Chapter 29
TATUM
The stadium erupts around me as Brandon intercepts a pass, his powerful legs carrying him thirty yards before two defenders finally bring him down. I jump to my feet, screaming his name along with everyone else as a rush of adrenaline courses through me.
It’s his first game back since his suspension, and it’s like someone lit a fire inside of him.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Brynn yells, hitting me with an enthusiastic high five.
I sink back into my seat, trying to catch my breath as Brandon jogs over to the sideline, helmet off, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.
Even from this distance, I can see the fierce grin lighting up his face, that same smile he flashed at me yesterday when I brought dinner to his apartment after practice.
Every day this week, I’ve found some excuse to be there when he’s finished with football.
Monday it was coffee because “I was in the neighborhood” and I knew he had a test to study for the next morning.
Tuesday, I claimed to need his opinion on my latest BookTok post. Wednesday, I brought him his favorite protein shake because I saw them on sale and wanted to gush about the latest novel I finished reading.
Thursday was lunch after class. And each time, I’ve watched him, waiting for some sign that today would be the day he’d make good on our agreement.
But nothing. Not even a hint things might turn physical.
The anticipation is slowly killing me.
I’ve barely slept, barely eaten.
My roommate asked if I was coming down with something because I’ve been so distracted, and the girls, who I’ve yet to tell about our little arrangement, think I’m still reeling from my breakup with Ethan.
Little do they know, I’ve barely given him a second thought, too preoccupied with my best friend and how attracted to him I suddenly am.
Brandon takes his position on the field again, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the broad set of his shoulders, the powerful line of his back.
How many times have I seen him in a football uniform over the years?
Hundreds, probably.
But from the moment he stood up to Ethan at Bradd’s, then carried me out of there so I didn’t have to walk, something inside me shifted.
And then we kissed.
God, those kisses . . .
Now when I look at him, I see more than my best friend.
I see a man—all hard lines and raw power, confident in a way that makes my stomach flip, yet sweet as honey beneath his tough exterior.
I’ve always known Brandon was attractive.
I’m not blind. But this past week has been like seeing him through an entirely new lens.
The way his T-shirt clings to his sweat-damp chest after a workout.
The deep rumble of his laugh when I say something funny.
The casual brush of his fingers against mine when he hands me something.
The erotic way he licks his lips after downing a protein shake.
Each touch, every glance, feels loaded with meaning now, electric in a way I’ve never experienced before.
It’s like some switch has been flipped inside me, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything about him—the scent of his skin, the curve of his mouth when he smiles, the heat in his eyes when he looks at me just a little too long.
“Are you okay?” Charlotte asks, bumping my shoulders. “You look flushed.”
Samantha peers over her shoulder at me and grimaces. “You’re not getting that stomach bug that’s going around, are you? I hear it’s wretched.”
“No. I’m fine.” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears. “It’s probably just the spicy food I had for lunch,” I lie.
The truth is, I’m anything but fine. I’m a mess of contradictions—nervous yet eager, embarrassed yet bold, uncertain yet desperate. And beneath it all is a constant, pulsing need that threatens to consume me if Brandon doesn’t do something about it soon.
The crowd roars again as the Griffins score. The clock winds down with AAU ahead by fourteen points, and as the final seconds tick away, I gather my things, ready for the postgame ritual.
When the final whistle blows, confirming AAU’s victory, the crowd’s energy swells into a frenzy of celebration. “Come on,” Charlotte stands and tugs my arm. “Let’s go meet the guys.”
We file out with the crowd, making our way toward the players’ exit where fans and girlfriends always gather to congratulate the team.
My stomach flutters with anticipation as we join the small cluster of people already waiting.
One by one, the players emerge from the locker room, still riding the high of their victory.
I spot Jace first, then Chris, both of them surrounded immediately by a small crowd of admirers.
West and Damon follow close behind, and then finally, Brandon.
My breath catches in my throat as he steps through the doors, his hair, still damp from the shower, pokes beneath a navy-blue baseball cap, and he’s dressed in gray joggers and a fitted black henley that clings to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest like Picasso himself painted it on.
His eyes search the crowd until they land on me, and the moment they do, his whole face changes—softens, brightens, steals the air from my chest. Even as teammates clap him on the back and shove him toward the side, his attention stays fixed on me.
There’s something in his look this time—less adrenaline, more purpose—that makes my pulse trip over itself.
“Great game,” Charlotte says when he reaches us, giving him a quick hug.
“Thanks,” he says, though his focus never wavers from me. He steps closer, the faint scent of soap and the cologne that’s always been his wrapping around me. Then he leans in, his lips brushing my cheek in a soft, lingering kiss.
My breath catches. His mouth stays there a heartbeat too long, warmth seeping through my skin and sending a sharp jolt down my spine. When he finally pulls back, there’s something different in his eyes—something darker, hungrier—that sets my pulse racing.
“We’re heading to Chris and Jace’s to celebrate,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “Takeout and beer, nothing crazy. You in?”
I nod, suddenly unable to form words as his gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there with such obvious intent that heat floods my cheeks. “Sounds perfect.”
His fingers brush against mine in a way that seems both casual and deliberate. “Ride with me?”
I answer with a nod, my heart skipping a beat when his hand finds the small of my back.
The heat of his touch burns through my sweater as he guides me through the crowd, and all I can do is focus on that one point of contact, that singular touch.
Something about tonight is different.
Maybe it’s the charge in the air or the way our gazes keep colliding as we walk, but my pulse thrums with the certainty of it—the quiet, electric kind that settles deep in your bones.
Whatever this is between us, something tells me it’s been building for a lot longer than I realize, waiting for the right spark.
His hand finds mine, anchoring me in the middle of the noise and light, and I know without a doubt—tonight is the night.