Page 17 of False Start

It was wild, to think of how fast my friends had been locked down. Zeke Collins had fallen hard for Riley Novo our freshman year, although to his credit, he had been in love with that girl since they were kids. It wasn’t his fault she was the only girl on the team, and then he was forced to room with her. Any man would have cracked under that.

Then, Clay simped for Giana, pretending to date her to get his ex back only to actually fall for G, instead.

Holden was the one I thought would stay strong. He was our quarterback, our captain, and nothing distracted him from football. That was, until our new coach’s daughter had strutted into the locker room looking like an absolute snack. I was mildly jealous of that one. I would have given my starting position for a chance with Julep.

They got hitched in April.

Lastly, there was Leo Hernandez and Mary Silver. Those two fought like fucking cats and dogs when Mary found herself without any other choice but to live with us at The Pit for a few months. That was our senior year, the one where I started pulling my head out of my ass and acting like a grown man who wanted a shot in the NFL. I’d thought being a star on social media would get me my ticket in, but it was Holden who helped me see I needed to straighten up if I wanted a real shot.

And I could still remember how it felt to watch him that first time on the field as an NFL player. We were all gathered at The Pit, stunned silent when he lined up as quarterback during a pre-season game for North Carolina.

That had straightened me out real quick, and my singular focus shifted from fame, girls, and partying, to being and doing whatever it took to get my own spot in that league.

At least I still had Braden. I was pretty sure he was just as content being single as I was, his drive to be a beast in the NFL just as strong as mine.

The front door of the massive white house was unlocked, and I pushed it open with my eyes scanning the tall ceilings and rich woods when I did. The foyer opened up to a dining area and kitchen, which spilled into the living area. All of it was lit up with the natural light coming in from the large sliding glass doors in the back, and I ticked a brow up at the view of the lake.

“Not bad,” I muttered to myself.

Still, it felt a little old fashioned for me. I tried to keep my mind open as I made my way farther inside.

“Good morning.”

Madelyn’s voice was soft and tentative, and I turned to find her joining me from one of the back hallways.

She had her arms wrapped around a binder hugged to her chest, as if it were a shield. Where she’d been in a pencil skirt and blouse last time she’d shown me a home, this time, she was in straight-legged dark green slacks and a long-sleeve black turtleneck. It hugged her slight frame and matched the heels she wore, the ones that helped her stand at least four inches taller.

Her copper hair was straight today, and the morning light off that lake warmed the gold in her brown eyes.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

“Good morning,” I echoed, leaning a hip against the kitchen island where I stood. I folded my arms over my chest, looking around at the house. “Nice find. I dig the Spanish Revival style.”

“I’m glad you approve. Care for a tour?”

“Lead the way.”

I followed behind Madelyn as she gave me the overview of the home, listing off all the construction materials, square footage details, years it was made and updated, age of the appliances, and so on and so forth.

I listened intently, nodding and taking it all in as we toured the eight bedrooms, the two kitchens — one for the chefs, one for me — the six-and-a-half bathrooms, the three bonus rooms that she illustrated could be used for a gym or man cave or whatever else my heart desired, the four fireplaces, the two dining areas and living areas, the back yard with a garden and a pool and an outdoor cooking area.

I really was listening.

But I was also staring at Madelyn’s ass and daydreaming about a life that felt almost like it never happened.

I remembered the way her torn-up jean shorts would hug that ass when she was seventeen, when I was a fifteen-year-old with raging hormones driving all of my decisions.

I remembered how I slowly grew from a pain in her ass to her friend, how we went from annoying each other to opening up to one another in ways we didn’t open up to anyone else.

By the time I turned sixteen, she was my best friend.

One cold winter night, the two of us snuck into a house not even a quarter of the size of this one in the gated community a ten-minute walk from my parents’ house. Its owners had just moved out, but it hadn’t gone up for sale yet.

We’d thoughtthatwas a mansion, thought we were so fucking cool jumping into that dirty, freezing cold pool. It wasn’t like we didn’t have a nice, clean, decent-size pool at my house. It was just that this one was like a fucking waterpark. It had multiple slides and a diving board and a hot tub that sat a few feet higher than the pool.

Of course, it wasn’t hot then, but we pretended like it was.

We’d gotten tipsy off cheap champagne we stole out of my mom’s secret fridge in the garage, and I’d teased Madelyn about being the worst babysitter in the world, about how she was more trouble than I would have found if I was left on my own.