Fraternize

  And it wasn’t the guy who kissed me six years ago, slept with me, and walked away.

  It was the guy who asked me for sex and was relentless in his pursuit. It was the guy who told me we were friends before he ever knew my name.

  It was Grant.

  “You okay?” he mouthed.

  “Of course,” I mouthed back.

  A whistle blew, and then Jax was running onto the field. “You guys are both playing like absolute shit.” He shook his head in frustration. “I can’t believe I’m related to this.” He was pointing at Kinsey, who Miller had to hold back by the shirt to keep from charging toward her brother.

  “Now . . .” Jax rubbed his hands together. “Next touchdown wins. Clearly, you need a referee.”

  “Ah, Jax isn’t good enough to join, so he has to judge?” Kinsey shouted.

  “Fifth grade.” Jax pointed at her. “She taught me how to throw.”

  All the guys looked at Kinsey.

  Her cheeks reddened. “Hells yes, I did!”

  “So no, probably not good enough to be on your team, Kins.” He grinned and then blew the whistle again. “Alright, Sanchez, Miller, for the love of God, stop embarrassing yourselves and score, okay?”

  “It’s bullshit!” Sanchez yelled. “They cheat!”

  I gasped. “We do NOT cheat!”

  “She grabbed my ass!” Sanchez pointed an accusing finger at me.

  “You liked it!” I fired back.

  The guys on both sides laughed.

  “Next touchdown,” Jax said again as he set the ball on the line of scrimmage. “Let’s go, Sanchez.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  EMERSON

  “I’m really looking forward to you in an apron and nothing else.” Sanchez gripped me by the hips and held me close to his body as we both walked toward the locker room. “In fact, I think you should let me help you shower—just in case you have grass and dirt in places that need inspection.”

  “Very funny.” I shoved him away and ran. I was pissed. I liked winning.

  “Aw, baby.” He chased after me and then tackled me to the ground right before I ran off the field.

  He held his weight above me by bracing his arms on either side of my body. “I like you.”

  “Is that your way of apologizing for winning?”

  “You shouldn’t have blitzed again.” He grinned. “I read it.”

  “Bullshit!” I shoved his rock-hard, totally sexy chest. “I wasn’t even looking at you!”

  “Yeah, but I felt you.” He licked his lips. “And I know how competitive you are. You were thinking about stopping me—stopping the play—not about the actual play headed in your direction or the fact that I’d do a quarterback fake.”

  I scrunched up my nose and sighed. “I thought you were going to throw it.”

  “Uh-huh, and I ran instead.”

  “You hadn’t run at all the entire game.”

  “Which is why I ran.” He nodded slowly. “Is my girl really this competitive? Because I gotta tell you, it’s hot as hell.” His lips found my neck.

  I didn’t shove him away; instead, my treacherous body met him halfway in a searing kiss. His mouth moved across mine with such tenderness that I wanted to cry. His fingers dug into my shoulders, and then when he pulled back, his green eyes didn’t leave mine. “We should hit the showers.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you said we.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice that my kiss made you breathless,” he countered.

  I gulped, eyeing his mouth again. “Maybe.”

  His eyebrows rose as he smirked and then slowly stood to his feet and offered his hand.

  We walked hand in hand down the hall toward the two locker rooms. Someone was shouting.

  Miller was in the process of shoving Kinsey behind him.

  “This is bullshit!” Thomas rounded the corner, slamming a chair against one of the hallway walls as the practice squad stood in silence around him. Then some squad members trickled out of the guys’ locker rooms while others still leaned against the walls, expressions stunned. “It’s because of you!” He jabbed a finger at Miller. “What? YOU think you’re big shit because you have a huge contract?”

  Miller said nothing.

  “Man . . .” Sanchez took a step forward just as Jax grabbed my arm and pulled me against the wall. I wasn’t sure why he was putting me out of sight, but I didn’t argue. “You guys aren’t even close to being the same position.”

  “I’m getting cut!” Thomas kicked the chair he’d just thrown. “And since when do you ever take Miller’s side? What, you guys friends now?” he sneered.

  “Teammates are family.” A muscle in Sanchez’s jaw twitched. “After all the shit that went down between us, you of all people should know that.”

  “That’s bullshit! You’re my friend. You’re supposed to defend me. You’ve always defended me! You’ve known him for less than two months!”

  “Thomas . . .” Sanchez put his hands out in front of him. “You’re upset. I see that. Let’s just go somewhere and talk out options, yeah. You’re super talented. It’s not that bad, right?”

  “Options?” Thomas repeated with a snarl. “I have no fucking options, Grant! You know that! And what’s worse is Coach said he’d talked to the captains about this, meaning you knew it was a possibility, and you didn’t say shit!”

  “Sanchez didn’t know.” Jax stepped around me. “But I did.”

  Sanchez hung his head and cursed.

  “And based on this little outburst, I helped Coach make the right decision.”

  Thomas lunged for Jax, but Sanchez grabbed him by the shirt and then shoved him against the wall. “Shake it off, man.”

  “This,” Thomas said in a harsh whisper. “Before that stupid bet, you would have never been like this. You choosing girls over me too, Grant? Because we all know the only reason you’re cozying up to Coach and pretending to be Mr. Perfect all the time is because you bet you could fuck the cheerleader and she’s yet to put out. Who’s going to care then? When you mess up like you messed up with Jacki! That’s what you do, you screw with girls, then leave them!”

  I gasped and covered my mouth.

  Jax wasn’t standing in front of me anymore, so all eyes turned to me.

  Sanchez punched Thomas in the face twice before Miller could pull him away. “That’s bullshit, and you know it!”

  “Is it?” Thomas snarled before he disappeared into the guys’ locker room and came back with something in his hand. It looked like a trophy. “Every year, the players pick a girl to screw. Last year, I won, then again that was after your cheating fiancé made a pass at me.”

  He walked toward me; my back was glued to the wall. I wasn’t sure what to do except breathe in and out while everyone watched with wide eyes.

  “This year, Sanchez picked you.” Thomas shoved the trophy into my hands and towered over me.

  “Don’t fucking touch her!” Sanchez yelled.

  Miller let him go and followed Sanchez down the hall.

  I felt it first, the metal on my fingertips.

  It looked like something you’d get in middle school. It had a football player posing on top and an inscription on the bottom that read Player of the Year.

  “Some captain.” Thomas scowled and shoved through players to leave the hall while I kept staring at the trophy.

  My heart told me it wasn’t true.

  Not after everything we’d shared.

  But logic . . .

  Kinsey’s words . . .

  Everyone’s warnings . . .

  And then the silence I was met with when I looked up into Grant’s eyes and waited for him to deny it.

  Instead, his next words were basically the opposite. “Let me explain.”

  It was almost worse than hearing the damning words of guilt.

  Because that sentence made it seem like he had justification for what he’d done, for making me think that he wanted more than to screw a ch
eerleader.

  And the stupidest part?

  I’d walked right into it. He’d never lied about wanting to have sex with me.

  The trophy fell from my fingers and made a loud clang on the floor as a buzzing erupted in my ears.

  Miller clutched me by the arm. “Let him explain. It’s not what it looks like.”

  I jerked away from him as fresh pain washed over me. “You knew?”

  Miller’s nostrils flared.

  “So, I had one guy trying to sleep with me for a bet, and my ex-best-friend . . . what? Just wanted to hurt me as bad as he thought I hurt him?”

  Miller swore. “You have it all wrong. That’s not—”

  “Let her go.” Sanchez grabbed Miller. “Kinsey, can you make sure she gets home?”

  Tears filled my eyes. “That’s it? You’re just going to let me leave?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’d never seen Sanchez look so sad in my entire life.

  “Because regardless of what this turned into, it started out exactly how you think. And that’s not fair to you. I like you. I never lied about that. I want to have sex with you. I never lied about that either. I want you to be mine. Another truth. I never lied to you. I just never told you about the bet because it stopped mattering the minute I met you.” He shrugged. “Those are the things I want you to believe, but you’re too angry to hear it, and right now . . . I’m too pissed to talk rationally.”

  “But—”

  “Go.” His voice was hoarse as he turned his back on me, marched down the hall, and literally broke a chair in two as he slammed it against the wall.

  “There goes our season,” someone muttered.

  “So much for another championship.” Another player eyed me with irritation and shuffled toward the locker room.

  Someone must have restrained Sanchez because I heard fighting.

  And then I was getting walked down the hall, outside to my car—Sanchez’s car. I didn’t even realize it was Miller instead of Kinsey until he wrapped an arm around me briefly before jerking it away.

  Miller didn’t say anything; he just started the car for me and cursed as I tried to get my seatbelt on. He leaned in, buckled it, and cursed again as more tears ran down my cheeks.

  “You know . . .” He knelt right outside my door. “I know you. This isn’t you. I don’t recognize this broken person.” He sighed. “When I first came here, I wanted nothing to do with you. Obviously that lasted a whole week before I realized I still . . . had feelings for you.” He exhaled. “I knew about that stupid childish bet a lot of the players participate in. What you don’t know is that the minute Sanchez saw you, I knew I never stood a fucking chance. God, I can still see the look on his face, this complete awestruck wonder. So, before you start blaming him and getting angry at me, think about the fact that he never lied—and that he’s probably hurting just as much as you are.”

  “How can you say that?” I whispered. “I was used.”

  “Did he ever tell you it was more than what it was?”

  “No, but—”

  “Sanchez doesn’t date. And yet, you’ve been going out with him for two months. Did he ever try sleeping with you? Pressuring you without your consent?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Did he ever lie to get you into bed?”

  “No.”

  “No man is that patient, especially when it comes to you, Em. Just think about it, alright?”

  “Why aren’t you cheering?” I gulped, addressing the elephant between us, the one neither of us talked about. “You’re competitive, even if it comes to just the friendship between us.”

  “I want you, and yeah I want to be more than friends, I want to get that piece back, but not like this. And if I’m being honest, you never looked at me the way you look at him.”

  I glanced up with tear-filled eyes. “That’s not true!”

  His smile was sad. “Em, go home, get some rest, but talk to him, okay?”

  I nodded and, fifteen minutes later, crawled into my bed, and cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  MILLER

  What a day from hell.

  And we still had practice that next day, which meant that we were all supposed to get along as if nothing had happened with Thomas.

  I got there early, hoping to talk to Sanchez, since, when he got home the night before, he’d said he just wanted to crash.

  But he was already suited up and on the practice field. His back was to me as I approached him. He was watching the cheerleaders practice.

  I didn’t blame him.

  “Remember that time you said that you would have never walked away? And that’s what made us different?” I stood a foot away from him, not taking my eyes off the field as I clutched my helmet in my right hand.

  “Yeah.” He sighed.

  “You’re doing it by not going after her now, by not explaining yourself.”

  “It’s called self-destructive behavior.” Sanchez turned to me. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I just don’t know how to make her listen, make her understand. And the sick part is that I know I don’t really deserve her.” He paused. “Neither of us do.”

  The girls were doing a dance routine, and Emerson was helping one of the girls with her moves. That’s the thing about her. Screw her over, make fun of her, tell her she can’t do something and she would always be the bigger person by helping out even if that same person was the one who took her clothes a few weeks ago and stashed them in the guys’ locker room. It was something I had conveniently forgotten six years before, when I’d assumed she’d left me. “You got that right.”

  “But I want to be good enough for her. It wasn’t even about sex. I mean at first it was, but now? Now, I just . . . I don’t know, man. I think I’d die a happy man if she’d just hold my hand.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I know what messing up feels like. Don’t be that guy, Sanchez. Six years ago, she had no second string—” I bumped him with my helmet. “And now she does. And like you said, it’s about being in the game, so know this. I won’t hesitate like I did then, not after all this shit.”

  “Are you challenging me right now?” The bastard was smiling.

  “Well . . .” I shrugged. “If you aren’t gonna man up, someone will.”

  He hung his head. “I fucked up.”

  “So don’t take six years to make it right.”

  When he looked back at me, it wasn’t with anger, but guilt—a hell of a lot of guilt. “She hasn’t told you yet, has she?”

  Chills spread down my arms. “Told me what?”

  “The reason she called that day.”

  He knew?

  Of course. He wasn’t just the guy she was with. She’d replaced me with him, completely, in every way. She told him things.

  “No. Part of me thinks the past needs to stay there.”

  “Agreed.” This time his eyes flashed with anger. “Let’s get this practice over with and figure out Sunday’s game before I start turning into a chick and asking for more advice from the only guy who’s ever slept with the girl I love.”

  The minute the words left his mouth, I stopped walking.

  He froze, as if he couldn’t believe the words that he had just blurted, and then shoved past me.

  Love. He loved her.

  Of course he did.

  And then like a punch to the gut the rest of what he said registered like a neon sign.

  The only guy she’d ever slept with—was me?

  That wasn’t right.

  Six years?

  Did I do that to her? Was it my fault? Had she been waiting? And did that mean they’d never slept together?

  My respect for Sanchez grew.

  And I wanted so badly to hate the little shit for it.

  Instead, more respect happened.

  Because he’d had her for two months—I’d seen the way she looked at him and the way he devoured her with his eyes. For sixty days, he hadn’t slept w
ith her.

  And yet, when I knew I was leaving her, and we’d been only eighteen . . .

  I’d taken that from her, granted, she could have said no. But I was grieving and it was Em—I took her virginity regardless of the situation, I was the one who initiated the sex.

  I took her heart with me.

  And selfishly had never given it back.

  I stood there—I don’t know how long—seconds, minutes. I stood and hated myself.

  Because it really was clearer than I wanted it to be.

  I’d been the stand-in.

  Until Sanchez, the better man.

  “Get your ass over here, Miller!” Jax yelled at me. “Champions don’t stare at cheerleaders all day!”

  “Or do they?” Sanchez asked the group, cracking the tension with ease.

  I glanced one last time at Emerson across the field, only to see Kinsey staring back at us.

  Back at me.

  Glaring.

  I jerked my head away as if I was in high school and then rolled my eyes at myself. Good one, Miller.

  She didn’t belong to me, not anymore. And for some reason, a part of me felt . . . better because of it. All this time I’d been thinking about myself, about wanting her because of the way we left things in the past, needing her, because I didn’t know how to live without her and be happy. And selfishly thinking that Sanchez was a playboy man whore who didn’t know what type of woman she was.

  It was painful.

  The realization that he’d been there for two months, sharing his life, earning her trust, gaining her love. And I’d been so worried about winning her that I hadn’t even asked if her dad was okay.

  Or why they were living in the apartment in the first place.

  Because it had all been about me.

  He was the better man.

  She deserved a man like that.

  I smiled through practice even though I got the shit beat out of me.

  And when it was time to shower, it felt like a part of the past was finally righting itself. I just hoped nothing more happened. I wasn’t sure I could live with more drama.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  EMERSON

  I felt his stare all through practice.

  I needed to talk to him and stop being that girl who just ran off without letting the guy explain. Because everything Miller said was true, and I refused to let history replay itself. I wouldn’t just ignore what my heart was saying in order to protect it from getting hurt again.