I took a selfie of the front door with the key in my hand and stuck out my tongue.
“What are you doing?” Ale asked, her dark black hair twisted into two buns. She was so cool. I loved her. She also cursed in Spanish all the time, and it was sexy.
“Reminding myself I locked the door.” I zipped the key in my small bag, and boom, I was ready to watch the game and cheer for the guys.
“Smart.” She looped her arm through mine. “It’s amazing you live in the football house. Are they shirtless and sweaty?”
“Oh, I want the deets.” GraceLynn went on my other side. “They are so hot it’s unfair. Callum. Dean. Luca. God, that man is fine.”
“Oh damn. Oliver is a bit too much for me, but that boy is fine too.” Ale put a hand on her forehead, being dramatic as hell.
“Who has the best chest?” GraceLynn asked. “Please say Callum. I love him.”
“Luca.” I didn’t miss a beat. His pecs and muscles near his neck werechef’s kiss.Plus, I knew if I licked that area, he’d jerk in response and release a deep growl. “Luca has the best chest.”
“Makes sense. He’s thickest. Real meaty.” Ale said, making me howl in laughter. “I gotta say Dean is my flavor though.”
“You like Dean?” Mack asked, turning all the way from her spot in front of us and eyeing Ale, her cheek twitching.
Ale laughed. “I mean, no offense to Lorelei here, but I like the swagger of him, yeah. His ass is nice, and his arms are thick enough to bite. If he needed an outlet some night, you send him my way, Lo. You got it?”
“End of this discussion forever.” I gagged, making a real scene of it. “Y’all are buying me my first drink. I earned it.”
We laughed and yelled as we walked into the sports bar near the party street on campus. There were already a lot of people there watching the game, but we looked great. The baseball team was there and invited us in with open arms. Obviously, I did a quick scan of the group, no familiar face of Eric in sight, and I relaxed.
Spending the night anywhere near him was the last thing I wanted. And a flicker of unease crept in at the notiong of getting photographed with him. Not that it mattered, but it made me feel guilty for reasons that didn’t make sense. I owed no one a damn thing!
“Loooooo!” A cheery voice pulled me from my thoughts. Cooper Birmingham, one of the pitchers, pulled me into a hug. “It’s amazing to see you, girl.”
“You too.” I squeezed him back, my stomach hollowing out in embarrassment. It was strange to be around him again after not seeing him for months. I’d hung with him and Eric all the time—like, four times a week, and when Eric did what he did, I lost his friendship. Did he think I was pathetic? Or did he feel bad for me?
I hated that I cared.
“It’s been a minute, but let me tell you, Eric is a dumbass.” He cupped my chin, his face serious. “I’m sorry it ended the way it did.”
“Thanks, Cooper.”
“Now, come sit. We can share school spirit.” He put an arm around my shoulders, and we walked toward the large booth for ten people. Ale and Mack sat too, sandwiched between other players.
College athletes were a different breed. They were the only other group of people who understood the dedication, the energy, the sacrifices it took to be a D1 athlete. Hanging with them was easier. Cooper poured me a beer from one of their pitchers, and I let myself relax. I needed the liquid courage to watch Luca play and not worry about him.
The game started with a bang, our team running the ball all the way for a touchdown. The bar exploded in cheers, beer was spilled, and man, my blood was pumping. My brain had a booze fog, and by the third quarter, I convinced myself I wasn’t falling for Luca Monroe.
Watching him play was intoxicating in a way beer wasn’t. The 88 on his jersey was easy to spot with his length and thickness. Him being a tight end just made sense. He had a mean streak and played the O linemen and receiver positions well. He was a utility player, excelled at what the team needed from him. He commanded the field, or maybe that was my crush sneaking out. I loved someone who dominated their field. It didn’t matter if it was cards or golf or painting for a sport. When people put the time and energy into something, it was sexy.
“Scoot in, scoot in!” a dude yelled. I laid my head on someone’s shoulder, smiling and closing my eyes as someone snapped a pic. I wore the jersey I bought freshman year. I didn’t care whose number it was, just didn’t want it being my brother’s.
But now, I realized it was Oliver’s. How fun! I took a selfie with the number and sent it to theroommatechat.
Lo: Just realized the jersey I’ve had since freshmen year was yours! Go Ollie!
Content with the text, I pocketed my phone and watched the rest of the game. We won, by a lot, dominating our rival, and damn, Luca played the game of his life.
Pride filled me like a helium balloon for a kid’s birthday party. I beamed at the TV, tired and tipsy and happy. This was how I’d envisioned life in college. Doing shit with my teammates, living life to the fullest, and supporting a vision. That was the thing about me that drove my family nuts. I loved being a part of something bigger than myself. Being on a team—we had a mission to win a championship. All athletes were here to bring pride to ourselves and our school.
Luca understood.
In my sloppy haze, I fumbled with my phone, desperate to tell him how proud I was. He had to hear it! From someone!
