Page 5

I’d been expecting him to jump out of bed and start squawking, but he’d held still. Like nothing in the world rattled him. Same way he held himself on the field during clutch time.

I’d seen him play once. Whole stadium losing its mind over a field goal.

And, yeah, fine. It had been a stupid-good kick. Ball spotted at the thirty-seven for a fifty-four-yard attempt against Demere’s biggest rival. Wind cutting sideways, bringing in frigid hints of winter late in the season. Crowd screaming, game tied.

Plenty of college kickers caved under that kind of pressure. McNeely hadn’t even looked nervous. He never did.

He was all long legs and balance. Controlled. Precise. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t rush. Like pressure wouldn’t dare touch him.

I wanted to see what happened when something finally shook him.

And, not gonna lie, I wanted to be the one who did the shaking.

My whole college career, I’d done my part to help Dalton help us, while keeping Grace well away from it all. I’d spent my days studying my ass off, my mornings and evenings at the gym, my weekends working in Dalton’s auto shop, and my Friday nights getting pummeled—at least until I learned to do the pummeling—while spectators cheered.

Now I was down to the final year of school. Gracie and I would get our degrees. I’d get a job. And I’d make sure she went to law school, even if I had to fork over every dime of my salary to pay for it. But for the first time I could remember, there was something I wanted just for me. Something I was going to let myself have.

And that something was Bett McNeely.

I was going to get under his skin. Get in his head. Fuck up his focus. Crack the shell of polite civility that protected him. And bring the asshole to his knees.

My opening salvo tonight hadn’t worked. So I’d up my game.

All those Fridays in the cage had taught me that the cockier they are, the harder they fall.

As I returned to my room, my rage amped further, making me bang my way in without a single fucking care about waking the pretty boy from his beauty rest.

I made a point of kicking the half-empty box of shit I’d brought from home while feeling around for my toiletry kit. When I couldn’t find it by feel, I flicked on the bedside lamp.

“Jesus fuck,” he snapped. “What’s wrong with you?”

His annoyance was like a drug.

I flashed him a grin. “Gotta find my toothbrush if you want a proper kiss good night, babygirl.”

His jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed before he grappled for something on his bedside table and threw it at me. “Fuck off, asshole!”

I ducked the projectile, noticing belatedly it was a metal water bottle. It clanged so loudly on the wooden footboard of my bed, the sound almost made me jump.

“Oooh. Little kitten has claws,” I murmured, not bothering to hold back a laugh.

“Turn off the fucking light.”

His dirty-blond hair was messy, and his hazel eyes narrowed in anger. The tiny line of a tattoo, mostly hidden by the band of his underwear, caught my attention the way it always did whenever I caught him just out of the shower or quickly changing. That intricate ink was the one aspect of the pretty boy that didn’t really seem to fit his perfect image. Maybe that was why he’d picked a spot on his body few people would ever see.

The design was a swirl of leaves and flowers. But there were chains and thorns mixed in. He’d probably found inspiration for it on fucking Pinterest or some shit.

I finally found my toiletry kit and yanked it out of the box. Whitman was an old-school dorm—no private bathroom, just a weird-ass sink in the corner of our room, and toilets and showers down the hall. I was a whole lot more fond of it now.

I yanked my shirt off and started brushing my teeth like I hadn’t heard him. When the heat of his glare seared my back, I flexed, knowing it would make the ink on my back ripple.

McNeely wasn’t the only person who trained hard and lifted heavy. The difference was, he did it for praise and fame. I did it to keep from getting my ass kicked.

He screamed a curse into his pillow before shifting loudly in his bed. “Fuck! I need sleep, asshole. Turn out the fucking light.”

I turned to face him, but his back was to me, his head buried under a pillow. My eyes roved over his wide, bare shoulders. When I’d been in the room earlier with Sarah… or whatever her name was… he’d had a T-shirt on. I remembered because it had some charity shit on it about loaves and fishes. Probably something his perky girlfriend made him do for her daddy’s church.

I continued to brush my teeth lazily, leaning my ass on the counter. “Why are you even here? I thought dear old dad would have put you up in a swanky apartment or one of the frat houses.”