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“I didn’t say it like that.” Nicole tossed a throw pillow at her.

Bailey caught it against her chest, laughing. “You totally like him.”

“No I don’t.”

“It’s okay. Every woman in America would understand.”

“What about the girl who had her tongue in his mouth?”

Bailey waved that off. “What about her? They’re probably just hooking up. Everyone knows Drew doesn’t have a girlfriend. And nobody’s telling you to fall for him. Just, you know . . . have some fun.”

“I don’t even like white guys like that.” At least she hadn’t, before Drew. The first time she spotted him across the quad, she’d been straight-up mesmerized.

“Umm, hello. Brad Pitt is white, and you totally have a thing for him. Especially in Legends of the Fall. You’ve watched that movie, like, five times.”

“It was a good movie. And that’s different. He was playing a character. This is real life.”

Bailey let out a dramatic sigh. “So if Drew were a movie star, you’d have a crush on him, but since this is real life, you don’t?”

“Precisely.” It literally made no sense, but Nicole was sticking with it. “And he’s an athlete,” she added. “You know I don’t date athletes.”

Bailey stopped smiling. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know.”

Neither of them said anything for a second. Then Bailey reached for her glass. “So. What should I wear to the party?”

Chapter Three

This wasn’t how Homecoming was supposed to go, and Drew knew it. You picked the easiest game on the schedule, brought the alumni back to get drunk, and sent everybody home happy. For years, North Carolina State had been exactly that kind of opponent. This year, though, whatever the hell their coach was doing up in Raleigh had turned them into a team nobody could figure out how to stop.

All that film Drayton had watched that week hadn’t meant shit. So instead of sitting on a comfortable lead and running out the clock, he had six seconds, four points to make up, and twelve yards of grass between him and the end zone. Fourth down, too.

No pressure.

Drew pulled the huddle tight. Ten guys crowded around him with grass ground into their jerseys and sweat streaking their faces. They’d spent almost four quarters hitting and getting hit. One of his linemen had blood smeared across his chin. Another was breathing hard enough for Drew to hear him over the crowd.

They were tired, and so was he.

But every one of them was looking at him, waiting like they always did. Drew called the pass, then looked at Dayshawn. “If it breaks down, scramble drill. You know where to be.”

Dayshawn nodded once.

The huddle broke, and Drew walked up to the line, his cleats biting into turf that was chewed to hell by now. His mouth tasted like dirt, sweat, and whatever was left of his last swig of Gatorade.

North Carolina State had everybody crowded near the line of scrimmage. Their linebacker kept easing toward the middle. That told Drew everything. The guy was coming straight for him the second the ball moved, and that kind of shit never got past him. He’d been reading defenses since he was a kid on a beat-up field in Boston, back when the ball was almost too big for his hands and his old man watched every throw from the sideline.

Drew got under center. Eighty thousand people were on their feet screaming. He shut all of it out—the crowd, the sun beating down, the heat rising off the field, and the fact that if he fucked this up, everybody would remember it. What was left was twelve yards, a linebacker with his weight on his front foot, and the count in Drew’s head.

“Blue forty-two! Blue forty-two! Hike!”

The ball hit Drew’s hands, and everything came apart at once. His line dropped into pass protection, but North Carolina State had sent more men than Drayton could block. The linebacker shot through the middle untouched, exactly where Drew knew he’d be, and the pocket collapsed before he could even settle into it.

He spun left before the linebacker could bury him, keeping his eyes downfield as he rolled toward the sideline. A cornerback had his first read covered. His second read had nowhere to go. The play they’d drawn up was dead, but busted plays were where Drew did his best work.

Another defender came off the edge to cut him off. Drew planted and darted back inside, buying himself half a second, maybe less. He brought the ball back up and searched the end zone.

It was a damn mess down there. Navy and white jerseys tangled together, everybody fighting for space that wasn’t there. Where are you, Dayshawn?

Dayshawn broke for the back corner, one step ahead of the guy covering him. Drew set his feet and threw. The ball left his hand a fraction of a second before a big-as-shit defensive end drove his shoulder into Drew’s ribs and lifted him clean off the ground. Up in the air, Drew was sure he’d waited too long. Then he came down on his back with the air knocked out of him and nothing above him but sky.