Page 1 of On His Team

Chapter 1

GIANNA

Mara is gesturing to pour tequila into my mouth from three feet away.

She has the bottle up over her head with both hands like she’s making an offering to something, and her hips are going left, right, left, completely off the beat of whatever Stanley’s speaker is playing. She keeps closing the distance on me an inch at a time like I’m not going to notice.

“Absolutely not,” I say.

“Coward.”

I scoff. “I’m wearing white.”

She raises the bottle higher.

I point down at my shirt, which is white and expensive. “Mara.”

“Open up,” she sings.

“No.”

She lunges.

I scream and twist away from her. My sock slips on the floor, my knee catches the edge of the coffee table hard, and the room tips sideways in this long slow way that has nothing to do with physics and everything to do with the four drinks I’ve had since eight o’clock.

Then somebody catches the back of my shirt.

“Jesus Christ.” Rowan pulls me upright with one hand.

He doesn’t stand up to do it. He doesn’t put down his water. He just fists the back of my shirt, and my feet find the floor again. I grab his forearm until the walls agree to stay where they are. His arm is very warm.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

I let go.

Mara is laughing so hard she has the tequila pressed to her chest with both arms, like it’s a baby.

“You almost killed her,” Rowan tells her.

“She moved.”

“I was avoiding being waterboarded.”

“With tequila,” Mara corrects.

“Worse.”

Rowan lets go of my shirt.

He’s sitting on the floor against the couch because apparently every piece of furniture in Hawthorne House has been claimed by somebody in a relationship. One knee is bent, a bottle of water hooked loosely in his hand, his hair still damp from the shower he took after practice.

I stare at him for maybe half a second too long.

Which is unfortunate.

I used to have a crush on Rowan Laurens.