She gives me a long, slow blink. “I have better things to do…better people to associate with.”

Margo gasps, but really, she should know Charisma says whatever the hell she wants, which is part of what attracted me to her—her spirit and fire.

“Better people, huh? Like who?” Is she seeing someone? I throw a look around at the guys with Connor, and they visibly shrink back.

“Like…it’s none of your business, football player. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She snatches her coat off the back of a chair and throws it over her arm.

I take a step closer, blocking her path, and her scent hits me, fresh and clean with a hint of peppermint. You’d think such a regular smell wouldn’t get my dick hard, but it does.

I stare down at her. “Just one drink?” Shit. What is wrong with me?

Dani laughs, the sound a little forced as she caresses the inside of my bicep. “Some people just aren’t in the party mood, right? Come on, let’s go, Blazey.”

“Not yet,” I say firmly.

Charisma’s mouth tightens. Some of her control is slipping, and part of me is glad. Because standing here close to her…it feels like I’m winded, and I want her to feel the same.

There’s a slight tic under her right eye and her hands are tense and balled up, one at her side and one holding on to that coat. She blinks rapidly and glances away from us, chewing on those full lips, working the bottom one with her top teeth as she answers my question. “Sorry, no more drinks for me. I need to run. Sheldon, Leonard, Howard, and Raj won’t wait forever.” Her voice has an ever-so-slight quiver around the edges.

“Who are they?” Dani asks, her expression bored.

“Big Bang Theory,” I tell her, still looking at Charisma even though she won’t return the favor. “Popular TV show.”

“Never heard of it,” Dani says. “Sounds lame.”

“The characters are hilarious, smart people. You wouldn’t enjoy it,” Charisma says, her expression tight as she stares at Dani’s hand on my arm.

Her eyes finally lift to mine, and she seems to take a deep breath. “Congrats on the win. I mean that. I know it was…everything you wanted.” She looks at Dani and then back at me. “I’m happy for you.”

Oh.

She’s being nice. She’s…over me.

I frown, feeling off balance, but I rein it in. Good. Good. This is how it should be.

I open my mouth to say something—I don’t know what—but she’s already walking away, her heart-shaped ass sashaying to the door. My hands tighten when I see the appreciative looks she gets from guys around the room. I’m not surprised. She has this are-you-brave-enough-to-handle-me attitude that makes you want to tame her.

I hadn’t been up for it, not with football hanging over my head.

Before she walks out, she pauses at the door and partially turns to look back at me.

But this time…

Her face is completely unguarded, anger and hurt and vulnerability there, as if she didn’t think I’d be watching.

Her face is like a bullet to my chest.

You dumped her. You went on with your life.

So why did everything about that night make me so angry?

Coach says I played the best game of my career after that party. He suggested I needed a full-time assistant just to call me ugly before games so I would play pissed off all the time. The memory of that night resurfaces, sneaking into my head and throwing images at me. Us dancing…my body pressed against hers…and then the words I pushed out of me with force, words that saved me from falling into a deep hole with her.

She opens the door and walks out.

End of. Done. We are over. I don’t want to be near her again.

So why does my chest…

I’m still looking at the door when Candi, Dani’s sorority sister and lookalike, joins us. I feel like I’m being squeezed by two beach balls as the girls latch onto my arms and pull me back to our table.

4

At the table, Dillon is recounting to everyone the only big play he was part of during the game where we ran a fake kick in the first quarter and he threw me a touchdown pass. “…and then out of nowhere Blaze rises up and catches the ball with one hand. He cradled it like a little baby and landed on his back. I thought my pass was intercepted for sure, but he bailed me out!” He raises his glass. “To Blaze! A Wildcat legend!”

Yeah, right—but what’s next? A tingle of dread goes down my spine. If the NFL doesn’t work, I’ll probably just end up selling cars like I do in the summer to earn extra money.

“Lighten up, man!” Dillon says as he claps me on the back. “Lose that frown and let’s celebrate.”

Right, right.

“Maybe he just knows deep down that he didn’t have anything to do with our big win,” adds Archer with his Cajun drawl. “Defense won that game. Then you pretty boys get all the glory. Please.”

I swivel my head and take him in. Tall and lean with a sleeve of tattoos up his arm and short Billy Idol bleached hair, he thinks he’s the best thing on our team. Pompous dickhead.

I just grin because he hates it. “Poor Archer. Your feelings hurt by all the attention the offense gets?”

His lips curl. “Fuck you, Townsend. You may have made some big plays, but who really cares? NFL scouts don’t.”

“No arguing tonight,” Dillon says subtly as he slides between us and squeezes my shoulder.

“Later, assholes.” Archer laughs and heads off to another table of defensive players and a few jersey chasers.

I shake off the comment, determined to not let Archer ruin the win for me by bringing up my lack of media coverage. We haven’t gotten along since last year when he was a little too aggressive with Ryker, our first-string quarterback and one of my roommates. Sure, that all turned out fine, but there’s a thick line drawn between us. We may play on the same team, but both of us are fighting to get into the NFL now. So far, he’s winning.

Later, after we’ve played several games of beer pong, the crowd has thinned and the party breaks apart. Margo and Connor leave, and Dillon heads out with a brunette tucked up next to him. He drove me here, but I don’t want to block his game. I can always find a way home.

I stand to leave and weave on my feet just a tiny bit. Truth is, it’s mostly exhaustion fueled by a few beers. I’m not trashed. I don’t get trashed, not when there’s so much at stake with football.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Dani says. Her eyes are sweet and imploring, and I wince. I like her, I really do, but…

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“We’ll both get you home and safely in bed,” adds Candi with a crafty smile as she and Dani exchange knowing glances.

A couple of the guys overhear and again raise their glasses.

“BLAZE! A Waylon legend in more ways than one.”

“Whatever.” I say it with a wide grin, but inside, something else is pricking at me—and I know exactly what it is. My head is still on Charisma’s face when she walked out the door, that bruised expression…

I was fine, totally fucking fine, until I saw her.

*

Outside, the cold wind slaps my face. Dani leads me to her little BMW, and I get in the passenger seat while Candi gets in the back. The car ride is quick, the girls giggling about how excited they are for a new semester and all the plans they have.

I keep quiet and stare out the window. I don’t know what my plans are. My life is on hold until April when the NFL draft happens, and if that doesn’t work out—shit, I don’t want to even think about it.

Inevitably, my thoughts drift to Charisma. What’s she doing now? Is she watching Big Bang Theory? She left Cadillac’s alone, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have some guy over. My hands tighten in my lap. She’s probably fucking him right now, and afterward, she’ll be ready for him to leave. Her and those rules.

“Thanks, girls,” I say later when they’ve walked me up three flights of stairs. “You really are sweet to get me to my door.” I work the key.

“Need some help with that?” Dani scoots in close to me, her tits brushing against my back.

“Nah. Hey, did you know locks for doors were invented in Ancient Rome to create privacy in brothels? Think about it—if they’d put socks on the doorknobs, we might still live in a world without locks. Of course, they all wore sandals, so duh, locks came before socks.” I chuckle at my randomness but just get blank looks in return. Tough crowd. No one gets my sense of humor.

Charisma did.

I sigh internally.

Don’t go there.

They follow me in, and I face them in the small kitchenette of the apartment-style dorm I share with Dillon and Ryker. It’s a nice space with a den and three bedrooms. Unfortunately, it smells like old fajitas and feet.

I give them a level look. “All right, ladies, I’m not interested in a ménage-a-jersey-chaser tonight. I need rest. I do appreciate the ride.”

“You sure?” says Dani, her eyes gleaming. “We don’t mind sharing, you know.”

I avoid the topic and open the fridge to grab a Gatorade. “Positive.”

“What about a massage?” Candi asks, giving me a lingering look.