Page 142 of Promise Me Not

Which is why all fuck ton of us, even the guys who have yet to touch a toe to the turf come game days, stood half-fucking-naked in a line half a mile long, waiting for our turn to step in front of the lens.Herlens.

I was in the first flow, Brady and Chase right along with me, being that we’re starters, but that also meant we were in and out the quickest, the sheer number of athletes overwhelming to look at, even for the rest of the camera and lights crew.

We were brought in, twisted and turned, and shuffled out in an all-business fashion that sent pride through my veins. Because damn, she looks good in her element. Moving and directing and demanding. It’s a side of her I haven’t quite seen, a new, more polished version of the little photographer I met on the beach a year and a half ago. That internship is helping her find her way, and man, if there isn’t a brighter blue shining in her eyes because of it.

Of course, after I was done, I had to stick around. Just in case.

So for the last two hours, I’ve been leaning against the wall not ten feet from the makeshift photo booth, just…watching. Maybe waiting.

Swear to god, if I hear one more son of a bitch comment on her hair, I’m going to shave theirs in the locker room.

My eyes cut to the black curtain ten feet away, a glimpse of her strawberry-golden hair shining through the crack, and my lungs inflate. Her hair is gorgeous, though. It looks like she might have cut it a little, something I noticed the minute I walked in this morning but didn’t catch yesterday, since her hair was pulled back in a bun. Not much, maybe just the length of my pinkie, but I won’t know for sure until I have it in my hands, testing the length I’ve become accustomed to.

As soon as the thought hits, it bursts into a cloud of dust, leaving me coughing.

I won’t get to run my fingers through the length of her curls this time. No, this time, her trip will play out a lot differently. She won’t be coming back with me or inviting me back with her.

“Hey.” A soft voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look over to find Allana.

“Hey.” I offer a polite smile. “How are you?”

“Fine. Um, listen.” She wrings her hands together, eyes bouncing to where the team is lined up and back. “Can I talk to you a minute? Outside?”

A small frown builds, and I look toward Payton. “Can you maybe talk here?” I ask, unsure what we could have to talk about that would require privacy and unwilling to give it. I can’t leave Payton in here with all these assholes.

“Listen, I just want you to know that?—”

“I don’t know. She’s a little thick for my taste.”

Whatever she says falls flat on my ears at the very loud and purposeful comment. My head snaps forward, narrowing in on the back of Alister Howl’s dumbass head, his Ken doll hair sticking out under a hat like he just stepped off the baseball field, not a hundred-yard stretch of green. And yeah, I realize that sounds fucking dumb, but I don’t care. He looks like a fool, and I can’t stand him or his all-American act.

He’s always on me, and I know he’s only speaking because he knows I can hear him.

He’s seen me with her.

The motherfuckerknows.

And he proves this when he glances this way, glaring from Allana to me as he adds, “But hey, if she’s good enough for one quarterback, she’s good enough for another, right?”

I dart forward, shove by a few, and yank on the bill of his stupid-ass Dodgers hat and tug until he’s tripping over his own feet, landing on his ass.

He looks up from the floor, the others around laughing and talking shit, but he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t even glare. He grins, lifting his hands in mock innocence.

“My bad, Johnson.” That grin grows, but there’s something underneath it. A twisted sort of hate he’s carried since he stepped foot on this field this summer. “Forgot you got a thing for blonds, don’t you?” The last words leave him on a snarl.

“Watch your tongue, asshole. Don’t test me. Not here.”Not with her.

Now he does glare, his lips curling as he hops up and presses his chest to mine. “I should ruin this for you. I could, right here, right now.”

I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and I don’t care. I push forward. “You could try.”

He opens his mouth, but Coach appears with a clipboard, and what do you know, his name is called to the curtain.

He shoves me with his shoulder on his way by, and Coach raises a brow, but I only shake my head.

The dude is a punk with a stick up his ass, so who the fuck knows what his issue is.

He steps into the space with Payton, turns, and looks me straight in the eye, and then he closes the curtain completely, erasing the sliver of sight I had.

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