Screw the medal, I deserved the virtuous equivalent of the Nobel Peace Prize.

I trembled when his mouth left me. Unmistakably trembled like I was experiencing withdrawals.

I knew he’d be gloating. Jude loved the way he could make me feel and the responses he could unravel from me. However, I was starting to get a little tired of all the foreplay leading up to a whole lotta nothing.

Reaching for the door handle, I exhaled, working to recompose myself. “See you in a few,” I said, failing the recomposed test. “I’ll be the one of fifty thousand screaming, throwing my arms in the air, and yelling your name.”

“You’re the only thing I see out there, Luce,” he said as I scooted out of the door.

He handed me my bag, propping his other arm over the steering wheel. I wanted to take a picture to freeze that moment. It would keep me warm during the cold winter nights in New York when I slept solo in my bed.

“Yeah, you’re kind of the only thing I see out there too,” I said. “But it’s mainly because of the way your ass looks in that spandex.”

He huffed. “And I thought I was the world title holder in objectification.”

“Was, Ryder,” I clarified, “was being the operative term.”

CHAPTER FOUR

At least the shower that Jude and Tony shared was clean. At least clean by college bachelor standards.

It had taken a half hour of scalding hot water to do the job of warming me back up. I couldn’t remember a shower feeling so good, especially knowing it was where Jude stood buck naked a couple of times a day. I’d even found my eyes closing in imagination as I soaped my body with his bath wash.

Winding my hair into a towel, I brushed my teeth and slipped into my jeans and Jude’s favorite Syracuse football sweatshirt. It hadn’t been washed, so it still smelled like him. Fortunately, the good kind of his smells‌—‌soap and man‌—‌and not the way he smelled post practice.

I slipped on my boots before leaving the bathroom because Jude hadn’t exaggerated‌—‌his bedroom was a mess. Like someone might want to consider calling the hazmat team kind of a mess. I’d had to dodge obstacles like beer bottles, cardboard cutouts of bikini clad women laying on the floor sideways, and one pair of crumbled up boxers to get to Jude’s room earlier. The only thing that made his room cleaner than the rest of the house was the lack of girly cardboard cutouts decorating the floor.

Closing the bathroom door behind me, I stepped back into Jude’s room, stopping in my tracks almost immediately. This was not the same room I’d left thirty minutes ago. I had to double check the photo of the two of us he had decorating his dresser to assure myself this was, indeed, Jude’s room.

The room was clean, almost sparkly clean. The bed was made; the corners had even been pulled tight and folded over. There wasn’t a single article of clothing decorating the carpet or any flat surface like there was just a while ago. The mess was gone, but it had been exchanged for something almost as offensive in my opinion.

Orange and white crepe paper twirled from the ceiling fan to the corners of the room. Human sized poster boards gleaming with orange glitter with the number seventeen, Go Ryder, or Syracuse #1 were plastered at least three to a wall. Someone had called the ra-ra police on Jude and he was going to be over the rainbow pissed when he saw.

Walking tentatively across the room I didn’t recognize, I slid open the top drawer of my dresser and shoved my toiletry bag back inside. Jude and I tried to switch weekends, so I was at his place every other. Instead of just lending me a drawer of his for my stuff, he’d gone out and bought a whole dresser just for my use. The gesture had rendered me a rare speechless.

Sliding the drawer closed, I took another investigation of the room. The picture of us caught my attention again. Taking a few steps closer, I understood why. A shatter line ran diagonal across it, cutting Jude from me almost perfectly. Lifting the picture, I ran my finger along the line, suppressing the shudder.

“Sorry about that.”

I startled, the picture slipping from my hands and cartwheeling into the corner of Jude’s nightstand. The glass fractured one more time, but didn’t shatter.

Sure I’d cry if I continued to stare at the fractured photo at my feet, I spun around. Only to wish I’d stared an eternity longer at that cracked glass.

“I accidentally knocked it over earlier when I was cleaning,” the tall, lean girl in an orange and white cheer uniform gliding around Jude’s room said, not looking at me.

“Who are you?” I asked needlessly, crossing my arms. I already knew.

“Adriana,” she said, offering nothing else as she carried an overflowing laundry basket of folded clothes over to Jude’s dresser. “You know, no one’s allowed in the player’s room pre game except for their Spirit Sister,” she said, pulling open the top drawer before she began stacking Jude’s underwear inside.

Two emotions hit me right then, watching Adriana Vix‌—‌a girl who was doubly as tall and pretty as me‌—‌pawing all over my boyfriend’s clean underwear as she layered them away. There was anger‌—‌pure and raw‌—‌likely the kind Jude felt. And there was something that clenched my throat and heart tight, feeling like both might break.

“I’m his girlfriend,” I replied, trying to let the anger speak. “I’m allowed any time I want. You can run that by”‌—‌I pointed at the signs‌—‌”number seventeen if you don’t believe me. And what the hell is a Spirit Sister? Other than the obvious,” I finished, appraising her before curling my nose.

She was copper skinned, dark haired, and had these grassy green eyes that almost glowed against the contrast of her dark skin. Her legs were so long her cheer skirt appeared more like a pair of panties than a skirt, and as Tony had so ardently put it, she had huge tits. And apparently had no problem letting the world know those tits on a leave-nothing-to-the-imagination level.

“Each one of the cheerleaders is assigned to one of the football players. One of the top performing football players, because there aren’t enough of us to cover them all and what’s the point of waiting hand and foot on the benchers anyways?” she explained, sliding Jude’s top drawer closed and moving to the second one down. Folded and pressed shirts went into that one, color coded even.

“I’m the captain of my team, and Jude’s the star of his. We were an obvious match,” she said, smiling into Jude’s clean shirts.

It was impressive how appealing ripping out clumps of this chick’s shiny dark hair was. I even recognized there’d be consequences, possibly even an overnighter in prison. And I didn’t care.

“Obviously,” I deadpanned, narrowing my eyes as she moved to the next drawer, stacking the three only pairs of pants Jude owned. “So what? As Spirit Sisters you get to clean their rooms, do their laundry, bake them brownies, that kind of fifties housewife shit?” Ah, there it was. That temper I needed to rise so I didn’t choke on my words in front of this exotic Barbie.

Turning around, she dropped the empty laundry basket on the floor. “And whatever other needs they might want taken care of,” she said, her smile telling the whole story.

I felt my fists balling, bracing for impact. I had yet to be in a cat fight, but I felt one coming on strong.

“Listen, Adriana, wasn’t it?” I said, coming around to the foot of Jude’s bed, standing as tall as I could. She still towered a solid half foot above me. “I know the game you’re playing. I’ve seen it played a million different times and a million different ways. But let me save you the suspense on the outcome of this little one you’re trying to manipulate.”

I took another step forward, crossing my arms because I didn’t trust them not to think of their own accord and land a punch right between those pretty green eyes. “You will lose. Jude is with me and I’m with Jude. The end. You can ask him if you need further explanation.”