I settle for, “She’s a nice girl.”
Someone hoots. “Nice? Dude, that woman is a goddess.”
I glance over. Carter Kittredge, one of my roommates and the wide receiver I’m still not clicking with, is the one who made that declaration. The leanly muscled guy joins me and Travarius and rubs his hands together in delight.
“You know what this means, right, T?” he asks our teammate.
“Peach fuckin’ pie!” Travarius replies, and the two guys exchange an excited high-five.
“And oatmeal raisin cookies,” our star running back, Remy Borland, pipes up. “Holy fuck, those cookies.”
“Nah, her homemade donuts are way better than the cookies,” someone argues.
And now I’m surrounded by half a dozen players, all of who are raving about the various baked goods Bryant is apparently a whiz at producing. My mind’s spinning a little. I mean, yeah, the woman is hot and, yeah, the breakfast sandwich she made was better than anything I’d ever stuffed in my mouth, but she’s weird. And cool, too, or at least she seemed cool up until she tried faking an orgasm and then railroaded me into a brunch date.
But the way these guys are going on about her, you’d think she invented the Hail Mary.
“Don’t fuck this up for us,” a stern voice tells me.
The warning comes from the left tackle, the guy who guards my blind side. Samson, whose huge belly folds over the top of his long athletic shorts, is a monster on the field. He hasn’t allowed a sack in five hundred thirty-three snaps. I plan to be extra nice to Samson.
“Yeah,” Carter agrees, frowning deeply at me. “I’ll lay you the fuck down if you screw this up for the team. We haven’t had good treats on the regular since she dated—” He stops.
I frown back. “Since she dated who?” And shit, why am I even continuing this conversation? I made a vow to clean up my act this year, which includes not engaging in locker room talk.
“Tommy Hillard,” Travarius fills in. “Slot receiver we had last season. Those two dated her sophomore year?”
Carter nods. “That’s right. Man, it’s been almost three years.” Dude is almost in tears.
I nod, because the name rings a bell. “What happened to that guy? He had good instincts.”
Carter snorts. “On the field, maybe. Off of it? Not so much.”
“He got kicked out for fighting,” Samson explains.
“Her only failure,” someone else remarks with a heavy sigh.
“She didn’t have him an entire term,” Travarius protests.
“Yeah, but he still blew it for us.”
“After that it was engineering students and the goddamned golf team,” Samson grumbles. Then he brightens up. “But Ace is bringing her back. Way to go, man.”
This team is fucked. I suddenly wonder if I shouldn’t have bothered with all the efforts to connect with these guys during training camp.
Travarius pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t fuck this up.”
The other guys reiterate the warning before wandering back to their lockers to finish dressing.
I resist the urge to scratch my head in dismay. Football players gossip about chicks as much as any other dudes, but this whole situation is…weird. They all seem oddly enraptured by Bryant, and equally protective of her. Who exactly is this chick?
She didn’t have him an entire term.
And what the fuck does that mean?
“Anderson.”
I look up at the sound of Coach’s voice. The stocky, dark-haired man stands in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes stern.
“My office, two minutes,” he commands. He turns to address the room. “Enough chatting, assholes. I want to hear the clanging of weights in about two seconds or you’re all running until your chicken legs give out.”
Carter snickers and gives a brisk salute. “Aye aye, cap’n.”
As the other guys finish changing and start filing out of the room, Ty Masters stalks up to me again.
“My brother said you had a reputation at Western for treating women as disposable.”
Equal parts anger and shame jolt through me. Anger, because who the hell is he to say that to me? And shame, because he’s goddamned right. I wasn’t exactly a choirboy before. I fucked my way through Western State without so much as a backward glance. I slept with my coach’s daughter even though I knew it threatened my position on the team. I definitely had more than one drink thrown in my face. I was a player, through and through. Hell, I lost my best friend because of it.
The shame in my gut hardens into a tight knot of guilt. Truth is, I always assumed I’d end up with Lucy Washington. We’d grown up together, and she was the only girl I ever felt comfortable enough around to actually let down my guard. I had a future in mind for us—marriage, kids, all that jazz.
Except I was a selfish ass. I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. I wanted to party and fuck and be wild in college, get all that shit out of my system, and then settle down. And I expected Lucy to wait for me while I did that.
She didn’t wait.
And I…didn’t handle it very well. I lashed out at her. Hurt her. Pretty much severed the bond between us and destroyed the one friendship that always meant so much to me.
I’m an asshole, remember?
“I’m not that guy anymore,” I answer through gritted teeth.
Ty arches a brow. “No?”
“No.”
He ponders that for a moment. Then he shrugs and says, “New team, new slate.”