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“For love of the game.” He rises from his seat, his focus back on the players on the field. “There’s something he wants me to relay to you. Do this for him, and at the end of the three months, he is willing to give you anything in return. He won’t refuse your ask.”

He turned the tables on me? Three rings. One chance. One wish. One listen. To dial down his temper when we dated in high school, I gave him one ring at a time. He could ask for one chance, one wish, or one listen, and then return the ring to me. If I gave him all three rings at once, he could ask for anything and I wouldn’t refuse him.

I growl low under my breath.

That guy . . . I want his balls served up to me on a silver platter. Taron is calculating and has probably planned this since before he put in for the transfer. And for what reason other than to punish me for that kiss? Or is there more to him being in Dumas? I have to know what this more is.

After he gets his championship and his teammates’ respect, I’ll have an idea of what I want, and it might or might not be Taron Vaughn’s balls.

9

Syn

Ishould bolt while Taron is in the locker room showering, but if I do, I’ll never get the answers to my burning questions.

Why is Taron in Dumas, upending my life, when he was doing well at Stanford, from what I gathered stalking his social media accounts? Is Hank a good fit for Cindy? Which guy on the team hurt Natalie?

“Ready?”

I glance over my shoulder. Taron is walking over to me with his backpack hanging off one shoulder. I’m sitting on a bench outside the locker room, afraid I’ll get lost if I wander too far, not normally having a reason to come over to this side of the campus.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I stand, and we make our way back to the front of the school.

I see Taron’s lifted black pickup truck right away. We did a lot of kissing and heavy petting inside and in the bed of his big truck.

Does he remember our times together whenever he is sitting inside? Does he kiss and do serious heavy petting with other girls in one of our favorite places to make out? I dash those thoughts aside. I shouldn’t be jealous or let what he did with other girls bother me when I’m the one who gave him up.

He hits the key fob, does this sexy jog to the passenger-side door, and my mind wanders down a path I am not liking.

What if I make him mine again? Running into one another at Bayside might be the universe’s sign that everyone deserves a second chance as well as closure. And if our second chance doesn’t work out, at least we can say we gave the attraction between us a try. No harm. No foul.Except for a broken heart.

I ignore the little voice in my head and stare at his tight ass. Soak in how well his T-shirt hugs the contours of his back and the expanse of his wide shoulders. Eat up the curves, angles, and lines of his face and how beautiful his eyes are. They are fringed by long, inky lashes. I could stare into his eyes and get lost in them, like looking up at the moonless night sky.

Taron opens the door for me. I walk to him. He has a lopsided grin, this mix of mouthwatering and charming that gets my ovaries tingling in a good way. The closer I get to him, the more confuse I become. Shouldn’t he hate me for kissing a guy who wasn’t him our senior year of high school? Why isn’t he cussing me out for cutting ties with him and not saying a word before I left Mossy Rock?

Leaving like that is one of my biggest regrets. I should have explained, except how do I tell the one guy who mattered the most that my life is one big lie? Or that my mother’s confession has the power to ruin lives, including Taron’s parents’? I couldn’t for one reason. Was my mom telling the truth, or was she spinning more lies?

I stop in front of him. My gaze swings to the ground. “Why are you being nice to me?”

A thick finger slides under my chin and lifts my head until I am looking him in the eye.

“Why wouldn’t I open the door for a girl?” His hand falls from my face and settles on my shoulder. “Did I mistreat you? Is that the reason you ghosted me? I treated you badly and you thought a clean break was the only way to deal with a hot-tempered bastard like me?”

Oh, God, is that what he thinks?

“No,” I mutter, about to add it wasn’t you, it was me, but that’s not true. “Can we not talk about what happened?”

“Will we ever?”

“With time.”

“Four years isn’t enough?”

I shake my head.

“How long will you make me wait?”

“When you marry,” I blurt out, my chest aching at the thought of Taron with someone other than me.