Page 16 of How to Score Off Field

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I can’t help it if word spreads.”

Shit.

Do I seriously want to be here when this party gets busted?

Because it’s going to, and I’ll be standing here with my hand on my dick as the cops bust us for having too many people at Grady’s house while families in the neighborhood try to sleep and relax at home.

He eyeballs me. “You sound like someone’s mama. You really did need a break, bro.”

He’s not wrong. On either count.

Honest to God there are people everywhere, none of whom I know besides Lucas, Debts—one of our high school buddies who play football in Kentucky—his girlfriend, Deb, and like four other people.

Plus Tess.

I haven’t seen her yet, but her best friend, Miranda, came up and introduced herself the minute they walked through the door. She welcomed me to town, said she’d heard a lot about me, and couldn’t wait for the bachelorette party tomorrow night.

The guy with her? Looks as if he were auditioning for a punk metal band after party; like he hangs out in dark basements and does dungeon tours on the weekends.

But I digress.

Plunking the keg down, I wipe my hands on the palm of my jeans, adjusting it so it’s in a secure spot and not going to roll back down the steps should someone bump or stumble into it.

Grady adds the hose spigot gadget, and we’re off to the races.

When I straighten, my hands get stuffed in my pockets.

Somewhere inside the house, the music gets kicked on. It’s country, of course, since we are in the South. I don’t know a single soul who listens to anything else, if you don’t count that heavy-metal-looking dude, but I don’t think he’s from here.

I reach for a plastic cup and pour myself a beer.

I’m standing around in the same position, wondering why the hell I’m still standing in the same place when I should be mingling and talking to people I used to know. I should be laughing and whooping it up. I am by no means shy, nor am I a wallflower. But for whatever reason, I’m not drawn to socializing at the moment and just content to observe.

I’m on my second beer when Tess approaches the keg empty-handed. It takes me a few seconds for my brain to register that it’s her. The hair she had up in a ponytail is down, falling into long, dark waves around her shoulders.

She lifts a hand and tucks a strand behind her ear, and I notice she’s wearing large gold hoop earrings that catch the light. Not a lot of makeup, but her lashes are long and inky black and her cheeks are rosy. Glossy, plump lips.

Tess is much taller than I remember her being when we were younger, and I look down to see that she’s not wearing high heels. She’s wearing flip-flops, and her toes are painted bright pink.

She catches me looking and wiggles them.

“Hey, stranger,” she says with a smile. “Come here often?”

It’s a classic pickup line everyone is familiar with. Although I know Tess is just being friendly and not flirting.

At least I don’t think she’s flirting with me. It’s hard to tell by the pleasant expression on her pretty face.

There, I said it. Tess is pretty.

My friend’s little sister isrealpretty.

“I donotcome here often.” I laugh because we both know I haven’t been home since our Christmas break, which was less than thirty-six hours since we played in the Tortilla Bowl, a game in sunny Arizona. “Would you like a beer?”

She nods with a wry smile. “It’s not my favorite, but if it’s all my brother has to offer, sure. I’ll take a beer.”

“It is all he has to offer.” I laugh again, reaching for the hose or spigot or whatever you wanna call it.

“I think the budget for this gathering was nonexistent,” Tess provides as she takes the red plastic cup from my hand.

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