“Or they’re all just great at staying in character.”

  Grant exhales again, but this time not as patient as before.

  “I know,” I say, closing my eyes as a wretched feeling takes over. “I’m sorry. I know I’m just being stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid,” he says. “You just need a distraction. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going on a date.”

  I pique with interest. “Really? With who?”

  “Ah-ah-ah,” he says amid the shuffling of cloth. I must be on speakerphone. “My love life is a very closed book.”

  I scoff. “Says the man who insists on knowing every single detail of mine?”

  He pauses. “You make an interesting point. However, I still can’t say.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this suitor isn’t… out yet. I cannot and will not do it for him.”

  “Respect,” I say, letting it go.

  “Thank you.” Grant shuffles again, picking up the phone. “Just try not to worry about the audition, Alyssa.”

  “Find a distraction,” I repeat.

  “Precisely.”

  “I will try.” I force a smile. “Go have fun.”

  “I always do.”

  I hang up, letting the phone slide off my cheek onto my pillow. With closed eyes, I take a breath, willing my mind to blank. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to picture anything other than that damn audition. What if we did it all wrong? What if I didn’t emote? What if? What if? What if?

  “Distraction,” I say to myself. “I need a distraction.”

  I grab my phone, ready to immerse myself within the endless scroll of social media. A little serotonin should provide a few minutes of distraction.

  3 new tags.

  Excellent.

  I check them. Two are nothing, but the third one is from the Bearhawk Bulletin, the university newspaper. They’ve tagged me, along with my father, with an article detailing the team event the other night in our backyard. It starts with a photo of the two of us in the foyer downstairs, his large arm wrapped around my shoulders in a fatherly embrace.

  Cary Pierce and daughter Alyssa, 19.

  It’s convincing enough, I’ll give it that.

  I swipe down. Fortunately, I disappear and the true focus of the article comes up. Four-time champion Cary Pierce, of course, but also a profile of the Bearhawks’ major players.

  Junior Morgan included.

  I slam my thumb down, pausing the scroll. Junior, tall and smiling, his toned body wrapped in that suit. The quarterback destined to flourish under Cary Pierce’s wing.

  I’m going to bury my face in your pussy until you’re screaming my name.

  The phone nearly slips from my fingers as his voice echoes in my memory. I couldn’t believe he said that. I still don’t.

  Hell, I can’t believe I told him I’d fuck him if he won the game on Saturday. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but there’s no way I can actually go through with that, right? As much as I’d like to, he’s the quarterback and I’m the coach’s daughter. Big no-no. I’d risk not only screwing up my life, but destroying Junior’s athletic career as well.

  But…

  I assure you, I can rock you until dawn, Ally.

  The way he says my name.

  I switch the phone to my left hand. My right drifts down my body before I even realize I’m doing it.

  This means nothing, I tell myself as I push my hand into my shorts.

  It’s just a distraction.

  I spread my legs. I run my fingertips along my smooth lips, teasing myself as I look at Junior’s photos again. With the team. By himself, posing for the camera in the backyard. Kissing me in the pool house. Pinning me against the table, his tongue caressing mine.

  My clit is throbbing by the time I finally touch it. I release a gasp, remembering the feeling of his hand crawling along my thigh. The sin in his eyes. The lust on his breath. He wanted me so badly, he would have fallen to his knees for me right then if I had let him.

  I close my eyes, picturing Junior with his head between my thighs. Kissing me. Licking me. Sucking me. Moaning and groaning as I grip his hair and gasp his name.

  “You taste like heaven,” he says.

  “Junior,” I whisper, alone in my bedroom.

  I come softly, my body lurching on the thick bedsheets, but I keep my grip on the phone. Junior, looking into the camera lens. Looking at me as I mewl in pent-up frustration.

  I lie still, letting it roll throughout my body, until it passes.

  “Junior,” I say again.

  This means nothing.

  CHAPTER 17

  ALYSSA

  I step into Talon Hall.

  Mr. Young said the cast list would be posted outside of his office by eight o’clock this morning. It’s seven-thirty now, but I’ve been up since five.

  We’re going to get it.

  I round the corner toward his office.

  Grant and I killed it yesterday. It’s going to be— Junior?

  I halt in the hallway.

  He looks at me and smiles.

  “Hey, Ally.”

  I blink, convinced it’s just some sleep-deprived illusion, but no.

  Junior Morgan is here, lingering outside of Young’s office with a cup of coffee cart coffee in each hand.

  You taste like heaven.

  I swallow hard, willing myself to smother my fantasy from last night. “Hey.” I move forward with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

  Junior extends a coffee in my direction. “Black, as you like it.”

  I don’t take it. “What are you doing here?” I ask again. “If someone sees you and tells my father—”

  “Ally, this is the theatre department.”

  “So?”

  “So no jock would be caught dead in here. We’re safe.”

  I keep my brow raised high. “Then why are you here?”

  “Moral support.”

  “What?”

  He brushes the back of my hand with the coffee, forcing me to take it. “Cast list gets posted at eight, right?”

  “Who told you that?” I ask.

  “The internet.”

  “Why did you look that up?”

  “So I could surprise you with coffee.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re very cranky in the morning. I’ll have to remember that.”

  “Junior.”

  He chuckles. “I just wanted to see your face when you got it,” he says, pushing off the wall. “I caught part one yesterday. Didn’t want to miss part two.”

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

  He grins. “How did you guys make that slap look so real? Did you actually slap him?”

  Blood drains from my face. “You watched the audition?”

  “I was on the balcony. You didn’t know?”

  “No.” I absently take a step closer. “Why were you there?”

  “Because the audition was important to you and I wanted to support you.” He takes a sip of his coffee, filling the silence while I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Why are you always so surprised when I do something thoughtful?”

  “Because you’re Junior Morgan.”

  He laughs. “Fair point.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Pierce.”

  I twitch at Mr. Young’s old, stern voice as he pops out of his office.

  “Good morning, Mr. Young,” I say, spinning nervously to face him.

  He slides out in front of his bulletin board and pins a paper to its center. “I think you’re going to be quite pleased,” he says, flashing me the first smile I’ve ever seen on him. “I certainly was.”

  Without another word, Mr. Young ducks into his office and closes the door behind him with an audible lock. I guess he likes to disappear after posting a cast list. With how competitive we can be, I can’t really blame him.

  “Well…” Junior bobs his chin toward the board. “Go on.”

  This is it.

  All the butterflies. All the sleepless hours left waiting to know. It all ends now; either with blissful happiness or crushing disappointment.

  I step over to the bulletin board and look for my name.

  Nora … Alyssa Pierce

  “Holy shit,” I breathe. “I got the lead.” I spin toward Junior. “I got the lead!”

  He nods, seemingly unsurprised by it all. “I knew you would.”

  “I got the lead.”

  “I know.”

  I grip his jacket with my free hand, using him to keep my balance. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.

  “Did he post it?!”

  Grant charges around the corner toward us, out of breath and sweating.

  “Traffic sucks,” he spits. “Did I miss it?!”

  I hop back, giving him room to see for himself.

  Grant gasps so wide, his jaw practically detaches from his face.

  “I got the lead!” he says.

  I point to the next name down.

  Grant squeals. “You got the lead!”

  “We got the lead!”

  We crush together in excitement. Grant squeezes me so hard I can barely breathe as we jump up and down.

  I can’t believe it.

  I really can’t.

  When Grant finally releases me, I turn to look for Junior.

  But he’s gone.

  “Can you hold this?” I hand my coffee to Grant. “I’ll be right back.”

  I leave him to squeal more to himself. Junior couldn’t have gotten far, and I want to… I’m not sure. Thank him? Maybe?

  A hand latches onto my arm as I round the corner of the lobby. One soft pull and I’m in his arms. Junior guides us backward into a dark classroom, kicking the door closed behind us and pressing me against it.

  “Congratulations, Ally,” he says before crushing his lips on mine.

  Junior.

  I lean into his kiss. It’s a sweet kiss, full of warmth and longing. Full of what I need at this moment.

  “Thanks for coming,” I tell him, my voice quivering, “at eight in the morning on a Saturday.”

  He attacks my neck, leaving a line of kisses from my ear to my collarbone. “I had to be on campus anyway,” he says, sliding his fingers beneath my blouse. “Coach wants to get in one last practice before the game today.”

  “Aren’t you going to be late?”

  “Probably,” he breathes, kissing me again. He leans down to cup my rear and lifts me up to pin me against the door with little effort. “But I wanted to be sure you’re still in on our deal.”

  Our deal.

  Last night I was so sure I wouldn’t go through with it. But today…

  He watched the audition. He came here today. He was exactly where I needed him. I didn’t even have to ask.

  My heart quivers as his body presses against mine. “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m still in.”

  “Good.” He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a precious bite. “Because I want to fill this little mouth of yours, Alyssa Pierce…”

  I moan, imagining his salty sweetness on my tongue.

  He gives me one last kiss and drops me back down. “Are you coming to the game tonight?”

  “Uh…” I straighten my skirt back down. “I don’t think so.”

  “What? You don’t like football?”

  “Not really.”

  Junior chuckles. “But your dad is Cary Pierce.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I don’t like football.”

  He nods, understanding. “Where can I find you after?”

  I hesitate for a moment.

  “Here,” I finally say.

  He slides his thumb along my bottom lip, his eyes sparkling with imagination. “Bye, Ally.”

  I fight the temptation to give him more. To give him everything. “Bye, Junior.”

  He leaves. I take a deep breath. Then another one. And another one.

  Well, fuck.

  It’s only eight in the morning, and I already need a new pair of panties.

  CHAPTER 18

  JUNIOR

  Pure adrenaline.

  There’s no other way to describe it. The rehearsed rhymes from the cheerleaders. The weight of the pads on my shoulders. The cry of the screaming crowd — most of which came just to catch a glimpse of Cary Pierce. But I can’t blame them for that. It all comes together with the pouring sweat and pulsing blood and that’s what it creates: Pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

  Add in the taste of Alyssa Pierce’s lip gloss still clinging to my tongue, and I’m surprised I’m even conscious right now.

  I look straight ahead into the faces of the defensive linemen, each one just itching to push forward and take me out. Their black eyes give a nervous twitch, but I fight the grin from spreading across my face.

  Earlier tonight, that twitch was nonexistent. They knew the reputation this school has, just like everybody else does.

  We’re a bunch of losers.

  Not anymore.

  We’re twelve points ahead. Twelve. That’s a bigger lead than we’ve ever had. The other team thought they had this in the bag, but since the start of the fourth quarter, they’ve been sweating a little more than we are.

  Go, Bearhawks.

  I lock eyes with Cary Pierce on the sidelines. He stands tall with his thick arms crossed over his chest, and he nods. Confident and assuring. For a moment, I think this is all just a dream. Damn well feels like it still. If someone walked up to me when I was ten years old and told me that someday I’d be the quarterback for a college football team coached by Cary freaking Pierce, I’d have said they were full of shit. Especially when they added in the part about feeling up his hot daughter in a dark, empty classroom.

  One thing at a time, Junior.

  With eyes forward, I lean down to prepare for the snap. The world spins in slow motion as I turn my head to check the positions of the offensive line one last time, my cleats digging into the turf just twenty yards from the end zone.

  “Hike!”

  The center snaps the ball back. I catch it as the defensive line shoves forward with hell in their eyes.

  I target the wide receivers on either side. The one to my left struggles to make it past the cornerback, but Ty bolts like lightning around the fray.

  I throw the ball over their heads, arching it far down the field a split second before a two-hundred-pound mass topples me to the ground. I roll them away and push up onto my knees to watch the play unfold.

  Ty sprints and launches forward to catch the ball before rolling onto the ground — smack dab in the middle of the brightly lit end zone.

  The crowd screams, shaking the world with the sound of their feet pounding the bleachers.

  Seven seconds on the clock. There are only seven seconds left in the game, and we’re officially up eighteen points.

  We’re going to win.

  I throw up my hands and scream. It’s hard to say who’s more shocked: our team, their team, or the crowd.

  And then there’s Cary Pierce.

  He’s stands there, unmoved. The only difference now is that he’s smirking. It’s as if he knew this was how it was going to end all along.

  I don’t even hear it when the clock hits zero.

  Ty hops up onto the bench and waves his hands to get our attention. He’s still clutching the football, but the man deserves to hold on to that for as long as he fucking wants.

  “Party on Shanty tonight, boys!” he announces, igniting a wave of celebration from the team that echoes throughout the locker room. “Bring your booze! Bring your friends! Leave your inhibitions at the door!”

  He hops off the bench and pats my shoulder, quickly realizing that I didn’t actually approve a giant post-game party at our shared residence.

  “That cool?” he asks.

  I laugh as I toss a clean shirt over my shower-fresh skin. “Of course.”

  “John and I are hitting the liquor store on the way home. Want to follow us? We might need help physically unearthing the store from the ground and dropping it into our backyard.”

  I lick my lips. They’ve been buzzing since the moment I realized we were going to win. “Actually, there’s something I have to take care of first, but I’ll meet you at the house after.”

  Ty twitches a suspicious brow, but he lets it pass. “All right. I’ll see you there.”

  I close my locker and bolt outside into the quad.

  “It’s Junior!”

  My feet barely hit the sidewalk before the screaming starts. Students rush at me, their faces painted blue and gold, our school colors.

  I pause, immersed in the strange glory of it all. I accept the high-fives and take quick selfies with various girls that can’t keep their hands off me.

  Holy shit.

  We won one game. One game.

  I push through them, grinning like a madman and listening to them scream my name.

  I love every moment.

  But there’s only one voice I really want to hear saying my name right now.

  Another wave of screams pierce the air. The girls release me, bolting toward the athletic center as more of the team steps out, Ty and John if I’m translating their shrieks right.

  I slip away, rushing around to the back entrance of Talon Hall to stay out of sight.

  It’s quiet inside. I guess the celebration hasn’t reached this place yet. Or they just don’t care. Neither would surprise me, given how nonchalant Alyssa is about sports.

  Voices touch my ears, a sudden uproar of laughter echoing from the auditorium. I pull the doors open and step inside. It’s a small group hanging out by the stage, Alyssa Pierce herself among them. I sit down in the back row, deciding to watch her from afar, just like I did at her audition.

  There’s something about the way she is around other people that’s different from the way she is around me, but I can’t put my finger on what. She’s always beautiful and confident and well-spoken, but…

  Maybe it’s her eyes. Those shimmering blue pools of light that almost seem to twinkle when she looks at me.

  “Bye, Alyssa. Bye, Grant.”

  My lips twitch as the others excuse themselves, leaving her and Grant alone on the stage. I stand up as they leave and walk down the aisle toward them as Grant rattles off about the upcoming theatre showcase.