Maddie and Soraya shift their attention to the hazel-eyed jackass and, okay, fine, I do too. How could I not when his dark hair is adorably tousled, and he’s wearing a fitted black tee that hugs his broad chest like a second skin, showcasing perfectly sculpted pecs?
“Mmm,” Brooke purrs. “That boy is fine. And I hear he knows how to take care of a woman, if you know what I mean.”
It's on the tip of my tongue to correct her, because Parker most certainly does not know how to take care of a woman, but pointing that out would mean revealing I slept with him two years ago, so yeah, I keep that little gem to myself.
“I have to pee.” The bathrooms in this house are probably beyond disgusting, but the punch went right through me and really, anything has to be better than standing here listening to my friends obsess about Parker’s killer body.
“Want me to come with?” Maddie asks.
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
As long as I don’t run into Parker.
I press into the sea of writhing bodies, slowly making my way across the room. When I reach the hall, it’s easy enough to find the bathroom because the line is twelve deep, other members of the small bladder club chatting and texting as they wait.
A girl at the front of the line smacks her palm against the door and yells, “Hurry the hell up already! I’ve been waiting ten minutes.”
The pressure on my bladder increases at this revelation, and I squeeze my thighs together.
Just. Freaking. Great.
I’m going to pee myself before I ever reach the front of the line.
That’s what you get for partying on Greek Row.
It’s a mistake I haven’t made since freshman year, one I swore I wouldn’t repeat. But hey, I haven’t hooked up with any douchey football players, so that’s something, right?
16
PARKER
“My man,looking good out there today!”
A Sig Chi rando holds out his fist and I knock it, pride filling my chest. Everyone’s riding high from today’s win, including me. Not in a million years did I ever think I’d be part of something as big or important as Wildcat Nation. Our fans bleed blue and white and being part of a team that brings so many people together and gives them such joy is a fucking honor.
One I don’t take lightly.
Just the thought of letting the fans down—of letting my team down—dampens my mood as I move slowly through the crush of bodies that are packed wall-to-wall inside the frat house.
Today’s game against Idaho should’ve been a gimme, but they made us work for every yard and stop, which means we’ll be grinding at practice this week.
If you want to be the best, you’ve got to train like the best.
It’s one of Coach’s favorite sayings.
One he’ll no doubt work into Monday’s post-game recap.
But tonight is about celebration, which is why I’m going to get another beer and enjoy the hell out of myself.
The party is lit and sweaty bodies press in on me from all angles, so I almost don’t notice when a tall brunette cozies up beside me, batting her lashes.
“Looking good, Parker.”
“Thanks,” I shout, raising my voice to be heard over the music. “Right back at you.”
The response is more reflex than genuine compliment, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she leans in, her breasts brushing my chest as she blocks the path to the kitchen.
“I hear Waverly could go undefeated this year.”
