A hopeful expression lights up her pretty face. “Maybe someone will steal it while we’re inside.”

Hayden looks at my car, dubious. “Steal that?”

“You’re right.” Leah laughs and karma blasts a wave of humid air in her face, whipping strands of brown hair in her open mouth. She tugs them out. “Though stranger things have happened.”

“Okay, enough dissing on my new wheels,” I say and turn for the stadium entrance. “You promised me men in tight football pants, pounding each other into the ground with fiery enthusiasm. I’m here to collect.”

After purchasing drinks from the concession stand, we clutch our plastic cups of coke and make our way inside where I promptly stutter to a stop, my mouth falling open. The brightly lit stadium is a screaming sea of Bulls fans wearing shirts in team colors. Energy radiates through the swarming crowd like electricity. It crackles in the air, raising goose bumps on my skin. Flags wave riotously, kids squeal, and grandmothers wear team caps with pride.

Leah grins at my stunned expression. “Ready to pop your American football cherry?”

“This isn’t college football,” I tell her as the charged atmosphere seeps through my skin and fizzes my blood. “This is mass hysteria.”

I know football is a big hairy deal in the States, but hearing it and seeing it are two different things. I find myself getting swept away in the excitement as we make for the student section. When the crowds push in, Hayden shifts to the front, his weighty bulk leading the charge to our seats. I fall back a little as I squeeze my way through rabid supporters.

“Keep up, Elliott!” Leah calls over her shoulder.

“I’m right behind you,” I shout over the noise.

Seconds later I’m shoved and stumble sideways, my drink tilting precariously. Holding it high to prevent further jostling, I turn, intending to apologize to the person I accidently elbowed by default.

“Watch it, sister,” the girl snaps before I can speak. Her heavily made up eyes narrow threateningly, and she folds her arms over a blue tee shirt that boasts MADDEN IS MINE! in big orange letters across her ample chest.

I raise my brows coolly at her bitchy tone, feeling the petty urge to douse her stupid shirt with my coke. Leah grabs my hand before I can take action.

“Get over yourself,” Leah retorts to the girl and yanks me forward before the situation escalates. “Don’t mess with a female Madden fan,” she warns me. “They don’t just have claws in these parts, they have guns.”

“Yeah, that’s not scary,” I mutter. I have no clue who Madden is, but if he belongs to that girl, she can have him.

We reach some kind of blockage ahead, which means maneuvering through the alumni section to reach our row in the student section. With my eyes caught on the on-field entertainment, I miss seeing the outstretched foot and stumble over it.

“Shit,” I gasp when I manage to tread on it as I try righting myself. A firm hand comes out to grip my bicep, steadying me before I do any more damage.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, lifting my head and the words trail off when I realize who I’ve just stomped all over.

Fuck my life.

Professor Draper is going to have my scholarship revoked and send me back to Australia.

“Are you okay?” he asks, perhaps mistaking my wide-eyed look of horror for something more concerning, like a mild stroke maybe.

I clear my throat. “I’m fine, just surprised to …” To see you here, considering the big stick up your ass. I shut my mouth.

“To see me at football?” He arches a brow. “Even stuffy old professors like to get out and watch a game now and then.”

This is so very awkward, and I suddenly feel like laying the blame at Leah’s door for dragging me out tonight. I shoot her a quick glare and find her gasping with laughter. Hayden is seated on her right, pretending he doesn’t know either of us.

“Patrick,” comes the exasperated tone from the lady beside him. My professor’s lips twitch visibly. “Leave the girl alone.”

I give her my attention, curious to see the woman who almost made him smile. Her hair is blond. Sweeping bangs frame intelligent brown eyes that study me with a friendly expression. “You must be Patrick’s new student transfer from Australia. Jordan, right?” He mentioned me? It can’t have been good. “I’m Olivia,” she continues with a kind smile, “but you can call me Livvy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Livvy,” I say and shift my drink to my other hand when she holds hers out. I shake it, finding the gesture oddly formal inside a football stadium, but Livvy’s easy nature makes it less awkward.

Leah begins waving madly, and I think it’s her sad attempt at a rescue. Either way, I’m taking it. “I should get to my seat before—”

“Actually, Jordan, I have an extracurricular task for you,” Professor Draper interrupts. “Come see me early next week. Do you know where my office is?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, which is a lie, because even if his office is marked on the campus map with a giant bullseye, my sense of direction will ensure I never find it.

“Good.” He waves me off dismissively. “We’ll talk next week.”

I make my escape, and I know it’s overly dramatic of me, but it suddenly feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I have a huge course load and soccer commitments that tie up every spare minute. Now I’m supposed to fit menial tasks like photocopying or fetching dry cleaning in around it? I know I missed a class, but I have a horrible feeling the punishment is going to far exceed the crime.

“Oh my gosh,” I burst out with, flopping down on my seat beside Leah. “Where are those rabid female Madden fans when you need them? I need someone to shoot me right now.”

Leah clucks sympathetically while I take a big, soothing gulp of my coke. “Did you get chewed out some more?”

“Are you kidding? After missing his class, I go and stomp all over his feet as an added insult. I’m totally screwed.”

Leah’s lips slam together with excessive force, and a noise that sounds like the low-pitched whine of a dog rises from the back of her throat.

“What?” I snap, irritated beyond all belief.

A snort breaks free from her nose. “It’s really not funny,” she gasps and begins to laugh again. “I guess you won’t be late for his class again.”

“Not with Professor Hardass on the case,” I mutter and train my eyes on the field because the announcer is introducing the team. His loud, booming voice echoes around the stadium dramatically, setting off loud squeals of excitement from around us. Four girls seated two rows from ours are the most ear splitting of all. They’re each wearing matching orange tee shirts, featuring daring cleavage and the words Madden Fever.

Everyone stands up, Leah and Hayden too, and I’m dragged to my feet with them. The crowd begins to chant, “Colton Bulls! Colton Bulls!”

“Who the hell is this Madden anyway?” I ask, my voice a shout to be heard over the thunderous crowd. “Some kind of rock star?”

“Close enough!” Leah shouts back. “Brody Madden is a starting wide receiver this season for the Colton Bulls and a top draft prospect. He’s also a six foot three, two hundred and twenty pound football god!”

“Amen!” preaches a female voice behind us.

The chants morph into a bevy of female squeals when the team trots out, right near our seats. Their proximity affords us a good look at their assets. I can’t help but notice how amply they’re displayed in those snug orange and blue football jerseys and tight white football pants.

Leah’s cheeks are flushed with groupie fever and she points. “There! That’s Madden! Number twenty-two!”

I squint for his number. It’s dark out now, but the stadium lights are brighter than daylight. I find him easily. His back is facing us as he jogs out onto the rich green field. Madden is printed in white block letters across the broad width of his shoulders and beneath it his jersey number. My eyes fall lower and my pulse kicks into gear. His backside is round and firm, and his impressive glutes hug his football pants like he was born to wear them.