“None for me.”
Bree rolls her eyes and grabs Renee’s elbow, snatching her toward the kitchen. I walk around until I find Brooks and some of the team playing cornhole outside, so I find a seat next to one of the players.
“Ready for graduation?” I ask.
“I haven’t found a job yet, but my parents own a manufacturing company in Steele, Texas, so I guess I’ll work there until I do,” he says, like he’s disappointed in himself.
We all have these grand visions of what we’ll be when we grow up, and athletes expect to go pro. It’s what they’ve dreamed of their entire lives, so when reality hits that only a few go on to play professionally, they get depressed. Their world is turned upside down.
“I haven’t found a job either. I’m interviewing for a sports reporter position for a new start-up the week after graduation. I don’t know which sport, but if it’s football, then I think I’ll have a chance since my dad and brothers don’t shut up about it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Lots of women have families that love sports, but they don’t. You love competition. Sometimes I’d look over at the cheerleaders and none of the other women beamed like you.”
I smile, and my body feels warm. Is he flirting with me? No one has dared to in over a year. Everyone bows down to Brooks Pendleton.
“Yeah, I do love football—all sports. Even hockey. My brother Parker played college hockey, but now he’s doing football workouts for Baylor, Texas, and Texas A&M. And I would bet he chooses A&M because my brother J.D. hates them with a passion.”
“Even now?” he asks.
“Well, since he has players from A&M on his team, he teases them. But under it all, he’s a Longhorn.”
“But your brother Greyson didn’t follow him there. I guess we all need to make our own way, don’t we? Are you glad you came to this university and met Brooks?”
My tongue gets stuck in my throat, and I have a difficult time answering, so I just nod.
“You deserve better, and I’m pretty sure you already know it.” His chair scrapes against the concrete as he gets up. “He’s not who he says he is.”
His fingers graze my shoulder, and there is pity in his eyes.
When he leaves, another couple takes a seat next to me. She sits on his lap, and they’re kissing andgiggling, flirting and drinking. The perfect couple, in my opinion. Being together should be easy, but with Brooks, it’s a freaking job. I spend most of my time waiting for him. When will he notice me? I’ve been here twenty minutes, and he hasn’t even winked my way, waved me over, or jogged over to kiss me and say hello.
Keely asks me, “Are you moving to New Orleans with Brooks?”
“No.” That’s when it hits me that Brooks and I never even discussed it after he was drafted. Did he assume that I wouldn’t leave my family? I probably wouldn’t unless we were engaged, but why didn’t he at least ask? Right now, I need to be close to home. Parker and Witt need me. J.D. and Birdie recently had a baby girl, Henley. Sutton and Greyson have one on the way.
She seems surprised, but then her boyfriend yells over to Brooks, “Your girl is staying here and not moving with your ugly mug. What are you going to do without her?”
Brooks straightens his spine, and a red tint travels up his neck to his face. “Football.”
I hear a few snickers, but I don’t turn around to see who it is. Instead, I stand and yell, “Bree, where are those shots?”
The guys cheer me on as I do one shot. Then two more. Brooks is watching, fuming. I rarely drink if I’m not somewhere safe. During my freshman year, a guy put a date rape drug in one of my teammate’s drinks. She was never the same. A month later, she quit the team, dropped out of school, and moved home. A few of us called to check in, but she would never answer, then she’d text us saying she was working or whatever. After that, I assumed she didn’t want any memories of this school, this team, or the guy. Word spread about who the guy was, and soon he was gone as well.
Inside, the music pulses so hard it thrums in my chest. A disco ball flashes in the living room where all the furniture is pushed against the walls. Bodies are pressed together—dancing, jumping, losing themselves in the sweaty chaos. I laugh, half-wild, the flavor of hard seltzer buzzing on my tongue as I join in, dancing with anyone who grabs my hand, male or female. For a moment, I’m light—untouchable.
Then Jake—tight end, always grinning—spins me like we’re on some neon-lit tilt-a-whirl. Spinning. Spinning. Free, until I’m suddenly not. The room tilts and my stomach lurches up my throat, fierce and unstoppable. I pinch my mouth closed to push it back down.
“I’m… I’m…”
Jake’s steadying hand pulls me. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”
He steers me across sticky floors and swings open the bathroom door. Inside, a girl kneels in front of a guy, head bobbing, lost in him. But it’s not just anyone—I know those sneakers. White leather, neon trim, stupidly expensive. Brooks. My Brooks.
His eyes snap to mine, wide and guilty, but the girl just keeps going, swallowing him like he’s special. My vision blurs. Rage and nausea war inside me. Jake tugs at my arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t move. Not yet. I stumble forward, my focus locked on Brooks, and he fumbles, trying to peel her off. Something dark wells up in me, hotter than fury. I open my mouth to scream—only to feel everything I’ve kept down all night expelled right onto her perfect hair and his now-limp dick.
“Fuck, Noelle,” Brooks shouts.
