My forehead furrows. “It wasn’t dumb. It was an accident.”

  “But still. I just — You don’t have to feel bad. It wasn’t your fault I got…” She waves her hand in front of her face. “I promise I’m okay and that you don’t owe me anything.”

  There it is.

  “Ah, I see.”

  She shrugs. “So you can give the ticket to someone else if you want. We’re good.”

  This girl.

  Every sentence out of her mouth makes me want to spend more time with her. I wish I could sit with her at the game rather than ask her to come alone, but knowing she’s there will have to be enough.

  “Here’s the thing,” I explain. “It kind of was my fault.” I hold up a hand before she can argue. “Because I was really close behind you. And I was really close behind you because I was chasing after you.”

  She blinks. “You were chasing me?”

  I tip my head side to side. “Chasing sounds bad, but yeah, basically.”

  She scoffs.

  “I was.” I lower my hands. “I spotted you walking ahead of me, and I wanted to… talk.”

  “Am I supposed to believe this?” Her tone is so incredulous it makes me want to laugh.

  “It’s the truth, Babe.” Wanting to see her cheeks bloom red again, I say the rest of it. “When I caught you checking me out that morning, you snagged my attention.”

  On cue, her face flushes. “I was not.”

  “It’s okay.” Like a jackass, I lift and flex both my arms, puffing out my chest. “I get it.”

  That makes her snort. “You’re such a jock.”

  “And you like it.” I grin. “Now tell me you’ll come to my game.”

  Hannah heaves out a breath. “What time is it?”

  “What time are you done with work?” I ask, assuming she’s working tomorrow too.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Six.”

  “Good. Game starts at seven. Plenty of time to hobble over to the field.”

  She picks up her feet, walking in place like she did for me yesterday. “I don’t need to hobble.”

  “Even better.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll come to your game.” She holds out her hand.

  I love that she calls it my game.

  I take her hand in mine and shake on it.

  She snickers and keeps her hand up when I let it go. “I meant for you to give me the ticket.”

  I look at her palm, and a burst of laughter breaks out of my chest.

  It’s so loud she steps into my space and pokes my stomach. “Shh!”

  I lean into her fingertip. “Not sure why, but I kinda like it when you scold me.”

  She pulls back her finger and pokes me again.

  I chuckle, quieter this time. “I don’t have the tickets on me, but you can pick them up at the will call window outside the gates.”

  Her mouth forms an O of understanding. “Gotcha.”

  “I just need to give them your last name, and then you’ll need to show them your student ID.”

  She purses her lips for a moment before she replies. “Utley.”

  “Utley,” I repeat.

  “And it’s Hannah. In case you forgot.”

  Slowly, I shake my head. “I didn’t forget, Hannah Utley.” I reach up and slide my fingers over a strand of her long, soft hair. “My last name is Lovelace.” I know she remembers my first name because she’s already said it to me.

  I take a step back, the piece of hair falling from my grip and back onto her shoulder.

  I don’t want to leave, but I need to get to practice. “Will call. Tomorrow.”

  Then I see the books she dropped, and I pick them up and hand them to her.

  “Thank you. And thank you for the ticket.”

  I take another step back. “You’ll cheer for me.” I don’t ask it.

  “Of course.” She gives me a serious nod. “Or at least, I’ll cheer when everyone else does because I have no idea what the rules are.” A smirk plays at the side of her mouth, and I want to kiss it.

  “Bye, Utley.”

  Her fingers wiggle at her side. “Bye, Lovelace.”

  SEVENTEEN

  HANNAH – THURSDAY

  Holy. Shit.

  I rub my palms against my thighs.

  I knew college football was a thing. Like a big thing. But I still wasn’t prepared.

  The crowd around is screaming. The game hasn’t even started, yet they’ve been screaming since the teams ran into the stadium in a blur of band music and cheerleaders.

  What in the hell did I get myself into?

  A guy next to me jumps into the air, startling me, and I press my hands against my stomach.

  Why am I so nervous?

  The starting players run out onto the field, and my stomach does another somersault.

  I don’t know why I’m pretending to myself. I’m nervous because I’m here to watch Maddox play.

  Maddox, the sandwich-sharing defensive tackle who has lifted me — twice — like I weigh nothing. The man who seems to be built from stone but who I don’t want to watch get hurt.

  I force myself to take a slow breath through my nose.

  I know the most basic of basics when it comes to football. I know a touchdown is six points. And I’m fairly certain it’s called a field goal when they kick it through the post things. But I also know it’s dangerous. And violent. And… I press my hands harder against my stomach.

  Breathe.

  A girl a few rows ahead of me, dressed in blue and black like the rest of the crowd, holds a sign high above her head. The back is blank, but after she bounces a few times, she turns around so the sign faces the rest of the student section.

  HOP ON

  Mad Dog

  #99

  It takes focus not to scowl at her sign.

  Does she have a history with Maddox? Or is she just trying to do a play on words?

  I drag my eyes away from the sign and look at the girl again.

  She looks… familiar.

  Was she a part of the crowd Maddox was standing with that first time I saw him?

  Dozens of people start chanting Mad Dog, and I suddenly feel even more out of place than I did before.

  I might not admit it out loud, but that girl’s sign fills me with jealousy.

  I have no right to feel that way. He’s not mine. And even if he were, there’s nothing wrong with classmates, or fans, holding up signs.

  I’m happy Maddox has so many people cheering him on.

  Inhaling through my nose again, I try to calm my nerves.

  The student section, where I’m seated — in name only, since everyone is standing — is filled with tangible energy. While I soak it in, I focus on the important information from the sign. Maddox is number ninety-nine.

  The home bench is across the field from where I am, and with helmets and all the padding the players wear, I couldn’t tell which one was Maddox.

  I mean, I assume he’s the biggest guy on the team, but that’s just an assumption. And now I can focus on looking for his number.

  A whistle blows, and the HOP U team moves as one.

  The guy in the center kicks the football, and the team sprints down the field.

  Students are jumping around, blocking my view, making it hard for me to see the players, let alone read their jerseys.

  The other team catches it, and then they’re all running toward each other.

  I feel sick.

  One of our players tackles the guy with the ball, and a whistle is blown.

  Just breathe, Hannah.

  I spent some of my shift today looking up football terms and rules, but I’m still so lost.

  Someone in the ridiculous HOP U mascot costume runs down the sideline in front of us, a giant school flag in his hands. Why our mascot is a panda, I’m sure I’ll never know.

  The students hoot and holler at the woodland creature, but I keep my attention on the field.

  I squint, trying to read the numbers as the team huddles together. I’m about to turn my attention to the guys standing on the side of the field, because maybe Maddox isn’t playing right now, but then the huddle breaks. And I see it.

  Him.

  Even at a distance, he’s intimidating.

  The teams line up facing each other. Maddox is right in the middle of everything, staring into a sea of opposing players decked out in green.

  My adrenaline kicks into overdrive.

  I don’t like this.

  A guy in green hikes the ball.

  Both lines move.

  Maddox crashes into an opposing player nearly as big as he is.

  I really don’t like this.

  They shove at each other.

  Maddox breaks free.

  The quarterback throws the ball.

  Maddox changes direction.

  The ball is caught.

  Another whistle blows.

  My shoulders sag, and I pull the front of my bright white tank top away from my body, trying to get some air.

  I don’t know how people watch their loved ones play this game.

  Not that Maddox is my loved one.

  I barely know him.

  Once again, the teams line up.

  How long are these games?

  My eyes lock on to Maddox’s extra-large frame.

  The crowd is still standing. People are still screaming.

  They can’t keep this up the entire game, right?

  Except they do.

  EIGHTEEN

  MADDOX

  She’s here.

  I can’t find her in the crowd. That’s practically impossible. But Hannah is here. I can practically feel her eyes on me.

  “Let’s fucking go!” Waller shoves me as we come out of the huddle and line up.

  Let’s fucking go.

  We’re up by three.

  It’s the fourth quarter.

  It’s fourth down.

  There’s less than a minute left on the clock, and these dumb assholes are giving up the field goal that would tie it to go for the touchdown.

  Being cocky only works if you’re the best.

  I bend my knees and lean forward, touching my hand to the field.

  Scouts are always watching.

  But tonight, my Bunny is watching too.

  And this is her first football game.

  I want her to remember it.

  I want her to remember me.

  Because these fools aren’t the best.

  I am.

  The other team hikes the ball.

  NINETEEN

  HANNAH

  My throat is raw from cheering. My feet are sore from standing on the metal bleachers. And my hands are still sweating.

  We’re currently ahead. The time is almost out. And I’ve listened to enough people around me to know that the other team is trying to win the game.

  And they’re trying to win it right now.

  The player across from Maddox snaps the ball back, and Maddox takes off.

  He’s fast.

  Faster than a guy his size should be.

  Just as he’s about to collide with the other team’s player, he shifts. Instead of hitting him head-on, their shoulders clip, and Maddox spins around him.

  Everyone around me screams.

  Shouts of “Get him” and “Sack him” and “Mad Dog” ring through my ears.

  But I don’t make a sound because my voice is stuck in my throat.

  There’s no one between Maddox and the quarterback.

  No one to stop him.

  The opposing quarterback takes quick steps backward away from Maddox.

  And I get it now.

  I understand why they call my big, friendly guy Mad Dog. Because right now, he looks feral.

  With a deafening roar from the crowd, Maddox plows into the quarterback.

  Everyone around me is jumping.

  Cheering.

  Except Maddox doesn’t go down with the quarterback.

  “Oh fuck!” the guy next to me shouts.

  It’s like the stadium takes a breath, a beat of silence, as the quarterback falls and Maddox scoops the ball off the ground.

  My hands fly to my mouth.

  This feels big.

  Maddox starts running.

  This feels really big.

  Ball in hand, Maddox starts running down an empty field.

  The players in green are chasing him, but the ones in blue are shoving them over. Pushing them away. Keeping the path clear for Mad Dog Maddox.

  I press my hands harder over my mouth.

  Go, go, go!

  The floor beneath me trembles with excitement.

  My heart is beating out of control.

  And then he’s crossing the line.

  Maddox is in the end zone.

  The time’s up.

  He just scored a touchdown.

  And we won.

  Tears fill my eyes as the HOP U players surround Maddox.

  My chest is so tight. I’m so… Fuck, I don’t even know what this feeling is. It’s like so much happiness is trapped inside my rib cage that it’s squishing my lungs.

  I’m so thrilled for him.

  So proud of him.

  So… in awe.

  The girl behind me screeches and grabs my shoulders, giving them a shake. “Did you see that?”

  I nod.

  It’s all I can do.

  As the team jogs back toward the bench, Maddox looks this way, into the student section, at the hundreds of people. And it feels like he’s looking right at me.

  Behind my hands, I smile.

  TWENTY

  MADDOX

  Pushing away from the kitchen table, I stand and stretch out my back.

  “Mad Dog,” a guy I recognize shouts at me over the thumping music.

  I tip my head back in acknowledgment, then pick my Gatorade up off the table.

  Sometimes I love living in the Football House. Sometimes I enjoy the parties. But it’s not what I want tonight.

  What I want works in the library.

  What I want is a girl who blushes while she teases me.

  What I want is to have that girl in my arms again.

  In my arms.

  In my bed.

  Marked as mine.

  Adjusting myself, I shake out my leg, then try to make my way through the bodies crowding the main floor, but it’s fucking elbows to assholes in here.

  “Coming through!” I snap.

  It’s too loud for anyone to catch the true annoyance in my tone. But people still part for me, lifting hands for high fives.

  I don’t mind being a big person.

  I need to be big to play the way I do.

  But when you’re my size — wearing triple XL clothing, standing nine inches taller than the average man — it’s not exactly easy to slip through anywhere.

  Elbows are bumped. Drinks are sloshed. But I finally make some progress.

  I’m almost to the stairs when someone steps in front of me.

  “Hey, Maddox.” Essie stops right in my path.

  “Hey,” I reply and try to move around her.

  “You heading upstairs?” She looks up at me, an expression on her face that says she wants to join me.

  The second floor is bedrooms and strictly invite only.

  Essie is your classic it girl. Always looks perfect. Always dresses as though a paparazzo might take her photo. She’s attractive.

  But her hair is the wrong shade of brown.

  She doesn’t have any freckles.

  And I don’t feel even the smallest urge to ask her questions about her life.

  “I am,” I answer, and her innocent smile starts to pull into a smirk. But then I speak again. “Good night.”

  She tries to cover her annoyance over the rejection, but I see the way her lips pinch together. “Night.”

  I’m not trying to be rude, but I’d rather be blunt than lead a girl on. She’s been spending a lot of time hanging around the team. So it’s best to put an end to any of her hopes now.

  Spotting Waller a few feet away, I call out his name. He knows I don’t drink during the season, but if I disappear without telling him I’m going to bed, he’ll come searching for me later to make sure I’m okay.

  He’s a good friend.

  He puts his thumbs in his armpits and flaps his arms like chicken wings.

  He’s also an idiot.

  “Nate!” I shout louder, and he finally snaps his head in my direction.

  I point up the stairs.

  He pulls one of his thumbs out of his armpit and holds it up for me.

  Then he makes a face like he smells something bad, and I shake my head and start up the stairs.

  This is why I need my little library girl.

  I need some class in my life.

  TWENTY-ONE

  HANNAH

  Reaching up, I flip off the little lamp I have clipped to the bedframe.

  Darkness falls inside my dorm room, and I’m more thankful than ever that I have a single room. I couldn’t deal with a roommate right now. Not feeling like this.

  It’s been hours since the game ended, and even though I’m exhausted, I’m thrumming. The energy of the crowd was just so much.

  I place my palm over my heart as I settle onto my back.

  My thoughts go to Maddox. They’ve been on him since, well, basically, since I first laid eyes on him. And definitely since he held me yesterday.

  His body felt so solid against mine. He felt so sturdy. Like nothing could hurt me — nothing could even touch me — with him there.

  I close my eyes. The darkness changes to images of him.

  That strong jaw covered in stubble that would scratch the corners of my mouth if he ever kissed me.

  The short hair covering his head that I want to run my fingers through.

  Those big hands that I want to touch me. That I want everywhere.

  The hand over my heart slides down… And under my palm, my nipple is already hard.