Page 6

AVERY

M y hands shake as I hand the next customer in line their coffee, trying my best not to stare as Damon pulls the two beautiful women standing outside on the sidewalk into a hug before disappearing down the street.

Of course he has women interested in him.

I’m not a fool. Even after all the years I’ve known him, as well as my time spent at Harvard with Ivy Leaguers, Damon is easily the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

With thick, dark hair, piercing emerald eyes, and a bone structure any Hollywood actor would kill for, he’s breathtaking on a bad day.

Pair his looks with his talent and the muscle he’s clearly gained since high school, and I can’t imagine there’s a female in sight who wouldn’t want a shot with him.

But a girlfriend? A girlfriend I hadn’t bargained for.

I’ve followed Damon’s college football career closely, spent countless hours scouring the internet for updates.

I’ve read every article, any little morsel of information I could find on the emerging quarterback.

I’ve stalked his social media, staring at image after image of him, noting the slightest of changes in his appearance, with my heart aching over how much I missed him.

How much I wanted to erase the last two and a half years, rewinding to a time when we were happy and in love.

To a time when I wasn’t forced to choose my family over him, because if I could go back, I’d choose differently.

I’d take the risk, even if it wasn’t mine to take.

But never in the years that I’ve followed him have I heard even the slightest whisper of Damon Huhn having a girlfriend.

There were photos with friends and teammates, even a few with his father, but never any with a girl beneath his arm, and when questioned about his love life in interviews, his response was always the same: Next question.

So, maybe I was naive to think he never moved on.

Maybe I’m positively certifiable for taking the absence of a girl in the stands as proof he still holds a torch for me.

But call me crazy, because here I am more than two years later, starting over again at a new college because I can’t imagine the next two days, let alone the next two years, without him.

The bell on the door chimes, and I know who it is without looking.

Still, I look anyway, trying not to stare at the two beautiful women Damon had been talking to outside as they take their place at the back of the line.

They’re talking animatedly to each other, completely oblivious to my perusal as they inch their way closer.

One is petite with dark hair, equally dark eyes, and rosy cheeks, while the other is blonde with a piercing gaze and shapely figure most girls would kill for.

I busy myself behind the counter, restocking the cream and milk in the carafes while my coworker, Cara, waits on the next customer in line. If my ears just so happen to perk as the women approach, and I accidentally overhear their conversation . . . well, that’s just a coincidence.

“God, they better win this weekend,” the brunette grumbles.

“For more reasons than one,” the blonde grins, then adds, “Why is post-win sex so much better than other sex?”

The brunette’s lips quirks. “It’s all the adrenaline. They’ve got to release it somehow.”

The blonde raises a hand and laughs. “Well, if I have to volunteer as tribute, so be it.”

My stomach roils, and I instinctually wrap my arms around myself to ward off the pain. The thought of Damon with one of these women churns my stomach.

You don’t know anything yet. You’re just assuming. Don’t jump to conclusions, Avery.

I inhale through my nose, trying to ease the churning of my insides.

For the first time since I transferred schools, I wonder what I’ll do if Damon has a girlfriend. What if he’s hooked up with dozens of women since we broke up? What if he’s become some kind of manwhore? And what if I was the one to change him? What if I broke him?

I press a hand to my stomach, convinced I might be sick as the customer in front of them leaves, and the women step up to the counter.

“Gosh, it’ll be nice once the season is over, and we can actually see our men without them having to run off to an extra practice or to watch film,” the blonde says.

“Totally.” The brunette grimaces, and before I can stop myself, I swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat and plaster on my biggest smile. “Can I help you, ladies?” I ask them.

“I’ll take a hot caramel macchiato, and this degenerate over here,” the blonde says with a grin, “will have a chai tea.”

She ordered Damon’s drink.

It’s all I can think as I punch their drinks into the register?as if it’s proof she’s “the girlfriend”—while the churning in my stomach intensifies.

“Sure thing,” I manage as I start to fill their orders, working on the chai tea first.

Swallowing over the nausea rising to the back of my throat, I clear my throat and ask, “So, you guys know Damon Huhn?”

“Oh, yeah.” The brunette stares at me with interest. “I mean, everyone at AAU knows Damon.”

“Right. Because of football,” I say, feeling like an idiot.

I push her tea across the counter, fighting the blush rising to my cheeks. Of course everyone knows who Damon is. Half the country knows who he is.

“Do you know Damon?” the blonde asks, tilting her head as she watches me pump syrup into a paper cup.

“Kind of.” I shrug. “I’m new here, but we have a class together. He seems . . . nice. I guess I was just curious about him.”

The blonde smiles instantly. “He’s hot, right?”

My heart twists as I nod in agreement. “Are you his . . .?” I trail off, unable to choke out the word and hoping she’ll fill in the blank. “Sorry, like I said, I’m new and?”

“His girlfriend?” The blonde’s eyes widen for a moment, and then she flaps a hand as if dismissing the idea. “Oh, God no.”

My heart kicks in my chest as I turn my gaze to the brunette, waiting.

“Me?” She points to herself, eyes wide, and laughs. “Definitely not.” She shakes her head. “Damon is,” she glances up at her blonde friend, dark eyes glittering, “shall we say, relationship-adverse?”

The blonde laughs. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“We’re dating two of his teammates.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry. I must’ve read that wrong.

I saw you outside.” I motion to the windows at the front of the shop as relief floods through me, quick and sharp, and my heart gallops at the confirmation he’s single.

I should probably be focusing on the whole relationship-adverse thing, but honestly, I’m so relieved to hear he’s not dating anyone, I can’t think about much else.

With a secret smile, I move to the espresso machine and set about brewing the shots for the blonde’s coffee when she asks, “So, where are you staying?”

“Staying?” I ask with a start, surprised she’s asking about me at all.

“Living,” the blonde clarifies, then chuckles at my dumbfounded expression. “A student apartment? The dorms? Or maybe you’re commuting?”

“Oh, of course.” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks heat. It’s like my first time socializing. God, Avery, get it together. “I’m actually staying in the dorms. Hyde Hall?”

The brunette smiles. “No way. So are we.” She motions to the blonde, then asks, “What floor? We’re on the first. I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other yet.”

The blush in my cheeks deepens. “I’m on four, but I don’t know anyone, so when I’m not at class or work, I’ve been kind of just keeping to myself lately.”

“I get that,” the blonde says with a grimace.

“My first year here, I had this crazy roommate. It was the worst. I actually ended up having to live with my boyfriend for the summer. Well, he’s my boyfriend now , but he wasn’t back then.

” She smirks, then stretches a hand out.

“I’m Brynn, by the way. And this is one of my besties, Charlotte. ” She nods toward the brunette.

“Hi,” I offer the brunette a smile. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Avery.”

“Hey, I know you said you haven’t gotten out much, and I don’t know if you’re a football fan or just a fan of our quarterback,” Charlotte says with a little laugh, “or maybe I’m totally reading you wrong, but we’re getting together this weekend with a couple friends to watch the game if you want to come. ”

My lips part, taken off guard.

When I started talking to these girls, I hadn’t expected to like them, let alone get an invite from them to hang out. But the idea sounds . . . nice, I realize. More than nice. It sounds amazing. I’ve yet to make a friend on campus, and I could use a couple of allies.

“I would love that,” I hear myself saying, unable to contain my smile.

“Great. It should be pretty amazing. Our boyfriends are roomies and have a place in the athlete dorms with a big screen TV, so it’ll be much better than cramming into a dorm room or a noisy bar to watch,” Charlotte says, and I wonder what Damon would think of me hanging out with these girls.

I push the thought aside as I slide her drink across the counter, then take her credit card and run it.

With their drinks in hand, I make a plan to meet them at the apartment, then watch as they turn to leave. Once they’re out of sight, I take a deep breath as a wave of dizziness crashes over me.

I grip the countertop in front of me, unsteady on my feet. Between my interaction with Damon and the girls, my nerves are frayed.

“Are you okay?” Cara asks, appearing beside me, a hand on my back as she peers up at me.

I nod, my breath shaky. “Yeah, or at least, I will be. Can I have a second?”

“Sure.”

With a muttered thanks, I head toward the back of the café for the employee bathroom.

Once inside, I close the door and lock it behind me, moving to the sink and turning on the faucet.

I test the water with my hands before dipping my head and splashing the cool liquid over my face until my head stops spinning and my heart stops racing.

Straightening, I snatch a couple paper towels out of the dispenser to my right and blot my face dry, then stare into my reflection.

With any luck, I just made my first two friends and got a foot in the door with Damon.

He might have a lot riding on this game, but I have a lot riding on him, and I hate to think what I’ll do if my plan to win him back fails. Which is precisely why it can’t.