Page 11 of First Down

“You have five minutes,” I tell him. “I’m waiting in the car.”

When Coop retreats to his room, Seb doubles over in laughter, shaking water droplets everywhere. “Hate living with us yet?”

“Nah, you know I love you both. I missed you when I was down in Louisiana.”

In the week or so since I moved in—specifically into the owner’s suite of this house, thank you very much—I’ve made myself at home when I haven’t been busy with football practice. I missed living with my brothers. Even though we’ve always been busy with our season schedules, living together meant we’d see each other at least some of the time. Sometimes that meant saying hi to Coop as I arrived home from practice and he was just heading out to the rink, or catching the end of one of Seb’s games after a training session. We’ve had breaks and summers since college began, but the past few years I’ve been lonelier than I’d be willing to admit aloud. I had friends at LSU, good teammates, but I’ve always been closest with my family. My parents, who are both amazing people. Coop and Seb, even when they’re being terrors. And Izzy, the best little sister a guy could ask for. Getting to live with my brothers for one last year before I graduate and go off to some city, who knows which one, to play in the NFL, is a gift.

Seb smiles. He might not be a Callahan by blood, but he’s got a smile that fits right in. A little bit of the Callahan charm. “I missed you too. Good luck today, kick butt with the class.”

I scowl as I head downstairs. “If I survive, that is.”

Coop dashes down the stairs, his Nike backpack slung over one shoulder. He shoves his feet into his sandals and follows me out the door to my car, rubbing his eyes all the while.

“What class do you have again?” I ask as I pull out of the driveway.

He steals a sip of my coffee. I throw him an outraged glance, but he just shrugs and says, “Hey, you didn’t give me time to make a cup.”

“Which brings me back to my question. Are you late to class every day?”

“Don’t tell the folks. And the class is Russian lit.”

I whistle. “That sounds hard.”

He looks glum. “Tell me about it. I kick myself every day for choosing this stupid major.”

When Dad talked Cooper out of entering the NHL draft at eighteen so he could have a guaranteed four seasons in the NCAA, Cooper tried to get back at him by picking the least practical major he could think of—English. He likes to read, so it makes sense, but he seriously underestimated all the work that would go into it, a fact that never fails to make Seb burst out laughing like a hyena.

“Maybe you’ll have something in common with Nikolai, finally.”

Nikolai Volkov is Coop’s nemesis. The son of a Russian hockey powerhouse, he’s the star of McKee hockey’s biggest rival, UMass Amherst. Coop hates him, mostly for his dirty style of play, which is hilarious considering Coop spends time in the sin bin every game. I don’t know the ins and outs of hockey the way he does, but I’m pretty sure avoiding penalties is a priority like it is in football.

“Ha ha. I don’t think so.”

Our off-campus house is in Moorbridge, the town that entwines around McKee’s sprawling campus, so fortunately we get where we need to be quickly. I drop Cooper off at his buildingand make the short drive over to mine. I have five minutes before my butt needs to be in a chair, surrounded by freshmen.

Ugh.

I park in the nearest student lot and run over to the building. If I’m going to manage to wrangle a Pass out of this class, I need to make a good first impression.

I find the right room and ease the door open. Crap, this class is way smaller than I was expecting. McKee really does take the whole professor-to-student ratio seriously, I guess.

I sneak to the back, where a girl sits alone, head bent over what must be the syllabus.

When I’m about a foot from her, I freeze. That’s her. Little Miss Angel. Fucking kissed me better than anyone in my life and then left like we hadn’t just sparked like lightning.

Not to mention she’s Darryl’s ex. The very one I told him to treat with respect, oh, an hour before she kissed me. After she fled the party, Darryl got in my face about the kiss, but fortunately he believed me when I said I didn’t know who the hell she was. I still don’t, really, just that her name is Beckett, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and she kisses like the world is burning down around her.

Oh, and she’s off-limits.

She can’t possibly be a freshman, so what is she doing here?

I sit down next to her. She smells nice, like vanilla and maybe something floral. And she’s very studiously highlighting parts of the syllabus. Since I don’t have one, I say, “Got an extra copy of that?”

The professor, an older-looking man with gold-rimmed glasses, stops his droning. He clears his throat as he glances down at a stack of papers. “Mr. Callahan?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

The professor keeps his gaze on me as he talks. “Students, please make note of the start time for this class once more. 8:30, not 9. It will benefit your academic career not to be late to class. Other professors may not be so... accommodating.”

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