“I don’t know,” I bite out, bringing the beer back to my mouth.

“Ooh. Sensitive.” He eyes the cuts on my knuckles. “What happened there?”

I glance at my busted hand. “Some drywall pissed me off.”

“So you beat the shit out of it with your throwing arm?”

“Something like that.”

“Right,” he says slowly. “Speaking of your throwing arm…” He moves his eyes back to the tournament. “Training starts soon.”

I try to look uninterested. “So?”

“Coach says you’re not enrolled.” He keeps his eyes on the game while I silently curse Coach McHugh and his fat mouth. “Now, how the hell are we supposed to have a kick-ass team when our quarterback doesn’t even go to the school?”

I rub the back of my head. “I was kicked out, remember?”

“No.” He draws out the word. “You were put on academic probation. Dean Maxwell said all you have to do—”

“I know what he said.”

“Good.” He nods once. “Then do it and I’ll see you at practice. In the meantime, let’s get you relaxed.” He smiles at an attractive blonde walking by. “Hey, Savannah. Have you met Levi?” He pulls her closer and gestures to me. “Levi is our starting quarterback.”

The blonde’s face brightens at the word “quarterback,” and she turns eager eyes my way. “Nice to meet you, Levi.”

Zack leans over and says, “You’re welcome, buddy,” before bringing the megaphone back to his lips and resuming his officiating duties. “Aw, come on, Jensen…”

He steps away, leaving me with the blonde, who has already started giggling and touching my arm for no reason. Let the distracting begin.

9 Pixie

Two college girls with fake IDs walk into a bar…

So cliché.

The bouncer didn’t even check out the birth dates on our IDs. He simply checked out Jenna’s butt, which beats mine in the bootylicious department by at least two jiggles, and waved us in.

Behold, the power of the booty.

I follow the cherry blossom tattoos on Jenna’s exposed lower back as we weave through the almost-drunk, pretty-drunk, and has-anyone-seen-the-floor-oh-wait-I’m-lying-on-it-drunk crowd.

I ditched the cardigan at the door and shoved it in my Purse O’Plenty, so I’m looking perfectly slutty in my push-up bra and low-cut tank top. I don’t usually take such liberties with my wardrobe, but I was feeling feisty when I got dressed tonight.

Jenna and I squeeze our way through a cluster of people and my feisty boobs accidentally brush against a nearby stranger. His eyes drop to my chest.

I had my boobs long before I had my scar, so I know the difference between a guy checking out my rack and a guy feeling sorry for me. And this guy’s not checking out my rack.

Whatever.

I move forward and keep my eyes on the cherry blossoms. They’re pretty. Very girly and delicate and not at all like Jenna, yet somehow they suit her. I wonder if cherry blossoms would suit me.

“You made it.” Matt’s face lights up as we approach the bar. He’s already there with his roommates, Ethan and Jack, saving us seats. He pulls me in for a quick kiss, then pulls back and whistles as he looks me over. “Nice outfit.” His eyes rove over my very visible scar.

I quirk a teasing brow. “Am I showing too much tragedy?”

He meets my eyes and smiles. “Not at all. I think you look badass. Like a pirate or something.”

“A pirate?”

“Yeah. Like a sexy Captain Hook.”

“He’s the least sexy pirate ever.”

“Okay, Jack Sparrow, then,” he says.

I frown.

“Captain Morgan?” He looks supremely uncomfortable, like he’s not sure if it’s okay to joke about my scar, and I almost feel sorry for him.

I wrinkle my nose. “How about we stop comparing me to sea criminals and alcohol mascots?”

“Brilliant idea. I’m a stupid boy.” He smiles at me, but I can see small red splotches of nervousness creeping up his neck.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan looks at Jenna as she squeezes into the barstool between him and Jack. “You can’t sit next to me. You’ll ruin my game.”

“What game?” she says. “You’re a white guy wearing a gold chain. You have no game.”

“Oh, I have game. And you’re cock-blocking it. How am I supposed to pick up hot chicks when a hot chick is sitting right beside me?”

Jack leans over. “For starters, maybe don’t call them chicks.”

“I’m not cock-blocking you,” Jenna says.

“Yes, you are,” Ethan says. “You do it every time. Switch seats with Jack.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a girl.” She stands back up and waits for Jack to move.

“Musical barstools. Yeah, that’s not lame.” Jack grudgingly scoots over so he’s next to Ethan, and Jenna is next to him, and I’m next to Jenna, and Matt is next to me.

“Happy now that my hotness isn’t screwing up your sex life?” Jenna glares at Ethan.

He gives a slight bow. “Me and my penis thank you.”

“God.” She rolls her eyes and leans over to me. “We need new friends, Sarah. Like immediately.”

“Hey,” Jack says in offense. “What did I do?”

“You’re Jack,” she says. “That’s enough.”

Jenna and Jack always bicker, but I see the way they look at each other and I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping them from tearing each other’s clothes off at any given moment is the fact that they’re usually in public. And really, I wouldn’t be surprised if that didn’t hold them back much longer.

“What can I get you guys to drink?” The bartender—who looks like she could be a supermodel—directs her question at Jenna and me, but her eyes travel to Matt. I can’t really blame her.

Matt’s pretty in that Abercrombie kind of way. All blue jeans and designer shirts, perfectly styled blond hair and a killer smile. He’s stunning, really. And he’s totally humble about it, which makes him even hotter.

I’m not really sure why he’s with me. He could do better. Not that I’m hideous or anything, he just… he could do better.

When I first met Matt, he pursued me for weeks with his soft brown eyes and dashing manners. I was such a wreck at the time and had no interest in starting a relationship with anyone. I’d gone on a few disappointing dates and decided that boys were the last thing I needed in my life, but something about Matt made me feel… normal. And soon enough, all that charm and goodness of his wore me down until I was agreeing to a first date. Then a second. Then a third. Before I knew it, he was calling me his girlfriend and I wasn’t correcting him.

He made me feel unbroken and I clung to the illusion.

We place our drink orders, and the supermodel bartender gives Matt a sexy smile before walking away. He pretends not to notice and squeezes my knee affectionately.

“So how’s life on the prairie?”

Bell peppers flash in my mind.

“Boring,” I say. “How’s your internship at Edgemont going?”

Matt’s an artist, but of the left-brained variety. The kind that likes math and perfection and drawing ninety-degree angles on everything. His internship at Edgemont Design is the perfect launching pad for his future career in architecture.

“It’s great, actually.” His hand moves from my knee to my thigh, sending a pleasant warmth up my leg. “I’m making some good contacts. Hopefully, they’ll consider keeping me as a part-time employee through the year, just until I graduate.”

The hope in his eyes makes me smile. “They’d be crazy not to. You’re amazing.”

I mean it. Matt really is talented, and I have no doubt he’ll go on to build epic skyscrapers and buildings and whatever else he sets his mind to, because he’s that kind of guy. A go-getter. An overachiever.