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“Well,sorryfor telling the truth.What do you want me to do about it now?” I ask, throwing my arms up.

“Just . . .” Jace splutters. “Keep your jaded opinions and statistics to yourself for the next hour. Do you think you can do that?”

“Fine. Yeah, okay.” I sigh. No lie, I feel like he’s being overly dramatic.

“Great. Now that we have that covered, you can join Brandon at the refreshment table since you can’t be trusted on your own.”

“Really? I need a babysitter now?” I ask, brows raised.

Jace glares at me with aWhat do you think?look on his face.

With a roll of my eyes, I stalk toward the refreshment table, grumbling the entire way. “Fine. I don’t want to be alone, anyway,” I say.

“What are you in trouble for?” Brandon asks as I join him behind the table, refilling cups from a two-liter bottle of soda.

“Giving advice is apparently unappreciated around here,” I mutter.

Brandon snorts, and I’m about to ask him just what the hell is so funny when he reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls out a stainless-steel flask, the metal glinting under the overhead lights before he shoves it back inside. “How about we make this dance a little more interesting?”

“Fuck, no!” I whisper-hiss as I glance around to ensure no one else saw. “These kids aren’t even sixteen. They’re already pissed at me for giving them relationship advice, and you wanna give them booze? Are you crazy?”

Brandon glares at me before he shoves me in the shoulder. “I’m not talking about spiking their drinks, jackass. I’m talking about spikingours!”

“Oh.” I straighten. “That’s a lot more sensible.”

“Ya think?” He rolls his eyes.

I eye the spot on his jacket where I now know the flask resides and shake my head. “Regardless, we shouldn’t. We have a championship game to win. We need to be on our A-game, at our absolute best. No alcohol. No sugar or garbage. We need complete discipline for just two more weeks. Two.” I hold up my fingers, and Brandon groans.

“How did I know you would say that?”

“Because I’m your QB and your captain.” I grin. “And because we have a game to win.”

With a sigh, Brandon grumbles and stares back into the hallway as if looking for an escape. I match his stance, deciding this really isn’t the worst thing?hanging with my boys post-win,and doing good for a bunch of underprivileged teens?when the double doors to the entrance open.

A gust of wintry air sweeps inside, followed by a figure dwarfed in a large coat, but all I can see is the back of her snow-dusted hood as Brynn and Charlotte rush to greet her.

Bored, I pour myself some more cola when Brandon nudges me in the arm. “Hey, who the hell isthat?”

I lift my gaze to where he’s pointing and do a double take as the girl?no, woman?in question shrugs off her coat, and shifts on her feet, revealing a waterfall of blonde curls, and my heart freezes.

No. No. No. No.

I melt, grunting as I lean heavily on the table in front of me as I try to get my bearings.

“Wait.” Brandon frowns. “Isn’t that—”

“Avery,” I interrupt.

“Oh shit,” Brandon hisses.

“Forget what I said earlier.” I straighten, tipping my cup out toward him. “Hit me up.”

“What?” Brandon asks wide-eyed.

“The flask. What’s in it?” I ask, impatient. “Hit me up.”

“Wait. What about being two weeks away from the championship, and being our best, and absolute discipline and shit?”