Page 5

DAMON

A fter morning conditioning where I half-assed everything because my mind had been too preoccupied with a particular blonde for the second day in a row, I shower and change, parting ways with my teammates to make the familiar trek from campus to Java the Hutt for my morning coffee.

I’m hoping the caffeine might do something to ease the pounding headache blooming in the front of my skull.

With my duffle slung over my shoulder, I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans and tuck in my chin, shielding my face from the worst of the whipping wind.

December was brutal, but January is proving to be even worse, and I have no idea what’s in store for February.

I don’t mind the cold much, which is why Michigan suits me.

I have no idea where I’ll end up after next year, but if all goes according to plan, I’ll be playing in the NFL, preferably somewhere in the northeast, preferring the cold to the heat.

My feet crunch over the grass, leaving imprints in the snow while my thoughts wander to my conversation with the guys yesterday afternoon.

The pressure of the weight on my shoulders and in my chest hasn’t waned.

A lot is riding on these next two weeks?on me.

Football has been my goal for as long as I can remember.

From bobbling foam Nerf Balls in the backyard with my father as a kid, to running my first play-action pass on the field at fifteen.

It’s been the great love of my life, only second to one other?Avery.

Little did I know she’d change the rules at the last minute, and I’d lose the game.

At the very least, my heartbreak taught me something: Where love can be messy and unpredictable, football is steadfast and reliable.

The rules don’t change in football. Everything is black and white.

Win or lose, the result is the cumulation of your efforts on and off the field, and I refuse to lose this one.

With the CFP championship game only three weeks away, everything I’ve worked so hard for is right at my fingertips.

I’m one game away from a shot at the title, and I want it so bad I can taste it.

Everyone says I’ll get drafted, that it’s a no-brainer, but you never know.

Sometimes the most talented players slip through the cracks.

Victory over these next two weeks would help ensure I don’t, that I’m a part of the statistics of winners, and not the losers who crashed and burned on the field along with their dreams.

I pause in front of the coffee shop, waiting as someone exits before I slip inside, lured in by the nutty aroma of freshly roasted beans and pastries.

The scent wraps around me like a warm hug, improving my outlook slightly.

I don’t have a lot of vices in life, but coffee is one of them, and the baristas here have come to expect my twice-daily visits, knowing my order by heart: a caramel macchiato with half syrup and two shots of espresso, hot in the morning, iced after noon.

It’s a hell of a lot more costly than a couple of cheap beers, but thanks to the full ride I got to AAU, I can afford the habit. Thank God for small blessings.

The line moves and I shuffle forward as the person in front of me begins to place their order, feeling my mood lift at the prospect of caramel and caffeine.

My gaze flickers to the bakery case and I resist the urge to order dessert.

Now is not the time to indulge. I’ll have plenty of opportunities after the season is over.

The sugar in my drink is bad enough. The guys get on me about my penchant for “girly drinks” all the time, and if I order a pastry too, I’ll crash, and the last thing I need is to be sluggish on the field when Coach is riding our asses harder than usual.

I tear my gaze from the giant chocolate chip muffin to the counter where the barista works. A waterfall of blonde curls shields her face as she dips her head to reach for something beneath the counter, but when she lifts her head, eyes like the finest of whiskeys hit me like a gut punch.

The breath whooshes from my lungs, and my heart does a traitorous flip inside my chest.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

When in the hell did she start working here?

My feet move on instinct, and I start to turn, but I’m only halfway there when the customer in front of me takes his coffee and pushes past me for the exit, leaving me in the spotlight.

“Damon?” her voice calls out, and I close my eyes, fighting the urge to scream, because I’ve been caught red-handed trying to avoid her.

My only choice now is to save face and place my order like a fucking man.

Anything else will make me look like an idiot?or worse, like I’m so affected by her presence, I have to leave.

But this is my territory. My school. My fucking coffee shop.

I was here first, dammit. If anyone needs to go, it’s her.

Bracing myself to face her again, I slowly spin back around and head for the counter. A forced smile turns to a grimace as her gaze tracks my face, as if searching for answers to questions she never bothered to ask.

“Let me guess,” she says after a moment, “an iced caramel macchiato, half syrup, and two shots of espresso?”

Shit. Of course she remembers my coffee order. I’m nothing if not habitual, the most fucking predictable creature on the face of the planet.

It’s only out of spite that I shake my head. “Nope. A hot vanilla latte, all the syrup, no whip.”

Ha! Take that. You don’t know me like you think you do. I’ve changed. Things have changed.

I narrowly avoid dragging a hand over my face.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Her smile falters for only a moment before she nods and gets to work making my drink while the other barista fills the order of the customer behind me.

“When I saw your coffee cup the other day, I wondered if you still had your regular coffee habit.” She glances behind her as she works, as if waiting for some kind of response on my part, but I just ignore her, staring straight ahead.

But despite my best efforts, I find myself watching her movements like a hawk and looking for a mistake.

Something, anything, to complain to her manager about.

Call me a Petty Betty, but it would bring me joy to make her life just a little bit harder.

“Do you still watch what you eat during the season, too?” She turns with my drink, stirring in the milk while she stares up at me expectantly.

When I don’t answer, she babbles on, talking about the snow outside, how big the campus is, and some other nonsense I don’t care to follow.

All the while, I wonder what in the hell she’s doing working at a coffee shop when her family has enough money to own every coffee chain in the state of Michigan.

Hell, make that every Starbucks in the whole fucking country.

Finishing my drink, she pushes the cup toward me, her hand lingering a beat longer than necessary as our fingers brush, and I try not to notice the tingling sensation where our skin meets?a brief zap of static that only pisses me off more.

Scowling, I cock my head as I gaze down at her through narrowed eyes. “I’m surprised an Astor is serving coffee. Seems a little beneath you, don’t ya think?”

The words are meant as a dig, and when I catch the way she flinches, I know they hit their mark.

“Yeah, well,” she glances down at the counter and steps back, “I might be an Astor by name these days, but not much else.”

I search her expression, wondering what she means. I want to ask, but I refuse to show an interest. She’s no longer my business. The girl standing in front of me may as well be a stranger.

When her lips part to continue our one-sided conversation, I quickly back away from the counter and turn for the door, cutting her off before I push outside. The burst of cold greets me like a slap in the face?or maybe that’s the aftershock of Avery.

I inhale the crisp winter air like a drowning man, trying to catch my breath when someone calls out, “Hey, Damon!”

I jerk with a start, glancing to my right where Chris’s girlfriend, Charlotte, a petite brunette with dark hair and equally dark eyes grins up at me beside Brynn, Jace’s blonde sweetheart.

“Hey!” I press forward, pulling Brynn into a giant bear hug and practically sweeping her off her feet. Relief floods through me at the sight of the familiar faces, needing an anchor to the present and not the past where my mind is residing. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh . . .” Brynn stiffens, clearly unused to such a warm greeting from me. “Getting coffee?”

I pull away, staring down at her. With any luck, Avery is still watching in the giant shop windows, and if she happens to think Brynn is my girlfriend . . . well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Right. Well, it’s good to see you,” I say, my tone friendlier than normal.

She blinks up at me, her violet gaze round with surprise. “Are you okay?” She stretches onto her toes and presses a hand against my forehead while I lean into her, trying to make it seem like an intimate caress rather than a clinical exam for fever. “You’re acting weird,” she adds with a frown.

I huff out a laugh, feigning ignorance. “Of course I’m feeling okay. What do you mean?”

Charlotte and Brynn exchange a look before Brynn says, “It’s just . . . you’re not usually so happy to see us.”

I snort in derision. “What? That’s absurd.”

Charlotte’s dark brows rise. “I mean, you’re okay around Liz, Samantha, Tatum, and the single girls, but us?” She motions between them. “You’re not exactly . . . How can I say this?”

“Overly friendly with your teammates’ girlfriends,” Brynn finishes for her.

I frown, feeling kind of like a dick. “Am I really that bad?”

When they say nothing, I scratch the back of my head. A glance in the giant coffee shop windows tells me Avery is watching.

I clear my throat, shifting on my feet. “I’m not unfriendly, ” I say slowly, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. “I’m just—selective with my social energy.”

Charlotte lets out a short laugh. “Selective? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

I shrug, throwing them a sheepish look. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a little standoffish.

But in my defense, you guys are usually all cuddled up with my teammates.

I figured I’d give you space.” I pause, then smirk slightly.

“You know, for the sake of team morale,” I say, like it’s the real reason I think my friends are nuts for being in committed relationships.

“Right.” Charlotte tucks a dark lock of hair behind her ear.

“Well, anyway,” I say, feeling like an asshole, “I guess I’ll see you ladies later?”

“Yeah, sure?” Charlotte yelps in surprise when I lean down and lift her off her feet in a one-armed bear hug, then do the same with Brynn, lingering a little longer than necessary in my bid to what?

Make Avery jealous? Prove to her I’ve moved on?

Give her the impression I might be dating one of these girls?

When I place them back on their feet, I take a step back, offering them a final wave and resisting the urge to look behind me in the giant café windows one last time.

It’s not until I’m back on campus that I take a sip of my vanilla latte and grimace.

It’s so sweet I can hardly choke it down, and when I find the nearest trash can, I chuck it inside from five feet away.

It’s a perfect spiral that lands with a thunk in the empty bin.

That’s what I get for letting my pride get in the way of good coffee.

Now I have to go the rest of the day without my caffeine fix.

“Fifty thousand students,” I mutter to myself with the shake of my head. Fifty thousand students and I see Avery not once, but twice, in the first two days since the semester started.

Fuck my life.