Page 32

“Avery, you have to come with us,” Brynn says, turning toward me.

Stunned, my mouth parts, but it takes me a moment to say, “What?”

“The game!” she says, beaming. “We already decided that if they won, we’re going on a road trip and getting a room. Jace and Chris get tickets and so do the others. I’m sure we can wrangle up a few extra, but you totally should come.”

I chew on my lip, wondering what Damon would think about me showing up at the championship game, already knowing hewould hate it. But I find myself grinning and nodding along, ready to tell them yes anyway when a familiar baritone cuts through the room and I turn toward the TV.

A sports announcer stands in front of Damon, the mic just under him as they bark out questions loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd

My heart drums against my ribs as I watch Damon, sweat-drenched and triumphant, surrounded by a swarm of microphones and blinding camera lights.

“Damon, what an incredible fourth quarter comeback! Talk us through that final play,” the first reporter shouts, thrusting a microphone toward his face.

Damon’s smile—that perfect, crooked smile that had first caught my attention years ago—flashes across the massive screen. I can see the mixture of exhaustion and elation in his eyes as he lowers his face to the mic.

“Honestly, we practiced that play maybe twice.” He laughs, running a hand through his dark locks, damp with sweat. “Coach always says to prepare for the moment you can’t prepare for. When I saw their defense shift, I just knew.”

Another reporter jumps in. “You’re destined for the championship. Do you think you can make it all the way?”

I hold my breath, watching his expression soften. Damon is never one to be overly boastful and he’s never promised what he can’t deliver. It’s one of a million things I love about him.

“We’re taking it one game at a time,” he says with that humble confidence that makes my knees weak. “This team has heart, and we’re hungry. But championships aren’t won in interviews; they’re won through sweat and sacrifice.”

“God, he’s amazing,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the crowd’s ongoing cheers.

Brynn whips her head around so fast her blonde ponytail nearly smacks my face. “Oh. My. God. You’re totally into him!”

Heat floods my cheeks. “What? No, I—”

“You absolutely are,” Liz chimes in from my left. “I knew you seemed to be staring at the screen extra intently every time he was on camera.”

I sink deeper into my seat, wishing the couch would swallow me whole. The TV buzzes in the background all but forgotten as the other four girls turn to stare at me.

“How long?” Charlotte demands.

“How long?” I choke out.

With a roll of the eyes, Charlotte elaborates. “How long have you been crushing on him?”

I swallow. “It’s nothing. I just . . . well, he’s in one of my classes, and I’ve seen him come into Java the Hutt,” I say, because it’s not a lie, although it’s definitely not the real answer, either.

“And you have the hots for him.” Charlotte wiggles her brows, and I groan.

“So, now that we know you have a thing for the brooding quarterback,” Liz says with a smile, “what are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing.” I slash a hand in the air, imagining Damon’s outrage if they stepped in to intervene on my behalf. Not to mention what they might think of me if they found out the truth and heard his side of things. “There’s nothing to do about it.”

“Ooh.” Charlotte snaps her fingers, eyes bright. “You should come to the dance on Monday night.”

“Yes!” Brynn claps her hands together, violet eyes shining as she turns to me and explains, “I volunteer for a place called Helping Hands. It’s basically an after-school program for youths, and they were supposed to have the snowflake dance over winter break, but due to a problem with the hall, we had to reschedule. Charlotte and I are chaperoning on Monday, andI asked Chris to recruit the boys, which means Damon will be there.”

“I don’t know, guys,” I say, biting my lip. “I really don’t think—”

“Avery.” Charlotte leans forward, her expression suddenly serious. “When was the last time you took a chance on something that scared you?”

The question hits me like a physical blow. I open my mouth to respond, but the words die on my lips.

Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here? To put my heart on the line and take a risk?