Sawyer: And just so we’re clear, what I’m referring to is your dick.

I try a different approach.

Cole: What about my fingers?

Cole: Or my tongue.

Cole: I could always use them at the same time, too. As a matter of fact, that’s a specialty of mine.

Sawyer: I’m good, champ. Thanks.

Christ. She’s a tougher nut to crack than I thought.

Time to drop the bomb.

Cole: Look, I appreciate a girl who’s a giver, but I wouldn’t feel right about you blowing me for the next six months and never returning the favor.

It takes her ten whole minutes to respond.

Sawyer: I beg your pardon?

Cole: Our contract specifically states we’re hooking up. But if sex, finger banging, and going to chow town on you are all off the table—that only leaves blow jobs.

Sawyer: My God, Covington. There’s so much wrong with that statement I’m not even sure where to begin.

Finally, we’re on the same page.

Cole: That makes two of us.

Sawyer: I never said anything about us hooking up in the contract. Are you illiterate? If so, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I can help.

Cole: I’m not illiterate, Church. Your little contract specifically says I can’t hook up with any other girls.

Sawyer: What’s your point?

Cole: The implication is there. ‘Any other girls’ indicates I’ll be hooking up with you.

Sawyer: Did you steal Oakley’s weed stash? The only thing it indicates is that you can’t pass your cock around like a bag of chips, you moron.

Jesus Christ. Six months is a long ass time.

Cole: Sorry, but that’s unacceptable.

Sawyer: Tough shit. You already accepted.

Cole: If we don’t fuck, I lose the bet.

Sawyer: Not my problem. I agreed to be your fake girlfriend. Not your hooker.

Cole: Having sex with me wouldn’t make you a hooker.

Sawyer: You’re right.

Eureka. About time she came around.

Sawyer: It would make me an idiot.

I slide my phone into my pocket.

This isn’t over.

Not until my cock is balls deep inside her and she’s screaming her Lord and Savior’s name.

Chapter 27

Sawyer

The student council meeting dragged on longer than it was supposed to, so by the time I meet Oakley in the library, I’m already ten minutes late.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him when I reach the table he’s sitting at.

Oakley’s so busy scribbling in his notepad, he doesn’t even look up.

I used to wonder what all his scribbling was about, but after peeking over his shoulder a few times, I’m pretty sure I’ve figured it out.

He might not have the hang of math, biology, or history, but he definitely has a way with words.

Specifically, when it comes to rhyming them.

He refers to them as bars—but that boy writes pure poetry.

Too bad he refuses to show his poems to anyone...including me.

I poke him. “Oakley.”

Eyes wide, he yanks out his earbuds. “Oh, shit. My bad.”

I take a seat across from him. “Are you ever going to let me read them?”

He stuffs the small notepad in his pocket. “Nope.” He looks at me curiously. “How tall are you?”

Talk about a random question. “A smidge over five feet. Why?”

He stands up. “That’ll do. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

He ushers me out of the library. “My car.”

Shock roots me to the spot as I take in the gigantic cartoon-like head with large blue eyes, dark bushy eyebrows, and a white fuzzy Mohawk that parts down the middle of the helmet.

I’m not sure what Oakley’s doing with Izzy, our school mascot, and I don’t know if I want to.

He’s already on thin ice with his grades as it is. The last thing he needs is to get in trouble for theft.

I rub my temples. “I’m probably going to regret asking this, but why in the world do you have Izzy?”

“He was given to me.” He thrusts the massive head in my direction. “And now I’m giving him to you.”

Say what now? “Gee, thanks, but I don’t want him.”

I try to hand it back, but he declines. “Come on, Sawyer. I really need your help.”

I blink. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, Oak.”

He takes the joint from the shell of his ear and lights it. “Morgan’s little brother Scott is Izzy.”

Still doesn’t explain a thing. “And?”

Bringing the joint to his lips, he inhales. “Unfortunately, the little dude came down with mono this week and he’s gonna be out of commission for the rest of the season.” He frowns. “Scott doesn’t want the school to get someone to replace him because he doesn’t want to lose his position, so Morgan asked me if I would take over for the next two games.”

“Okay, so that explains why you have the costume.” I raise a brow. “What it doesn’t explain is why you need my help.”

“Morgan’s brother is only a few inches taller than you.” He gestures to himself. “I’m over six feet, so his costume won’t fit me.” He blows out a thick cloud of smoke. “Plus, Cole says I’m still banned from watching his games…especially after what happened last year.”

Good Lord. Cole and his stupid superstition regarding Oakley is ridiculous.

“Cole’s concussion wasn’t your fault,” I remind him. “It was Tommy’s.”

“I know that, and he knows that, but he still thinks I’m bad luck. And since the Knights are undefeated again, I don’t want to do anything to throw them off kilter.”

“Well, if that’s the case, why didn’t you tell Morgan you couldn’t do it? I’m sure she could have found someone else.”

He gives me a dopey grin. “Let’s just say she asked me in the middle of performing a very special service with her mouth…if you catch my drift.”

I’m pretty sure a deaf person could catch his drift.

He clips his joint. “Anyway, you’re gonna have to do your new boyfriend and his team a solid and be Izzy at tonight’s game.”

Bless him. The poor boy has smoked himself stupid.

“Yeah…no. Hard pass.”

“You have to, Sawyer. The Knights need Izzy.”

“Not my problem.” I place the big head on top of his car. “It’s yours.”

“Come on. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” His frown deepens. “Besides, we both know you care about Cole, which means you know what a big deal football is to him. Right now, he’s competing against that dipshit Todd for the open quarterback position at Duke’s Heart and he doesn’t think he’ll get it if the Knights don’t win the championship.”

Damn. I had no idea.