The Homecoming game against the Tigers was even more of a contest than the one against the Bulldogs. Instead of focusing on the running game, though, the team’s strategy changed to more passing. As promised, Callahan scored two touchdowns, and each time, he pointed the nose of the ball at me before he flipped it to the ref and enjoyed the congratulations of his teammates.
The defenders almost beat him to the ball on those passes, but he never let his quarterback down. It meant he sustained some hard tackles that had me covering my eyes, much to Axel and Drake’s delight.
At one point after an especially jarring hit that took Hotshot a second to bounce up from, I yelled something irrational at the defense. Axel grinned and said, “You have it so bad for him, J,” before he one-arm-hugged me. “About time.”
“Agreed,” Drake echoed.
“Since you two lovebirds found ‘the one,’ your little romantic hearts think everyone should. I cringe at all the tackles,” I sniffed.
“You cringe harder when Callahan takes a hit.”
I gave Axel the mother of all eye rolls and shook my head. “You’re seeing things.”
“Yep. I’m seeing you fall for the hottest player on the team.” If I hadn’t been wearing my beanie, I think he would have done the whole rubbing-the-top-of-my-hair thing. He settled for a shoulder bump instead. “Don’t worry. He has it bad for you too.”
The same as the previous week, we raced to Stromboli’s after the game and grabbed the last four-top in the bar. We were on our second pitcher of beer and making a rather big dent in an extra-large pizza when Callahan arrived. He lowered himself gingerly into the open chair at our table and helped himself to my beer, draining half of it before he said hello.
“Um, are you sure you should be here?” I couldn’t seem to keep the concern about whatever injuries he had from my voice.
His brow shot up. “As opposed to where?”
“I don’t know. Your bed under a full-body heating pad?”
A grin split his face. “You’re worried about me, Jamaica.” Sliding his hand beneath the hair at the nape of my neck, he tugged me toward him. Against my lips he added, “Thank you.” Though he kept his tongue in his mouth, the kiss lit me up like plugging a lamp into a hot socket.
When Hotshot let me go, Axel gifted me a knowing smile. The way his eyes danced, I could almost hear the “Jamaica’s got a boyfriend” chant playing in his head. Mercifully, he switched his attention elsewhere.
“That was a close one today.” Axel slid a slice onto a plate and passed it to Callahan. “Those touchdowns you scored for Jamaica”—he smirked—“were the difference, especially that second one.”
“Nah. The difference was that timely interception Bax made when the Tigers were driving in the last minute. If he hadn’t grabbed that pass, we wouldn’t be celebrating tonight.” He ate half his slice in one bite.
Impressive.
The other two nodded agreement, and the conversation plunged into the finer points of the game.
Signaling a passing server, I said, “We need another pizza.” Shifting my attention to Hotshot, I asked, “What kind do you want?”
Indicating the remains of the one on the table, he said, “This is good.”
“We need another chicken and artichoke pie. Thanks.”
In short order, the second pizza and another pitcher of beer appeared then disappeared, mostly into Callahan, who was in much better form when we stood to leave the bar than when he’d arrived. We followed Axel and Drake outside where he invited my friends to Fitz’s party. With a not-so-subtle brow waggle, Axel fist-bumped me, and the two of them ambled off to Drake’s car.
Callahan slipped his arm around my waist and tugged me in the opposite direction. His truck was parked on a quiet tree-lined street behind the bar. After we hopped into it, he made a face when I went to buckle myself into the passenger seat.
“Seriously, Island Girl?” A wicked gleam lit up his gorgeous sea-blue eyes, and the next thing I knew, he was almost on top of me. “You’re right. There’s more room on this side without the steering wheel in the way.” His gaze strayed to my lips. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”
His mouth crashed down on mine, going from “hello” to “you are the hottest thing in the universe” in half a breath. The chill of the evening evanesced as his big, warm body pressed me into the seat. Even through layers of sweater, jacket, and muffler (me) and Henley and hoodie (him), I could feel the deliciously hard planes of his pecs flattening my curves. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed myself insistently into him, rubbing my achingly turgid nipples against his body.
It would have been so much better without the layers of clothes separating us. I’d missed him more than I wanted to admit since he’d dropped me off at my dorm with a chaste kiss on the cheek the night before. So I poured all that longing into the way I kissed him back, moaning in my throat at how crazy-awesome all that masculine power and heat covering my torso felt.
Callahan bumped his head on the ceiling when we both startled at a loud thump against the side of his truck. “Get a room!” Raucous male laughter followed the shout, and we glanced around at the fogged-up state of the truck’s windows. No doubt my face matched the dazed expression in Hotshot’s eyes. He blinked and grinned in pure challenge.
“Still want to sit way over here, or do you want to sit where you’re supposed to?”
“Where I’m supposed to?” I challenged back.
He slid back over into the driver’s seat. “In my experience, girlfriends sit next to their boyfriends whenever the opportunity presents itself.” Glancing down at the open seat beside him, he said, “For instance, when the boyfriend drives a truck with a bench seat.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I laughed.
“You’re too far away,” he countered.
I shook my head—and slid over beside him, buckling myself in with the shoulder harness attached to the back of the driver’s seat.
When we arrived at Jeremiah Fitzgerald’s house, we walked in on a celebration in full swing. Hip-hop thumped from a sound system in the corner of the living room, while people danced and shouted in conversation. Since we’d left our outerwear in the cab of the truck, I shivered, and Callahan stepped behind me to wrap me in his arms. As he slowly walked me forward, we swayed to the beat until we were in the middle of the rowdy crowd. Then he spun me around and leaned down to speak into my ear.
“Want something to drink?”
Nodding, I said, “Sure.”
He slipped his hand in mine and led me to the kitchen. Apparently, these football parties ran on a protocol: dancing in the living room, alcohol in the kitchen, cornhole in the back yard. Since Fitz’s house didn’t have a dining room, the flip cup tournament filled the kitchen, which meant it took a bit of maneuvering to make our way to the keg. I guess the team didn’t congratulate each other or something in the locker room after the game, because for the next twenty minutes, it seemed all the players at the party filed through the kitchen to tell Callahan how much they appreciated his play in the win.
The women who came over had an entirely different agenda. It didn’t matter that he had one hand wrapped around a red cup and his other arm wrapped around me. They were walking their fake-nail fingertips up his bicep, leaning in close to his chest, and batting their fake lashes like something had fallen into their eyes.
I sipped my nasty keg beer and watched the circus.
Loud, attention-drawing laughter announced the arrival of Tory Miller and her entourage of freshmen mean girls a few seconds before they sauntered into the kitchen. It was enough time to let Callahan alert the player pouring cups from the keg. The guy nodded, and Callahan led me over to the side of the table, ostensibly to see how flip cup was going. From the way he positioned me between the door and him, I had the distinct impression I’d become a human shield. The idea that five-foot-six me could hide six-foot-five Hotshot was laughable. In fact, I think I might have let out a giggle when I saw what he’d done.
Over the rim of his cup, his glare morphed into a crinkly-eyed grin. His hand slipped around my waist, drawing me up flush with his side. Leaning down, he whispered, “This works better when you put your arm around me too, Island Girl.”
“What does? Me hiding you from jersey chasers?” I teased.
“No, snuggling while we watch the game.” He downed his beer and set the empty cup on the counter behind us. “I have a better idea for snuggling.”
My brow went up in question.
“Let’s dance.”
As we sidled along the wall toward the door into the living room, one of Tory’s girls caught sight of us, her wide-eyed surprise bouncing between Callahan and me. Before she could alert Tory, who appeared to be trying to wheedle beer from the player manning the keg, Hotshot dragged me through the door and into the heart of the crowd of dancers writhing and jumping in the living room. Beneath our feet the floor shuddered and vibrated as at least fifty people partied to the music.
While we danced, more people found us and fist-bumped or high-fived my date, which meant there was no snuggling. Oddly, that disappointed me. But he was subtly and steadily dancing us toward the front door. Right as we found the edge of the crowd, Tory Miller found us.
“Callahan! Callahan! Dance with me,” she insisted as though he wasn’t standing with his arm around me.
“I’m kinda busy, Tory,” he said with a pointed glance in my direction.
Only then did she acknowledge my presence. “What are you doing with this loser?” she sniffed. Then she gifted him her biggest smile. “Winners should be with winners, don’t you think?” The smile didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, something ugly and calculating lurked in their sharklike depths.
“Exactly.” Tugging me close to his side, he said, “Time for us to go, Jamaica.”
“Do you even know who I am, Callahan?” she screeched.
Conversation in our vicinity stopped as people gathered around to watch the drama.
“A spoiled little rich girl who likes to sleep with the football team?” I asked with mock innocence.
Callahan dug his fingers into my side, letting me know I’d crossed a line. But contrary to the brat who went out of her way to make the rest of us feel small, I wasn’t a loser.
“Come on, babe. Time for us to go.” He tugged me toward the front door.
“Seriously? You’d rather slum it with this truck-stop trash?” She stuck out her hip, planting a manicured hand on it and showing off her super-short skirt. “Raise your standards, Callahan.”
Though my mom had supported me until I graduated high school by waitressing at a truck stop, I wasn’t truck-stop trash. Neither was my mom. I didn’t grow up with Tory’s opportunities, but I was still here, making good grades and apparently dating the guy she wanted.
“You know what, Tory? I absolutely love the sound you make when you shut up.” With that parting shot, I allowed Hotshot to escort me outside.
“I know you said Tory lived in your dorm on Chessly’s floor last year, but she’s got it in for you. What’s the deal?” he asked when he opened the driver’s side door and gestured for me to climb in.
“I could ask you the same question. Looks like you two have a history—one she’s not finished with, judging by the way she stalks you.” The short walk from the house to his truck without my coat, combined with the adrenaline coursing through me, left my teeth chattering. Shrugging into my coat was awkward as hell, but I needed the warmth—and an extra layer of protection from my date.
He fired up the truck, and while it warmed up, he ran his hands through his hair and replaced his backward ball cap. Sliding his arm across the back of the seat, he faced me. “We made out in a hallway during a party at the Delta Nu house last spring.”
My brows might have tried to disappear into my hairline.
“I walked out of the bathroom and she was waiting for me, it turns out, even though we hadn’t met. She shoved me against the wall and had her tongue down my throat before I even knew what had hit me. I was smashed and horny, and I kissed her back.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I regarded him through narrowed eyes.
“Being stupid drunk is no excuse.”
Callahan owned his behavior, raising my respect for him several notches higher.
“Fortunately, one of my teammates saw us and dragged my ass out of there.”
“You wanted to keep making out with her?” To my utter horror, my voice cracked on the question.
“Babe, in the state I was in, I wasn’t capable of making an intelligent decision. When I sobered up, I was mortified. Tory is capital B Bad News—something I’ve been trying to convince Finn of all semester.” He tugged at one of my curls. “But her dad is a big-time donor to the school, especially to the football program, so I have to be polite and keep putting her off until she loses interest.”
“I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
“As long as you don’t lose interest, I’ll be fine.” His arms came around me, pulling me in close. “And I’m determined to keep you interested,” he rumbled as he lowered his mouth to mine. “I know you’re not a fan of these parties. Wanna go to my place and watch TV or something?”
“Watch TV? Okay. I’ll think about the ‘or something.’”