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CHAPTER 2

JACE

“ H ey, Matty,” I yelled to him as I lined up for the next play. “What did Cinderella do when she got to the ball?”

I could practically hear his sigh over the roar of the crowd. He liked to pretend that I wasn’t funny…but he was obviously wrong.

“She gagged,” I yelled just as Parker received the snap, and I took off down the field.

There was something magical about the sound of a football spiraling through the air. Maybe it was the way the crowd held its breath. The way the ball cut through the stadium lights, a perfect arc against the night sky. The way I knew—knew—it was meant for me before it even left Parker’s hands.

Or maybe it was just the fact that I was the best wide receiver in all of college football, and when I caught this, the crowd was going to go absolutely fucking wild.

Yeah, it was probably that.

I sprinted downfield, my cleats digging into the ground, my heart pounding like a fucking drumline. The corner was trying to cover me, but I was faster. I always was. I obviously always would be.

Ball in the air. Thirty yards out.

Twenty.

Ten.

It was beautiful. A perfect spiraling bullet heading right for me. I cut hard, shaking my defender, and stretched my arms?—

BAM.

Helmet to my ribs.

Pain exploded through my chest as I hit the ground, the wind knocked right out of me. The ball tumbled from my hands, rolling uselessly across the turf.

“Motherfucker!”

The whistle blew, and I lay there for a second, staring up at the sky, questioning every decision that had led me to this moment. The ref signaled an incomplete pass, and the crowd groaned.

Son of a bitch.

A shadow loomed over me.

“You dead?”

I blinked and found Parker Davis, our golden boy QB, and one of my bestilicious bros, smirking down at me.

“Pretty sure I just met Jesus,” I wheezed.

Parker held out his hand and yanked me to my feet. I winced, rolling my shoulders. Fucking hell, that hit hurt. “Did you put in a good word for me?” Parker smirked, probably thinking about his little “basement incident” a couple of weeks ago.

“I think you’re beyond help,” I said, trying to blink away the fact that my lungs had forgotten they were supposed to breathe. Fuck.

“Dude, you had it,” Matty said, shaking his head as he joined us. “What happened?”

I glared at him because, obviously, this was the opposite of being a supportive king.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I shot back, rubbing my ribs. “Maybe it was the linebacker-sized missile that just torpedoed into my lungs.”

“Excuses,” Parker muttered, jogging back to the huddle.

I flipped him off and followed.

Fourth and seven.

Two minutes left.

Down by three.

This was what I lived for. High-pressure moments. Big-time plays.

The chance to be a fucking legend.

Parker called the play, and we broke the huddle, lining up at the snap. The defense was in man coverage, and I snorted. Rookie mistake.

Because no one. And I repeat—no one—could cover me one-on-one.

The ball snapped, and I was gone .

I burned past my defender, my legs churning, my lungs on fire. The safety sprinted over to help, but he was too late. The ball was already flying, a perfect deep shot, aimed right at me.

This time…I wasn’t missing.

I jumped, snagging it right out of the air, my fingers wrapping around the leather like it was made for me. My feet hit the ground, and I was off.

The end zone was ten yards away.

Five.

I dove.

The moment I crossed the goal line, the stadium erupted.

Touchdown.

Game over.

We won.

I rolled onto my back, breathing hard. “You’re welcome, bitches,” I screamed as Parker sprinted up and yanked me to my feet.

“Way to make that look hard, drama queen,” he drawled, pounding a hand against my helmet.

I grinned. “Would’ve been cooler if I could have done that two plays ago, and you hadn’t tried getting me killed.”

“Details,” Parker smirked as we both soaked in the moment.

Matty, my other bestilicious bro, came running up, tackling me back to the ground in his excitement. The rest of the team mobbed us, slamming into me with congratulations, but all I could hear was the roar of the crowd, the fight song blaring, and the announcer yelling my name like it belonged to a hero.

Fucking hell, I loved football.

And I loved winning.

I leaned back against my locker, tapping out a text while Parker ran a towel over his face. He was trying for a new land speed record to get out of here and through his post-game interviews so he could see his girl Casey.

“Party at Lucky Strike tonight?” I asked, my eyes suddenly bulging at the boobs that had just shown up on my phone.

“Ahh,” I screeched, wondering how a three-nippled woman had managed to get ahold of my phone number. “Someone get this thing off my phone.” I tossed it to Matty—obviously. Parker had a no boobs but Casey’s rule, and I was all for respecting that.

“What the hell?” Matty said, grimacing at the picture as he punched some buttons on my phone. “Is that?—”

You might ask me why I had such a problem with three nipples, but I actually didn’t.

What I had a problem with, was the fact that I was pretty sure my face had been tattooed around that third nipple. And considering that I had no recollection of sleeping with someone with a third nipple, this girl was probably a stalker.

I was stalker-worthy, obviously.

But I actually preferred to be the one doing the stalking.

“Deleted,” Matty said, grimacing as he handed me my phone back.

“You’re a man above men, Matty-kins,” I drawled.

“Do you have to call me that?” he asked, still grimacing.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I annoying you with my best friendship?”

“Your best friendship?” Parker asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes, my best friendship, QB. You guys have qualified for my best, which is very lucky for you, and reminds me…I’ve got one.”

They both groaned almost simultaneously, like I wasn’t the funniest person they knew. Seriously so rude.

“You mean another one,” Matty pointed out, obviously remembering my banger of a joke during the game.

“This is a really good one,” I told them matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I hear Casey calling my name,” Parker said, looking around the locker room as if it was possible to hear anyone through the thick concrete walls. Also rude.

“What do you call a masturbating cow?” I asked them, starting to chuckle a little because I was so damn funny.

“It’s weird that you’re already laughing. You’re setting yourself up for disappointment when you’re already laughing.”

“Pshh,” I said, waving my hand at Matty because I was completely unconcerned about that. “Beef Stroganoff.”

Both of them stared at me with blank faces.

“What are you going to do with beef stroganoff?” Matty finally asked.

“It’s the joke. Beef stroking off ,” I said, enunciating it slowly because, obviously, not everyone could have a big brain like I did.

“I still don’t get it?” Matty said, surprising me not even a little.

“It’s because you interrupt me forty-five million times whenever I gift you with a joke. It disrupts the cadence.”

“I happen to have incredible cadence ,” Parker drawled.

“When shouting plays to our center, yes. When interrupting my jokes, no, you do not.” I grimaced as I removed my shoulder pads because my ribs fucking hurt to move.

I cracked my neck. “Okay, but real talk—am I the best receiver in football or am I not? And there is only one right answer, so even Matty should be able to get this one right.”

Parker snorted, and Matty huffed.

“So braggy for someone who can barely breathe because he got hit so hard,” Matty said sarcastically.

“Ahh, you’re still upset about the one inch,” I said wisely, able to see right through the prickly tight end of a lover bean.

Parker laughed, finally accepting how funny I was. But Matty just snarled.

“You can say one inch as much as you want, but it’s never going to be true. A quarter of an inch doesn’t even round up to one,” he hissed, finally showing me a hint of a big brain.

“Proud of you for knowing that, bubs,” I told him, ducking at the towel Matty threw at me while simultaneously pulling a clean shirt over my head, even though my bare chest was obviously a gift to mankind.

Matty flung himself down on a bench, scowling at the room. He had the best RBF of anyone I’d ever seen, and somehow it worked for him, the handsome bastard.

“When the fuck do you think our trials are going to start?” Matty asked, his voice pitched low as he wiped a towel through his hair.

Parker, Matty, and I had all been recruited the first week of school by the Sphinx, a shadowy, high-roller secret society on campus that was apparently supposed to ensure us fame, riches, and power for the rest of our lives if we were lucky enough to join their ranks. Parker had already completed his three initiation trials—with some help from us, of course, but Matty and I were still waiting for ours to start.

Parker lifted a brow at him and took a step closer. “Are you two in a hurry to risk your life? Might I remind you about the little graveyard scene you both loved so much?”

Matty shivered, probably picturing all those imaginary ghosts he’d been so afraid of that night. I personally was thinking of the cookies I’d been eating during the event in question—but that was most likely because I was really fucking hungry at the moment.

I shot him a grin. “I mean, kinda? If I have to do some insane, life-threatening initiation bullshit, I’d rather get it over with now instead of living with the constant suspense of waiting for some guy in a creepy mask to show up and tell me I have to steal a cop car or something.”

Matty snorted. “Please. You’re going to wish that was all you had to do. I bet our first trial is gonna be something way worse than anything golden boy over here had to do.”

I glanced back at Parker, who was watching us, clearly amused. Probably because he was smug in his safeness thanks to the tracker I’d installed in that manly friendship bracelet he had around his wrist. Thanks to me always gently observing him, he was guaranteed to have a backup in case anything happened to him.

I was such a good friend.

“It will happen when you least expect it,” he said, standing up and tossing his towel onto the bench. “They won’t give you any warning.”

Matty groaned. “Awesome. Love that for me.”

I punched him in the arm. “I love that for you, too, Matty-kins. I know how much you luvvvv surprises. Especially in the middle of the night…with a bag over your head.”

Matty looked faintly green at that statement. “Yeah,” he croaked, his eyes wide as he probably pictured how they really had stuffed bags over our heads the night we’d been chosen.

Parker shook his head, muttering something ominous like, “Just you wait,” like the drama queen he was, before heading toward the showers.

Matty still had his grumble face on when my phone buzzed, and I pulled it out, seeing it was a congratulations text from my brother Jagger. He was five years older than me and my favorite brother from the same mother.

Mostly since he was my only brother from the same mother. Everything about Jagger was a little sketchy and a lot cool, hence how he was related to me.

Jagger: There was a lot about that last touchdown celebration that could have been avoided.

Jagger: I may have a plethora of nieces and nephews in nine months.

Me: So you agree I’m sexy. Thank you. Not anything I didn’t know, but it’s always nice to hear.

Jagger: …

Me: Excellent use of that.

Me: Parker seems to think that his brother came up with that, but I’m pretty sure the Thatcher brothers were dot, dot, dot people loooong before the Davis boys.

Jagger: I have no idea what you’re talking about right now. But I agree, we are much better than them.

Me: So, tell me again how awesome I did in the game.

Jagger: Does anyone really need to do that? Pretty soon your head won’t actually fit in your helmet.

Me: What a jokester, Jagger-meister. We really only have to worry about me fitting in my pants.

Jagger: I’ve told you this before, Jace. I don’t want to talk about your dick.

Me: Ugh, what’s even worth talking about, then?

Jagger: …

Me: See? You’re a … pro.

Matty stretched out, leaning back on the bench and dragging my attention away from my phone. “So…bar?”

I nodded. “Bar.”

Because as much as I enjoyed discussing football, my ego, and my excellent dick size…right now, I wanted to celebrate.

The Tennessee Tigers were the shit.