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“He’s not my boyfriend,” I retort, my stomach doing that flip thing again. I swear that’s all it’s done since I saw him sitting in the stands. It’s the moment of free fall that makes me take notice. Like being scared and exhilarated at the same time. And it happens every time I think about West.
“You’re totally blushing,” Sydney says. “If you get with West, get a good word in with Aidan for me, would ya?”
I peer over at her, and she’s smiling from ear t0 ear. “I just have some research I need to do.” She lowers her voice. “Think along the vein of how good football players are in bed. You know, stamina, muscles, pleasure points.”
“Oh. My. God.” I laugh. Sometimes, I can’t believe the things that come out of her mouth.
“You’re definitely embarrassed now.”
“It’s the redness from my scar,” I tell her, but she knows I’m full of shit. My mind has wandered to West in bed, and I can’t shake it. He’s a specimen of athletic ability. I’m sure—
“There it is!” the kid ahead of us yells.
I snap back to reality and glance up at the stadium that comes into view. It’s pretty big, but not as big as the one Warner boasts. It’s completely open and looks more like my high school’s football field, except the stands are packed. Mostly blue and white shirts dot the crowd, but on the side closest to us, there are more yellow and purple.
A fast-talking announcer spits out plays with the speed of a chatterbox on crack. “We’re missing it!” The kid echoes my thoughts, and his parents exchange a look and pick up the pace.
We’re right behind them when they get to the ticket booths. We’re not the only ones either. A massive crowd still moves toward the stands with us. We get in the shortest line available, and when we finally get to the front, the attendant says, “You can still get a ticket, but it’s probably standing room only.”
She glances up at us and then down at the Bulldog insignia on my jacket. “Wait, are you Warner University students?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sydney and I say at the same time.
“You get discounted tickets, then, and I’m sure there are still seats in the student section. I’ll just need your student IDs.”
I blow out a breath of relief. Sydney and I both hand over our IDs, and I pay for her ticket since she used her gas to bring us here. We scurry toward the entrance with our tickets, and an usher points us in the right direction. Now that we’re close, the field is bigger than I originally thought. It’s still not as nice as Warner’s facilities, but it’s nice for a smaller school.
Sydney grabs my hand as the crowd thickens. We end up in the away team student section and have to squeeze past a group of people hovering over someone. I recognize Reid Parker in the middle of it, our former QB. He’s straining his neck to watch the game around the people who have gathered next to him. His forehead is pinched in annoyance, but the girl holding on to his hand is hiding a smile.
“Hey, that’s—”
“Yep,” I say to Sydney, eager to move around so I can watch.
“I had a class with him my freshman year. He was nice. I thought it was cute how he always walked his girlfriend to every single class. Every single class. Can you imagine, Kenna?”
I remember that, too. Reid was the talk of the university when I first got here, but he was down-to-earth. “He got drafted, right? Wonder why he’s here?”
A guy who’s sitting a couple of seats over from him speaks up. “He’s got a break. I was talking to him before the game.” He peers at Sydney and me. “You guys need a place to sit?”
He scoots down, forcing everyone else to sit closer together, and there’s just enough room for Sydney and I to sit on the edge of the row. “Thanks,” I tell him as we take the offered space. I was beginning to worry that we weren’t going to get a spot.
Once seated, I look ahead and see that we’re just behind the team. I scour the sidelines and don’t see West right away.
The other team punts and our offense jogs onto the field.
“There he is,” I say, pointing him out, unable to help myself.
Sydney cranes her neck. “Looking good in those uniforms. Still think I would prefer the Speedos, but…” She lifts her shoulders.
“Beggars can’t be choosers?”
She zeroes her gaze in on me. “Please. West is practically begging to get into your pants. You don’t have to choose at all.”
Flip-flop.
I hold my stomach, trying to calm it down. No matter how many times I try to talk myself out of it, I keep coming back to the same reality—the same one Sydney just said.
West Brookslikesme.