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  Before I can ask if there are other options we can consider, he continues. “Demi has agreed to tutor you for the next month or so. With a little hard work, there’s no reason you can’t lift that grade.”

  Fuck. That’s even worse.

  Everything inside me goes whipcord tight. “Demi?”

  “You two are in the same section, right?”

  “Ummm, yeah. She’s in there.”

  He tosses the folder onto the desk and claps his hands together like he solved both world peace and hunger in one fell swoop. “Then it works out perfectly.”

  I wouldn’t go that far. Even though I’d like nothing more than to spend a little alone time with his daughter, it’s a shit idea. I can barely keep it together when she’s sitting next to me in class. Working one-on-one will probably kill me. Or I’ll break the promise I made to myself long ago to keep my hands off her.

  My mind goes to what transpired in the kitchen last night. It took every ounce of my willpower not to haul her into my arms and kiss her. I’m walking a thin line here. I’ve done my best to bury my feelings for Demi, but it hasn’t done a damn bit of good. If anything, they’ve only continued to grow and flourish. Seven years is a long time to hold a torch for a girl. At some point, the dam is going to burst, and all hell will break loose.

  That’s not something I want to happen.

  “You can set up a schedule directly with her,” he says, interrupting the whirl of my thoughts.

  Well, hell. Maybe I should suggest working with Professor Peters. Except...he bores the shit out of me. It’s like my eyes are conditioned to glaze over as soon as he opens his mouth. Talk about being trapped between a rock and a hard place. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

  I mull over my choices before finally mumbling, “Yeah, all right. Sounds good.” Decision made, I rise from my seat and trudge to the door. As I reach for the knob, I pause.

  Don’t say anything, asshole. It’s none of your damn business.

  Maybe not, but still...

  Before I can stop myself, the word is shooting out of my mouth. “Coach?”

  “Yeah?” He glances up from his desk to meet my gaze.

  “It’s probably not a good idea for Demi to be walking through the locker room when the guys are in the middle of changing.”

  Silence descends. I probably should have kept my big trap shut.

  His brows furrow as he swipes his tongue carefully across his teeth. “You’re probably right.”

  Relief floods through me as I slip from the office.

  If that girl is going to be checking out anyone’s junk, it’ll be mine.

  I wince.

  Fuck.

  Maybe Coach thinks he’s doing me a favor by having me work with his daughter, but all he’s done is the opposite.

  7

  Demi

  Ten seconds remain on the clock. Time slows, and I feel the tick of every millisecond as I dribble the ball between my feet and race toward the goal at the opposite end of the field. The fans in the stands, the coaches on the sidelines, and the other players fade to the background. My breath comes hard and fast before echoing in my ears. There’s a UNC girl flanking my side, looking for an opportunity to steal the ball.

  The game is tied, and it’s down to the wire. A kind of tunnel vision occurs, and my focus narrows on the opponent’s net. The goalie watches me with slitted eyes. She crouches, shifting her weight from side to side, waiting for me to make a move. Her gaze stays focused on my hips.

  It’s just like Shakira claimed in her song—hips don’t lie. Although, in this instance, it’s the hips that will tip her off as to which direction I’ll move in, where in the net I’ll try to place the ball.

  She knows it, and so do I.

  The player at my side pushes into me as she tries to take the ball. With a grunt, I elbow her away to get a little more room.

  It’s not going to be that easy, girlfriend. You’re good, but so am I.

  As I close in on the goal, she makes another attempt, and I decide that it’s now or never. I’m running out of time. If the buzzer rings before I get a kick off, the game will end in a tie, and that’s no good. In a nanosecond, I assess the situation and try to place the ball where it has the best chance of going into the net. Time slows as I pull my foot back and send the ball flying. The girl keeping pace with me attempts to stop it with her head but she’s a tick off, and it hurtles forward. The goalie springs into motion. With her arms outstretched, she sails gracefully through the air.

  My hands go to my head as I wait and watch. The goalie’s fingers graze the ball, but it’s not enough to stop the force of it from hitting the net. Time, once again, speeds up and the cheers from my teammates and the fans fill my ears, overloading my senses.

  Yes!

  We did it! We pulled off a win.

  I glance at the stands. Dad is on his feet, clapping and whistling. There’s a humongous grin stretched across his face. Rowan is next to him, also cheering. As our gazes lock and hold, something warm spreads unwantedly through my chest. I tell myself it has nothing to do with Rowan or the obvious pride on his face. But even I know it’s a lie. Without fail, the football player has attended every home game since freshman year. And, depending on where our away games are, he shows up for them as well. I’m sure he’s there because it’s another opportunity for him and Dad to discuss strategy on the football field. I don’t want to believe it has anything to do with me. If I did, I’d have no other choice but to acknowledge there’s something between us, and I’m nowhere near ready to do that.

  Eye contact is cut off as I’m swallowed up by my teammates, both the ones from the field and the ones from the bench. Twenty-five girls swarm me, patting me on the back as they jump up and down with excitement. There’s a jubilant feeling that permeates the air as we go through the line and shake hands with our opponents. A chorus of good game is repeated as we move down the field. Then we gather around Coach Adams for a brief talk before being released to the locker room to shower and change.

  With a whoop of excitement, Sydney jumps on my back and wraps her arms around my neck. “That last play was so awesome! You are so the freaking woman!”

  Giddiness bubbles up inside me. The adrenaline rush from a hard-fought win is like nothing else. Not even sex can top it.

  “Did you notice that the campus hunk was in the stands?”

  It would be impossible not to notice. There is an energy surrounding him that sets the fine hair on my arms on edge. Without searching him out, I would know he was there. That being said, there’s no way in hell I’ll admit that to Sydney.

  “I’m sorry, who are you talking about?”

  “Please girl,” she snickers, not fooled in the slightest by my nonchalant attitude. “Nice try.”

  I snort as the edges of my lips curl upward.

  She cranes her head. “I guess Justin put the final nail in his coffin by not showing, huh?”

  “The nail was already there. It’s better this way. I don’t want to feel bad about breaking things off.” I scour the stands one last time to make sure he didn’t show up late and notice that Ethan is sitting with a couple of other baseball guys.

  So much for study hours. It only reinforces my decision to cut him loose and move on.

  “You didn’t tell me that you worked everything out with Ethan.”

  “That’s because I didn’t.” All of her previous excitement drains away.

  “And yet he still showed up.” See? Now that’s a guy who is interested. One who takes the time out of his own busy schedule to support his girl.

  Sydney shrugs before glancing over her shoulder. “Yeah.” Her voice softens. “He did.”

  “That deserves a few brownie points in my book.” I wince and slam my mouth shut. What the hell am I doing? I shouldn’t be encouraging those two. They need to go their separate ways.

  “Maybe.”

  As I cart Sydney to the locker room, someone knocks into me from behind, and I
stagger a couple of steps before righting myself. With my roommate clinging to my back like a baby rhesus monkey, that could have ended disastrously.

  I stare at the leggy auburn-haired girl as she strides past us. Her lips curl with scorn.

  Annica.

  The junior soccer player has turned out to be a real pain in the ass. I’m unsure what happened for her to direct so much hate my way. When Annica came in as a freshman, I took her under my wing and mentored her. We got to know each other pretty well and spent a lot of time together. We’re both forwards, and for a while, we worked really well together. We were an unstoppable duo.

  Until we weren’t.

  I blinked, and suddenly everything was a competition both on and off the field. It’s gotten to the point of uncomfortableness. I’ve tried ignoring her, hoping she would grow up and realize we’re on the same team, but my silence has had the opposite effect and emboldened her.

  “Oops, sorry.” The smirk tells me that she’s not the least bit remorseful and her bumping into me wasn’t an accident.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Sydney snaps.

  As captain, I try to lead by example. That tactic hasn’t worked with Annica. She’s mistaken my silence for weakness. I’m not delusional enough to think that all twenty-six girls on this team will mesh, but we need to work together for the greater good. I’ve attempted to put the best interest of this team above my own personal feelings for any one individual.

  A couple of younger players flank Annica. I’ve noticed that she’s become the piped piper for the freshman and sophomore girls. It’s like she’s carefully gathering forces for a coup. Any day, they’ll come for me, and I’ll be beheaded.

  “Didn’t I tell you from day one that girl would be a problem?” Sydney mutters.

  It’s warily that I watch both her and her minions strut their stuff to the locker room. Even though it pains me to do so, I have to begrudgingly give Sydney credit where it’s due. She was spot on in her assessment. My bestie took an instant dislike to Annica and kept trying to tell me that the younger girl was playing me like a fiddle. I thought Sydney was paranoid (maybe a little jealous) and refused to listen.

  “Yup, you did.”

  “One of these days, you’re going to have to knock her down to size.”

  A sigh escapes from my lips with the realization that she’s not wrong. As much as I’m dreading a confrontation with the other girl, it’s been brewing for a while. And I can’t let it go much longer. Teams that are fractured from within don’t bring home championships.

  And this is my senior year. Maybe the last one I have to play soccer. So, coming in second or losing in the playoffs isn’t an option.

  We either get our shit together or we don’t bother at all.

  End of story.

  8

  Demi

  Sydney throws open the front door to the house and yells over her shoulder, “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

  There’s a massive off-campus party in full swing on Spring Street. It’s only one of many happening tonight. There are six players who live at this residence, including Rowan. This particular group of guys are well known for their out of control victory celebrations. I expect total craziness to ensue since the Wildcats football team crushed their opponents this afternoon on the field. It’s nine o’clock, and this place is already standing room only.

  Sydney throws her arm around my neck and pulls me close before blazing a trail through the thick crush of bodies. Music pumps, reverberating off the walls and inside my skull. People are drinking and laughing, cutting loose after a long week of classes.

  Not only is Western University renowned for its rigorous academics, it’s also known as one of the top party schools in the country. The students here like to blow off steam as much as they study. Maybe more so. I’ve never been much of a partier. As you might suspect, Sydney is more of a social butterfly than I am. She’s the one dragging me out most weekends. It’s not like I don’t enjoy going out, but I’m just as content to order a pizza and watch a movie in my pajamas.

  Maybe I’m too aware that most of the student body knows who I am, and my behavior is a direct reflection of my father. I make it a point to never get trashed or out of control. Those are the last things I need making its way around campus or getting back to Dad. Most of these kids don’t have to worry about their parents finding out about what they’re up to. They’re able to live by that old adage of—what happens at college, stays at college.

  Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for me. Dad is on campus as much as I am. Probably more. It’s easier for all concerned if I stay out of the limelight. I’ve gotten burned in the past when girls have gotten jealous and spread rumors that I was screwing around with some of the football players, which is precisely why I keep everything strictly platonic with them.

  In true Sydney fashion, she plows her way to the front of the beer line and grabs us two red cups of golden frothiness before shoving one in my hand. We tap the rims together.

  “Salut!” she says before rather impressively downing the entire container in one thirsty gulp.

  I raise my brows and take a dainty sip.

  “What?” She swipes the back of her hand across her lips. “It’s been one long-ass week.”

  Even though Ethan made a point of showing up at the game, Sydney still isn’t talking to him. We’ll have to see how this one plays out. Although, I have my suspicions as to what will transpire. These two are like Kourtney Kardashian and Scott Disick. They can’t be together, and yet they can’t be without one another.

  “I’ll be right back, I’m going to grab another one,” she says.

  As she turns away, I shout, “Hey, I don’t want to carry you home tonight. You’re like dead weight when you pass out.”

  She flashes a grin before returning in record speed. “I needed that first one to take the edge off.”

  Mission accomplished. The edge has clearly been taken off.

  When a song that has been playing all summer long comes on, Sydney whoops and throws her hand in the air before moving her body to the rhythm. Several guys in the vicinity take notice. Unable to resist joining her, I follow suit and let the beat flow through me. One song bleeds into another, and we dance in the tiny bit of space we’ve managed to carve out for ourselves. When a pair of male hands wrap around Sydney’s waist and spin her away, I peek around to view the culprit. Her shoulders tighten, and all the lightheartedness she had managed to find in the music drains away, leaving a pissed off Sydney in its place.

  I should have known...Ethan.

  “Can we talk?” His voice is barely audible over the chatter of people and music pumping around us.

  Emotion flickers over Sydney’s face before she shrugs. “Is there really anything for us to talk about?”

  It feels like we’ve reached the point in the evening where I should make myself scarce. I’m not looking to referee this conversation.

  Sorrow fills his eyes as his face falls. “I’m sorry, Syd. I was a jackass. I care about you, and I’m not ready for this to be over.”

  She takes a tentative step toward him before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re better off as friends. All we do is fight when we’re together.”

  The girl makes a valid point. He should really listen to her.

  “Yeah, I know. But I still want to make this work.” There’s a pause. “Don’t you? Don’t we owe it to ourselves to give this one last shot?”

  When she remains silent, he closes the distance between them before cupping her cheeks with his hands. Then he leans in and plants a kiss on her lips.

  If I know Sydney (and I do), she’ll react one of two ways. One, she’ll scratch his eyes out or two—

  She’ll melt beneath his hands, and they’ll start sucking face.

  When her mouth opens under the pressure of his, I know exactly how the rest of this night will go. And that’s with the two of them playing an intense game of
tonsil hockey while I stand around feeling like an awkward third wheel.

  Sydney tosses her empty cup over her shoulder before twining her arms around his shoulders. From somewhere behind her comes a disgruntled—hey!

  I take another sip of my now lukewarm drink and wince. Icy cold beer goes down a lot easier than room temperature hops and barley.

  Yuck.

  As I step away to give them a bit of much needed privacy—even though they’re making out in the middle of a crowded party—Ethan pulls away and stares at me with a dazed expression.

  “Ummm, Justin is around here somewhere.”

  Great. Exactly the person I wanted to contend with. This night has officially gone down the tubes. Justin and I haven’t spoken since he dropped me off Wednesday night. There’s been a text or two, but otherwise, we’ve both been busy.

  I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and point to nowhere in particular. “I guess that would be my cue to leave.”

  Ethan flashes me a lopsided grin before his lips return to Sydney’s. With one last look at the pair, I shake my head and take off. It’s even more jampacked than when we arrived an hour ago. People are crammed into the first floor of this house like sardines.

  As I move into the dining room, I notice a couple of guys from the football team. They wave me over, and since I have nothing better to do, I join their small group, relieved to find a few friendly faces in the crowd. Nothing says loser more than standing around by yourself in the middle of a rager.

  “Congrats on the win!” I shout to Brayden Kendricks before he pulls me in for a quick hug. I’ve known him since freshman year. He’s like a big brother to me. Even though he’s hot as hell, I’ve never felt anything more than friendship for him.

  He glances around before his gaze returns to mine. “What? No roommate? I was under the impression you two were surgically attached at the hip.”

  “She’s currently attached to someone else’s hip at the moment,” I joke.