“No. Sports are about strategy and anticipating the opponent’s move before it even happens. I have to train hard to do what I do.”

  Alyssa crosses her arms. “And I don’t?”

  I stand up taller, matching her energy. “I’m in the gym five days a week.”

  “So am I. You think actors aren’t scrutinized over every bit of their appearance? Pound for pound, I’m probably judged more than you are.”

  “Okay…” I blink, yanked off course by the logic in her reasoning. “But my team counts on me to be in shape. I have to be where I’m supposed to be, when I’m supposed to be there, or we don’t win.”

  “I have to hit every cue, memorize every word of my lines plus everyone else’s,” she says, her voice steady as a rock. “I have to live and breathe this place for weeks before opening night because if I don’t, then everyone will notice every missed step, every skipped line, and my crew will judge me for it — same as you. You memorize a few plays, you go out on the field every weekend, and you perform for the crowd. It’s the same thing.”

  “But people respect what I do a lot more than what you do.”

  She smiles. “Hate to break it to you, Junior, but this auditorium is always sold out. Can you say the same for that stadium out there?”

  I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. My throat clenches, smacked down into submission with the slightest crack of her tongue.

  “It’s the audience that gives it life, isn’t it?” she continues, her tone much softer. Almost comforting, as if she’s nursing a wound. “Grant and I were just rehearsing until you walked in and made it real. Without the crowd, it’s just a scrimmage. Right?”

  Total fucking whiplash.

  She offers me her bottle of water. “See? Not so different.”

  I take the water, feeling a sudden, dry thirst. “Yeah,” I concede. I twist the cap off and drink a hard sip. “Not so different.”

  “By the way, thanks for programming your name into my phone as Big Dick Morgan because that wouldn’t be difficult to explain to my dad or anything.”

  I crack up the instant she says the name. “It was funny. You laughed, admit it.”

  “You’re an ass.” She narrows her eyes. “I might have tittered. A little.”

  “I’ll take it.” I hand the bottle back to her. “Shall we?”

  “Depends on where we’re going.”

  “I have a few off-campus ideas,” I tease. “It won’t get back to the coach, I promise.”

  “You sure?”

  I draw an X across my chest. “Cross my heart.”

  Her eyes fall to my body and I know she’s thinking about earlier. Hell, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I’ve nearly jerked off a half dozen times since, but I didn’t in favor of saving it for tonight in case she touches me again.

  Who am I kidding? Of course, she’s going to touch me again tonight.

  I’m Junior fucking Morgan.

  “Let’s go,” I say, smiling at the thought.

  CHAPTER 7

  ALYSSA

  We step outside into the quad. It’s highly populated tonight, full of people enjoying the warm evening, hanging out and having fun. I pull the hood of my sweater over my head and slide my sunglasses on. The sun is falling fast, but I can’t risk being seen out with Junior. I even slow down to keep at least two paces behind him on the sidewalk.

  “Ally, what are you doing?”

  I look up to find Junior walking backward along the sidewalk, his eyes locked on me.

  “Turn back around,” I snap.

  “You look like you’re casing the place.”

  “I’m not casing. I’m being cautious.” He stops suddenly, making me collide with his thick chest. “Junior.”

  “Alyssa Pierce!” he shouts. “Watch where you’re going!”

  I jump back to put several feet of distance between us. “Knock it off!”

  “See? Not a single person looked up. Except that guy.” He waves. “Sup, Newbury?”

  “Yo, Junior!”

  A sociable laugh, and then he’s right back to staring at me again.

  I hide under my hood, annoyance spiking inside.

  This was a horrible idea from the start. I should have just spoken up in the locker room when Dad came in. I could have avoided this whole damn thing.

  “Hey…” Junior takes a step back and tilts down to find my eyes. “I’m sorry, all right? That was kinda dickish.”

  “Living up to your name, Big Dick Morgan.”

  “There she is!” He laughs, then sighs. “Look, I’m parked in G lot. We can split up and you can meet me there if you’d rather.”

  I straighten up. “No, it’s okay. I’ll walk with you.”

  He pauses, staring down at me with soft, concerned eyes. “You’re really freaked out by the idea of Coach finding out about this, aren’t you?”

  “I just don’t want to get on his bad side.”

  Junior goes quiet. “He doesn’t… hurt you on his bad side, does he?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Never. He can just be difficult. And we’ve gotten along pretty well lately. I don’t want to…”

  “Rock the boat,” he says with a nod.

  “Right.”

  “Well…” Junior clears his throat. “Now I feel kinda bad about coercing you into going out with me tonight.”

  I can’t tell whether he means it. His face still shines with that cocky confidence, but his voice sounds sincere enough.

  “I could have told you to fuck off anytime, Junior,” I say.

  “You certainly could have.” He leans over, still towering over me. “But you didn’t.”

  I think of him in that towel, remembering the pained lust in his voice.

  Touch me.

  I swallow hard. “I suppose you’re about to enlighten me with what that tells you about me,” I say.

  His lips curl. “I think you already know.”

  He’s so damn sure he’s getting laid tonight. It’s almost cute.

  “G lot, you said?” I ask, deflecting.

  We walk the rest of the way in silence. I keep a constant watch around us, eyes darting from face to face, but Junior was right. No one’s looking. No one cares about two people casually walking through campus. Each step becomes easier.

  I wonder what that says about me.

  Junior guides me toward an old, white mini-van.

  I pause. “This is your car?” I ask.

  Junior grins. “Oh, you’re definitely new around here if you’ve never heard of the Junior-mobile.”

  “The…” I blink. “The Junior-mobile?”

  “I didn’t name it. The team did.”

  “And what’s so special about the Junior-mobile?”

  He slides the side door open. “Take a look.”

  I step closer. There are no back seats, for one. Everything has been stripped out and replaced with an air mattress on the floor — along with a few thick pillows and a wrinkled comforter. Tinted windows. Strings of soft blue lights pinned to the roof to set, well… a mood, I suppose.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not getting in this thing!”

  Junior laughs. “Why not? It’s perfectly safe and clean.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Play your cards right and you’ll be the first classy lady to grace the Junior-mobile this semester.”

  I feign a gasp. “You mean the great Junior Morgan hasn’t gotten laid yet this semester?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said you’d be the first one in the Junior-mobile.”

  I cross my arms and lean against the open door. “So, how does this whole player persona work for you?”

  “Persona?”

  “Yeah,” I continue. “You pick out a girl, drag her to the old mobile, score a touchdown or two, and then what? Sayonara, lady? Hope we don’t randomly bump into each other again?”

  “You sound surprised, Ally,” he notes. “I thought all of us were dirty, cheating, lying scoundrels.”

  “Don’t you ever feel badly about it?”

  “I’ve never been dishonest to a girl to get her in here,” he says. “I’ve led no one on, never made a promise I didn’t keep, or done anything shady to get laid. It’s clear from the beginning what I want, and I’ve done the same with you.”

  “Is that all this is?” I ask. “After tonight, you’re just hoping to carve another notch into your floorboards?”

  Junior chews on his bottom lip. “Honestly, yes.”

  I scoff and push off the door, unable to hide my disgust. “Wow…”

  “Ally…” He takes a step forward. “Don’t even pretend like you’re not interested.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  He drifts in closer. My nose twitches with the scent of his cologne again. I ease back, struggling between smacking him or accidentally stumbling inside the van.

  “I’ll tell you what…” he says. “I’ll give you another shot to tell me to fuck off. Then you can leave, and I’ll never bother you again. Cross my heart. But…” He places his hands on the van, pinning me to it just like he pinned me to the lockers before. “If there is any chance you want me as much as I want you, then you’ll get in the van and we’ll continue our little date like normal. Don’t lie. I can tell.”

  I gaze down his body, eyes drawn to his groin as if I’ll see his cock again — hoping to see his cock again.

  I close them, embracing the darkness.

  “Ally…”

  A shudder tingles my spine.

  The way he says that…

  “Say you’ll stay. With me.”

  His lips graze my cheek, so close to my mouth. They never quite connect, Junior leaving a hair’s distance between us the entire time.

  This fucking guy.

  He’s baiting me. It’s working. It’s totally working, but I don’t want to be just another notch in Junior Morgan’s dirty van floorboards.

  The bitch of it is that I don’t want to leave, either.

  I do want him.

  I want to watch his body towering over me, thrusting me into oblivion while I cry out in blissful agony.

  But I’ve spent my whole life as the daughter of a narcissistic womanizer. I’m not about to be taken advantage by one now.

  I open my eyes and look into his. “Let’s go,” I say, shifting away from his touch and walking around the van to get into the passenger’s seat.

  You want to fuck me, Junior Morgan?

  You’re going to have to earn it first.

  CHAPTER 8

  ALYSSA

  “Why are you here?” Junior asks me.

  I wrinkle my brow. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a transfer student, right?” He takes his eyes off the road for a split second to look at me. “You’re new and you’re taking three-hundred level courses.”

  “Ahh.” I nod. “Welcome to the glorious world of P.R. representatives.”

  “What?”

  “When my dad decided he wanted to become a coach, his public relations guy told him he should revamp his entire image,” I say. “That meant shifting away from his old manwhoring ways and embracing a more family friendly lifestyle to gain good press when his new job went public.”

  “Ah, so they called you.”

  “Well, you can’t be family friendly without a family. He contacted me out of the blue — or his P.R. rep contacted me — and offered me a deal. If I came to live with him, pose nice for photos, and act the doting daughter, then Dad would continue paying for my education. If not, I was on my own.”

  Junior pauses, shifting his attention back to the road ahead. “I guess that’s why he doesn’t want you involved with the team?”

  “It could cause unnecessary drama, or so he claims.”

  Junior chuckles.

  I turn toward him. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” he says. “It’s just so strange that we’re talking about Cary Pierce right now. I have Cary Pierce’s daughter in my van.”

  “Why is that strange?”

  “I mean, he’s your dad, you’re used to knowing him. But me? I had a poster of the guy on my bedroom wall as a kid. It’s a bit… strange.”

  “I guess I get that.” I shift in my seat, facing him more. “Why did you want to go out with me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most guys who ask me out just want to meet my dad. You’ve already met him.”

  “I wanted to get to know you,” he answers.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m serious!”

  “Do not think that I won’t tuck and roll out of this van while it’s moving.”

  “Are you always this suspicious of men that show interest in you?”

  His question brings me pause. “Yes,” I say, unable to hold it back.

  “Honestly…” His chuckle falls. “It kinda pissed me off when he told me to stay away from you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He told you to stay away from us, right?” he asks. I nod. “I dare you to say that your first instinct wasn’t to go jump the bones of the first one of us you could find.”

  I smile. “Maybe a little.”

  He looks straight ahead, the edge of his lips twitching slightly in satisfaction while I glance out the window beside me. We’ve been driving for a while now, leaving more and more of the city behind us.

  “Junior, where exactly are you taking me?” I ask.

  “Patience, woman.”

  “If you’re planning on murdering me, I’ll have you know that I am highly trained in many forms of stage combat.”

  “Stage combat?” He laughs. “Uh-oh. Better gird my loins.”

  “Damn right.”

  Junior turns us right, then left, then another left, and we end up in a picturesque town square in suburban hell.

  “Oh, I get it,” I joke. “You’re not going to kill me, but boredom will. Okay.”

  He says nothing, but he fires a sly glance at me from the corner of his eyes before turning off the square into a parking lot with only a dozen spaces. Half of them are empty.

  Junior parks the van. “Oh, I forgot to ask. Do you like pizza?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I like pizza.”

  “How about Skee-ball?”

  “Skee-ball?”

  “Yeah, Skee-ball.”

  “I hold no strong feelings about it in either direction.”

  “Good.” He unbuckles his seat belt. “Let’s go have some fun.”

  I follow Junior across the lot, genuinely curious as he approaches an unmarked red door between a coffee shop and a used bookstore. He holds it open for me and waves a hand, gesturing for me to enter first.

  I raise a brow as I step forward across the threshold.

  While the outside was suspicious, the inside is full of color and life. Arcade games line the walls, leaving a counter on the fourth wall for people to order food and drinks or exchange tickets for prizes. Families sit around, children racing back and forth between their parents and machines, begging for quarters.

  It’s… not at all what I expected.

  “Hey, Junior!”

  The old man behind the counter shouts his name and Junior beams.

  “Hey, Frank!” he says, swiftly walking toward him. I follow.

  “Where’s Maggie tonight?”

  Junior shrugs. “No idea.”

  Frank glances kindly at me behind Junior and smiles. “What can I get you and the lady?”

  “Two big slices, two colas, and enough tokens to choke the machine.”

  “Coming right up!”

  Frank disappears through a doorway marked kitchen.

  I stare at Junior, pausing until the old man is out of earshot. “Who’s Maggie?”

  He searches my eyes for envy that isn’t there. “Maggie is my big sister.”

  “Ah.”

  Frank sidles back through the curtain with two huge paper plates, each with a giant slice of pepperoni pizza lying on top. “Here you go, you two,” he says, slapping them down on the counter between us. He reaches below into a small fridge and pulls out the sodas as well.

  “Thanks, Frank,” Junior says, passing a crisp twenty over to him.

  Frank snatches it up, opens his cash register, and counts back the change in nothing but quarters. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says, his wrinkled eyes shifting between us. “Refills, more tokens…” he leans closer to Junior, “mood music.”

  “I’ll let you know.” Junior gestures for me to follow him. “Come on.”

  I grab my plate and drink and we navigate through the sporadic minefield of tables and running children, all the way into the back where a lonely table for two sits off to the side in the quiet corner.

  “Do you and your sister come here a lot?” I ask, taking the seat across from Junior.

  “Not as often as we did growing up, but sometimes,” he says.

  I pause. “You grew up here?”

  Junior picks up his pizza, easily balancing the giant slice in one hand. “Yeah. Frank’s an old friend of my dad’s. We came here almost every weekend when we were kids.”

  I try to imagine what Junior was like as a child. Hell, I can hardly remember what I was like as a child. I certainly didn’t get to spend my weekends at places like this.

  “It’s nice,” I say, genuine. “I like it.”

  “Wait until you try the pizza,” he says, chewing softly. “I’ve never had better — but you might have, I guess. You’re from New York, right?”

  “I am.” I slide my plate a little closer. “Let’s give this a try…”

  I pick up the enormous slice with both hands and fold the crust before taking a big bite of it. The cheese melts the instant it hits my tongue, mixing with a thick sauce and an even thicker pepperoni. My taste buds dance.

  “Oh, wow,” I say, setting it down and covering my mouth. “That’s good.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  I swallow it down. “It kind of reminds me of this street vendor near the boarding school I used to go to.”

  Junior takes a swig of his soda. “Boarding school?”

  “The drop-off zone for absentee parents everywhere,” I say. “Cary Pierce wasn’t exactly around and my mom, well… she liked to enjoy herself.”