She gasps. She claws at me, pulls at me and pushes against me to grind in that place that makes her shiver. Makes her shake until I’m losing it. My head falls between my arms braced on either side of her shoulders. Our mouths touch gently, accidentally, and then she’s whimpering, begging in unintelligible gasps that I taste on my tongue.

  I want to say it. It’s there between us. I feel it. I breathe it in from her mouth to mine and back again – the love. She loves me. I know she does. She’ll say it back. I just have to tell her.

  But not like this. Not when we’ve been drinking. We’re sober enough to make this decision to have sex, but I don’t want the first time I tell her, the first time I tell any girl that I love her, to be tainted by alcohol. I want to wait until it’s perfect. Until it’s right.

  I do not want to fuck this up.

  I drive into her roughly, taking and giving, following her over the edge as she hugs me hard against her.

  My chest swells to the point of pain as she writhes against me. Around me. As tiny earthquakes in her core shatter me into a million pieces that rain down over her, bathing her in a love I can never give again.

  This is the first one.

  The big one.

  I hope to God it’s my last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  My head hurts. That’s my first thought when I wake up. My eyes aren’t open yet, but I know it will hurt when they do.

  I blink rapidly, daylight streaming into my retinae like a strobe light.

  “Mmmmm,” I groan unhappily. I turn my back to the light in a quick, unhappy move.

  My elbow smacks Brooklyn in the jaw.

  “Ow!” she shouts. Her face contorts, wincing. “What the hell?”

  “Shit. I’m sorry,” I croak. My throat is the Sahara. My teeth feel like they’re covered in sand. “I forgot you were here.”

  She covers her face with her hands. “Oh my God, my head.”

  Her hair is on my pillow. It spills behind her like a pool of warm chocolate. I can smell her on my sheets. Flowers and sex. Spiced vanilla and the center of my soul that spilled out over her body last night as I drove deep inside her.

  I had sex with her.

  With Brooklyn.

  I run my fingertips down her arm, just because I can. Because she’s here, with me. Finally.

  Brooklyn lowers her hands, her face. She’s smiling. “Good morning.”

  I grin. “Mornin’.”

  “Are you hungover? Because I’m hungover.”

  “I’m hungover.”

  She turns on her side to see me better, that smile lingering on her lips. “How much did we drink?”

  “Three shots, four beers, and we shared a hurricane because you really wanted the little umbrella.”

  “I loved that umbrella. It was blue.”

  “I put it in your purse.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She curls in closer to me. Her head is tucked under my chin, her legs intertwining with mine. She’s still naked.

  So is Dick.

  It hits me that we didn’t use a condom last night. That was reckless as fuck but I don’t feel worried about it. She said we’d be fine, so we’ll be fine. I trust her.

  “Weiss is Jewish,” I tell her out of nowhere. It’s the first thing that pops into my head, and the fact that I’m thinking about Weiss while I’m snuggling naked with Brooklyn is just plain weird.

  Brooklyn giggles. “Yeah. I know.”

  “What? No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did. I thought you did too.”

  “Why would I know that? He’s been telling us for two years that he’s not.”

  She makes a pffft sound that I feel against my chest. “Yeah, to mess with Mey. I figured you and Eustis knew the truth.”

  “How do you know the truth?”

  “He was fasting during Yomm Kippur.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s a Jewish holiday in the fall. The Day of Atonement.” Her fingers touch my chest, tracing the contours slowly. “You fast for twenty-five hours to say you’re sorry for your sins because on Yomm Kippur God is supposed to decide each person’s fate.”

  “So, you better get in good with him while you can?”

  “Yeah, basically. It’s the holiest Jewish holiday.”

  “And you just happened to notice he wasn’t eating that day?” I ask suspiciously. “On a day none of us even knew about?”

  “I’m observant.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I reply sarcastically.

  “That is because you are not observant.”

  “Fuck you.”

  She hums happily, kissing my chest. My heart beats erratically, trying to reach her. “Also, Weiss has a kippah.”

  “What the fuck is a kippah?”

  “A yarmulke. It’s in his bedroom.”

  “When were you in his bedroom?”

  “Don’t be jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  Am I?

  She scoots back so she can look me in the eye. “That week I stayed here, I was in the house all day while you were at school. The guys were usually here too and Weiss and I hung out a lot. Eustis was always on the phone with his girlfriend.”

  “Ex-girlfriend.”

  She makes a face like ‘Yeah, okay. Whatever you say’. “Anyway, he was always in his room on the phone and Meyerson was playing Xbox, so Weiss and I hung out.”

  It makes sense. Out of everyone in this house, Brooklyn has the most in common with Weiss. Doesn’t mean I like the idea of her spending hours in his bedroom while I was gone.

  “I’ve been in his room a hundred times,” I reason. I run my hand up and down her naked back slowly, trying to remember. “I’ve never seen a yarmulke in there.”

  “He doesn’t have it on display. I saw a really pretty wood box on his dresser and he caught me looking at it. He said I could open it and look inside, and there was a kippah along with some other things. Jewelry from his family, I think. One was a really old watch that must have belonged to his grandfather. I don’t know. I didn’t ask because he didn’t want me to.”

  “But he wanted you to see it?”

  “He said I could look, yeah.”

  “Why show it to you if he didn’t want to talk about it?”

  “He’d been living alone with that joke for years. Maybe he wanted someone else to finally be in on it. Or he wants someone to know the real him.”

  I frown, not sure I get the joke at all.

  Brooklyn traces her finger down the crease in my brow, clearing it. She runs her finger down my nose, over my cheek. Around my mouth, her eyes on my lips, her expression soft. Curious. Hungry.

  I pull her close to kiss her slow. I’m sure we both taste like shit, but I don’t care. The way her mouth feels against mine, the sound of her sigh as I wrap my arms around her, pinning her chest against mine, it’s better than anything. Her body is perfection the way it molds to mine. The way it feels so full and soft under my palms. I follow the line of her back to her ass, down her thigh so I can hoist it up high around my hip, and there she is. Warm. Wet. Ready.

  Brooklyn pushes me onto my back so she can straddle me. Her hair falls in a curtain around my face, blocking out the sun. I don’t miss it. She’s all the light I need as her eyes go soft, my dick sliding hard as stone inside her.

  “You’re on the pill?” I ask on a gasp.

  She nods, her lower lip between her teeth. “Yeah. I’m clean. You?”

  “Clean.”

  “Good.” She rises up slowly, sinking down even slower. “So good.”

  She rocks back and forth, in and out, her breasts swinging heavy over my face. I pull one taught nipple into my mouth, my other hand on her hip to keep her pace slow. I want this to last. It went by too quickly last night. It was a blur that I wanted to savor every second of.

  Brooklyn starts to speed up, her body shivering violently. I push up on her hips to get out before she orgasms.

  She glares down at me like I’ve ruined her life.

  “What the fuck?” she demands.

  I grin, gently rolling her off me. Under me. “Not yet, B. Be patient.”

  “No.”

  I kiss her slowly. “Yes.”

  I push her legs open with mine, diving inside in one quick move that pushes the air from her lungs. I’m slow after that, though. Slow in the way I touch her. Slow as I fuck her. As I kiss her. Love her.

  “I love the way you kiss,” she whispers tremulously. “It’s the sweetest thing.”

  I smile, kissing her again. Deeper this time. I burn the sweetness away in a rush of thrusts that makes her wild. Her hips buck, her hands dig into my arms, and then she’s bursting like a balloon. Whimpering like she’s crying.

  “That’s what I love,” I grunt against her ear, taking for myself now. “The way you sound when you come.”

  She gasps. “Butler.”

  My hand delves between us. I find her clit, swirling it with her excitement. “Do it again. For me.”

  She shudders, her voice broken as she comes apart at the seams. It’s bigger than the last one. It rips through her like a lightning storm, her walls collapsing around me, squeezing the life out of me. I come inside her and I don’t care if she’s really on the pill or not. I’d make a million babies with this woman if she wanted me to. I’ll give her every dime I make. I just wanna wake up to her like this.

  Like love in the morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  We’re almost back to the bar we ended at last night. It’s late afternoon. Brooklyn needs her car from the parking lot so she can drive back up to Corvallis. I tried to convince her to spend the whole day with me, but she ‘has a thing’. I don’t know what that means exactly, but apparently it’s too important to miss.

  “When am I gonna see you again?”

  Brooklyn smiles. “When do you want to see me again?”

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I have to go home,” she laughs. “I have a life.”

  “Tomorrow?’

  “When do you have time tomorrow?”

  “I don’t,” I admit reluctantly. “I have practice in the morning, classes in the afternoon, and a team meeting in the evening.”

  “Tuesday?”

  “Same thing.”

  “Thursday?”

  “What about Wednesday? There’s no meeting.”

  She grimaces. “I have a night shift. I can’t.”

  “I could come hang out with you in the booth.”

  “Wednesday nights are when you study.”

  “I could study with you.”

  “I have to work,” she reminds me on a laugh. “I can’t have you in the booth.”

  “I can’t do Thursday. Or Friday.”

  “You’re away, I forgot. Where are you going?”

  “Berkley. We’re playing Cal.”

  They’re our sixth hurdle on our drive to an undefeated season. They won’t be a problem. Even playing on their field, they don’t stand a chance against us. The next game I’m worried about is in November against Arizona State. They beat us last year in an upset, thirty-one to twenty-eight, and I’m worried the stigma from that loss will follow us into this year.

  “Shit,” Brooklyn curses, genuinely annoyed. It’s not her usual color. It looks strange on her. “I wish I could go to that one. I have a couple friends at Cal.”

  “Why not come?”

  “It’s a little late to get a plane ticket. It would cost a fortune.”

  “I know people who could get you a deal,” I offer.

  “I know you do, but, still, it’s too expensive. I don’t have that kind of cash right now.”

  I want to buy her ticket. I could easily get the money from Mama and Big John, but I hold back. She wouldn’t take it even if I had it in my hand right now.

  “Stay today,” I insist. “Blow off this ‘thing’ you’ve gotta do and spend the day with me. We’ll drive out to the coast for dinner. You like crab, right?”

  “I love crab, but I can’t. I made a promise. I’m keeping it.”

  “Who are you hanging out with?”

  “A friend,” she answers lightly.

  It feels evasive.

  “Guy or girl?”

  She looks at me sideways. “Guy.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “I’m curious.”

  “I met him recently.”

  “How recently?”

  Her face darkens. She’s annoyed again. “Who do you think I’m going to see, Butler?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “You obviously have someone in mind. Who is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I repeat.

  “I think I do.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Bryce Whalen.”

  My jaw clenches. She’s such a fucking mind reader. How does she do that?

  “Am I right?” I ask tightly.

  “Why would I be going to see Bryce Whalen? I don’t know him.”

  “Just answer the question, Brooklyn?”

  “You think I’m going to see him to fuck him, don’t you?”

  “Are you?”

  She scoffs, looking away out the window. “Oh my God, I wish you were kidding.”

  “I’m not. Are you going to see him?”

  “At least have the balls to ask what you’re really asking.”

  “Are you going to fuck him?”

  “No!” she snaps. “I’m not leaving your bed to go jump into his, you massive asshole.”

  “Then who are you hanging out with?”

  “A friend. His name is Greg. He’s in my Bio lab. He’s helping me study because I’m having trouble. I’m not perfect. But I’m not so imperfect that I’d bed hop like some whore.”

  “Shit,” I whisper.

  Brooklyn shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t—”

  I pull into the parking lot behind the bar. Her car is waiting there, alone.

  I kill the engine. The silence is deafening.

  My head is pounding.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble.

  “Butler, I—”

  She still can’t.

  I don’t blame her.

  “I’m tired,” I tell her cautiously. “I’m hungover. I’m jealous. I’ll admit it. I’m really jealous of anyone who gets to spend time with you.”

  “I don’t care about that. I get it. I’m jealous too. I know girls throw themselves at you and I feel sick thinking about what you might do with them. But what I’m mad at is that you—I really thought you weren’t judging me. I told you some deeply private shit and I was so relieved that you didn’t judge me, and then—”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  “You. Just. Did. And it was ugly, Butler. You really thought that I would go from having sex with you to some random guy—” Her voice quivers. “It’s like it didn’t mean anything. I thought it meant something.”

  My heart breaks.

  “It did,” I force out. “It does. It means everything because I l—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” she snarls, her eyes dark and watery. “Don’t say that to me right now.”

  “I’m sorry. I mean it. I am so damn sorry for everything. I’ll say it a million times if you want me to because hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

  Brooklyn takes a shuddering breath, tears pouring from her eyes. “You know how you’re always saying you’re shit and you’re an asshole and a douchebag, and I tell you that you’re not? Well, right now, Butler, you really fucking are.”

  The door slams shut behind her. She storms to her car, driving away quickly.

  She doesn’t look back.

  I watch her go. I don’t try to stop her or convince her she’s wrong, because she’s not. After everything, after all the reviews and analyzing and every effort I made to play this right, I still managed to fuck it up.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Weiss shoves a plate of eggs in front of me. “Eat this.”

  My stomach churns angrily. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t care. You need protein. You’re getting skinny.”

  I push the plate away. “I’m not getting skinny.”

  “You’ve lost muscle,” Meyerson counters from the refrigerator. “It takes months to build and days to lose, and you’re losing. Eat the eggs.”

  Weiss says, “You can’t face off with Arizona like this. They’ll eat you alive.”

  “I don’t feel hungry,” I complain.

  “You still gotta eat.”

  “Coach told us to shove it down your throat if we have to,” Meyerson warns.

  I sigh, pulling the plate back in front of me. I eat quickly. The plate is clean before I can think about it.

  Wiess smiles proudly. “Good Pupper.”

  “I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t. You hate yourself.”

  Fuck him for being so perceptive.

  Just like Brooklyn.

  I glance at my phone to see if I have any messages.

  I don’t.

  “It’s been a week,” I complain to no one in particular.

  Meyerson leaves the room like I didn’t say anything. He’s sick of me being sad.

  Weiss sighs heavily. “Give it time.”

  “I have. I gave it a week.”

  “Give it another week.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you talking to her?”

  He stops with his hands on the counter, his face impassive. “What would you do if I was?”

  “I’d be jealous.”

  “Kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

  He is talking to her.

  “I wouldn’t be jealous like I thought you were trying to get with her,” I explain. “I’d be jealous because I can’t talk to her and you can. It sucks.”

  “It doesn’t matter what shade of green you are, you’re still jealous.”

  “It’s how I feel. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?”

  “Pretty much anything but what you did.”

  I rub my hands over my face roughly. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?”

  Weiss quietly eats his breakfast at the counter. He could leave. He could easily take it to his room or go to the dining table like he usually does, but he stays. He doesn’t leave me, and as obtuse as I am, that fact doesn’t escape me. He’s trying to be my friend. He always has.