Page 69 of The Wrong Quarterback

“End game,” I breathed, trying to ignore the part in my soul that wanted so badly to believe him. That was just the desperate girl inside me that had lost the one person who’d ever cared about her, and who’d been betrayed by someone she’d loved after that.

That’s all this was.

He released me, stepping back and allowing me to fix my clothes.

I stalked off toward the stairs, and he grabbed my hand before I could go far.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he led me forward, keeping my hand firmly grasped in his.

“Showing you how it’s going to be from now on,” he said in a calm, level voice as he led me down one row and then another, before we got to the stairs.

“Everyone’s going to be looking,” I said quietly, and he grinned back at me over his shoulder.

“That’s what I’m counting on, Casey,” he responded.

And I didn’t have anything to say after that.

Parker held my hand the entire way back to the table, smiling and saying hello to people as if this was all normal. They gaped at us, their eyes locked on where he was gripping my hand. Hebriefly let me go so I could gather up my things, and then he grabbed my bag, hoisting it over his shoulders as he took my hand once again.

He didn’t try to talk to me as he walked me to my dorm. He led me straight to my door, where he watched as I got out my key and unlocked the door as quietly as I could. Nat had texted me she was going to bed, as it had gotten late.

“I’ll see you first thing in the morning, baby,” he purred, all smiles and hotness as he cradled my face and gave me the kind of kiss that had me wanting him on his knees once again.

It was only later, when I was in bed, reliving every touch, every kiss, everything—as Nat snored softly across the room—that I realized I’d never told him where my dorm room was.

That thought quickly faded, though, in the face of everything that had happened that day, and I slipped into sleep with an actual smile on my lips.

I didn’t think of Gray even once.

PARKER

The door closed behind Casey as she slipped into her room, and I stood there for a couple of minutes afterwards, just staring at the door. Like if I stared long enough, she’d open it back up.

It was all I could do to force myself to eventually start walking down the hallway…to force myself to walk home. It felt wrong to be anywhere without her.

I’d never thought of myself as having an addictive personality, but it was official. I was addicted to Casey Larsen.

I was also…probably never going to wash my face again.

Breathing in, my eyes rolled back as I caught her smell. I used to think it was ridiculous when guys talked about a girl tasting good. I didn’t mind going down on a chick, but I’d never considered it agood time. It had always been a means to an end in order to get what I wanted.

But I got the hype now. I fucking got the hype.

I was convinced that there was nothing on earth that tasted as good as Casey’s cunt.

The second I stepped out of her dorm, I couldn’t hold it in. I let out a loud whoop, throwing my fist up in the air, not caring who might be watching. Let them look. I felt deranged…insane, and I didn’t care one bit. The grin on my face stretched wide, muscles aching with the kind of happiness I didn’t know you could feel.

This was it. This was what I’d been obsessing about since the moment I’d first seen her in class.

And now I wanted more. I wanted her by my side, in my truck, in my jersey, in my bed, on my dick…I wanted to never be without her. The logistics of that would be difficult, but I’d always liked a challenge.

Every little thing about her was under my skin, from that shy smile to the way her eyes told me everything she was feeling. Fuck. I couldn’t think of anything else that mattered anymore. Everything I did was a means to an end to make her happy, to help build this thing I wanted more than anything else. Every step I took was light, charged, like I had a live wire running through me. I wanted to text her already, just to keep some connection going, as if being with her for hours today wasn’t enough.

I plotted out my day tomorrow, groaning when I remembered practice—the last one before Saturday’s game.

That was another thing I had to plan, making sure Casey was front and center in the stands.

I didn’t want to have to wonder where she was in the crowd. I wanted to be able to look over and see her, to make sure she would know that every great play was because of her.

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