Page 2

Chapter One

Austen

“Oh, come on! He was wide open!” I shout at the TV as the anchor cuts away from tonight’s game to announce the Barracudas beat out our alma mater for the third year in a row. The crowd inside the bar boos and hollers in unison, sharing their mutual disdain.

“Don’t they teach these freaking kids how to defend anymore, Christ,” I huff out in annoyance as Cameron chuckles.

“If you’re so offended by the lack of talent, maybe you should coach football instead of whatever it is you do at Brighton Falls.”

I shoot him a glare, noticing the smirk on his face. Of course, he’s being sarcastic.

Cam hates football.

Well, he hates most sports. Has since we were kids.

But that never stopped him from showing up to every game of mine all throughout high school, or obsessing over The Mighty Ducks, which for some reason, is his favorite movie even though he knows nothing about hockey and swears he hates it.

I swear he was at more of my games in high school than Savannah, and she was the head cheerleader.

“This coming from the man who chose Fine Arts as an area of concentration just so he could pose nude and have a hundred paintings of his dick.”

Cam shrugs, taking a long drink from his beer. “It’s a masterpiece and deserves the attention.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Until it’s hanging in the Met, it’s not a masterpiece.”

Cam steals a nacho from my plate, and I smack his hand lightly. He still gets the cheesiest one because he’s too fucking fast.

“Tell that to Marcel Du Champ,” he says as the anchorwoman switches gears and discusses the upcoming Oktoberfest festival.

“I don’t know what you just said, but I’ll take your word for it,” I say, stealing a hot wing off his plate. He glares at me, and I can’t help but laugh as I dunk the crispy drumstick into his unused ranch.

Honestly, I don’t know why he orders the dressing since he never uses it. He’s lactose intolerant.

“Eye for an eye, bitch,” I mutter.

Cam drains the rest of his beer as I tear my teeth into my prize.

The annual festival is always a hit. Folks drive in from the neighboring states to attend, being as it’s one of the biggest fall festivals in the country.

“So, you going to the festival this weekend?” I ask as I take a pull of my beer.

Cam shakes his head, running a hand through his dark hair

“Probably not. Place is a pumpkin-spice nightmare.”

“I thought you loved pumpkin spice,” I say.

Cam shoots me a sarcastic glare. “One time, Austen. One fucking time.”

I shrug. “And my car still smells like pumpkin, since you so graciously spilled your damn latte after taking precisely two sips.”

I dunk my drumstick back in the ranch, knowing there’s no need to feel self-conscious about double dipping since he’s not going to use it. And even if he was, well, we’re friends, so who cares?

His gaze dips to the ranch, then to me as I tear into the remainder of the meat like a caveman.

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t give me a disgusted look. Not like Savannah does. Of course, I won’t say that though. Savannah and Cam’s relationship is… touchy. I’d love nothing more than for my best friend and fiancée to get along, but life isn’t so simple.

“You nervous about tonight?” he asks, pulling apart his wing. I don’t know why he doesn’t just tear into it like a normal person.

I sigh, chewing my lip. Tonight I’d planned on going to the strip club with some teammates and friends for the first time.

It’s not like I’d never thought about going before, but the situation just… never came up.

I didn’t want Savannah to be pissed at me, and the idea of paying strange women to rub themselves over my crotch just put me off.

“A little, yeah,” I admit sheepishly. “I swear, you don’t know how lucky you are, man.” It’s the truth.

Cam raises an eyebrow at me. “Lucky? How so?”

I grab another drumstick from his plate, dredging it in the extra buffalo sauce on his plate before coating it in a heavy dunk of ranch. Some of the hot sauce mixes with the ranch, turning it pink.

“You’ll never have to deal with this shit,” I say.

Cam’s never been quiet about his sexual preferences, and I respect him for that. But I’ve always been a little jealous, too.

Cam can just… be himself. Even in this stupid ass town that judges everyone for everything. He doesn’t hide shit. A part of me envies that he does what he wants, without having to answer to someone about it. He looks the other way when people make comments about him and he doesn’t let it affect him.

Cam coughs, pointing to his mouth.

“You, uh…”

“What?” I ask, my mouth half-full of ranch-coated, buffalo-sauced chicken.

“Got a little something in the corner, there,” he says with a smirk as he brushes his finger over the left side of his mouth.

I use my tongue, trying to lick the corner of my mouth, looking at him.

“Did I get it?” I murmur.

He shakes his head, his cheeks flushed as he coughs again.

“Fuck,” he says, clearing his throat.

“Wrong pipe?” I ask as I grab my napkin, wiping my whole mouth so I’m sure not to miss it.

“Something like that,” he responds.

“How about now? We good?” I ask.

Cam’s lips press together, and he nods just as the unmistakable roar of Mack, Andre, and Paul echoes in the bar. They’re like a pack of wild baboons.

I turn to see them dressed in their jerseys, looking drunk already. It’s still pretty early in the night, but the three of them pregame harder than any of my other teammates. Don’t know how they manage to play on the field without dropping from dehydration.

“Brewer!” Mack calls out, hollering to me the minute he sees me. Andre and Paul whoop, too, drawing attention like the gluttons they are. I feel more than see the way Cam tenses beside me. It’s no secret his intolerance for milk is similar to his intolerance for football players. Namely, the ones I play with. He’s a fan of a few of the NFL players, mostly because of the way their asses look in their pants, but whatever.

We’ve both known Mack since high school, since we were on the same team and Cam was always around. When I got the scholarship to Brighton Falls, I wasn’t sure how I would fit in being as the college was over an hour away from home.

A part of me was thrilled to be somewhere no one knew me, but another was utterly terrified.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I found out Cam got in, too. We’d hoped for it to happen, but wasn’t sure it would. Cam had other options, better options, and I was sad when he didn’t get into them.

At least I’d have my best friend with me. If all else went to shit, I had him, and that would be enough. Who doesn’t want to go to college with their best friend? It was an added bonus that Mack got in here too, because now I knew someone else.

Paul and Andre were sophomores when I started, and they are the seasoned players. Mack and I were the new kids. While they are great, they can be a lot. They are exactly what people think of when you say college football player. Charismatic, loud as hell, and built like a fucking brick house—but of course they have to be, since they’re our linemen.

They aren’t bad friends by any means, and I always feel on edge when they are around. Like part of me fits in, but a bigger part of me doesn’t. But I love the game, so I stay. If only people like Cam enjoyed football… playing it, that is. Not just checking out asses in uniform pants.

“What’s up, man?” Andre says as he claps me on the shoulder. Paul leans in, trying to swipe a wing from Cam’s plate, but he smacks his hand so hard I hear the crack.

“The fuck is wrong with you, man?” Paul gripes, shaking out his hand.

“Get your own food, asshole,” Cam bites.

“Lighten up, Camden,” Andre says. “It’s rude not to share. Or something.”

“It’s Cameron ,” he says bitterly as he pulls his plate closer to his chest, tearing off the meat of his wing like an angry animal, his gaze more aggressive than Mack on the field after a fumble.

“Whatever,” Andre says as Paul pulls me into his grasp.

“You ready to go fuck shit up tonight?” he asks.

I sigh as anxiety hits me all over again.

Mack thought it would be a good idea to expose me to a few strip clubs before the bachelor party just to get an idea of what I’m getting myself into. Honestly, I think they just wanted an excuse to get drunk and spend money, but that’s what college guys do right?

I suck the hot sauce and ranch off my fingers before wiping them on my napkin.

“Yeah, I just have to, uh… flag the server down, and—”

Cam shakes his head. “Go. I got it.”

“You aren’t coming?” I ask, confused. I told him we were meeting ahead of time, and then the guys would meet us and we could follow them down…

“No, I… have homework to catch up on.”

Andre chuckles. “Of course, you do.”

I dig into my wallet, pulling out two twenties as Cam meets my gaze.

“That should do it, then,” I say, offering him a soft smile.

Cam grins back, grabbing the twenties from me, his fingers grazing mine as he does so.

“Have fun,” he says, and I nod, feeling the anxiety swell in my stomach.

Before I can say another word, Paul wraps his arm around me and pulls me away.

Once we hit the door, I turn around, hoping to catch Cam looking and insist he join. But when my eyes land on the table we were at, I find his seat empty.

“Tonight’s going to be lit!” Mack announces as Andre hoots and hollers. I force a smile as I let my teammates lead me out into the chilly autumn night to go to a strip club I’m not entirely sure I want to go to.