Now we’re officially going on a date. When or where, I don’t yet know. But it’s happening. The thought makes my pulse pound anew and my head throb with foreboding. No good can come of this.

Jordan: I’m not playing.

Shoving the phone back in my bag, I take a seat at the bench in the locker room and begin the process of strapping my ankle for tonight’s game. I wind the sports tape thick and tight, doing it fast in case anyone starts asking questions. Grabbing my socks, I slide the left sock on first, pulling it up to my knee. I jam my shin guard inside, resting it firm and snug beneath the tight-fitting sock. Then I repeat the process on my right leg. After sliding on my cleats and tying the laces, I stand, stomping hard on each boot to get my feet comfortable and check the solidity of my ankle tape.

My phone beeps again.

Brody: Why don’t I believe u?

Jordan: You don’t? I’m so hurt.

Gathering my tape, hoodie, and headphones, I shove them in my bag along with my phone and tuck it away in my locker.

Rolling my shoulders, I draw air deep in my lungs and jog out onto the field. The sky is clear, the horizon a deep orange as dusk strikes. The lights of the stadium are bright, illuminating the grass in a brilliant, rich green. Pre-game anticipation is thick in the air, stirring the nerves in my blood.

I’m the last one out. The team stands in a huddle by the goal posts waiting for instruction. I pick up my pace. We have just under an hour before kick off to warm up, run drills, and give pep talks.

Leah’s eyes follow my arrival, narrowing in a glare that spells trouble. When I reach her side, her voice is an angry hiss. “I can’t believe you.”

“That seems to be going around a bit at the moment. What can I say?” I shrug and grin, but it’s more like a baring of teeth. “I’m pretty unbelievable.”

“It’s not funny, Jordan. You should be benched.”

“Can you say that a little louder?” I ask as I begin stretching out my left calf muscle.

“You should be—”

I cut off her shout. “I wasn’t being literal.”

“No, you were being a dick.”

Leah gives me her back, dismissing me. There’s nothing I can say. I won’t be benched. After ten minutes of stretching, my eyes scan the bleachers and slowly widen. Half the seats in our modest stadium are taken, the rest filling rapidly. Loud, thumping music plays, rousing the existing crowd.

Leah has already taken off, starting her warm up laps without me. I jog quickly to catch up, ignoring the burn of pain shooting up my leg. “Have you noticed the crowd?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Leah replies, panting softly as her booted feet hit the soft grass in a steady rhythm. She scans the bleachers anyway. “Oh look who’s here to see his girl play.”

A smirk spreads across her face like butter. I follow her line of sight and my lips tighten against the wide smile trying to break free. Brody’s here. He’s midway down the stadium, standing in front of the first row of prime seats where our team bench is located. The Colton Bulls cap he’s always wearing hides his beautiful eyes and half his face. I can’t see his expression, but I can feel it. A heavy blanket of disapproval swamps me. It radiates outwards from his folded arms and tense stance like gamma rays. It doesn’t bode well, not with me here warming up when I told him I wasn’t playing.

A scowl fixes on my face. Who does he think he is anyway? My brother?

Behind him sits Jaxon and what appears to be half the college football team. They’re all wearing team colors, which includes the addition of war paint coating their cheeks. I glance over my shoulder. The team is jogging behind the pace we set, their eyes caught on the beefcake display that is Brody and his teammates. The boys see they have our attention and perform a mini Mexican wave.

“The crowd must be here because half the football team is,” Leah puffs out, a trace of excitement in her tone. “You dating Brody is fantastic for us. Wait. He looks pissed.” She glances sideways at me, suspicion shooting from her eyes like darts. “Why does he look pissed, Elliott?”

I purse my lips, not as easy to do as one would think while jogging warm-up laps.

“Elliooottt,” Leah drawls in a warning tone.

I exhale a loud puff of air. “Because I might have told him I wasn’t playing.”

“Awesome. You’re starting your relationship off on a foundation of lies.”

Oh you have no idea.

“Calm down, Dr. Phil,” I retort as my booted feet sink into the lush grass with steady thumps. “It’s not a relationship. It’s casual dating.”

“It’s exclusive dating,” she corrects. “That, my sad oblivious friend, is a relationship.”

“How do you even know? Did you ever even date or were you and Hayden just born in a relationship with each other?”

Leah doesn’t even acknowledge my response. She glances Brody’s way again. “He’s crooking his finger at you. You better go over.”

“What?” My voice is a whip, but I don’t swivel my head. Instead, I look from my peripheral vision, trying not to be obvious. I have a game to prepare for, both mentally and physically, and he thinks I can just take time out to chat? Clearly he’s never heard the word no in his life. I refocus on my warm-up laps, keeping my eyes trained dead ahead.

“No he’s not,” I say to Leah. “That’s just a twitch in his finger from an old football injury. He gets that all the time.” We’ve reached midfield now, leading the team behind us. Every step brings us closer to the subject of our conversation. I jerk my chin at the center of the field. “Let’s cross here.”

“Elliott!” Paige puffs loudly from behind us. She must have run hard to catch up. “I think your boyfriend wants your attention.”

I growl. I literally growl. It comes from deep inside, vibrating outwards from my throat with frustration. “For the love of …” I change direction toward Brody, over my shoulder saying, “Be right back.”

Brody unfolds his arms, taking a step forward when I reach the hip-high fence that separates us. “This is you not playing, huh?”

“That’s right,” I snap, in no mood to argue.

He must sense it because he shrugs and says quietly, “Okay. I get it.”

“Good.” I nod shortly. “Is there anything else or can I go now?”

“Actually.” He turns his cap around, setting it backwards on his head. Then he grips the railing and leans in, his eyes glittering gems of mischief. “You should kiss me. For luck,” he adds.

The very thought has my heart thundering in my chest, leaving me dizzy. My hands grip the fence tight, keeping me from pitching over. He peels them off and takes them in his, linking our fingers.

“People want to see us together. They’re going to think it’s weird we’re not all over each other. Just—”

Before I can second-guess myself, I free my hands and grab his tee shirt in both fists. I drag him as close to me as the fence allows and mash my lips down on his. The press of his mouth is warm and firm and shoots heat straight to my belly. Catcalls and whistles come from every direction. I shove him away with a gasp. “There.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he mutters when I disentangle myself from his shirt to make my escape.

Brody grabs me before I get away. Planting his large hands on my ass, he digs his fingers in and drags me back. “Oomph,” is the extent of my contribution when I slam against his chest. I seize his shoulders before I fall over, and he ducks his head and plants his mouth back on mine. His tongue parts my lips and sweeps inside, hot, hard, and aggressive.

For a moment I’m suspended in shock. It quickly disappears, and I don’t hold back. A groan rises from his chest when I return the kiss with equal enthusiasm. My hands slide from the muscular contours of his shoulders and loop around his neck.

Brody pushes his tongue deep, kissing me like I’m air and he’s drowning. I don’t want him to stop. Ever. I need more because it doesn’t feel enough. I know he feels the same when he frees a hand from my backside and uses it to fist my hair violently, ramping my pulse up and into the stratosphere. That’s where I float, mouth fused to his, ready to perform carnal acts without a second thought about where I am or who the hell’s watching.