“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”
I ducked out of the way just in time to dodge a beer funnel being lifted up over my head, but didn’t move in enough time to escape the driblets that slopped over the edge of it. Beer spritzed into my hair and on my shoulders, and Clay laughed at my expression of horror before grabbing my shoulders and guiding me off to the side.
The Snake Pit, as Clay had called it, was a large house in a surprisingly nice neighborhood that was currently dark, loud, and crawling with NBU students. A DJ spun popular tracks in the main living room, the old couches with torn cushions pushed off to the sides to make way for a giant dance floor. Lights flared and flashed all colors of the rainbow around the scene, girls dancing and guys trying to find a way to join them.
“I love her outfit!” I yelled over the music to Clay, pointing toward a girl in the middle of the dance floor. She wore a white top that criss-crossed over her slight cleavage, accentuating her toned stomach and paired with shorts that did her already lean legs a favor. Her hair was long and curled down her back, makeup like that of a movie star.
“That’s Olivia Bradford,” Clay yelled back.
“Bradford?” My eyes shot open. “As in the university president?”
“That’s his daughter.”
I assessed her again, even more impressed with her outfit knowing she had a stern father who ran one of the top universities in New England.
My eyes continued scanning the party, taking in the various games of beer pong and flip cup happening all around the house. There were pods of students laughing and talking, drinking and making out, and — to my surprise — even doing drugs. Though none of the football players were in those specific circles. They’d lose their scholarships and position on the team if they were.
“This is kind of overwhelming,” I admitted, but it wasn’t anxiety simmering in my gut. It was… excitement.
I was at a college football team party.
It felt like something that would happen to a character in one of my favorite new-adult books, and I found myself eager to get into trouble, to try something new, to dance or play beer pong or—
My thoughts were interrupted when Shawn Stetson slipped into my view, a calm, confident smile on his face as he weaved through the crowd. He couldn’t make it more than a few steps before a girl was grabbing him by the arm or belt loop. I didn’t have to read lips to know they were telling him how much they loved his music, how much they loved him. It was all written in the fake-blush he wore, and the way he mouthed thank you over and over again.
He wasn’t modest. He didn’t need to be, not with how hot he was or how uniquely velvet his voice was. It was like Caleb Followill from Kings of Leon had a child with Adele, and they bestowed the best of both their voices onto their bouncing baby boy.
Clay cleared his throat, right up next to my ear so I could actually hear it, and I bit my lip against a flush when I turned to find him watching me watching Shawn.
“Ready for the game plan?” he asked with a grin.
And just like a football player tugging on their helmet before hitting the field, I nodded, expression serious. “Ready.”
Clay pulled me under his arm, so close I felt every inch of his body pressed against mine as he spoke low into my ear. “I’m going to ignore you,” he said. “Hang out with my friends, maybe flirt with some other girls. Use that to your advantage. Talk a little shit about me.”
I frowned. “What? To Shawn?”
Clay nodded. “Drop hints that you’re unhappy, that you’re used to being ignored in situations like this.”
“That makes you seem terrible.”
He shrugged. “So? That’s the point. It’ll take Shawn’s piqued interest and turn it into a burning desire to save you and show you what you deserve.”
“That’s cliché,” I said on a snort. “And ridiculous.”
“Have I not proven to you yet that I know what I’m doing?” Clay pulled back enough to hike a brow incredulously. “Just trust me. Oh, and invite him to hang out with you somewhere a little less chaotic. Maybe say you need some air. You can ask about his music, stroke his ego a bit.”
I shook my head. “You’re a little too good at this.”
Clay just smiled, glanced back in the direction of Shawn, and then slipped into a more severe persona. It was the wildest thing, to watch how he schooled his features, looking bored and almost a little pissed off as he lifted the red plastic cup in his hand up to his lips. With a long pull of his beer and his eyes nowhere near looking at me, he said, “Good luck,” and disappeared through the crowd.
I watched him go, watched as he high-fived a few players he walked by before joining Leo Hernandez in the kitchen. It just so happened to be when Leo was lining up shot glasses, and he poured an extra one for Clay once he joined.
Except, they didn’t take the shots out of the glasses.
Instead, Leo cleared the kitchen counter with a sweep of his forearm, littering the sink and floor with plastic cups, discarded lime wedges, and who knew what else. He turned to the girl beside him then — Olivia, I recognized, from the dance floor — and wrapped his hands around her hips before lifting her onto the counter. She laid back, flushed and giggling as he lined her stomach with salt and pooled a healthy amount of tequila in the valley of her abs and belly button.
I watched him do a body shot off her as she squirmed beneath him, and then as soon as she hopped down, another girl crawled up to take her place.
Clay didn’t even hesitate.
Leo poured the body shot in just the same fashion, and Clay bit his bottom lip, eyes hooded where they appreciated the girl’s ample cleavage heave as the cold liquid met her skin. His massive hands came down to frame either side of her, and he placed a lime wedge in her mouth with a wicked grin as she watched wide-eyed.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he ran the flat length of his tongue along the salt on her stomach, as his fingertips dug into her skin while he sucked and licked that tequila off her. Then, he was hovering over her face, and he bent slowly and seductively to bite the lime wedge in her mouth.
For only a brief second — then, the lime was gone, and his mouth was on hers.
Pain spiked through my chest like an ice pick, intensified when the girl threaded her manicured nails through his hair. She opened her mouth to let his in, and though the swipe of his tongue against hers was only a split second, it made my neck heat, made my stomach turn, made me…
What, exactly?
I stared and stared at them, trying to dissect what I was feeling, but didn’t solve the puzzle before a husky voice was at my ear.
“She doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
I shivered, the rough lilt of syllables tumbling down the back of my neck and leaving chills in their wake. I angled my head, finding Shawn staring down at me with a playful grin.
I laughed. “Yeah,” I said, but without even trying, without having to fake it… my eyes trailed back to Clay. “Sure.”
I watched as he helped the girl off the counter, his hands staying at her waist once she was safely on the floor. I knew I’d stared for too long because when I glanced back up at Shawn, he was watching me with his brows folded together, with pity and something like longing in his golden eyes before he leaned close to whisper in my ear.
“Want to get some air?”
While the front yard of the Snake Pit was crawling with students, the back yard was a serene garden, a hidden oasis that it seemed no one bothered to investigate because it was far too quiet to be part of the party. Shawn and I walked by a small pod of people passing around a joint before we found a bench along the stone path, a bubbling bird bath and feeder in front of it along with a rose garden that I was fairly certain had to be landscaped by a paid company.
No way was there a college football player with that green of a thumb.
Shawn gestured to the bench for me to sit first, and once I had, he sat right next to me, his thigh brushing the outside of mine. My cheeks heated at the contact, but he seemed unfazed, simply reclining and widening his stance as he threw an arm along the back of the bench.
“Color me impressed,” he mused, eyes trailing over the garden.
I chuckled. “Yeah, not exactly what I expected to find back here. I was assuming it’d be more of a trash-littered patch of dirt.”
“Is it your first time here?”
I tucked my hands under my thighs. “Yes. Although, from the time I’ve spent in the locker room, I’m pretty used to the noise level. And the smell.”
“The locker room?” Shawn frowned.
“I’m the Public Relations Assistant Coordinator for the team,” I clarified.
Shawn sat up a little straighter. “No shit?” He shook his head. “You’re just full of surprises. Forgive me, but… I can’t picture you in that role at all.”
“That’s part of the reason why I picked it,” I said with a smile. “Who would look at me and see someone confident enough to boss around ginormous football players?”
“I guess I should expect the unexpected with you, shouldn’t I, Giana?”
Shawn offered me a lazy smile, and I bit the inside of my lip, heart picking up its pace inside my chest. I was so used to staring at him on a stage. It was unnerving to have him staring back, and so closely.
Talk about his music.
Clay’s words snapped me back to the present. “I’m surprised you don’t have a gig tonight,” I commented.
Shawn relaxed into the bench. “I like to take a Saturday off from time to time. And believe it or not, I’m a pretty big football fan. I wouldn’t miss the first game.”
“It is kind of hard to believe,” I admitted. “That someone so artistic would also be a football junkie.”
“What, I can’t sing John Mayer songs and also paint the school colors on my chest and scream like a banshee in the stands?”
I chuckled. “Body paint? Now that I’d like to see.”
It was a joke, light and effortless when I said it, but Shawn cocked a brow at the insinuation that I wanted to see his body, and I instantly paled.
“Um. I mean, the school spirit, of course. Not the body paint. Or the body. Not that I wouldn’t like to see your body. I mean, not that I would—”
Shawn just smiled, letting me ramble on, no trace of any intention to stop me from embarrassing myself further. So I clamped my mouth shut, burying my face in my hands.
“Sorry,” I murmured through them. “It’s been a long night.”
When I peeked back at him, his smile was gone, concern etched into his features. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I frowned, wondering what he meant, and I was just about to tell him I only meant that I was a little tired after staying out so late last night when I realized he was referring to Clay.
Talk a little shit about me.
I folded my arms over my chest, sinking back. “Not really.”
I aimed for sad, poor neglected girlfriend as I trained my gaze on my kitten heels, not offering anything further.
“Is he always like that?”
The question was soft, timid, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask it.
I shrugged. “He’s a football player. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just playing the part.”
I was surprised how easy that excuse tumbled out of me, and surprised even more when Shawn slid a little closer, one hand coming down to touch my knee gently. He waited until my eyes flashed to his, and I wondered if he could hear the way my heart accelerated at the feel of his hand on me.
“It means something if it hurts you.”
I melted at the words, at how sincere his expression was. It was a line straight out of a romance novel, further proving to me that Shawn Stetson was a bonified book hero. My lips parted to answer him, but then his eyes fell to my mouth, and any attempt at speaking failed me.
He stared and stared as I held my breath, and slowly, his eyes crawled back up to mine. That hand on my knee tightened, just a fraction, and he leaned in, just a centimeter, his lips on track for mine…
“There you are, Kitten.”
Shawn jumped back, tearing his hand from my knee and scooting a couple feet away on the bench just in time for Clay to round the corner. He wore a threatening grin, one he aimed at Shawn before it turned softer toward me.
“Clay,” I breathed, genuinely surprised as I hopped to my feet. I didn’t even need to, but I smoothed a hand over my skirt. It was apparently becoming my favorite nervous tic. “Shawn and I were just getting some air.”
“I see that,” he assessed coolly, and again, his menacing gaze slipped to Shawn. I watched, impressed, as his nose flared a bit, his jaw tight as he gave Shawn a once-over.
Look at him, playing the jealous boyfriend.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for my hand. It all but disappeared in his as he tugged me toward the house. “Riley and Zeke want to play pong.”
I frowned. “But Zeke doesn’t drink.”
Clay gave me a look. “Riley will drink double for him.” He barely looked at Shawn as he said. “See you around, Steve.”
“Shawn,” he corrected, his frown just as severe, chest puffed.
Clay didn’t entertain him with a response, just threw his arm around me and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Look back at him while we walk away.”
I swallowed, doing as he said, and when my eyes met Shawn’s, he was watching me with a mix between gut-wrenching pain and passionate jealousy. He opened his mouth, but I tore my gaze away, back to face forward as Clay weaved us down the stone path toward the house.
“Why did you come get me?” I asked, glancing up at him. “It was going well.”
“I can’t let you hang out with another guy for too long before it gets suspicious,” Clay answered easily.
I shook my head. “He looked like he wanted to murder you.”
“Then the plan is working.”
I laughed, but the sound died in my throat when we slipped back into the loud house only to quite literally smack into Maliyah.
“Oh!” She bounced back in surprise, and Clay’s hand shot out to right her before he could even think better of it. I knew, because in the next instant, their eyes locked, both of them swallowing hard.
It was like being in the presence of movie stars, seeing the two of them together. They were both tall, far too gorgeous for their own good, and had the kind of energy that made others in the room revolve around them. I glanced at her and then at him, back and forth, and again found myself wondering how the hell someone like me was supposed to make her jealous.
Clay’s arm lingered around her, his breath shallow before he finally released her and resumed his grip around me.
“Clay,” she said, her doe eyes flicking to me next.
I smiled, thinking she might introduce herself, but instead, her eyes raked over me, brow arching higher as she took in every inch of my outfit.
“Maliyah, let’s go dance,” a girl I hadn’t realized was standing behind her said. She had long, jet black hair and tattoos lining her left arm — which Maliyah threaded her own through before letting the girl tug her away.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, not looking back, but once she hit the dance floor, her eyes found Clay automatically.
What the fuck?
She clearly knew Clay was frazzled from running into her, and rather than talking to him, she was purposefully dancing while looking at him. She wouldn’t do that if she didn’t care that we were together, if she didn’t still want Clay.
But if she wanted him, why wouldn’t she just take him? She could do it — right here, right now.
I ground my teeth. “What is her game?” I asked, looking up at Clay.
He looked like a sick puppy, face almost green as he watched her in return. “I wish I knew.”
I narrowed my eyes, then squared my shoulders, grabbing his hand in mine. “Come on.”
I didn’t know what my plan was as I dragged him through that crowd, but I made sure to parade right in front of the dance floor before squeezing in on one of the couches lining the wall facing it. I pulled Clay down to sit next to me, and the space was so tight from the other people on it that I was crushed between him and the arm. When I wiggled out of the vise grip, I was half in his lap, tucked under his arm, consumed by every tense inch of him.
“Look at me,” I said.
Clay dragged his gaze from where Maliyah was on the dance floor, and I framed his face with my hands.
“If you’re not playing, you’re losing, remember?” I rolled my lips together, swallowing past the knot forming in my throat. “So, let’s play.”
Clay frowned, tilting his head to the side.
“Use me,” I clarified. “Make her remember what you had. Show her what she’s missing.”
Clay arched a brow, glancing around before his eyes met mine again. “It won’t be just her watching.”
“I trust you,” I breathed, and then I tangled my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him into me.
I should have been used to it.
I should have been struck with the fact that it was fake, all pretend, every time his lips met mine. But it was the same shock of surprise that flitted through me, and my breath caught in my chest, heart plunging off the highest diving board into a pool of white hot fire as he kissed me.
Clay inhaled a deep breath through his nose, one hand winding around the small of my back while the other cradled the back of my head and held me to him. His chest swelled against mine, and then he tilted my chin with the tip of his nose, demanding access to my neck.
My eyes fluttered closed, nipples pebbling under my thin blouse as his large, warm lips caressed the skin stretched over my throat. Each brush of his lips was more firm than the last as he made his way down, and he nipped at my collarbone, eliciting a hiss from me as I twisted my hands in his shirt.
I didn’t have to have my eyes open to know we were being watched.
I felt the gazes of not just Maliyah, but every person in close proximity at that party burning into my skin just as fervently as Clay’s kisses as he trailed his way back to my mouth. His next kiss was like a brand, demanding and brutal, and for the first time, he slid his tongue against the seam of my lips, requesting access.
And I opened.
I parted my lips and met his tongue with mine, a sharp zip of electricity stunning me at the collision. It was as if his tongue stroked me between my thighs rather than in my mouth, and I squeezed my legs tighter together against the foreign sensation even as I leaned in for more.
Clay moaned, one hand tightening where he held me against him as the other slid down from my face, over my neck, and right over the swell of my heaving chest.
The gasp that slight brush elicited from me was guttural and automatic, so violent that my eyes shot open. But Clay kissed me even more fervently as his hand continued trailing down, his palm warm and confident when it settled over the inside of my thigh.
It was possessive, the way he cradled me, the way he pulled me in tighter, kissed me harder, his hand slowly pushing up under the hem of my skirt.
I gasped, head arching back as Clay moved easily from my mouth to my neck once more.
And again… I opened.
The signal didn’t come from my brain, but from a longing so powerful in the very core of who I was that it was impossible to fight against. My legs uncrossed, knees spreading just enough to let him push that hand up under the fabric of my skirt even higher.
My next breath was shaky and shallow, and Clay pressed a feather-light kiss to the skin just beneath my ear.
“Okay?” he asked, simple and soft. That one word seemed to ground me, to bring me back to the room, to reality, to him.
I think I nodded. I think I gave some sort of murmur of affirmation before his tongue licked along my jaw line and back to my mouth. He pressed his forehead against mine, and when my lids flickered open, I found his emerald eyes blazing down at me.
Time stuttered to a stop, the noise of the party dying on a breath. Suddenly, I was acutely aware of where Clay’s breath met my mouth, where his chest swelled and fell in rhythm with mine, where his hand crawled achingly slowly up, up, up.
The rough pads of his fingertips slid tenderly along my inner thigh, the skin so beyond sensitive I couldn’t do anything but quake and hold onto him for dear life. It was unmarked skin, never touched by anyone but me.
Clay dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, plump from kissing me senseless, and his eyes held mine as he dared to go even higher.
I spread my legs wider, letting him in.
Until he ran the entire length of his index finger right along the soaked cotton of my thong.
I whimpered, a gasp of a moan roaring out of me at the touch, at the feeling of his sure, steady palm against the most private and sensitive part of me. And when he felt my desire, he groaned, his mouth capturing mine just as he retracted his finger only to glide it along that same line of fire with more pressure.
Stars.
No, not stars, a black hole, suffocating and life-ending, was born where he touched me. I gasped, eyes flying open, heart seizing in panic beneath my tight ribcage.
“Meow.”
The word was a breathy plea when it slipped unbidden from my lips, and Clay froze, his heart beating hard enough I could feel it through his shirt as I pressed my hand into his chest and forced space between us.
“Meow,” I repeated, louder, firmer.
Recognition hit his face, and Clay paled, peeling himself off me with concern laden in his eyes. “Giana,” he tried, but I couldn’t look at him any longer.
I couldn’t be near him, couldn’t contain the fire roaring inside me.
I faked a smile, brushed a kiss against his cheek like I was fine just in case Maliyah or anyone else was watching. I stood as slowly and coolly as I could, fixing my hair and righting my skirt before I strolled toward the bathroom.
But as soon as I was out of eyesight, I took a hard left.
And I ran.
