Chapter 3
brANDON
Iwalk into Java the Hutt with a scowl on my face to find the guys lounging on chairs in the back of the little coffee shop, next to the Yoda side table I happen to find creepy as fuck.
Their voices carry toward me as I make my way to the counter, tipping my chin toward the cute blonde barista, who also happens to be our quarterback’s girlfriend. “Avery.”
“Brandon!” She turns her bright smile on me as she hands a customer their coffee. “I haven’t seen you around. How’s the start of the season going?”
I grunt, avoiding her eyes, because I’m pretty sure she knows exactly how the season is going since she was at Chris’s apartment with Damon, our QB, the day I had an epic meltdown over the fact Tatum got a boyfriend over the summer.
“Fine,” I mumble as I stare at the menu, pretending I’m contemplating what to order when really, I’m contemplating all the ways in which I can off Ethan White.
“So, what can I get you?” she asks, and I’m instantly grateful she has the wherewithal not to prod.
“Just a small dark roast,” I answer.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Nope. Just black.” I tap my card against the reader, then wait as she retrieves my coffee.
The nutty scent instantly perks me up as she turns around and slides it over the counter with a smile. “You know, everything will work out, right?” she asks, meeting my eyes.
I nod, swallowing over the sudden thickness in my throat.
If all it takes is a female with a gentle voice and puppy dog eyes to get me all teary eyed over my predicament with Tatum, I’m fucked.
Damn, I’m getting soft.
“Yeah.” I clear the emotion from my throat. “I hope so.”
“Dude,” a large hand claps me on the back as Damon’s voice comes from my left. “You can stop flirting with my girl now.”
I arch a brow at him, ready to call him out for being a jealous prick but fall silent when he leans across the counter and presses a kiss to Avery’s mouth that would be considered indecent if anyone else were in line behind me to witness it.
“Damon!” Avery chuckles as she pushes him away, her cheeks blooming a bright shade of pink as she glances around the coffee shop. “I’m working.”
“So am I. Working on reminding everyone you’re mine,” he says with a smug grin.
I fake gag before taking a sip of my coffee to wash away the cheese, when Chris joins us. “What’s going on here?” he asks, placing a hand on each of our backs. “Team huddle?” He glances at me, noting my sour expression, then adds, “Ah, Damon’s being a possessive asshole again.”
“Like you’re any better,” Damon huffs. “Besides, it’s romantic, not possessive, to want the world to know she’s mine.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes as we say goodbye to Avery and head toward the rest of the guys while I try and keep my shit together.
It’s only been two days since Tatum dropped the bomb that she’s thinking of transferring schools, and I can think of nothing else.
Getting through two days of practice was like trying to run routes with cement in my cleats and a playbook written in another language—nothing feels right, and I can’t focus worth shit.
I sink down into a chair across from West and Jace, shifting the duffle bag from my shoulder when the zipper surrenders, and half the contents come tumbling past my feet, scattering protein bars, one odd sock, and a luridly pink paperback.
It slides to a halt next to Chris’s foot, its cover model half-naked and, to add insult to injury, a dead ringer for me.
My eyes widen, and I lunge for the book before the guys can see, but I’m not fast enough.
Chris snatches it up instantly. “What is this?” he says like he just found the only golden ticket in a Willy Wonka chocolate bar.
“‘Taming the Highland Bad Boy’?” Damon reads, peering over his shoulder, before turning his gaze back to mine with an ear-splitting smile. “Bro. Seriously?”
I snatch the sock off the ground and lob it at Chris’s face in the hopes he’ll drop the book and we can move on, but I’m not that lucky.
Jace and West snicker as Chris flicks the sock right back at me with a laugh. “What happened to just drinking your weight in protein shakes and playing Madden?” he says, holding the book between two fingers like it might give him cooties. “This what you’re into now?”
I make a show of shrugging, like it’s no big deal and the heat in my cheeks is merely a result of how hot it suddenly is in here. “Maybe I have layers. Maybe I’m expanding my mind.”
“I think you’re expanding your estrogen levels,” Jace says, grinning.
“Or maybe you’re just whipped.” Chris guffaws. “Please tell me this isn’t because of Tatem.”
I shrug, because the truth is, I’ve been reading her favorite romance novels for years, so I can follow along when she reviews them on social media.
“I don’t just read them because of her,” I grumble, hearing the lie in my voice. “It’s research,” I shoot back, ignoring the fresh streak of embarrassment crawling up my neck.
Chris tips his head back, looking over the bridge of his nose like a judgy owl, but I see the tiniest curl in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, sure. ‘Research.’ Why don’t you tell us all about what you’re learning, Professor?”
“Hand it over.” I hold my palm out, curling my fingers in a gimme motion, but Chris clutches the Highland Bad Boy like a frat pledge with his first bottle of tequila.
“Nah, man. Now it’s a group read.” He flips open to a random page, his voice already taking on a forced breathy register as he reads. “‘His broadsword bulged against his kilt—’” Damon loses it, braying so loudly the old guy on his laptop two tables over hits mute and side-eyes us.
I reach out, snatching at the book, but Chris jerks it away, eyes dancing.
“Easy, Professor. You might strain a pectoral.” He wags his brows, then catches me glaring and raises the book above his head, right in my line of sight.
“Bet there’s a lot in here about communication.
Want me to email Tatum some hot quotes?”
“Bro . . .”
“I’m sorry.” Chris laughs. “But catching you with this in your bag is just too good.”
“You know what? Never mind. I don’t want it back,” I say, brushing off their laughter. “You keep it. You need it more than I do, anyway.”
This stops Chris short.
His laughter fades, his smile morphing into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “It’s just like I said. Those books are pretty educational. I’ve learned a lot of my best tricks in books just like that.” I nod toward the pink paperback and Chris shifts on his feet, his gaze darting to West who shrugs.
“I mostly read thrillers,” West says. “But even those can occasionally be educational when there’s a romance subplot.”
“See?” I say, my expression smug as I sink back into my seat, sipping on my coffee. “You probably need it more than I do.”
Chris’s gaze flicks back to me, eyes narrowed. “Did Charlotte say something to you?”
I laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
With a huff, he flops down into the chair across from me, opening the book again, and reading with a quiet intensity like he’s studying for a doctorate.
Jace snickers. “Stop fucking with him, will you? This’ll be all I hear about for the next week.”
Chris glances back up at me. “Are you just messing with me?”
“You should’ve seen your face!” I cry, and he chucks the book at me, then thinks better of it and snatches it back.
“No. You know, what? You don’t get it back. You’ll have to sit there and wonder whether the highlander changes his bad boy ways.”
“Then you’ll be disappointed to know I already finished it.”
Chris harumphs and cracks the book open again.
“As much as I’m enjoying this entertaining distraction,” Damon chimes in, sinking down into the sofa and kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of us, “it’s time to spill your guts.”
“Who me?” I point to myself, and Damon nods.
“I have nothing to spill.” I blink like I have no idea what he could possibly be talking about, when really, I’m hoping I’m wrong and he’s not referring to my situationship with Tate.
Damon’s brows rise. “It’s been more than a week since we’ve been back at school and you found out Tatum has a boyfriend, and ever since, you’ve been playing like a flaming dog turd. So, I’m gonna ask again as your QB. What’s. The. Deal. Spill it.”
I take a sip of my coffee, stalling for time because this is the last thing I want to discuss with them.
I know they’ll only give me shit for not having the balls to tell Tatum how I really feel.
“Why are we getting coffee right before practice when we’re having an epic heatwave and about to run our asses off on the field?
” I ask, staring at the paper cup like it’s the most interesting fucking thing in the world.
It’s not.
“Because coffee is the only thing keeping Jace from driving to fraternity row and punching someone in the face today,” Damon says dryly, stretching out his legs like he owns the place. “And because you clearly need an excuse to sulk in public.”
“What’s up with you?” I ask Jace, seizing the opportunity to take the spotlight off myself.
He shrugs. “I caught Stanley Henderson ogling Brynn’s ass this morning on the quad when I walked her to class.”
“I was there.” Damon laughs. “Thought he was gonna lose his shit.”
Jace drums his fingers on the arm of the chair. “That prick doesn’t deserve to even look in her direction.”
“I sense a story here,” I say, glancing between them.
“Brynn went on a couple dates with him freshman year,” Chris explains, lowering the book to his lap.
“Dude bragged to his friends about bagging her, even though he never did. It’s ancient history.
” Chris waves a hand through the air. “But what isn’t ancient history,” he says staring straight at me, and I know what’s coming, “is Tatum shagging someone that isn’t you. ”
“Don’t fucking say that,” I snap.
My chest pinches, and I bring a hand to my sternum, trying to massage away the ache.
Is she . . .?
God, please tell me she’s not.