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DAMON

G etting snowed in before the biggest game of my life should have been a nightmare, but it’s turned into one of the best damn weeks of my life.

The coaches pace like caged animals, growing antsier by the day, while we make the hotel our playground. Mornings are reserved for workouts, strategy sessions, and play reviews while late afternoons and evenings are ours.

Dinners in the lounge, spending time with Avery in the jacuzzi, swimming in the pool, the hotel trivia night, and cards in the girls’ penthouse suite, all make it easy to ignore the feet of snow outside blanketing the city and the inevitability that this week will soon come to an end.

By Wednesday, the snow stops, but roads are still impassable. On Thursday, temperatures start to rise, and the sun peeks through the clouds. And by Friday, some of the snow cocooning the city begins to melt.

I, however, am dying inside, shriveling up bit by bit with each passing second.

Despite spending days and countless hours hanging out with Avery, I’ve yet to get her alone, and it becomes very clear with each day that passes that the guys are taking the duty of babysitting us seriously, doing everything in their power to ensure we don’t get the chance to sneak off.

No private walks to her room or moments alone in the jacuzzi.

Every single second is spent with eyes on us.

When confronted with this observation an hour ago, Chris said, and I quote, “Remember, it’s for your own good and the team’s to ensure there’s no funny business,” just before he snuck back to Charlotte’s room for “a little cardio.”

Hypocritical fuckers.

Now, I’m stuck with Jace, Brynn, Brandon, and West watching my every move while we play poker. I can’t even so much as join Avery in the kitchenette of her penthouse suite for a fucking soda without someone following.

My gaze flickers to West, who’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in their room, reading yet another book while the rest of us play cards, then back to Avery.

She sits across from me cross-legged, with the sleeves of her hoodie pushed to her elbows, and her blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, cheeks pink from laughing.

If our lack of alone time is affecting her, she’s good at hiding it.

“You’re bluffing.” I narrow my eyes as she places a couple quarters into the pot with way too much confidence.

Her pink lips curve, drawing my eyes. “Am I?”

I try to read her face, searching for a tell—a twitch, a blink, anything. But Avery’s eyes never waver from mine. In the time we’ve spent apart, she must’ve worked on her poker face.

“Yeah,” I say, but my voice betrays me, cracking just enough that Brandon snickers beside me. I shoot him a glare before turning my attention back to Avery as she raises one blonde brow. “Call or fold, Damon. Unless you’re scared?”

My friends and teammates belt out a chorus of oooohs like we’re in middle school, not fucking college about to play in a National Championship football game—if they ever clear the roads, that is.

“I call,” I say, tossing in my last few quarters. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Astor.”

Her smile widens as she lays down her cards. “Full house.”

“Son of a . . .”

“That’s what you call bluffing, Huhn?” Brandon claps me on the shoulder with a laugh. “Maybe you should learn how to do it sometime.”

“Damn.” Jace, who’s currently sitting across from me with Brynn on his lap, wrapped in his arms, snickers, and says, “She kicked your ass, bro.”

I throw my worthless pair of sevens down. “How are you so good at this?”

Avery leans forward to collect her winnings when I catch the scent of sugared almonds and fight the urge to lean across the table and claim her mouth.

“You know I’ve always been quick at picking up your tells,” she says with a wink, her fingers brushing mine as she scoops up the quarters.

The brief contact sends an electric jolt up my arm, and not for the first time this week, I wish we were alone, instead of in a room full of our friends.

“Is that right?” I lean forward, my voice husky when I say, “If you know me so well, then what am I thinking right now?”

Her eyes catch the light, glinting like river stones as they fall to my mouth. Standing, her lips curve as she leans across the table. “You’re thinking . . .” She leans into me, her lips grazing my cheek as her breath ghosts across my skin. “That you want to kiss me,” she whispers.

I swallow, the breath catching in my throat as she starts to pull away, but I stop her, one hand wrapping around her wrist, our lips only inches apart. “Wrong,” I mutter, my voice low and rough.

Her brows lift just slightly, but not before I catch the flicker of doubt as I lean in, so close I can already feel the soft press of her against my lips as I murmur, “I don’t want to kiss you, Avery.”

“You don’t?” she rasps.

I shake my head, my nose brushing against hers.

Fuck these cock-blocking assholes.

“I need to,” I whisper before I close the distance and slant my mouth against hers in a gentle sweep that’s all heat and no hesitation.

She sighs into my mouth, and I forget how to think. Her fingers find my jaw, sliding to the strings of my hoodie where she pulls me toward her, taking my heart with it.

The noise of the room fades. Everything else ceases to exist. For this one moment, it’s just her and me and everything we never stopped wanting.

Until someone whistles across from us, and another person, Brandon, I imagine, groans. Until the cards scatter and someone curses under their breath, a commotion around me as Jace belts out, “Shit. It’s ten o’clock. Curfew.”

“Fuck,” Chris hisses, suddenly at my side and tugging on my hoodie. “Gotta go, Romeo.”

Avery jerks away from me, lips still parted, cheeks flushed deeper than before. “You better go,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red.

I brush a thumb over her candy apple cheeks, hating I have to go, and whisper, “To be continued.” There is relief in her gaze as she nods.

Standing, I hurry with the guys, rushing to gather our things before Brandon pulls me toward the door while Coach’s voice echoes in my head about the importance of maintaining focus before the championship.

But my mind is elsewhere—on the taste of her lips, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.

Once we’re out in the hallway, I glance back one last time to find her standing with her arms wrapped around herself, those river-stone eyes following me.

“Sweet dreams, QB,” she calls softly.

The next couple of days are much the same, except the guys are watching me like a hawk, putting in overtime to ensure Avery and I don’t have an opportunity to take things further than our kiss.

It’s Sunday night, and I lie awake, staring at the ceiling of my hotel room and listening to the soft sounds of West breathing in the bed beside mine as I try and talk myself out of texting Avery.

It’s a bad idea. Tomorrow is game day. Though we don’t have an early start, our afternoon is filled with play review, press conferences, warm-ups, and conditioning, prior to the CFP game in the evening. I need every ounce of energy I have, and all of my focus.

I need fucking sleep.

But I can’t stop thinking about her: the flirty banter, the heat of her skin, those stolen moments throughout the week where our eyes connected and nothing else mattered. And that kiss. I can’t stop thinking about the press of her lips on mine and how all I want is more.

I roll onto my side and punch my pillow, glancing at the clock on the nightstand before I home in on my phone.

What if I meet up with her for only an hour? Just one hour alone.

Conceding, I slide my phone off the nightstand and find her in my contacts. She’s probably not even awake, I tell myself as I type: Are you asleep?

Within seconds, the typing bubbles dance on the screen, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what she says.

AVERY :

Can’t sleep.

ME : Me neither.

AVERY :

Anything on your mind?

ME :

Just tomorrow. My dad flew in from Pittsburgh and is staying at a nearby hotel.

AVERY :

That’s amazing. I’m glad he made it.

ME :

Yeah. He’s already made me promise to go out after to celebrate. Victory drinks, he called it. It’s just a lot of pressure, you know?

AVERY :

Are you afraid of disappointing him?

I swallow, thinking of the man who raised me. How much he sacrificed to get me here, how badly he wants this for me.

ME :

Maybe a little.

AVERY :

Don’t be. You couldn’t if you tried.

Her words wrap around my heart, a Band-Aid to my fears.

ME :

Enough about me. What’s keeping you awake?

AVERY :

You.

My stomach does a backflip as I stare at the single word. You. It stares at me, like it’s a sign.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I hover over the screen, knowing what I want even if it’s a bad idea.

ME :

Wanna sneak out? Meet at the pool?

I wait for her response, pushing myself up to a seated position. I’m afraid she might say no, and I try to convince myself it’s not a big deal if she does.

AVERY :

I have a better idea.

ME :

What do you have in mind?

AVERY :

The girls are asleep. Meet me at our suite and text me once you’re outside. I’ll let you in and sneak you back to my room.

The air freezes in my lungs as my heart jumps into my throat. Suddenly, I no longer know how to breathe.

I close my eyes, pulling in a deep breath. I know I should say no. Going to her room the night before our big game is a bad idea. It could wreck everything and screw my focus.

But fuck if I don’t want just a little more time with her one-on-one, without my friends watching our every move. Without having to worry about them judging or eavesdropping.

We’re just going to talk , I tell myself as I throw the covers back and hop out of bed. I’ll spend an hour there, two tops, and once I have my fix, I’ll come back here and get some sleep.