“Chill.” I held up my hands. “I spent the last two years of my life hating you. Cut me some slack, teammate.”
“Everyone hates me.” He grinned. “I take it as a compliment. If you liked me, it would probably be because I wasn’t as dirty as I am on the field. We only hate the good players. We like the shitty ones. It’s how football works.”
“Except for Russell.”
He nodded. “Damn Wilson. Unicorn, that’s what that dude is.”
I reached for the door, but Sanchez slammed his hand against it, keeping it shut. “Really, man?”
“Listen . . .” He looked uncomfortable, his green eyes darting everywhere before finally settling on me. “I don’t want trouble. I want another ring. They’re good guys, all of them. So the minute you walk in, I need to know you’re in, that you’re not still pissed about getting traded. It’s a big-ass compliment, alright? So leave the baggage at the door. Losing isn’t an option.”
I had to respect him for being protective of his team. And I knew that had some punk been traded to my old team, I would have given him the same talk.
“Losing sucks ass,” I countered, holding out my hand in a peace offering. “And I’m in. I swear.”
He studied me for a few minutes before finally clasping my hand, then nodding his head and opening the door. “Then welcome to the Bucks, officially.”
I grinned. “So, last night, not so official?”
“Last night was . . .” His face did that shit-eating-grin-thing again. “Interesting.”
“No details.” I held out my hands.
Laughter and shouting greeted me as I made my way into the large locker room; the damn thing looked like it belonged in a spa magazine, with its huge tubs, tiled showers, and steam rooms. I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to it.
“Miller Quinton.” Sanchez said my name with authority. “Best tight end in the league. With over a thousand yards, and six touchdowns last year, we’re lucky to have him on our team.” My new teammates nodded in my direction; a few of the looks were stern, but for the most part, my reputation preceded itself; thus, the eighteen-million-dollar addition to my contract that my old team still had to cough up. “Now that the introductions have been made . . .” He paused. “Let’s go win that championship.”
Cheers erupted.
Adrenaline spiked through my system as I joined the rest of the guys in a huddle.
“Bucks, Bucks, Bucks!” I’d only ever seen their team cheer as an opponent, but now I was a part of it, a part of the team that six years ago I would have sold my soul to be a part of.
“Who are we?” Sanchez yelled.
“Bucks!” I joined in, feeling oddly at home with my new team.
“What do we do?”
“Buck them up!” we shouted.
“What say you?” Sanchez roared.
“Buck you!”
Sanchez and I locked eyes at the end, and I knew I wasn’t just looking at a future teammate; I was looking at a brother, a soldier, a possible friend.
We’d war together.
And we sure as hell were going to win a championship. I could feel it in my bones.
“Let’s do some work.” I nodded to him.
“You heard the man.” Sanchez returned my intense stare. “Let’s kick some ass.”
Practice was a blur.
A blur of searing pain.
Mixed with running drills.
And another heavy dose of pain as Thomas, one of the defensive ends, decided it would be a good idea to nearly remove my head from my body.
I spit out blood and wiped my face. “Again.”
Sanchez burst out laughing. “You heard the man!”
Jax, our quarterback, the quietest football player I’d ever met, threw a spiral. I ran my route, doubled back, and caught the ball for the touchdown.
“Hot damn!” Sanchez roared. “I can already see that ring. I need to buy a new case.”
“A ring case?” I teased. “Really?”
“I like nice things.” He flipped me off.
My old team had been my only friends. But with a lingering glance at the practice field, the sweat, dirt, and constant shouting, I knew I was finally home.
I was just missing the most important part of the dream.
The girl.
“Whoa.” Sanchez punched me in the arm. “Wipe that sadness off your face and turn it into anger. We still got two hours left of practice.”
“Anger . . .” I nodded. “I can do.”
Jax threw several more passes in my direction; I caught all of them. It was important to be on point with your QB and, although he was deathly quiet, there was a strength about him that commanded not only respect but also your full attention.
When practice finally ended, I was more exhausted than I’d been during the last few years of football put together.
And that, folks, is why the Bucks are the best.
Because they nearly killed their players during practice and played like they never lost a game in their lives.
“Good job, man.” Jax tossed his helmet and held out his gloved hand. His hair was cropped short to his head, jaw clenched, and brown eyes were locked onto mine. He looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ more than he did on the football field.
“Uh . . .” I shook his hand. “Thanks.”
“God, you’re pretty, Jax.” Sanchez came up behind me and fluttered his eyelashes.
“Hey, pain in my ass . . .” Jax was clearly talking to Sanchez as he released my hand. “Try catching the ball next time.”
Sanchez pointed to himself. “Best receiver in the league.” He pointed to Jax. “Second best QB. Sorry, man. Can’t win them all.”
“Bite me.”
“It’s good you guys get along so well,” I interrupted. “Solid.”
Jax smirked. “It’s more like I put up with his shit so we win.”
“We win because he puts up with my shit, and I catch his balls.” Sanchez shrugged. “And I mean the leather ones, not the tiny things you swear up and down that you actually have, even though none of us has ever seen you with any chick other than your mom.”
Jax narrowed him with a glare. “She makes good soup, so drop it.”
I burst out laughing.
“She does make good soup,” Sanchez agreed.
“Jax’s mom’s making soup again?” Thomas asked. “The taco kind?”
Jax cursed and then yelled, “My mom’s not making soup!”
Thomas threw his helmet down. “Damn it. I love that woman’s taco—”
“Thomas . . .” Jax threatened. “Leave it. Don’t pounce on the taco comment. I’d hate to punch you in the face.”
“You always need to worry about the quiet ones, Miller . . .” Sanchez slapped me on the back. “Always.”
“Ouch.” I winced and then followed the rest of the guys off the field and down the hall, only to wonder why the hell whistles and catcalls were permeating the air.
And then I saw a flash of black and white.
Cheerleaders.
My lip curled with disgust.
Evil, all of them.
Several eyed me up and down as they shimmied by; a few tried to touch me, and I jerked back as if they were diseased.
Sanchez moved to stand in front of me.
“Dude,” I groaned. “I’m tired, sweaty, and sore. Stop blocking the way so I can get a shower.”
“I’m busy,” he called over his shoulder.
“Staring at the wall?” I shoved him away and stopped, paralyzed. Unable to breathe.
Emerson.
She was busy pulling her hair into a ponytail. Hell, how many times had I pulled that long blonde hair? Visions of us in bed, of her laughter, of me chasing her so damn hard I swore up and down it was impossible to catch my breath.
She was all curves.
Ass.
Hips.
Muscle.
Perfection.
Irrational anger surged through me. My body sho
uldn’t still respond to the way her dimples lit up the room or her light-blue eyes that always seemed to look right through my shit.
“Curves!” Sanchez yelled. “I see you read your manual.”
“Full makeup!”
She held up her hand for a high five.
My brain did the mental calculations.
From last night.
To his morning.
She’d kissed Sanchez.
The guys had all taken bets.
He’d called dibs.
My vision turned red; my eyes burned.
My heart cracked a little bit more as she tucked the rest of her sweats into her duffel bag and tied her shoes.
She still hadn’t seen me.
A huge part of me wanted to run.
But the other sick part wanted her to see me, wanted her to see my pain, my anger, my fucking broken heart.
So I stood there.
And waited.
Finally, she was walking in my direction, Sanchez hot on her heels. I swear time stood still, paralyzed just like I was.
Two steps.
Three.
And then, a glance.
A gasp.
The duffel bag dropped right along with her water bottle.
I continued to glare in complete and utter disgust. What fucking right did she have to look so hurt when she’d abandoned me when I needed her the most.
“M-Miller?”
Sanchez looked between us, his eyes searching mine before he wrapped a possessive arm around her and tugged her away from my space.
“Sorry.” I licked my lips and offered her an angry smirk. “Do we know each other?” I nodded to Sanchez. “See ya, man.” One last look, one last, obsessive look. “Have fun.”
You’d think I’d slapped her.
She jerked away from Sanchez, her eyes glassy as if she was ready to burst into tears.
But the joke was on her. Her tears would never be a match for mine—for the days spent in agony that my best friend, the love of my life, my soul mate had abandoned me without warning, without good-bye.
Chapter Eleven
EMERSON
Just like that, I remembered. All it took was one lingering look from the guy who broke my heart, and it was there. All of it. I fought to keep the tears in. I failed.
(Then)
“You have to let go, boo.”
“What did I tell you about using that word?” I sobbed against his chest and refused to untangle my arms from his body.
“A lot of things that I can’t really remember, since all my focus is on the fact that I totally saw you naked.”
“More than once.”
“Twice. I counted.” Miller’s smug response had my face burning red all the way to the tips of my ears.
“Thank God, you can count that high,” I countered.
Miller kissed the top of my head. “Hey, I get good grades. I’m smart and shit.”
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me and finally, finally pried myself free.
His clear gaze was locked onto me.
“Don’t go,” I begged.
“Trust me.” Voice gruff, he brushed a kiss across my mouth. “The last thing I want to do is leave my partner behind.”
“This sucks.” I huffed, wiping at a few stray tears.
“Man up, Emerson. It’s not like you don’t have a cell phone.”
“You hate talking on the phone,” I pointed out. “Last time I called you, you fell asleep.”
He grinned.
“While I was still talking.”
“You were talking about a dance routine. Forgive me if I dozed off a bit, but damn, girl, I don’t know what the hell a pike is or why it’s important. And I’m the last guy who’d be able to tell you if your legs were straight.”
“They were.” I sighed. “For the record. I’m awesome at pikes.”
“You’re also super awesome in bed, but you don’t see me calling to tell you something you already know.”
I tried not to blush for a second time.
“There it is.” He cupped my face, his thumbs grazing my bottom lip. “Don’t forget me.”
“Like I could ever forget such a thorn in my side, a pain in my ass, a—”
He crushed his mouth to mine then jerked away, his eyes pleading. “We’ll make this work, yeah?”
“Absolutely.” Doubt washed over me. He was moving across the country. Literally.
And he was Miller Quinton.
Sexy.
Charismatic.
My best friend.
But not my boyfriend.
I told him it would be too hard with us living separate lives so far away from each other.
It was a painful decision for both of us. What if he fell for someone else? What if he replaced me? What if I did the same? Was I even capable of that? How was it even possible to move on from your first love? Your best friend?
“You look pale.” Miller tugged my ponytail. “We’ll talk, alright? Just think, in ten months we’ll be out of high school and starting college. I’ll apply to UDub, and you’ll cheer for them. That was always the plan.”
I chewed my lower lip. He was going to be far away now. Before it wasn’t a big deal if he didn’t get the scholarship because the plan was to stay close to one another, but now, he was moving across the country. “What if they don’t offer a full ride for football?”
“They will,” he said in a confident voice. “Has my sexual prowess ruined all thoughts in that pretty little head?” He leaned down and whispered. “I’m Miller Quinton.”
I exhaled and crossed my arms while he cupped his ear and grinned.
“I’m waiting.”
“Nope. I’m not doing it. I won’t do it.”
“I could always make you.” He eyed my mouth with a hungry gaze. “Now, who am I?”
“Miller Quinton,” I grumbled.
“Who’s going to give me a full ride?”
“UDub,” I said a bit louder.
“Right on.” He held out his hand for a fist bump. “No more tears. I’ve got this shit on lockdown.”
“Promise?”
“When it comes to you,” he whispered, “I will never ever break a promise.”
“You’ll always be my best friend.”
“And you’ll always be the girl I tripped in sixth grade.”
“Wow, solid emotional moment. You lasted five minutes.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Miller . . .” I fought back more tears.
“I promised never to make you cry.” He pulled me in for one last hug. “So let me keep that promise and suck those back in, yeah?”
I nodded.
“Love you.”
“I love you too.” My voice was wobbly, and I couldn’t feel my legs.
Miller turned on his heel and got in his truck.
I stood in the street as he pulled away, my mind going back to all of our stolen moments . . . his hands on my hips, his lips on my neck. I already missed his touch and it had been seconds. My body jolted at the memory of his tongue as it slid against my lower lip, all before we made a decision that would change our lives forever. It was our first time but little did we know that eventually—we’d have to pay the emotional price.
It was going to be fine, I reminded myself.
And then again:
Everything would be fine.
I sniffled and then nearly ran into a wall.
Until Sanchez jerked me into the hall bathroom between the two locker rooms and crossed his arms. “That’s the guy.”
“What?” I tried looking at the sweat and dirt on his practice jersey, but he gripped my chin in his hand and forced me to look him in the eyes.
“Curves,” he whispered.
And I lost it.
Just completely and utterly lost my mind and started sobbing against the guy who, last night, had said he only wanted to have sex with me.
Had I fallen that low?
Or did I re
ally just have no friends?
“You loved him.”
I didn’t say anything. Maybe I didn’t have to.
“You know, this could all be avoided if you’d just let me fuck him out of your system,” he said softly. “But part of me thinks that wouldn’t work, would it, Curves? You’d just imagine his hands on you and not mine, and that pisses me the hell off.”
“It’s nothing.” I wiped the mascara from under my eyes. “I mean it was a silly high school crush on my best friend.”
“You went to high school together!” His voice rose an octave. “Best friends?”
“I need to get to practice.” I tried moving past him, but he was a very solid wall of muscle and determination.
“I’ll write you a note.”
“Sanchez . . .” I shoved his chest. “I need this. I’ve always wanted to be a Bucks Girl. I can’t be late.”
“This isn’t over.” His look held promise of hunting me down if I didn’t agree.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “We’ll talk . . . later.”
“Later when?”
“Just . . . later.”
“Dinner.”
“What?” My head whipped around so fast I got dizzy. “Why would you want to have dinner with me? I’ve already established I’m not sleeping with you.”
“First, you’ve only rejected me twice, or was it three times? I have a way of wearing people down. Second, you need to eat. Humans need food. And third, you’ll be starving after day two. Trust me, most girls puke.”
“Well, thanks!” I threw my hands in the air. “That was the worst pep talk ever! I don’t want to puke up cornflakes and eggs!”
He made a face. “Shit, you’re fucked. Neither would I.”
“Sanchez!”
“Do you mix them together, or is this more of a separate meals thing?”
“Move!”
“Dinner.”
“FINE!”
He moved out of the way but not before calling after me. “Wear something sexy!”
I hated him.
And adored him at the same time.
In an I kind of want to punch him in the face while simultaneously call him when I get a flat tire kind of way.
“Get over here!” Kinsey hissed, once I jogged onto the field. Thankfully, the girls were still stretching.
Coach Kay blew her whistle and grinned; it was evil, that grin. Goose bumps erupted all over my skin. “Welcome to day two. Known as hell day.” Amidst moans of protest, the coaching staff started unstacking buckets and placing them around the stadium.