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And my inevitable capitulation when he told me to get on my knees again.

I wasn’t sure yet how I wanted to proceed. Correction: how I should proceed. Because I was pretty damned sure what I wanted. And I wasn’t really okay with it.

By Monday afternoon, I’d run out of excuses to stay away. I only had a couple of hours of practice before I’d finally be forced to face him.

My face felt like it was on fire as the memories from two nights ago refused to stop their endless scroll. Unlike some of my teammates, I’d never been disgusted by the idea of kissing a guy or being with a guy. I just hadn’t been interested in it either.

Until Elliot Vaughn had started taunting me from the other side of our room. Until he’d started making me think about what it would be like to take the place of any of his many sexual partners.

Why the fuck did it have to be him? What was it about him that suddenly made my broken sex drive perk right the fuck up and beg for attention?

He was good-looking, sure. There was no doubt about that. Many women on campus had thought he was sexy in a bad-boy kind of way.

And the man knew how to fuck. I’d listened to him make enough people come by now to know it wasn’t an exaggerated rumor, and now I could confirm from personal experience. I’d never had an orgasm like that. Had never even known that kind of sensation was even possible during sex.

This was what epic poetry was written about. What heart-pounding songs were sung about. And I wanted more of it.

I wanted Elliot Vaughn to want me. I wanted him to be just as distracted and uncomfortable as I was. As obsessed as I was.

Which wasn’t possible. The only thing he cared about enough to be considered an obsession was his sister. He was so protective of her, it had become campus lore, especially in pre-law circles. Or possibly his bike. Or⁠—

“McNeely!” Coach Keller barked from a few feet away. “Feel free to join us at any time!”

My attention snapped back to the field, where the protection unit was waiting for the hash progression drill. Ever since the bar fight this summer, the head coach had been acting like I was a problem child. I hated giving him any evidence to support it when I already couldn’t give him the full explanation to defend myself about the fight itself. “Yes, Coach.”

When I got closer to the spot where my kicking coach was waiting, he piled on, too. “Left hash, thirty yards. Let’s go, or you’re asking for a fatigue kick drill, so help me.”

“Yes, Coach,” I murmured again, moving over to pace out the spot while avoiding the narrowed eyes of the teammates who’d been waiting on me to get my head out of my ass.

After missing the forty-five from the left hash, the kicking coach decided to run me into a fatigue kick drill anyway. “Might as well do it on a Monday and give you time to recover,” he said before tilting his head toward the exercise bike on the sideline. “Start with some sprints, then move on to squats.”

I bit back a curse and went into it with clenched teeth. Sure enough, I was barely able to make it back to the locker room, much less my dorm. My legs were noodles, and my hands were shaky from hunger. There was no way I’d make it up the stairs to the athletic dining room under my own power, especially after the time I still needed to spend with the athletic trainers.

This time last year, it wouldn’t have been a problem. I’d have opened an app on my phone and ordered whatever the fuck I wanted delivered right to my door. But I didn’t have any money for takeout, much less delivery, which meant I’d have to settle for protein shakes in the room.

Garrett and Marcus hadn’t even bothered to stick around. They’d been obnoxiously distant during the entire practice, which… whatever. I kind of understood why they did it. I’d lived with the man for twenty-one years, and I knew better than anyone how impossible it was to stand up to my father.

But there was a new voice in my head that suggested maybe I didn’t need to have people in my life who weren’t honest or loyal. Maybe I… deserved better than that.

I showered and threw on shorts and a T-shirt before closing my eyes and trying to get up the strength to push up off the bench.

“Yo, McNeely,” someone called with a laugh. “You gonna make it, bro?”

I didn’t even look up, only shot them the bird and tried to smirk. In reality, I was falling into a pity party. Being a kicker was isolating. For the most part, I practiced separately, worked out differently, and was seen as a prima donna who rarely experienced violence or injuries on the field. The number of times I’d heard “must be nice” muttered in my direction was astronomical.

Usually, I kind of enjoyed the solitude. I loved kicking more than I even loved the game. The power, the precision, the follow-through.

The high of success.

But today, when I was still feeling betrayed by my friends, ignored by my parents, and confused about my feelings toward my provoking roommate, I was riding the rough edge of loneliness.

And I fucking hated it.

I rubbed my face with my hands and rallied, shoving myself off the bench and ignoring my screaming quads and glutes. For once, I was glad I only needed to make it back to Whitman and not all the way over to Calhoun Street. I grabbed my bag and began to walk, remembering there was a student dining room between here and Whitman. As long as I didn’t have to do stairs, I could eat there on the student meal plan.

As soon as I stepped into the dining hall, trying my hardest not to be recognized by anyone I knew for eating in the fucking cafeteria, I spotted Grace Vaughn. Her shiny brown hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she tapped her finger against her water bottle the same way I’d seen Vaughn do in the past when he was frustrated while studying. Her skin was soft and pale, without Vaughn’s ink running through it. She was definitely attractive, but not in the ridiculous way her brother was. He had the kind of beauty that made people stupid.

She frowned at the screen of her laptop, where I spotted the familiar LSAC dashboard.