I’d hit the bars and the parties after our convincing win over the Bears, all the time hoping to run into that purple-haired hottie who’d rocked my world and calmly driven away in her sweet ride. Once again I struck out. From the way she and her friends staked out the same part of the student section, she obviously liked football, which made her even hotter. But equally as obviously, she didn’t party with the team or in the usual places fans congregated after the games. Without her number, all I could do was bounce from venue to venue in the hopes of casually running into her.
I needed to run into her.
After my play in the past two games of the season, I’d become a chick magnet at parties. Not all the women coming onto me were jersey chasers either. Trouble was, none of them snagged my attention. At the last party at Fitz’s place, I’d even attempted making out with a gorgeous redhead who let me know she was up foranything—emphasis hers. Yet I only kissed her a couple of times before I had to beg off.
It was kind of humiliating. But I just wasn’t feeling it.
And didn’t that suck big-time?
Fuck.
Callahan interrupted my morose train of thought. “Man, I love being in the playoffs, but I’m sure going to miss my mom’s Thanksgiving feast.” The dreamy-eyed expression on his face said turkey, stuffing, and all the fixin’s.
I could relate.
“I bet whatever the alums serve us tomorrow will beat anything the Air Force ever served,” Danny said.
Yeah. Though the New Guy was our age, after putting four years in the service, he was a freshman in college. None of us messed with him much—partly because he’d fit right in from the day he stepped onto the field as a walk-on, and partly because even though he played receiver, Danny was jacked.
“If Fitz’s mom is in charge again, expect the best deep-fried turkey that’s ever crossed your lips,” Finn said.
At the mention of Mrs.Fitzwilliams’ turkey, my mouth watered. No doubt Finn’s did too.
“What follows dinner?” Danny asked as he rinsed out his shaker bottle and flipped it over in the sink to dry.
“The NFL on the big screen,” I said. “Hopefully, the games won’t be as disappointing as last year’s. I think we could have taken the Lions in a head-to-head and beat ’em.”
“Careful with your badass, cocky self there, Bax,” Callahan warned as he pulled food from the fridge. It was his turn to cook, and from the looks of it, tonight was taco night.
I shrugged. “Facts is facts.”
The others grinned as I headed out of the kitchen. Since ’Han was cooking, I had a few minutes to drop my duffel in my room and change into my sweats. With ’Han’s new girl and Danny’s “friend” both gone for the holiday, no doubt the two of them would be joining Finn and me for ourCall of Dutymarathon. Might as well be comfortable.
Problem was, I couldn’t make my mind comfortable. For weeks, I’d fought myself on looking up Piper’s stats on the MSC website. While I knew the college posted all the athletes’ schedules—something about proving we were all student athletes or some shit—I’d never wanted to look up any of us. The idea of having my schedule available for anyone online was intrusive enough without me trolling someone else’s schedule too. But once the idea entered my head, I couldn’t stop wondering if the college posted the schedules of regular students.
Piper had made it clear after she’d given me the best sex of my life that she didn’t want to get to know me better. I’d given her my number anyway, hoping she’d change her mind. Even though I’d dedicated my only two pick-sixes of the year to her, she’d maintained radio silence. Guess I needed to stop torturing myself and admit I hadn’t done it for her the way she did it for me.
Our first-round opponent in the playoffs came from my neck of the woods. The media went on and on about how those Southern boys were going to freeze in our Northern climate, adding to our homefield advantage. But the Chanticleers proved everyone wrong. Those boys showed up angry. Some of them even skipped the cold-weather gear and played in their shirtsleeves like we did.
And they played lights out.
Unfortunately for them, we were still riding a high from kicking our cross-state rivals’ asses last week, which meant we played even angrier. Finn padded his stats with two sacks and two tackles for loss. Though I had a sack, two solo tackles, and four assists, after the game I had to hand over the hammer to my roommate. Not that I minded. At least we kept it in our house. Callahan was the player who owned the game though. If not for his touchdown heroics, we’d be watching the rest of the playoffs on TV.
Not gonna lie. The heroes’ welcome we received when we arrived at Stromboli’s after the game had me thinking I was ten feet tall and bulletproof. The servers dropped off a new pitcher of beer to our booth on almost every pass they made between the kitchen and the rest of the bar. Platters piled with wings bookended our table—more wings than even Fitz could eat his way through. And I think one pie each from a quarter of the pizza choices on the menu landed on our table in the first two hours we were there.
To say I was feeling no pain was the understatement of the year. Then I glanced up at the bar and sobered on the spot.
Piper was sitting alone. Noting the empty barstool beside her, I pushed on Finn to let me out of the booth.
“What the fuck, Bax? You shouldn’t wait so long if you gotta piss.” He laughed at his mom joke, but I didn’t have time for his nonsense.
“Just move your big ass, wouldja?”
Fitz and Johnson laughed at Finn’s antics, and I shot them a don’t-encourage-him glare across the table. ’Han frowned as he eyed me, while Jamaica, his gorgeous class partner-turned-girlfriend, hid a smile. I couldn’t give two shits what any of them thought. I needed to hit that barstool before some asshole thought he had a chance with the woman who’d haunted my thoughts day and night for weeks.
With a casualness I was far from feeling, I strolled over to Piper, catching her attention in the mirror behind the bar. Her eyes widened, then a slow smile tipped up the corner of her luscious mouth.
“Hello, Wyatt.”
