Shit. I want a redo button.

“Do you ever think about freshman year?” I ask, rather abruptly, and she darts those brown eyes at me then glances away.

“In general, sure. Doesn’t everyone at some point?”

My hands tighten under the table. This is important to me, a memory I never brought up before because something always held me back. Fear? Maybe.

“Remember the field party that year? Everyone wore togas?” I watch her face, but she keeps it carefully blank. “Mine was blue and I looked amazing. I even had those olive leaves in my hair—Ryker’s idea, not mine.”

“Don’t recall that. I must have missed that shindig.”

“Really? Huh. A group of us went in the barn to play spin the bottle, and my turn landed on you.”

She toys with her phone. “You have me mixed up. All those girls you’ve been with must be running together in your head.”

“It’s not that many, Charm.” I lean back in the chair, stretching out my legs, feigning nonchalance. I let a few seconds go by. “There’s a legend about those parties freshman year—the first person you kiss is the one you end up with. Did you know that?”

I watch the pulse in her neck, fascinated by how rapid it is.

“Fairy tales for frat boys and jocks who want to get laid,” she murmurs.

“Hmmm.”

Her eyes tangle with mine. “It wasn’t me.”

“Right, right. Just some other hottie I kissed.”

She clears her throat and swiftly changes the topic. “Penelope mentioned the awards dinner next week. She’s already cleaning our house to meet Ryker’s dad. Vampire Bill is freaking out every time she turns on the vacuum.” She pauses. “Are your aunt and uncle coming up?”

“Nah, they’re too busy.” I keep my face carefully blank. “One of the girls has a play that night.”

Her head cocks, a little frown worrying her brow. “Can’t one of them come? Alma is just a few hours away, and it is a national championship.”

My chest rises, and I look away from her, tapping my pen. I hear the questioning tone she’s using, almost gentle.

Several seconds go by, and I count the tiles on the floor.

“Blaze. Look at me.”

I turn back to her, my eyes showing no emotion. “What?”

She takes in my face and her lips turn down. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It seems to have ruined your good mood. If you ever want to talk about them or your parents, I’m here.”

I’m here.

Something in my chest loosens. “I don’t have that kind of relationship with them. I mean, when I first moved in, I was messed up from my parents dying, but part of me was excited. A real family…” I shrug, trying not to let my emotions show. “I walked into their house and vowed to myself I was going to be the best kid ever. I wrote down this stupid oath thing in my notebook about how I was going to sit still, take out the trash, help with the babies, and work on the farm. I would be the best son ever.” I stare at my pen, not really seeing it. “I don’t think they noticed. The day I came home from high school after signing my acceptance to Waylon, all I saw was relief in their eyes—relief that I would finally be gone and they wouldn’t have to pay for my college.”

I raise my gaze, and she’s staring at me. I guess she has been this whole time.

“And look at you now. Do they have any clue what an incredible person you are?” she says softly. I like that she didn’t berate or criticize them. I do care for them. I just don’t think my level of commitment to them was ever returned.

“You think I’m incredible? In what way?”

She gets this wistful expression on her face. “You’re hilarious, for one.” She chews on her lip. “I see underneath that too. You’re a layered person, much more than people see.”

“Like an onion? But with fresh breath?” I laugh, then get distracted thinking about her note. I can’t stop my next words. “I have some Big Red in my backpack if you want a piece.”

Her lashes flutter. “Probably shouldn’t. It is the library and there are rules.”

“Yeah, rules,” I murmur. “Not a fan.”

She looks as if she might say something, but she doesn’t.

I take in that erratic pulse at her throat again.

Everyone fades away as we just…stare.

I glance at her lips. God, that mouth. I want…

Her eyes flicker with something I think is desire, and I inhale sharply as memories surface, of us, of her showing up at my dorm room for our third and final hookup, although I didn’t know that then.

Head high, she’d waltzed into my bedroom like she owned the damn world and kicked the door shut with a red heel. “You want this? Come and get it,” she said, throwing off her black coat and twirling around. Fucking goddess. She was completely naked, her tits big and perfect, her pussy already wet. I know because she told me in delicious detail about driving in her car to get to my dorm, how she couldn’t get me out of her head, how she’d masturbated all week to mental images of me. She had a dirty, dirty mouth, and everything inside me wanted her words, needed them. I stared at her while she stood there and played back the previous time she was in my dorm room when we had sex on the floor with me behind her, a redo of the library, neither of us even able to make it to the bed.

“Afraid, football player?” she asked after I stood there too long, probably with my mouth open. She was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen, all curves and big eyes. She gave me a little smile, brushed a finger over her piercing—and I was gone. I ripped my clothes off, barely got a condom on before I picked her up and pushed her against the wall. I slid inside her all the way to the hilt, shuddering. I recall how her heels dug into my back, the feel of her ass in my hands, that whimpering noise she made when I pulled her hair to the side and bit her neck like an animal then kissed it like a lover.

I fucked her until I couldn’t breathe and my legs shook.

I fucked her until she called my name like a prayer.

I fucked her until she was all I could see.

Until she was all I wanted.

Until I thought I might scream from just the need to make her mine.

Afterward, she picked up her coat, slid it back on, and told me she had to go study. I sat stunned on my bed, spent and shaking, watching her, my heart a sledgehammer as I grappled with the realization that I didn’t want her to go. She ran from the library the first time, and she ran the second time, but this time—this time she hesitated at my door, lingering and looking back at me, as if waiting for me to ask her to stay. With vulnerable eyes, she chewed hard on her lush lips, a questioning look on her face as we stared long and hard at each other, our eyes having a conversation neither of us wanted to put out there. She wanted to stay. She wanted me to ask her to stay and see where it went.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

My heart belonged only to me. It had to.

Everyone leaves me. They always do.

And football is first. It has to be. It’s all I’ve had that felt right.

Someone in the library coughs, and I start, scrubbing my face and shoving those memories out of my head.

I jerk to stand. “I need to go.”

She frowns. “Now?”

“Yes. Early class tomorrow.” My words are gruff.

She reads my face, and I imagine what she sees. I’m shutting her out.

I…I can’t be near her anymore. Studying together? What the fuck was I thinking?

We’re over, I repeat in my head for the hundredth time since getting back to Magnolia.

I walk back to my chair, get my things, and put them back in my backpack. We don’t speak as we start back down the stairs. Our hands brush against each other, and I stuff mine deep in my pocket.

We reach the foyer of the library, and two familiar girls lingering at the entrance run up to me.

“Blaze! Oh my God, I haven’t seen you since Cadillac’s,” says one. I recognize her as one of the girls who played beer pong with us. She starts talking, but I’m not even listening, my gaze on the girl walking away.

Charisma hasn’t even stopped. She’s got her head down, and she keeps on marching right out the door of the library without even saying goodbye.

She felt that tension up there; she knows I’m retreating.

I brush them off and jog to catch up with Charisma.

“Hey, I’m walking you to your car,” I say.

“You don’t have to,” she says coolly as we pass the crosswalk to one of the lots. “You can go chat with your fans, get laid. I can’t believe you’ve gone this long. I’m starting to wonder why, in fact.”

I ignore that and keep my longer stride matching her pace until we reach her car at the back in a dimly lit area. She gets it unlocked and turns to face me.

I stare at her, eyes searching hers. She’s got that exposed look again, that bruised one, the one I saw at Cadillac’s. I know I should just walk away right now, but my body isn’t listening to my head.

“You’re upset,” I say after a few moments.

“I’m not. Go back and flash your abs at those girls. See if I care.”