"He doesn't even need to graduate, anyway. That boy is heading straight for the NFL next season."

  "That's not the point, though." I frown. We've had this conversation one hundred times, since Sealy got tired of us staying up until the early hours of morning studying. Fucking, she said, was acceptable, but somehow using books was not. "He needs this degree. For himself. He spent four years here, so he may as well walk out with something for it. And, you know, to prove he's more than—"

  "Yeah, yeah. Got it. Degree super important."

  I cock my head and study her, eyes squinty. "What's the deal?"

  "Deal?" Sealy becomes extra interested in her phone.

  "You tramp. What are you not telling me? Why do you not give a shit about my life drama right now?"

  "I do care! You've just obsessed over this for weeks and I'm so tired of hearing about it. Never mind that your midterms are just as stressful as… oh my god, Leigh, stop looking at me like that." Sealy rambles and flails. "God. Fine. FINE. I've just been a little... distracted."

  "No." I pretend to gape. "You? Distracted? Lately?"

  "You shush. Things with Clark have taken a weird turn, I guess."

  "As in?"

  “Assssssss in.” She swallows. “Well, as in I’m probably—"

  The door bangs open and Heath walks out, fists in the air. "I got an 88!"

  "What?!" I squeal. "You did?"

  "How could you doubt, when I had a tutor as great as you?" Heath grins wide and scoops me up into his arms. He spins us in circles and my entire body feels light as a feather now that the stress has been lifted. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough, Leigh. I couldn't do this without you."

  "Yes, you could. I only helped pull out what I saw in you." I grab his face and kiss him hard. "Heath Davis, you are amazing."

  "Leigh Samworth, you are the best part of me."

  He kisses me back, but the kisses drift from hard and excited to hot and intense. It's like the climax after weeks of foreplay, a sweet release from one of the last bits of stress we have before spring break and ultimate relaxation. Sealy clears her throat twice before we break away.

  "Hey, lovebirds, get a room."

  "Look who's talking, champ." Heath grins against me and gives me another quick kiss. "You and Clark act like the world is your bedroom. I don't want to hear it."

  "Whatever. Jealous." She pretends to blow us off and collects her things. "Clark is ready to meet us for a sweet celebratory drink at Crazy Eights. Shall we?"

  "First round on the man of the hour." I squeeze Heath's arm. "As payment for my many hours of tutoring."

  "Oh, girl, I can give you a lot more than that as payment. I've got a whole stick with your name on it."

  "I'm still right here!" Sealy yells.

  "I love payment sticks." I gush, playing along and feeling lighter than air. "They're so big and so tasty and so—"

  "Is this what it's always like around me and Clark? Because holy hell this is terrible."

  "This is literally nothing." I laugh at my best friend. "This is G-rated compared to you two. Remember the time he stuck his hand down your shirt at the bar?"

  "We were high and horny. Shut up."

  "Just saying, no room to bitch."

  We pile into Sealy's car just as my phone sets off with an email alert. I swipe down to clear the notification and almost die on the spot.

  "Oh my god."

  "What's wrong?" Sealy asks, peering over.

  "I just got an email."

  "Not an email!"

  "From Space-X."

  "OH MY GOD."

  Heath slides next to me in the backseat. "What's going on?'

  "DID YOU JUST GET AN INTERVIEW IN CALIFORNIA WITH GODDAMN SELECTIVE ELON MUSK?!"

  Everything freezes as I unlock my phone. My heart stops while the email loads. All I read is, "Ms. Samworth, we've reviewed your application and would like to meet...." and everything starts to go fuzzy.

  "I JUST GOT AN INTERVIEW IN CALIFORNIA WITH GODDAMN SELECTIVE ELON MUSK!"

  Her tiny little car erupts in a chorus of screams and squeals and giggles and hiccups and every bit of chaos that comes with finally tasting the dream. It keeps up the whole way to Crazy Eights, with Heath staring at me like I'm a maniac. Sealy almost runs us off the road twice as I reread the email in disbelief.

  They want me in California as soon as I graduate. For an interview. The company of my dreams. Everything I’ve worked so hard for has finally culminated into magic.

  "Babe, this is amazing." Heath wraps his big arms around me and squeezes. It helps ground me from the stratosphere I catapulted into after reading the email that could change my life. "I'm so proud of you."

  "Wait. Wait." I shake my head, trying to regain my grasp on reality. "What about... what about us?"

  "What do you mean, what about us?" Heath shakes his head with a laugh. "This is amazing! Don't do that!"

  "No, I mean... California. That's huge. That's... far."

  "That's where you dream awaits, Leigh. That's where everything you've been working so hard on comes to life. That's where you need to be. And I know you'll be everything they ever want."

  "But you're going to the opposite coast."

  "Hey." Heath cups my face with his hands and kisses me tenderly. "Do not sacrifice fucking space flight for this cow town football meathead. You deserve the world."

  A knot forms in my throat. "But I found my world in you."

  His kiss is so soft and so sweet I could cry, despite this being the best day of my life. "Our world is big enough to handle anything it throws at us. Including living on opposite coasts. We survived studying for midterms. We can get through anything."

  I laugh even though I want to cry. "Are you sure? Are you sure this will be okay?"

  "I could never dream of stepping between you and Mars. Besides." He slings an arm around me and walks us to Crazy Eights. "How great would it be if, in like two years, I'm playing for the '49ers? Los Angeles team, Los Angeles space flight. Like two years, babe. We can ace that no problem."

  "You’ve only ever wanted to play for the Patriots. Don’t change your plans for me.”

  “I want to play pro ball and get stupid rich. If I do that in Los Angeles, I’d still count it as a success.

  “Are you sure?”

  He leans in to give me a lingering kiss that makes me want to move our celebration to the bedroom. "Absolutely."

  Thank you for reading!

  Loving the story so far? Enjoy a bonus epilogue (FREE HEA - 4k Words!)

  BONUS EPILOGUE!

  * * *

  Check out another one of my football romance stories here:

  Secret Tutor: A Football Romance Story

  * * *

  You’re not finished yet!

  Turn over and enjoy Broken Marine: A Military Romance Story

  Broken Marine

  A Military Romance Story

  By Amber Heart

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHARLIE

  The bedroom door went flying open with a burst so loud I thought I was back in the sand box. I was about to propel myself out of bed for cover when a very masculine voice started screaming at my bedmate.

  "Chelsea? What the hell?!"

  "It's not what it looks like, Brad! I swear!"

  Oh, but sweetheart, it was exactly what it looked like. We were completely naked, barely covered by sheets, with clothes all over the place. Bradley over there picked up the ripped condom wrapper I'd chucked behind me. He made a fist around it and punched the wall, leaving a small dent.

  Welp. Time to go.

  Chelsea, many thanks to Bradley for reminding me of her name, managed to break free of the twisted sheets and jumped between us — her bouncing, naked tits were all part of some totally legitimate set of circumstances. It bought me enough time to pull on some jeans, grab a t-shirt, and leap over the bed. My dick was throbbing from her abrupt dismount moments ago but the second I stopped to adjust, Brad turned his beefy vision towards me.

  "The fuck do you think you're going?" He threw another fist at the wall. "Get off me, Chelsea. I'm going to kick this guy's ass."

  Ah, the magic words. I had the bedroom window halfway up when I stopped and turned to look the dude dead in the eye. I wasn't good at a lot of things, but proving some douchewad wrong was something I retained excellent skills in. I widened my stance and shook out my arms, giving him a full glimpse of what he was about to tangle with.

  "Are you, champ?" I cocked an eyebrow at him. "I've taken shits bigger than you. Maybe you wanna try again."

  Chelsea, now crying on top of the bed, begged us to stop. In my defense, she'd been hitting on me for at least two weeks, coming in every night to the bar I worked at, flashing her tits for free shots and dumping fistfuls of cash into my tip jar. She came on to me. I'm not going to ask for proof of boyfriend before fucking someone, much less someone who made the first move. That's her responsibility.

  Normally, I'd pity Brad and call Chelsea a hoe, and away we'd part... but challenging me? Bring that shit on.

  Brad dug in his back pocket and pulled out a knife. He flicked it open easily, like it was something he'd been practicing since he was twelve for this very moment. That wasn't what stopped me. It was his buddy who walked in behind him. With a bigger knife.

  "You're all goddamn insane." I puffed up my chest and put my hand to my back pocket. "Trying to take on a Marine in a knife fight? I could kill you in three seconds."

  Instead of pulling out a weapon, I shattered the window behind me and dove out of it before they knew what was going on. I dropped down onto the floor and landed on my side, completely missing the bushes I was hoping for, and the world went fuzzy. I took a second to shake it off and leapt to my feet. Experience taught me I didn't have much time. Bradley the Dumbfuck was climbing out of the window and I had little doubt his backup was already charging down the stairs.

  "I'll fucking kill you!" He screamed through the window. "I know where to find you!"

  I flipped him off and jogged to my truck across the small parking lot. Less than two minutes passed before I skidded out of the dingy parking lot. My left thumb throbbed, it took the brunt of the weight when I landed, but it was a small price to pay to not get stabbed.

  One look in the mirror behind me was all it took to laugh my ass off. Fuck, it was good to be me.

  "What did you do this time?" Martha frowned at me when I walked through the doors of my usual haunt. "You look like you fell out of a window."

  "Funny story." I bounced into my usual booth. "I did."

  She rolled her eyes and tutted at me. "One of these days, Charlie, you're going to be killed."

  "Unlikely." I pretended to take interest in the menu sprawled out before me. "Do you have any specials tonight?"

  "You think you're bulletproof, but one day the bullet will learn to bite."

  I blinked once at her. "Martha, it's a good thing your carnitas are out of this world, because you are goddamn crazy. You know that?"

  "Mark my words. You'll get it one day." Martha's gray bob shook as she snatched up the menu. "The usual?"

  "You know how I like it."

  "I think I'm the only one." Still, she winked at me before disappearing into the back to let loose a stream of rapid-fire Spanish to her husband manning the grill plates.

  I slumped back in the booth to examine my thumb. Other than the two-year-old scars, it looked fine, probably something as simple as a sprain. This was coconuts to the things I had been accustomed to dealing with, but a few old memories took the opportunity to come surging back. Things I thought I'd carefully buried.

  My chest tightened and the room started to shrink. Between the sex and falling out of a window, my buzz had completely burned off and left me with gnawing phantom pains. Little by little, ringing overtook my ears and the room felt tiny and suffocating. If I closed my eyes, all I saw was sad and blood.

  I pushed past Martha with my glass of water and hurried outside for fresh air.

  It didn't matter how long it'd been. It didn't matter how many times I saw the stupid shrink. It didn't matter how much beer I drank. Like I would never outrun it. I threw a fist into the back panel of my truck and kicked the tire.

  "I knew those had terrible gas mileage, but there's no reason to beat it up over it."

  You know those deer caught out in the open? How perfectly they stand still even though they are ready to haul ass in the blink of an eye? That was me, except instead of flight, I was ready to destroy.

  "I was only kidding." She said quickly. "I mean, sort of. You shouldn’t beat up your truck. But it is a gas guzzling monstrosity."

  I turned very slowly to see a silhouette of curves behind me. All I could make out of her in the dim light of the diner was the burning red ember of the cigarette she lifted to her shadowed lips. I tried to swallow down the knot building in my chest, because raging at a girl was completely out of the question. If she'd been a dude...

  "And how is it you're so well versed in truck gas mileage?"

  "The internet." She said it like it was a hilarious joke. She was probably just another drunk sorority girl, looking for tacos to soak up the two Cosmos that obliterated her. I rolled my eyes and walked back inside.

  "That shit's terrible for you." I muttered.

  "So's falling out of a window, but what do I know?"

  I almost stopped to see how this was, who had seen me fall out of Chelsea’s apartment window, but the demons were tight. All I wanted was to sit down, have eight margaritas, and pull my shit together. Getting into fights with some drunk girl would only make shit worse. Then I’d have to beat myself up about that, too, and I’d hit my quota of being hurled out of windows for the night.

  Martha had a margarita and a small plastic warmer of tortillas waiting at my seat. Straight tequila would have been ideal but this was better than nothing. I threw the straw on the table and chugged it straight from the glass, drowning out every voice floating in my cracked brain.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ASHLEY

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  Whitney chewed on her straw and nodded left. “What about that guy over there?”

  I stared at her. “I am not going to pee on that guy.”

  “Gross! God, Ashley, I meant for me. Get it together.” Whitney set her drink down and smoothed her hair. “Do I look okay? He’s totally looking at me. This is about to be a thing. Look at him and tell me if this is a mistake, because I think I had too many Chocolate Cake shots.”

  “You only had two. And you look fine. Go. Find me a bathroom while you’re at it.”

  Whitney wasn’t even listening, already half way through the thinning bar crowd with a bounce in her step. We were here to drink off her ex-boyfriend, but we’d also done that four nights running and I was running out of steam. And bladder space.

  I nudged my drink closer to the bartender and leaned forward to catch his attention. “Where can I find the restrooms?”

  He didn’t look up from closing out a ticket on the computer and pointed in the opposite direction of where I’d been looking. Of course. I got up, thought better of it, and grabbed my drink. Renee had been roofied last week, despite all of us thinking our little college town was a haven absent from the usual scandals. It was more conservative than I’d like, but saying no to a full ride and being able to walk everywhere was hard to turn down.

  It just so happened assholes were everywhere. A lesson I should have been well versed in by now. My mother always did say I was as difficult as a bog on Sunday. Truthfully, I had no idea what the hell she meant by that, but it usually followed some diatribe about my attitude or behavior or friends, or or or. Never mind how devastatingly ironic that was, but stories for another drunk cryfest.

  They were happening less these days, which was nice.

  Another perk of this “small” college town was the lack of bathroom attendants. I don’t want to have someone stare at me while I hunt down a clean stall to pee in, nor someone to hand me a paper towel that’s already sitting on the counter, for a dollar tip. I can absolutely appreciate someone doing what they must for money and to support their families, but the bathroom is private. Don’t stare at me while I pee, okay?

  I would make a terrible dude. Open stalls? No thank you.

  In and out without incident, I found the bar more crowded than when I left it. One of the local frats showed up, stealing the rest of the tables and filling up the room with their obnoxious faces and voices and excessive use of cologne. They had to be Sigmas.

  “Hey hot stuff!” One of them sidled up to me and curled an arm around my waist. “What’s fine looking girl like you doing all alone in a bar tonight?” He turned to wink at his buddies nearby and I caught a glimpse of the stitching on his backwards ball cap.

  When it walks, talks, and acts like a moron, it must be a Sigma.

  “Not alone. Just walking back from the restrooms. That are literally right behind us.” I stepped away from him, but he tightened his grip. My entire body immediately tensed. “Let me go, please.”

  “Why run off so soon, pretty lady? We just met. We need time to get to know each other.” He grinned toothily and winked at me. His friends behind him whooped.

  I have never in my life hated Whitney… until this moment. A conversation from earlier in the evening zipped through my mind:

  Me: Let’s not go there, that’s where all the asshats go.

  Her: Let’s go there, because I want to sleep with an asshat to get Brandon back. Real friends will come with me.

  Me: No.

  Her: Remember that deep dark secret of yours I’m keeping?

  Me: Fucking fine, I hate you, let’s go.

  Maybe I have hated her before.

  “Why don’t you come join me and my friends? We’ll buy you a few drinks, hang out, it’ll be fun.” He hovered just above my ear and murmured, “Maybe we can get a little frisky under the table.”

  I tried to steady myself and fight through the very tiny alcohol haze I had going. I hadn't had many of these situations pop up, for a variety of reasons, but I didn't want to become... another statistic. That was all I had running through my head: Can't be a victim. Can’t be a victim.