Seriously, she was crowned Miss Waylon her sophomore year.

She looks past him and sees me. With a frown, she checks me out, from the top of my ponytail to my red shoes. I know what she sees—a blob in a sweatshirt with no makeup—and obviously, I’m not her competition, but I guarantee she knows I slept with him. She knew at Cadillac’s. Not much gets past those pesky, pretty Thetas.

His back is ramrod straight, his fists balled up at his sides as he walks past her.

She tosses back her mane of blonde hair and looks over her shoulder at me with a triumphant smirk as she trots after him.

He’s mine, her gaze says.

You can have him! mine shouts back.

I can’t breathe watching his frame fade away from me as they exit and head out into the student center. There he goes. With her. I lean over and hang on to a nearby shelf, shoulders heavy, emotion building inside me as I replay the night we broke up.

He said I had rules, but he never asked for more.

He pushed me away and stalked out of that party and out of my life.

Memories wash over me, the ones of him pacing on the side of the dance floor, hands twitching at his sides, his face pale as he watched me dance with my sorority sisters, a look of dread on his face. Later, I chalked it up to pre-breaking-up-with-Charisma nerves. He knew he was going to dump me when he walked in that party.

And what did I do after he left? I ended up in the dark basement of our sorority house, huddled in a corner alone as the party went on upstairs, my arms wrapped around a body that didn’t fit the mold of his perfect type. Blindsided, I cried my eyes out. I fucking cried because he fooled me so, so good. Because underneath, I thought, I thought he was on the same wavelength I was. Wrong.

But why is he so…angry with me? What have I done? I let him go. He asked for it, he got it.

A student walks past me and then looks back at me, giving me a lingering glance, and I straighten, realizing I’m still hunkered over on the shelf.

God, dig up some backbone, Charm. The Blaze era is over. Stop wallowing in this misery and move the F on.

I pull out the phone number Dr. A gave me and fire off a text to Med School Mike. Might as well get back in the saddle.

7

It’s past five on a Friday, and I’m leaving the gym when my phone rings. Aunt Lorraine. I grapple with my bag to hit the answer button before it goes to voice mail. I called last night but she didn’t pick up. Uncle Jack never does, so I didn’t even try him.

“Hey, Aunt Lorraine, what’s up? Guess you saw I called?”

“Yeah. How are things going?” Her voice is distracted, and I hear the girls in the background. I picture them in their house with the huge cotton field behind it. Over fifty years old, it’s a ranch-style brick her parents left her along with a small farm. She lost them at nineteen, married Jack at twenty, and started having babies at twenty-one. Then I came along.

“About this dinner thing…” Her voice trails off as one of the girls starts whining, and I can tell by the rustling that she’s covering the phone and telling someone to be quiet—Suzie, the youngest, I bet. Last time I was there was Christmas Day, and she’d grown nearly a foot since the summer.

Her voice is back, a hint of exasperation there. “Sorry. Kid drama. Suzie and Carrie don’t want to clean their room.”

“Ah. Well, give my sister-cousins a hug from me, will you?”

“Sure.” She pauses.

I tense up, waiting for her to speak. I really want them to make the awards dinner for the national championship, and it’s just…stupid.

“Look, Blaze, I’m sorry we didn’t make the game, but I’m sure you understand. It was in Miami, and we couldn’t really afford to fly down, plus with the girls…”

I stop at my truck, an older model black Chevy, and lean against it. We had this conversation after we won, but I let her go on, knowing she’s building up.

“I get it. Work and the girls…it’s hard to get away.”

“Exactly.”

“The awards dinner is here in Magnolia,” I say. A three-hour drive, no plane necessary.

She sighs. “Ellen has a play that same night. It’s a big deal now that she’s in high school and convinced she wants to be an actress. Gah, fifteen and killing me with the boys.”

I picture Ellen, tall and pretty with a big smile and bright red hair. Disappointment brushes at me, but I’m used to it from them, and I shove it down. I make my voice upbeat when I speak. “That’s awesome. She didn’t tell me that the last time she texted. What play is it?”

“She’s Ariel in The Little Mermaid. Her performance starts at six and your dinner is at seven, and I just don’t know how we can be in two places at the same time.”

“That would be difficult.”

“Blaze…I’m sorry.”

But is she truly? Dry as dust and religious, she and my uncle are small-town, hardworking people who face the world with resolve and grit. Emotions aren’t expressed. Affection, at least for me, was rare. They took me in because duty demanded it.

“Ah, it’s okay, Aunt Lorraine.”

I’ll be the only person there without a family member, but I can play it off like I usually do—big smile, lots of jokes.

She goes on to tell me about the girls, and I end up pacing around the lot and talking to Suzie and Carrie, too. Eventually I end the call and tuck my phone in my side pocket.

The smell of peppermint hits me and I falter, nearly tripping as I stop and walk back to see if she’s behind me. Shit. She’s not. Of course she isn’t. Why would she be in the parking lot of the field house?

It’s just my imagination.

And why would she look for me?

She can’t stand the sight of me; that much was apparent in the bookstore yesterday. Besides, I pushed her away so hard, I made sure she’d never want me again. My head goes to that party where we broke up. Shit, can I even call it “breaking up” when we weren’t really together? Yet, it felt like we were a couple, every moment we spent together layered with heat and long glances.

Dillon waves as he comes out of the gym and jogs over. Dressed in shorts and no shirt, I can’t help but laugh at him.

“Dude, it’s forty degrees out here. Are you crazy?” I say when he reaches me.

He waves it off. “Can’t feel the cold when you’re as hot as I am.”

“Yeah, you’ll be hot with a fever if you don’t put some clothes on.”

He studies me. “Saw you talking on the phone. Girl?”

“Family.”

He leans down and touches his toes, still in workout mode. “Awards dinner, I assume? They coming? Mine are flying in.”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” He rises up and studies me, putting his hands on his hips, a frown on his face. “You good with that?”

I nod. “Cool with me. Don’t need them.”

That isn’t true. It isn’t, but I say the words because I don’t want pity. I didn’t think they’d come anyway, and I’m used to doing things on my own. Even in high school, they were too busy to attend most of my games.

“You sure?” His green gaze holds mine, but before I can reply, his eyes go over my shoulder. “Fuck me. Archer and company approaching.”

“What?” I turn to see a new white Mustang convertible with the top down rolling toward us. Looks like someone else doesn’t care about the cold.

Archer stops the car next to us, a few of the freshman defensive players sitting inside. He’s wearing a smirk with a haughty look in his eyes.

My spine stiffens.

“Yo, Blaze, didn’t hear your name on the news today. Looks like you’re still not invited to the Combine. Sucks, not that I would know.” He revs up the engine and grins, stretching his arms out of the vehicle and sweeping over it. “Check out my sweet ride. Got my advance from my agent this week. You got an agent yet?”

My jaw pops. No, I don’t have an agent, but fuck if I’ll tell him that.

I study the lines of the car, all sleek curves and custom wheels. I’ve never been into material things—can’t afford them anyway. Cars and big-ass houses don’t motivate me. The game does.

“Nice,” I say, trying to keep my cool and not let him know his digs get to me.

He rakes a hand through his white-blond hair and smiles. “Ah, sour grapes don’t look so good on your face.” He laughs then sobers, giving me a steely glance. “My bet is you won’t get an agent. You just don’t have what it takes, farm boy.”

I toss my gym bag down to the pavement, roll my shoulders, and step—

Dillon’s hand stops me. That’s exactly what he wants, his gaze says.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a sweet ride, Archer,” Dillon mutters, still holding my arm. “Now run along and enjoy yourself, asshole.”

Archer tosses up a little wave, looking nonchalant, but I know that look in his eyes as he drives away. He loves messing with me. He knows how important the next few weeks are, and if I don’t get invited to the Combine or get an agent or something, I’m done.

We watch as he peels out of the lot and heads to downtown, probably to a party. Some of the guys have been nonstop since we won the natty.