Chapter One
Jake
“How about that one?”
We all snicker when we see who Diego’s discreetly
pointing at as we walk past her in the hallway. Some freshman who looks about
ten, with big blue eyes and a mouth full of metal. She’s cute enough, but way
too young.
“I don’t think so,” I tell my friends as we
stride toward the quad.
It’s lunchtime. Our senior year. We’re able to
drive off campus now, but not today. Coach wants us to watch game film of the
team we’re playing tomorrow night. So we have about fifteen minutes to grab
food before we all meet in the team room to study our opponents. Learn their
weak spots, their strengths. See if they’re better defensively or offensively.
When I say Coach, I’m talking about my dad. I
just try to keep that shit separate. It’s easier that way.
“Check her out,” says Diego—one of my best
friends—nudging me in the shoulder and now not-so-discreetly pointing at a
group of girls sitting at a nearby picnic table.
“Which one?” Again, they’re young. Maybe
sophomores? I don’t really recognize any of them. If they’re a couple of years
younger than me and not friends with my sister Ava, who’s a junior, or on the
football team, I don’t bother getting to know them.
That makes me sound like an asshole, but I don’t
have the time. I have my circle of friends. I even have my circle of
acquaintances. This year, my last year in high school, I don’t need to add to
either group. I’m perfectly content with what I have.
“Any of them.” Diego slaps me on the back, a
giant grin on his face. “You need to find
someone, bro. This single, I-don’t-bother-with-any-girl business is
getting old.”
I don’t bother with any girls anymore because
when I do, they tend to take my heart and rip it to shreds. It’s ridiculous,
but when I fall, I tend to fall hard.
Sophomore year I got my heart broken twice, once
by Cami Lockhart. We got back together the beginning of junior year only for
her to cheat on me—and I found out via Snapchat.
That sucked.
I’ve never bothered with a girl again. Fuck ’em.
I’d rather focus on football and my friends and school, exactly in that order.
“Too young,” I tell Diego, and Caleb, my other
best friend, bursts out laughing.
“Oh come on. She’s cute. I’d bet she’s down,” he
says with a smirk.
Caleb is an actual asshole. He hooks up with an
endless stream of girls, yet most of them don’t complain. It’s like they’re
proud to be a Caleb fan girl.
“Find him a senior then,” Diego says, stopping in
the direct center of the crowded quad. He settles his hands on his hips and
turns in a slow circle, scanning the area with a narrowed gaze. Diego has a
girl and they’re supposedly madly in love. I mean, good for him. They seem
totally into each other—for the most part. They’ve been together for over a
year, and Jocelyn treats him like a god, while she’s his princess, as he calls
her. I’m pretty sure they’ve talked about getting married, which is just…insane
if you ask me.
“Her.”
We all swivel our heads to see Tony—our quietest
friend—inclining his head toward a table to the left of where we’re standing.
There’s a girl sitting there, her back to us. Alone.
She’s wearing a black T-shirt, her reddish-blonde hair spilling down her back
in loose waves. Her elbow’s propped on the table and she’s resting her cheek on
her fist, an open book in front of her. Like she’s reading. For fun.
What the hell?
“No way,” Diego says with a dismissive wave of
his hand. “Jake’s not into smart girls.”
I’m immediately offended. “Who says?”
“You, with the choices you’ve made in the past,”
Diego points out.
He’s got me there. Cami wasn’t that smart. None
of the girls I’ve dated were. Not really.
“I like her hair,” Tony says, his tone, his
entire demeanor impassive, like we’re talking about the weather. “She’s cute.”
“You should go for her then,” Caleb suggests to
Tony.
“Nah. Not my type.” Tony’s gaze meets mine and he
tilts his head, like he’s giving me permission to talk to her.
Huh.
“How do you know she’s a smart girl?” I study
her, taking in her narrow shoulders, the elegant slope of her back. She brushes
her hair back from her face, tucking the strands behind her ear and offering me
a glimpse of her profile. She’s pretty in an understated way, I guess. Upturned
nose. Pale skin. Freckles.
I don’t recognize her at all.
“Because she’s reading a book, dumbass.” Caleb
sounds enormously pissed off, though I know he’s not. That’s just how he always
sounds. “If you don’t ask her to wear your jersey, I think I’ll ask her
instead.”
Yes, this is what we’re doing on a Thursday
afternoon during lunch. Trying to find a girl for me to ask to wear my jersey
on game day. It’s a big deal at our high school, and so far during my reign as
the varsity team’s quarterback, I’ve only had one girl ever wear my jersey, and
for only one time. It was Cami Lockhart, right at the beginning of our junior
year, when I thought there was a possible chance we could work shit out and be
a couple again.
But then someone sent me her private story off
Snapchat—a video of her making out with motherfucking Eli Bennett, the
quarterback for our rival school’s team, and I was done. Finished.
For some reason, this year my boys want to see me
make a claim. Find a girl. They tell me I’m too grumpy. That maybe if I’m
getting some on the regular, that’ll mellow me out. Some of them even complain
I’m too focused, which I don’t get. Why wouldn’t they want me focused?
Focused wins games. I’ve had that drilled into my
head over the years by my dad.
“No way,” I tell Caleb when he acts like he’s
going to approach the mystery girl sitting at the table. “I’ll do it.”
I don’t know why I’m bothering with this. I don’t
know her, but I’m guessing she knows me. Most girls would probably be flattered
if I asked, but I’m not that sure if she’s into football, or if she even goes
to the games. But it would be cool to see her wear my number around school all
day.
Maybe I could make it a thing. Give it to a
different girl every week. They’d start fighting for their chance. It could
turn into a contest. Maybe it would go viral…
“Go ask her.” Diego gives me a shove in the
girl’s direction, his hand right in the center of my back. “Before you chicken
out.”
Okay, that shit’s annoying. And it’s just the
incentive I need to make it happen. Glancing over my shoulder, I glare at my
three best friends, but all they do is make clucking noises at me in return
like they’re a bunch of chickens.
Assholes.
Slowly I approach the table, wondering what I
should say first. I don’t have a problem talking to girls. I never really have.
I almost wonder if this is because I grew up in a household full of women.
Don’t get me wrong, Dad is a strong personality and is a big influence on me,
but he wasn’t around much when I was little. He was busy working all the time.
Growing up, I was always with Mom, my older
sister Autumn and my younger sister Ava. Our little brother Beck didn’t come
along until years later, and by then I was resigned with the idea that I’d
never even have a brother.
So I was constantly surrounded by girls. Autumn
and Ava used to fight like cats and dogs. Now that Autumn’s gone, away at
college in Santa Barbara, we don’t see her that much. Ava is happier with
Autumn gone, I think. Having an older sister trying to boss you around all the
time gets old.
I know I got tired of Autumn’s bullshit. Now, I
miss her. Not that I’d ever tell her that.
Deciding I need to approach this mystery girl
straight on, I walk around the table, keeping a wide berth so she doesn’t get
suspicious or think I’m a stalker. And once I’m facing the table, I take a
good, long look at her.
She’s vaguely familiar, so I’m assuming she’s a
senior like me, or maybe a junior. Our school is small, so most of the time I
feel like I know everyone, but I can’t place her. I don’t remember her name.
Her hair is this burnished, reddish-gold color and her eyes are big and blue.
Her features delicate—except for her mouth. Full, bee-stung lips that fill my
head with dirty images.
Every one of them involves my dick.
Not that I’m actually interested in this girl. I
don’t even know her. But as far as my first choice to wear my jersey this week,
it’s not a bad one.
Not a bad one at all.
One of my friends, I’m not sure who, makes a
bok-bok noise and I send them all a menacing look before I march right up the
table and clear my throat. “Hey.”
The girl lifts her head, sky-blue eyes meeting
mine, her expression open. Friendly.
Until she keeps looking at me, her gaze
narrowing, that open, friendly expression disappearing within seconds. Almost
as if she realized who she’s looking at and doesn’t like what she sees.
Damn.
When she still hasn’t said anything, I decide to
keep talking. “What’s your name?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t know my name?”
I know this sounds weird, but I like the sound of
her voice. A lot. “Should I?”
“I know yours.” She sniffs, shutting the book she
was reading. “Jacob Callahan.”
Ah, see? She knows me. She’ll totally agree to
wear my jersey. “You have the advantage then.”
“Because you still don’t remember my name?”
I shrug helplessly and flash her a smile that’s
hopefully equal parts bashful yet charming. “Guilty.”
She rolls her eyes, resting her arms on top of
the table. “Did you have a question or something?”
Her tone is short. Dismissive. This girl is
totally trying to get rid of me. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do have a
question for you.”
“I’m waiting on pins and needles,” she says, her
voice going up a notch, those blue eyes of hers extra wide.
They’re pretty, I’ll give her that. She’s pretty. There’s a sprinkling of
freckles across the bridge of her nose and she has very white teeth.
“I was wondering if you wanted…” I let my voice
drift and I glance down at my shoes, kicking at the base of the picnic bench.
I’m trying to up the anticipation a notch. Going for the golly, gee bashful
vibe. Girls seem to like it.
“Wanted what?”
Huh. Guess she’s not one for anticipation.
“If you wanted to wear my jersey tomorrow.” I
lift my head, my gaze meeting hers straight on, and I see the surprise in her
eyes. I’ve shocked her with my request.
Come on, I can see why. I’m me and she’s…whoever
she is.
She studies me for a while, and now it’s my turn
to wait with anticipation. Her full lips part, like she’s about to say
something, but instead, she looks away from me, grabs her things and starts
shoving them into her backpack.
As if she’s about to leave.
When she shoots me an irritated glare, slides off
the picnic bench and walks away without another word, I chase her, surprised by
how quick she is. My friends are laughing, I can hear them as I follow after
this chick—still don’t know her name—but I can’t worry about them right now.
Even though they’re total assholes for laughing
at me.
“Hey!” I call out, but it’s like my voice only
spurs her on. She’s practically in a full jog as she heads toward Adams Hall,
and I wonder if her plan is to duck into a classroom and hide from me.
Putting a little speed behind my step, I catch up
with her easily, hooking my fingers around her upper arm and stopping her
escape. She turns to face me, the look on her face so full of disgust I
immediately release her and take a step back.
“Why are you chasing me?” she asks breathlessly.
Her cheeks are pink, and she’s practically panting. I get the sense that maybe
she doesn’t exercise much? I mean, I’m not even winded.
“You never answered my question.”
She lifts her chin. Blows out an exaggerated
breath, like what I’m asking is too damn much. After enduring the last five
minutes with this chick, I don’t even want her to wear my jersey now. She’s
making way too big a deal about this.
But for some weird reason, I have to know what
her answer is.
“My name is Hannah,” she finally says, and it all
hits me at once. I do know her. Barely. Hannah Walsh. Senior. Moves in a
completely different crowd. As in, she doesn’t really move with any crowd. I’ve never had a class with
her ever, because she takes all the advanced courses. My friends were right.
She’s a smart girl.
“Right. Hannah.” I nod and smile. “I know you.”
She smiles in return, though it doesn’t quite
reach her sky-blue eyes. “Uh huh. Sure you do.”
“I do. You’re friends with…” My voice drifts. I
don’t know who she’s friends with. I can see their faces, but at the moment, I
can’t recall their names.
“Please.” She reaches out, settling her hand on
my forearm, and it’s like a spark of electricity between us the moment our skin
makes contact. She snatches her hand away like I burned her. “Stop trying so
hard.”
I almost want to laugh. This girl is telling me to stop trying so hard? Does she even
know who she’s dealing with? The power I wield at this school? I’m the most
popular guy in the senior class—maybe in all the classes. This is my year to
shine. My year to reign.
And this Hannah nobody is telling me to stop trying so hard?
Get the fuck out of here.
Can’t back out now, though. I’m fully committed.
“So what do you say, Hannah? Are you in? Do you
want to wear my jersey tomorrow?” Not like I want her to anymore. She’s been
rude from the moment I started talking to her.
“Gee, I sure appreciate the offer, but…” She
scowls at me, her lush lips pursed. “No.”
