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Over the months, those laps have dwindled. All the guys I hang out with are now involved in committed relationships. They don’t look twice at the jersey chasers who attempt to catch their attention.
As soon as that thought pops into my brain, an image of Lola swiftly follows.
I woke up the other day, rolled over, ready to put my morning wood to good use, only to discover that she’d taken off. Nothing deflates an erection quicker than realizing the girl you took to bed the night before couldn’t escape from you fast enough. Even though I’ve tried to shrug it off, it still pricks my pride.
I’m going to be perfectly candid here—normally I have to kick chicks out of my bed after we sleep together. Not a single one has ever run away at the crack of dawn.
Hell, she probably sprinted.
Know what annoys me even more than that?
She’s ignoring my texts and calls.
Can you believe that shit?
It’s been days since I last saw her. I’m embarrassed to admit that my head is on a constant swivel, searching campus for even a glimpse of her. So far, she’s remained elusive. It’s like she’s deliberately going out of her way to avoid me.
It took a handful of texts before I realized she wasn’t going to return my messages. As amazing as the sex had been, I wouldn’t have slept with her if I’d known she would ice me out of her life.
And isn’t that a kick in the balls.
Trust me, I’ve considered hauling ass to Taco Loco and demanding answers, but that seems slightly…desperate.
All right, maybe more than slightly.
Fuck…this girl makes me feel like a needy bitch, and I don’t like it. Not one damn bit. If she isn’t interested, there’s not a lot I can do about it.
If I were smart, I’d evict her from my brain. And the best way to do that is to hook up with someone else. There are plenty of girls at Western who are interested in sleeping with yours truly and won’t gnaw off their own arm to escape my evil clutches.
I glance at the available females fluttering around our table. We’re talking gorgeous girls, wearing lowcut tops that cling to their curves like a second skin.
Unfortunately, none of them are doing anything for me.
There’s absolutely no movement south of the border.
It’s almost disturbing.
Except…all I have to do is think about Lola spread out on my bed like a goddamn feast and I get a raging boner.
Here’s the other issue—it’s not just about the sex. I’m genuinely concerned about her. I need to know she’s all right. Has she been tested yet? Is her mom okay? Is she getting enough sleep? Or making sure to eat three squares a day? Because sometimes she forgets.
Like, how the hell do you forget something like that?
It’s beyond me. If I’m not thinking about football or sex, my mind is on food.
All this churns through my head as I settle at the far end of the table next to Crosby and Brooke. Of course, these two are making googly eyes at each other. Who would have ever believed there was a time in the not-so-distant past when they couldn’t stand the sight of one another?
When he snakes his hand around her neck and tugs her close for a kiss, I grumble, “Is it possible for you two to keep your hands to yourselves for five damn minutes? We’re all trying to eat here.”
Brooke’s cheeks go up in flames as a slow smirk settles on Crosby’s face.
“Looks like someone’s in a shit mood,” he says, voice filled with glee.
I shoot him a hard glare. Apparently, we traded dispositions when I wasn’t looking. He’s always been a surly motherfucker, but his temperament has mellowed since he got together with Brooke.
Ignoring his inquisitive stare, I unwrap my burger before taking a massive bite. As I chew, Demi settles across from me with her tray of healthier options. Rowan follows, dropping down beside her. Wherever Demi goes, Rowan is sure to follow. It was obvious to most of us from day one that our QB had feelings for the head coach’s daughter.
Just as I swallow down the masticated meat and bun, Demi asks, “What’s up with you and Lola?”
When I pause, a piece of beef gets lodged in my airways. Tears sting my eyes as I cough and splutter before eventually choking it down. “Excuse me?”
She arches a brow. “You heard me. I want to know what’s going on with you two.”
I pound a fist against my chest before taking a gulp of Gatorade to wash it down.
When I’m finally able to form words, I ask, “What makes you think something’s going on?”
Her narrowed gaze pins mine in place until I’m shifting on my chair. Just to be clear, Demi probably weighs half as much as I do. It’s not like I’m afraid of her.
