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CHAPTER

ONE

EMMA—NOW

The last place I want to be tonight is at a party at some football player’s house.

My next paper for my Organic Chemistry class is due on Tuesday and isn’t going to write itself.

But my roommates—who are also my teammates on Walker University women’s golf team—have dragged me out, thinking I need to let off some steam and have a little fun.

Our first tournament in California wasn’t my finest performance, and the pressure I feel from my course load this semester is enough to drive an average person crazy.

I’ll compartmentalize it, as I usually do, and keep moving, but my friends might be right.

I’m a perfectionist to a fault, and admittedly, I take on more than I should from time to time.

Okay, all the time, but I can’t help it. So, maybe I should just let myself have some fun tonight.

Problem is, this house is filled with ego-driven fuckboys.

Don’t get me wrong; I’ve played around with my fair share, but I’m just not in the mood tonight.

The music is too loud, most of the girls here are decked out in their short skirts while I’m in jeans and a cropped T-shirt, and it smells like a distillery in here.

I feel like one drop of a match, and this place would go up in flames just because of the amount of alcohol in here alone.

Which surprises me a little bit, to be honest. The football team won today, so they deserve to celebrate, but most athletes don’t drink too heavily during the season. Or at least the ones who plan to take their career past college.

I don’t plan on playing golf beyond my college years.

My track has been clear to me since my sister died when I was only nine years old.

I need to finish my four years here at Walker near the top of my class in order to get into the best med schools.

Right now, my top choices are NYU, Case Western Reserve, and Duke.

They have the best pediatric cardiology programs, which is what my specialty will be.

“Emma, did you hear me?” my friend Olivia Lewis—aka Livi—asks.

“I can barely hear anything in here. What did you say?” I lean in closer to her to hear her more clearly.

“You need to get out of your head. Your paper will still be there tomorrow. This place is swimming with endless possibilities. I feel like you need to get laid. Like not only let loose and have a few drinks, but you need to get some D, my friend.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and laughs.

“Why is sex the only avenue to letting loose?”

“Because if sitting in your room and studying released tension, you wouldn’t have gotten a double bogey on a par three.”

“I blame the wind.”

“I blame your inability to get out of your head, and the way you’re gonna do that is by using your body with the next fuckboy who walks into this room.”

Just as she says it, a loud boom of a voice comes from the doorway. Now, I’m standing next to the speaker, but I can still hear Archie Griffith’s voice over the sound.

“Ladies and dicks, the party can begin. I have arrived! Let’s get fucked up, motherfuckers!

Cowboy up!” he yells, then gallops. Yes, he gallops into the room and straight for my other two friends, Peyton Adams and Mia Wallace, who are dancing on the makeshift dance floor in what is probably the dining room.

“Holy shit, that man is a snack!” Livi laughs.

I mean, she’s not wrong. He’s tall with blond hair that’s long enough that he can pull it back and covered in tattoos.

Not at all my usual type. But he’s fucking fine.

I can only imagine what he looks like under that T-shirt and jeans that fit like a glove.

He’s gotta have one of those Adonis belts—the holy grail for thirsty women everywhere.

“I’m going over there. You should definitely come too! Come on, Em.”

She tugs on my arm, but I pull it back.

“A shot is calling my name. I’ll be right back.”

She nods and heads out to the dance floor.

I walk into the kitchen, which is the room next to where I’ve been standing. There’s a bar set up on the island in the center of the kitchen. Bar is a loose term. Really, it’s just a bunch of liquor bottles, although they are lined up neatly.

“Can I get you something?” a cute guy asks.

He has brown hair and an interesting T-shirt that says Two-Seater with one arrow pointing up to his face and another pointing down to his junk.

“I’m the rookie on bar duty tonight. Whatcha thinkin’?

Wait, don’t I know you from somewhere? Emma, right?

Golf?” He holds out his hand for me to shake.

“Leo Morris. I’m the new kicker for the football team.

I saw you at the Fellowship of Athletes meeting a few weeks ago. ”

I take his hand and shake it. “Oh, cool. Nice to meet you, Leo. Congrats on the win today.”

“Thank you. It was?—”

He’s cut off by Dan Smith, who I’ve known for a few years now. I actually hooked up with him once.

“Sup, Emma? Looking good. Want to come out back and get a beer?” He loops his arm around Leo’s shoulders and basically puts him in a headlock. “It’s time for this guy to pay his dues.”

“I thought I was paying my dues by manning the bar!” He coughs out a laugh.

“I’m gonna pass, but you guys have fun. Nice to meet you, Leo.” I wave.

Dan gives me a wink and turns with Leo still in his hold toward the back porch.

I’ll admit, Dan is hot and a possible contender for the D, but I don’t really do repeats.

That gets messy, and I don’t have time for messy.

Or feelings. Easy hookups are all I can manage right now, so one-night stands work for me.

I peruse the options on the bar and settle on a shot of Fireball.

I have no intention of getting fucked up tonight, but maybe a shot will make being here less …

annoying. So, I grab one of the red plastic shot glasses and fill it to the top.

At least my breath won’t smell as horrible with the cinnamon aftertaste.

Wasting no time—because I don’t want to stand around with a shot in my hand like a weirdo as people wander in and out of the kitchen—I knock it back in one go. It burns like a motherfucker, and I wince, while also trying to seem unaffected.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge on my way back to the dance floor. One shot was enough for me tonight, though I’ve never been a big drinker anyway.

Finding my spot by the speaker again, I see my friends still dancing with Archie. Well, dancing isn’t really the term I would use. They’re grinding up against each other. Peyton is in the front, and Mia is behind him. Livi is dancing near them, but with some guy I don’t recognize.

Honestly, there isn’t a guy in here who isn’t hot, but there is something about Archie Griffith that draws you in.

I don’t know him personally, but watching him on the field and in interviews, I see he’s got that Southern boy charm that apparently makes guys envious and girls lose their panties. Literally.

His arms are draped over Peyton’s shoulders, but he’s not touching her with his hands. He leans in to hear something she’s saying, and when he looks up, our eyes meet.

I’m not sure if it’s the Fireball making its way through my body or if it’s him, but heat rises from my toes to my cheeks. With a little extra heat making a pit stop at my lady business. I can’t say a guy has ever had this effect on me before.

I break my gaze first so I don’t look like some stalker. But I can’t help but look back, and when I do, he’s still looking at me, and now he has the sexiest little smirk on his face.

He says something to Peyton and moves his hands to Mia’s wrists, which are wrapped around his waist, and removes them from his body. His eyes never leaving mine.

Jesus, this man is sex on a stick and is now walking toward me.

Wait! He’s walking toward me. Do not act like a nerd, Emma.

“Hey. You having fun tonight?” he asks me, crossing his arms across his chest, making his biceps look enormous.

With him standing this close to me, I can see just how big he is. And I’m not short by any means. I’m five-eight, and he still towers over me.

“Huh? I can’t hear you over the bass. What did you say?” Way to play it cool, Em.

He takes hold of my elbow and drifts us a little farther away from the speaker.

“I asked if you were having fun.” He gives me a sexy smile.

Leaning in a little closer to him, I say, “Yeah, I guess so. These parties aren’t really my thing, but it’s been a stressful week, so my friends insisted on getting me out tonight. How about you? Are you having fun?”

“Sweetness, I’m always having fun. Even better now that I’m talking with you,” he says a little too smoothly.

“Ha! Look, I know who you are. Everyone on campus knows who you are. If you’re looking for a hookup, you don’t need to use fancy lines. Just come out and say it.” I turn my head toward where my friends are dancing .

What am I doing? I’m not one to flirt or play games with any guy. When I want a hookup, I’m pretty clear about it, so I don’t know why I’m acting flustered and kind of bitchy. I don’t mean to be. And I’m also a big fat liar. I absolutely wouldn’t mind hooking up with him.

Lifting his hand up, he reaches for my face and cups my cheek while his other hand takes hold of my waist. “Hey, darlin’.”

He guides my face to look at him, then drags his fingers to my chin and tilts it up. When I finally look at him, that heat, it’s back.

His smirk falls, and he sucks in a breath. “Goddamn. You are fucking beautiful.”

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, okay, player.” But I don’t move away.

He brings his hand back up to my cheek. “I’m dead serious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so pretty.”

We’re locked in a staredown when a slower song comes on.

“Dance with me.”

He strokes his hand from my face to my waist and pulls me into him. Instead of moving away, I wrap my arms around his shoulders.