Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
I spot both of my friends glancing at me, and slowly, I see that they know what I’m up to.
Coach Stokes glances at them.
“You two, too?”
“Yeah I could use a little help,” Anders nods.
“Same,” Carson mutters.
Coach nods. “Alright, done. I’ll talk to Principle Kane. I’m sure he’s got a list of people who can tut—”
“You know, we might actually know someone,” I say quickly.
“Oh?”
I nod. “Uh, yeah. Zara Bateman?”
Coach arches a brow. “The tuba player in the pep band?”
I nod. “Yeah. She’s a smart girl, and I think I heard she was looking for more resume-building stuff for college apps.”
Coach nods again. “Fine. Done. Set it up.” His brow furrows again. “But get your shit together on my field, gentlemen. I mean that.”
Outside Coach Stokes’s office in the locker room, we bump into Beckett, our star quarterback, on his way back to his locker from the showers.
“Hey, hang on.”
I groan. Fuck. Clearly, Beck’s noticed us slacking off too.
“Look, I’m not gonna ream you out like coach, but c’mon. What’s going on with you guys?”
Anders frowns. “Nothing man, just…”
He shakes his head, and Beckett arches a brow.
“What?”
Part of me thinks we probably could tell Beck about everything that’s going on—with Zara, and with the band—and he’d be cool with it so long as we stayed focused out on that field. But I don’t, obviously. He might be a great guy, but how the hell can you predict the way someone’s going to react when you tell them that you and your two best friends are sharing a girl?
“Sorry, man,” I growl.
“Listen, we got a shot at an all-division title this year, dudes. Let’s not fuck it up. Just focus.”
Focus. Right.
Except there’s two problems with that. For one, this idea of “focus” and “keeping my eye on the prize” has been drilled into my fucking skull by the Colonel since I was three. And by “the Colonel,” I mean my dad. I can thank the Army for that whole “stay focused” shit. The drive came from when he took over as CEO of a major Fortune 100 company. And, I mean, I get it. I get that my father like any father wants the best for his kids. I get that he thinks pushing me will make sure of that, and maybe it is. But “focus” isn’t my problem. My problem is, what I want to focus on is changing.
And now that Zara’s in the picture? Well, shit. Everything I know is upside down. Everyone wants me to focus? Yeah, focus is not my problem, believe me. But it’s not football I’m focusing on. It’s not even the band at this moment.
It’s her. She’s all I can focus on, actually. All I can think of is the way she felt, the way her lips tasted. The way I can’t fucking stop thinking about her. That voice, those eyes and that mischievous glint they get. Point is, Zara is entirely my focus right now.
…And I don’t know if I’d change that for anything.
****
Morning workouts and practices are brutal, but they do get you up and ready for the day. While some students are rolling out of bed and barely making it from their dorms to class, football has me up hours before class, and sharp. It’s a few hours after our reaming by coach when I spot Zara in the hallway between classes.
“Hey.”
I growl the word as I come up behind her, and she gasps as she whirls. A flush creeps over her face, and her teeth rake over her bottom lip. And fuck me is there something unbelievably hot about those glasses of hers. I step closer to her, and I can see her think about stepping back, but she doesn’t. And when I move even closer, until I’m basically looming over her, one hand above her against the lockers, her eyes just lock with mine as she blushes.
To anyone walking by in the busy hallway, I know what this looks like. I mean, it looks like we’re a couple. And I know that’s gonna turn some heads. I mean, varsity linebacker with the class band nerd? Not exactly what they’re expecting. But, screw it. Let them see me all but pinning her to the lockers like she’s mine.
“Bet people are looking at us.”
Zara grins, her face blooming pink.
“They very much are,” she whispers, biting at her bottom lip.
“Dumb football jock and the band geek? I mean, that’s gotta turn some heads.”
Her jaw drops in mock shock.
“Geek, huh?”
I grin. “I like that you’re a band geek.”
“And I like that you’re a dumb jock.”
I chuckle. “Ouch, darlin.”
Zara make a pouty face through her grin.
“Aww, poor baby.” She arches one brow, a fire suddenly burning into her gaze that gets my blood pumping. “Maybe I can make it up to you?”
The growl catches in my throat.