Myeyesglazeoveras I stare at the face in front of me. The girl’s lips are moving, and she’s animatedly talking with her hands. Whatever she’s saying seems important to her; it must be, considering how wide her eyes are and how expressive she is. But I can’t say for sure. I’m not listening. Just like I hadn’t listened to the two girls who were standing here before her. I need an exit strategy, and fast. It’s not that she’s not attractive or interesting, because I’ve met her before and can confirm that she’s both of those things. I would have happily chatted to her all night if that’s all she wanted. But it’s not. That much is clear. And because of that, I need out.
I have a girlfriend. In fact, despite being a senior in college, a time when many seem to let loose, I’m rarely without one. It’s something I’m not ashamed to admit. I love being in a relationship. There are no games, no questioning what someone wants, no stress about when to call, what to say, who they’ve just been with. Okay, that last one was a little harsh, but you get the drift. The physical bonuses don’t hurt either. In fact, I’d say they’re pretty high on the relationship pros list. In summary, I’m a relationship guy, and I’m currently taken. Granted, this relationship is new, but it’s not a secret. Everyone knows I’m with Gemma, and yet, here we are.
I smile and refocus, so I can offer a polite excuse to leave. But before I get the chance to speak, her eyes drop to my lips as she seductively licks her own.Shit! Shit!
“What did you say?” I yell, to no one over her shoulder. “I can’t…” My eyes meet hers again, and I offer an apologetic smile. She pauses and looks around, a little flustered. “Sorry, I’m being summoned by the guys. It’s a boys’ night.” I shrug before walking away.
That was a close one. Was it a dick move? Yes, but it had to happen. I don’t know why I keep ending up in this situation in the first place. Actually, I can probably guess. First, through no fault of my own, I have a reputation as a player. How that happened when I’ve never once done anything to support that claim? Who knows. But I’d wager it might have something to do with two of my exes cheating on me and then both declaring I was to blame. And maybe I was, but not for reasons people assumed.
I myself have never cheated. I’ve also never confirmed or denied the rumors. Once I’ve moved on from someone, Imoveon. No use dwelling on the past and ending up with a he said, she said situation. Instead, I just let people believe what they want to believe. Which unfortunately leads people to assume that my being in a relationship doesn’t mean I’m off the market. And second, I’m too nice and always look for the good in people. I don’t see the situation until I’m already in it. Like now. And even though I just heard my name andassholeuttered under her breath, I still walk away with my head held high, knowing I saved her from embarrassment by not making a big deal out of what she was doing.Nice guy, right here.
It takes a ridiculously long time to get to my friends. There must be at least a hundred college students squashed into this place and all of them seem to know who I am, yet I couldn’t name ten percent if my life depended on it. I’m currently walking through Huntington House—or as we all call it, the Ball House. It would be better described as a manor over a house, because unlike most college student accommodations, this one has grounds with a large swimming pool, spa, and pool house. Not to mention a sweeping deck complete with daybeds, mood lighting, and well-maintained gardens. Who maintains them is anyone’s guess. The house itself is a huge red-brick structure with a dark pitched roof and obnoxious white pillars framing the entry from the floor to the second story. It doesn’t look like the home of a bunch of rowdy football players, but that’s exactly what it is. Some of my closest teammates live here, and tonight they’re throwing a party.
Speaking of teammates…they’re all staring at me as I approach. I was technically lying about the boys’ night, but since none of the girlfriends are here, it’s only a small fib. Even if itwasa boys’ night, they’d never stop me from hooking up.IfI wanted to. In fact, I’m going to guess that at some point one of them is going to say or do something to prove exactly why some girls still throw themselves at taken men.
“What is wrong with you, Mathers? That chick was hot and a sure thing,” Luke says with a look of pure astonishment.
And there it is.I thought I’d at least get a sip of my beer before it happened. “That might be true, but I’m with Gemma.”Information he knows.
“But Gemma’s missing in action,again,” he reminds me, like that’s a good enough reason.Douche.
It may not seem like it but Luke is actually a friend. He’s a good guy to have around but has no morals when it comes to women. He’ll learn the hard way, I’m sure. Unfortunately, he has one thing right. Gemma is MIA again. This isn’t her scene. She’s more of a quiet get-together type of girl. And if she was going to party, it definitely wouldn’t be at a huge college rager. Or any frat parties or sports team parties or…doesn’t matter. Point is, she doesn’t party. Surprisingly, her aversion to sports parties is something I like about her—that she’s not sports obsessed. Because let’s face it, a lot of girls want me ’cause they think I’ll make the big bucks as a pro football player. Like that’s all I’m good for. Yet, despite what many believe, itdoesn’tdefine me.
Anyway, I don’t hold the partying thing against Gemma at all, but it sucks because it means we’re rarely out together, thus creating the need for me to remind people. I’m. Not. Single.
“Wouldn’t matter if she was on-a-milk-carton level missing; she’s still my girlfriend,” I explain to Luke.
He laughs. “Whatever, man—let’s get drunk.”
That I can agree to. With only two weekends left before our training schedule ramps up, we are making the most of our freedom.
Discussion among the boys eventually moves away from my relationship status and turns to sports. We spend the next hour on that and other mindless chitchat, which finally allows me to relax and enjoy myself.
This,this,is why I’m here. I’ve spent too much time away from these boys. They’re my family, and I’m lucky they haven’t ditched my ass lately. I’m going to spend more time with them. I was kind of consumed by my last girlfriend—something I promised myself I’d try not to do again, and Gemma is very supportive of that.
To show just how dedicated I am to these guys, I offer to get the next round of drinks. Sure, they’re free, but it’s the thought that counts, and at least they don’t have to move from their seats.
As I pass the dance floor on my way to the bar, a petite hand locks onto my arm, stopping me in my tracks.Here we go again.
I turn around, ready to flick her away, but freeze when my eyes lock on the girl in front of me. I’m instantly drawn to her. She looks so familiar, and yet, I’m almost certain we’ve never met.
She’s devastatingly beautiful and difficult to turn away from. I say devastatingly, because she’s gazing up at me through long lashes with a look that tells me she could destroy me in a heartbeat. Her mesmerizing eyes hold the promise of ruin to anyone who dares to want her, while failing to hide a hint of insecurity, just enough to remind you that she, too, is breakable.
Wisps of her long blonde hair fall around her face, and it takes everything in my power not to reach over and play with the strands. She must have read my mind because she reaches up and brushes the locks behind her ear, providing me with an excuse to focus on her features, to take in her alluring soft-pink lips and the light dusting of freckles that cross her perfect little nose.
My heart picks up speed as I stare, that little flutter proving why I’m not a player. I’ve always needed tofeelsomething. Random hookups hold no interest to me. I want this feeling…crave it, even.Fuck! This is bad. Didn’t I just finish saying I was a good guy? I am. I am. She stands confidently in front of me while my mind is going crazy, trying to decide what I should say to her.
“So, are you?” she asks.
Huh?
“You’re on the football team, right?” she asks again, trying to coax an answer. I’ve heard this question multiple times tonight, and since it’s the worst pickup line ever, I usually nod and walk away, but in this case, I allow it. I’m about to answer when she adds, “So, you know Nate?”
Nate? She wants Nate.I inwardly deflate. Girls have been throwing themselves at me all night and now…not important.
“Sorry, I thought you were on the football team. Forget I asked,” she snaps when I still don’t answer.
Speak, dickhead.“Yep. Yes, sorry, I am. On the team. I’m on the football team. And you’re looking for Nate?”