“Who are you here to see?” a voice asks from behind me, startling me out of my scrutiny.

I twist around.

Two girls stand with plaid Iowa blankets in their arms, staring down at me curiously.

“We’ve never seen you here before,” one of them says. She has brunette hair and a pleasant smile, and in her right hand she’s clutching a coffee cup. “But figured since you were here alone, you must be dating one of the guys and not just jock-chasing.”

I blush despite the cold. “Oh, um, I’m a friend of Kip Carmichael. He, uh, invited me.”

“Kip Carmichael…invited you.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and four eyebrows shoot up.

I hurry to explain. “We’re friends.”

“Friends. Whatever you sayyyy…” the one with black hair sing-songs. “Mind if we sit? We can tell you all the rules of the game.”

I groan.

More rules.

“I’m Renee,” the brunette says. “And this is Miranda. I’m dating Brian Freeman—he’s number four.” She points a purple fingernail toward the field. “And Miranda is engaged to number thirteen, Thomas Dennison.”

Engaged? Whoa.

Miranda thrusts out her hand, displaying the tiny rock on her left ring finger. “Only four hundred and ninety-seven more days!” she squeals, spreading out her blanket and taking a seat next to me. “Want to share? The ground is so cold. Did you think there would be bleachers?”

I did. “Kind of?”

“Usually there are, but this is just a scrimmage, so they’re not playing on an actual field. This is more, like, for fun.”

“More like an exhibition game,” Renee clarifies.

Miranda moves her hand this way and that, admiring her engagement ring. “We always have to sit here and hope they don’t get hurt during one of these games.”

“What happens if they get hurt?”

“Wellll,” Miranda begins. “For one, they can’t play—obviously—and two, a few of these guys want to play overseas. You know, in Britain or wherever.”

“It’s really popular in England,” Renee explains. “More so than here. No one gives a crap about it here.”

“Do your boyfriends want to play after college?”

Miranda takes a chug of whatever is in her coffee cup. “Thomas doesn’t, even though I’d like him to ’cause—hello! England—I would love to live there even if Thomas doesn’t. But I think that twat Steven plans to at least try. And number two—he’s really good.”

Twat.

I’ve never in my life heard a female call someone that before.

“I bet Kip could if he wanted to. He’s good, plus he’s like, ginormous. The professional players are all super huge.”

Super huge.

Yeah, he is.

Tall. Broad. Big.

Everywhere.

I try my best not to think about his dick, but it’s impossible—especially considering he’s one hundred feet in front of me, wearing spandex compression shorts, the outline of his jock strap leaving nothing to the imagination.

As if he knows we’re watching, he adjusts himself, squatting for a few seconds and shifts his cock inside the cup before resuming his stretches.

Yup. His dick is big all right, just like the rest of him, and I dry humped it nice and good last night before he went down on me.

My sore thighs are proof of that.

“So you’re friends with Kip, eh? He never has people come to the games.” Miranda watches him with me, fiddling with the rim of her cup. “Although one time, I think he had a sister that showed up, because they left together after.”

“How do you know it was his sister?” Renee wants to know.

“She was tall. Plus, same hair.” Miranda laughs. “God, isn’t it just awful? If Thomas grew his out like that, I’d break up with him.” She gives her dark hair a toss, sets down her cup, and adjusts the scarf wrapped around her pretty neck. “I wonder what it would be like to sleep with a guy who had hair longer than mine.”

“Uh—weird?” Renee says. “So gross. Like, cut it.”

I wouldn’t say it was weird; I’d say it was different—not that we had sex or anything, but we did sleep together, and he did have it pulled up. It wasn’t lying loose around his shoulders, and, come to think of it, have I ever really seen it down?

Maybe just while he was redoing his man bun.

Miranda stares at Kip again, thinking. “I remember Molly—our friend who used to date one of these guys—said Kip didn’t always have the beard and was kind of hot.”

“Well he isn’t hot now.” Renee laughs. “No offense.”

I realize then I haven’t told her my name. “Oh my gosh, duh—I’m Teddy.”

“Teddy? I love that!” Renee cries. “It’s so cool!”

“Oh my god, me too!” Miranda gushes. “Don’t you just love male names for women? They’re my favorite. In fact, when Thomas and I have babies—I’m having like, ten kids—my girls are going to have boy names. Frankie, Georgie, Max…”

“Teddy?” I throw out.

“Oh I’m def adding that to the short list.” She picks up her cup again. “You want a sip? It’s hot chocolate.”

“No thanks.”

I can’t believe how friendly these girls are. They’re nothing like Cameron and Tessa, and they’re definitely friendlier than Mariah, who would never have befriended a stranger at a sporting event—unless it was a guy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the rugby house before,” I venture cautiously.

Renee makes a face. “That’s because we don’t hang out there. It’s nothing but cleat chasers and gold diggers—I won’t let Brian party there without me anymore.”

“Right,” Miranda agrees. “Besides, the house is so dirty. No one cleans it.”

“What about you?” Renee asks. “Do you hang out there?”

I laugh. “Ugh, that’s where I met Kip. He, um, caught me at the keg, pouring beer for people, and—I don’t know. We became friends in an awkward sort of way.”

“Awkward sort of way? What do you mean?” Miranda cocks her head, interested.

“You know, we’ve been hanging out at his place, and just…it’s different. He doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks, and he’s kind of rude, and sometimes I’m shy so we’re opposites that way. Plus, I didn’t think I’d like him because of the whole beard thing. It was really off-putting at first, but…he’s grown on me.”

Grown on me—an understatement if there ever was one.

“And you’re just friends?”

“I mean…yes?”

“Why the question mark at the end?” Renee leans in. “Do you like him?”

“I might?”

“Does he like you?”

He likes my body, I can’t stop myself from thinking.

“Shit—he sees you! Act natural.” Miranda nudges me in the ribcage. “Don’t look at him!”

I look.

She clocks me again. “I said don’t look at him.”

“Why? Why can’t I look?”

“Guy 101, that’s why! If he sees you watching, he’s going to think you don’t have a life and you just came here to see him.”

That makes no sense.

None.

At all.

“But I am watching. That is exactly why I’m here—to see him.” I sound like I’m defending myself, but there’s laughter in my voice.

I’m having fun with these two—more fun than I’ve had with Mariah in a long, long time.

“Miranda, give her a break.” Renee giggles. “Okay, he’s not looking over here anymore. You can relax.”

Like that’s going to happen. “Can I watch him once the game starts?”

“It’s called a match, and yes, you can watch him once it starts, which is in”—she checks her phone—“less than ten minutes. They usually try to start on time.”