Page 2 of Second Quarter Comeback
I stare at the top, then at her. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.” Her grin is triumphant. “Come on,Camille. Live a little. When was the last time you had sex?”
Before I moved to this dorm. Not that I’m keeping count or anything, but yeah, it’s been a while. Long enough that I’ve almost forgotten the specifics—the weight of Dev’s body against mine, hands exploring skin, the kind of kiss that makes you forget you need air. Do I miss it? Not really.
At least, I don’t think I do. I mean, the buildup was always better than the actual experience, and half the time, Devon either didn’t know what he was doing or cared more about his own performance than mine. So no, I’m not exactly pining for a repeat. Still, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I need to mix things up a little, shake off this semi-monastic routine.
With a sigh that I hope conveys extreme reluctance, I set my book aside and hold up the sparkly scrap of fabric. It’s tiny. It’s also . . . kind of cute. The way the glitter catches the light, I have to admit it would look good on me. I mean, I could rock it tonight. Why not try something new? What’s the worst that could happen? Scratch that. Don’t answer that.
Mom is always asking if I’m having fun in college. Her idea of fun is wildly different from mine, of course. She swears my roommate will become my BFFL, just like Aunt Rachel is to her. Zindy and I are such opposites I doubt we’ll talk to each other after we move out of this dorm. And just like that, Mom swears that I’llmeet the love of my life—but she said the same about Devon, so, you know . . .
Maybe going out just this once wouldn’t hurt.
“One hour,” I say, pointing a finger at Zindy. “That’s all you’re getting.”
She squeals, clapping her hands like a kid on Christmas morning. “You won’t regret this, Cami. I swear. Go shower. I’ll find the perfect outfit, and we’ll fix that fiery red hair. Tonight’s the night we find you a man.”
A man? I scoff, rolling my eyes, already dreading whatever disaster this will lead to. “God help me,” I mutter as I head to grab my toiletries.
With Zindy, it’s never just a night out. It’s a mission. And knowing her, this will end one of two ways: I’ll be holding her sequined top as evidence in a trial, or we’ll be googling how to dispose of a body. Honestly? I’m not sure which option terrifies me more.
Chapter Two
Killion
The Huddle Encounter
“I’m not going to miss this,” Lucian says, tossing a crumpled hoodie onto his bed. “Do you think our parents will let me declare for the draft sophomore year?”
No. Absolutely not. I barelygot away with declaring during my junior year—and that came with the condition I finish my degree online within the next four years. I’m still amazed our parents didn’t insist that I graduate before stepping anywhere near a professional field. Lucky me, I guess.
But Lucian? He’s dreaming. Our parents would rather eat glass than let him bolt after barely a year in college. Although, to be fair, they let Kaden, my twin, head to Canada at sixteen to start training. Meanwhile, I’ve been treated like the backup quarterback of our family—good enough to play, but only after the star gets his shot.
Okay, fine, I know why he got to leave. I’m the party guy. The one who’s raised more havoc than touchdowns. Maybe I wasn’t exactly a poster child for good decision-making, but I could’ve entered the draft sophomore year too.
Instead of launching into my usual rant, I lean back against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. The edge of the wood digs into my shoulder, but I’m too tired to care. My shoulders ache from drills, and my brain feels fried after another marathon training session with Dad. All I wanted tonight was to sit on the couch, watch something brainless, and not think about the next playbook.
“So why do we have to go to this party?” My voice comes out flat, edged with frustration. I shift my weight, rolling the stiffness out of my neck, but itdoesn’t help. “I just wanted one night to chill, Luc, not babysit you at some secret society kegger.”
I flick him a glance, hoping he’ll take the hint, but with Luc, it’s always a gamble. He just rolls his eyes, jamming a pack of gum into his pocket. “It’s not babysitting. It’s me letting you bask in my collegiate glory while you recover from Dad’s version of military boot camp.”
“Bask?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.
He spreads his arms wide, a grin plastered across his face like he’s unveiling the eighth wonder of the world. “Witness the future NFL star in his natural habitat. You, on the other hand, are going to be . . . average.”
Average? I can’t be fucking average. Not when I have to at least be as good as our father. Truth to be told the comparison with Dad is starting to wear me down. Maybe I should’ve chosen a different position—like Luc, who’s a running back with stats that made college scouts drool. His high school record? Impressive. His college stats? Even better.
So many teams in the league want him.
Mine? Well, mine aren’t bad. In fact, they’re solid. But being solid isn’t enough when your dad’s a legend. People don’t just watch me—they scrutinize me. Every pass, every play, every decision is measured against the great John Crawford, and I’m not even playing professionally yet. It’s like running a race with a shadow that’s always ten steps ahead, no matter how fast I go.
I groan, letting my head thump back against the wall. “Dad’s killing me, you know. Every day it’s ‘run this, throw that, now review game tape until your eyes bleed.’ When I agreed to skip the second half of junior year and train, I thought he’d ease me into it.”
Lucian snorts, grabbing his phone off the desk. “Ease you into it? It’s Dad. The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. He has two speeds: win or die trying.”
“Yeah, well, he’s killing me, Smalls,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m starting to think I made a mistake.”
Lucian grins, grabbing his keys with the kind of smug confidence only a younger brother can pull off. “Lucky for you, tonight’s your chance to forget all about it. One party. No football. Just hot girls, alcohol, and no Dad breathing down your neck. Let’s go.”
