I was? Let’s go out. I’ll make it up to you. Yeah, right. He wanted to bone me and then kick back and watch me do the walk of shame . . . not going to happen.
I wouldn’t be the next girl stumbling around in his azalea bushes.
Yet, I couldn’t deny the absolute pure truth between us.
Ignore that, I told myself. So I did. I slammed the door on those feelings, stuffing them in the part of my brain that kept anything with the power to hurt me locked up tight.
He wasn’t who I thought he was. Not really.
I let out a sigh as we walked out the door. His irreverent attitude reminded me of my ex, and if there’s one thing I’d learned at Leland, it was that super star athletes were not to be trusted.
He was much bigger in life than I had imagined. Of course, I’d seen pics of him in his uniform on television for a big game, and sometimes I’d catch sight of him on the quad, usually surrounded by teammates or girls, but we’d never come face-to-face. He was popular and way out of my social circle.
I’m a plain and simple girl who kept my head down—even more so after my mom had died when I was sixteen. My father had made it his mission to make sure I didn’t turn out like her. A strict preacher, he’d yanked me out of public school to homeschool me after she passed. No more singing lessons. No more friends—or boys. He wanted me home and under his thumb. He’d managed to hide that dark side from his parishioners, but it lingered just on the edges of his personality.
I saw it every time he looked at me.
He hated me because I wasn’t her.
Mimi said it was because I was the spitting image of her, long blond hair, eyes the color of smoke, and an oval face. I even had a heart-shaped birthmark like hers on my right ear. We could have been twins.
Max opened the passenger door for me on a black Land Cruiser—cha-ching—and then proceeded to clear out the passenger seat that was stuffed with protein bars, books, and football pads. Besides the mess, the car smelled like him, all alpha male mixed with expensive leather.
I inhaled another whiff, feeling frustrated. Dang. Why did he smell so good?
I snuck a quick glance at his well-developed biceps in his tight shirt, taking in the orange and brown tiger tattoo, our school mascot, peeking out from the sleeve. My gaze shifted to his face, and part of me—the crazy part—yearned to reach out and touch his chiseled jawline, maybe run my fingers over his full and pouty lips. I sighed. We may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but holy cow, he was hot.
With a smirk that said he’d caught me staring, he wiped errant crumbs off the seat and gestured for me to sit as if it were a queen’s throne. “Here ya go.”
“Thank you.”
He climbed in the driver’s side, popped on a pair of Tom Ford shades, and pulled out of the drive. I tried to act cool, but the truth was I was nervous as heck. I opened my purse and applied a rose-colored lipstick I found in there. I’d freaked when that groupie hit my car, and I pretty much ran out of the house with what clothes I could find. I smoothed down my shirt and raked a hand through my unruly hair.
I probably looked like a deranged person.
You are a deranged person, I reminded myself. You asked—maybe demanded—Max Kent take you to class.
In what universe did any of this make sense?
He put his hand on the radio, but instead of cranking up the music like I thought he would, he turned it off. Ocean-colored eyes assessed me.
“So what’s your name? Have we ever met before? Class? Maybe a party?”
“Sunny Blaine, and no, I don’t even like football. I prefer reading—or chess.”
&nbs
p; I didn’t know a knight from a pawn!
I hadn’t read a good book in months!
What was wrong with me?
He laughed. “You must be new. Football’s practically a religion at Leland.”
“I went to Southwest Community first and started Leland last year. I’ll graduate this May,” I said. Leland was a private institution with a price tag that boggled the brain. The only way I’d been able to pull off the past two semesters was with an art scholarship and federal grants. Of course there was still the basics to pay, like food and rent—which is why I worked twenty hours a week at the library.
“Big plans after graduation?”
“I love art, so I’m hoping for something in a gallery.” I bit my lip, feeling self-conscious about telling him my dream, but it came out anyway. “Someday, I’d like to own a store that sells clothes I designed. Depends on how much money I can save.” I shrugged, playing it off. “I’ll probably end up working at The Gap.”
“Where you from?”
“North Carolina. I moved here a while back to live with my grandmother Mimi.”
He shot me an interested glance. “What part are you from? We used to vacation there in the mountains. Pretty place.”
“Why the twenty questions?” I asked stiffly.
He shrugged, drawing my attention straight to those ridiculously broad shoulders. “Just making conversation. Why so defensive?”
He was right. Anytime anyone brought up North Carolina, I clammed up. I kept my life before moving to Atlanta tucked away, and that didn’t make me an easy person to get to know.
“Sorry. It’s just . . .” I sucked in a sharp breath, thinking about the other reason for my rotten mood. “My boyfriend . . . we recently broke up, and he’s going to be in our class. We picked out all our classes together last spring.” My teeth tugged at my bottom lip. “I dread seeing him. We had the biggest non-breakup ever. No closure.”
His gaze shot to me. “That sucks. Been there myself recently. I get it.”
“We were supposed to be living together this semester, and I had to find somewhere last minute,” I added. “Thank goodness I knew a professor who wanted me to fix up his house while I live there.”
“Oh?”
“Just pulling down wallpaper and general repair stuff.”
“Sounds like work,” he murmured, giving me a once-over, as if surprised.
“Tuition isn’t cheap and books don’t buy themselves.” It was no secret he came from money. Heck, his dad was a famous NFL player turned sportscaster.
“There you go—being prickly,” he smirked, but looked oddly pleased.
“It’s been a heck of a day, okay? And I still haven’t had coffee.”
“We can’t have that.” He whipped the car into the Circle K, told me to wait a minute, and then came back five minutes later with two Styrofoam cups. He tossed sugar and packets of creamer in my lap. “It’s not Starbucks, but it’ll hit the spot.”
My heart flip-flopped when I accepted the cup, cradling it like the Holy Grail. I tore the lid off and inhaled the first sip. Maybe he wasn’t a douche like all the other athletes in my life.
He chuckled as he pulled back out to the street. “You should have mentioned coffee was the way to tame you.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, settling back in the seat. “Muffins and scones work too.”
He pulled into the lot behind the Clark Science Building, parked, and turned the ignition off. But for some reason, neither of us moved to get out. He fiddled with his keys, as if he wanted to say something. Then he took off his sunglasses and twirled them around his fingers. He was a live wire, and I couldn’t help but follow his every move. A lock of dark hair had come loose from his bun, the chestnut and honey highlights begging for my fingers to push it out of his eyes.
Don’t do it, Sunny.
I wanted to fill in the silence, though.
“So your breakup sucked too, huh?” Bianca Something was his ex’s name, and their tumultuous relationship had been the talk of campus last year. The sports media had even mentioned their crazy back and forth a few times. Heck, I’d witnessed them arguing once on the quad. I’d been coming around a tree when I saw them facing off, plain as day that they were having a huge fight. As I’d watched, she’d thrown a book at his head and yelled obscenities. He’d stormed off with his fists clenched.
A shadow crossed his face. “She screwed up my game last year. Can you believe she still throws herself at me when her boyfriend isn’t around?”
“Want me to kick her ass?”
He laughed.
I laughed.
And we stared at each other.
Okay, the staring thing was getting weird as heck. But I couldn’t stop—and neither could he. Heat grew in his gaze, and I felt my own body responding. Melting.
Get out of the fancy car, Sunny. Mr. Quarterback is dangerous.
“Wait,” he said as I moved to open the door. His hand touched my arm, lingering down to my wrist. My heart thundered. Good grief. I was as weak as a baby kitten.
I clenched my fists.
Keep your panties on, Sunny. Don’t. Fall. For. The. Quarterback.
My brain briefly noted that a football player was the only athlete I hadn’t dated. In high school, before I’d left to be homeschooled, it had been a scorching hot basketball player who could run down the court fast as lightning. At Southwest it had been a lean volleyball player with the softest kisses. Then it had been Bart, my latest, who was a sexy baseball player well on his way to the majors this spring. I sighed. The truth is I had a horrible, horrible thing for them. Call it opposites attract or whatever, but athletes were magnets to my heart, and once I let them in, they obliterated me.
“Yeah?” I studied his face, taking in the perfection of each feature.
He reciprocated the appreciation, his gaze skating over the V of my shirt just enough to make my nipples harden. Stupid nipples.
“Do you feel this thing between us? Like a connection?” he murmured and then scoffed a little under his breath as if the idea was ludicrous.
“No,” I lied.
“Really? The moment I opened my door, something strange happened.” He gave me a self-deprecating shrug. “That is, unless my girl radar is completely off the rails.”
I laughed, but then quickly sobered.
Why would the King of Leland Football be interested in me?
He was like . . . this famous football star that the entire university—heck, the entire state of Georgia—adored.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, guys hit on me sometimes when I went out. I have long blond hair and nice boobs, but I wasn’t anything special. My nose was a little too long and my cheekbones a little too broad to be considered a conventional beauty. I rarely wore makeup except for lipstick and mascara, and I wasn’t big on dressing sexy unless you counted skinny jeans and flats.
A black jeep whipped into the parking spot next to me and my breath caught.
“Someone you know?” Max asked.
“My ex.” The anxious feeling I’d woken up with grew in the pit of my stomach.
“You dated Bart Morgan, the pitcher of the baseball team? Huh. Maybe that’s why you look so familiar. Maybe I saw you at the athletic banquet last year?”
I nodded.
“He’s why you don’t date athletes?”
“He’s why I’m not dating anyone. All I want is to graduate and get out of here. I don’t need anyone but myself.”
“Ah. He played you,” Max said.
“Like a banjo.”
Bart exited his car, grabbed his book bag, and took off for the sidewalk. He never even glanced in our direction.
My face flamed at the memory of how I’d trusted him even though Isabella had warned me he had a reputation. I twisted my fingers into my hair, tugging on it.
Max’s eyebrows furrowed, and he pulled my hand out of my hair. “Hey. What happened between you two?”
I fidgeted, realizing that Max had been watchin
g and scrutinizing my reaction to Bart.
“Sunny?”
Maybe it was because it was the first time I’d heard my name on his lips or maybe it was the scathing look he’d sent Bart’s back as he walked away—but whatever it was, I let myself sink back into the car.
“He . . .” My voice trailed off as I recalled his birthday party. It had been a warm night last spring, and I’d been exhausted after working my shift at the library. Excited to see him after his busy week of games and being on the road, I drove straight to the baseball frat house without calling him first. I found him at the back of the den, lying on a couch with his hands down another girl’s pants—in full view of everyone at the party. And totally oblivious I was standing there. Gaping at them.
He’d been such a LIAR.
Oh, baby, I love you.
Oh, baby, you and I are meant to be.
I chewed on my lip. “He was with another girl . . . I watched them . . .” I paused, remembering the humiliation.
“Want me to kick his ass?”
I half-smiled. “No.”
“You still care about him?”
“I shouldn’t. Do you still care about Bianca?”
“She’s going to be in our class.” His face hardened.
My mouth opened. “No way.”
“Way.”
I shook my head. “Aren’t we just a bunch of losers?”
He thought about that for a moment. “I hate losing—at anything.” A light dawned in his eyes. “I have an idea. Let’s walk in that class like we’re together and blow their fucking minds.”
I started, even more so when he reached across and grabbed my hand.
“What do you mean?” I didn’t disentangle our hands, though.
He edged closer to me, his face earnest. “Let’s show them we’ve moved on—to bigger and better things. What do you say about being my pretend girlfriend for class today?”
What?
Was he nuts?
I shook my head to clear the fuzzies. “Slow down a minute. Are you—gay?” How horrible.
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