But all I could think about was her.
And the very real possibility that I’d let myself get played by the one girl I actually wanted.
The second the final whistle blew and we won, the team started talking about the after-party. Someone suggested my place.
“Nah,” I said, already pulling off my pads in the locker room. “Not at my house.”
A couple of the guys groaned.
“Come on, Travers. Your spot’s the cleanest on the team. It’s basically a mansion.”
I shot them a look. “Exactly. Which means I don’t want thirty drunk assholes tracking mud and beer all over my floors. Shoes off or not, somebody’s gonna spill something sticky on my counters and I’m not dealing with that shit tonight.”
They knew better than to push it. I might’ve looked laid-back on the outside, but I was a fucking nightmare about my house. I didn’t even like people wearing shoes past the front door. So they dropped it and we ended up at the frat house the quarterback was in.
By midnight, the place was packed. Athletes from other teams started showing up, girls everywhere, music loud enough to shake the walls. I was already ten beers deep, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red solo cup in my hand, trying to drink the taste of Isa out of my mouth and the anger out of my chest.
It wasn’t working.
Every time I closed my eyes I saw her. Every time I tried to flirt with one of the girls hanging around, my head went straight back to that night at my house—her in my bed, crying in my arms, coming on my tongue like she forgot every other man existed. I was pissed at her. Pissed at the rumors. Pissed at myself for still wanting her anyway.
And then I saw her.
She was limping through the crowd near the living room, that long Texas pageant-queen hair falling over one shoulder, wearing some simple top and shorts that showed off her tan legs and the brace on one. She looked out of place. Too pretty. Too clean for this shitshow.
Something ugly twisted in my gut.
Before I could stop myself, I pushed off the counter and walked straight toward her, two girls already clinging to each of my arms like they’d been waiting for me to move.
Isa’s eyes lifted and found mine.
I didn’t even slow down.
“Who invited the gold digger?” I said loud enough for the people around us to hear. My voice came out rough from the beer and the anger I’d been swallowing all night. “Ain’t no rich boys here tonight, sweetheart. Go home.”
I sneered as I walked right past her, the two girls on my arms laughing like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
One of them even glanced back over her shoulder and smirked at Isa.
I didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. Just kept walking like she was nothing, even though my chest felt tight as hell and my stomach was already starting to sour.
I told myself it was what she deserved.
Told myself the rumors were probably true.
Told myself I didn’t care.
But even drunk, I knew I was lying.
The hot water felt good against my sore muscles. I was sunk low in the frat house hot tub, stripped down to just my black boxer briefs, one arm stretched along the edge while I nursed a fresh, ice-cold beer in a red solo cup. Two girls had climbed in with me not long after I got in. One was currently straddling my lap, her tongue tracing the shell of my ear while her hands slid over my chest under the bubbles. The other was pressed against my side, giggling at something I’d barely said.
I wasn’t really paying attention to either of them.
I was too busy trying to drink Isa out of my system.
Then I heard her voice.
“Drew… can we talk?”
