Dedication
I’m a sucker for the long stories, for the epic couples, for the books where you get sucked into the characters' world and live through their eyes for several novels, falling more in love with them every written word, chapter, book, and will leave you wrecked when the story is finished.
So this is for Logan and Tate. For Ty and Zane. For Miro and Ian. And for all other series with wonderful pairings. This is for you.
I hope at least one person loves Jace and Ty’s story as much as I’ve loved the epic couples before them.
Thank you.
I’m such a fucking idiot.
I stare at the lovely naked behind sticking out of my gray blankets. It’s a nice butt, which is attached to a gorgeous girl. However, I really didn’t plan to take someone home last night, since I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore.
But she is very pretty.
And very nice.
As is her butt.
“But this really wasn’t supposed to happen,” I mutter as I nudge her leg which hangs over the side of the mattress with my foot, which gives me zero response.
“It wasn’t?” My longtime friend, bandmate, and recent roommate, Missy, enters my room where I’m busy standing next to my bed, still eying the girl I found after a quick bathroom break. I didn’t even know that she decided to stay after the fun we’d had.
Missy’s dark eyes are filled with disappointment as she observes the situation. She crosses her arms and raises a perfectly shaped dark brow, as if silently scolding me for the predicament I've found myself in. “So I didn’t see you flirting your ass off last night at the bar and being all seductive with her before taking her home?”
I snort. “Well no? I was just trying to be nice to her when she came up to me and started gushing about the band and shit.”
Missy sighs, leaning against my desk. “I thought you said you were done with meaningless encounters. Remember what happened last spring?”
I cringe. Of course I remember what happened last spring, that's the entire reason I’m five thousand miles away from home.
“Don’t remind me. But hey, maybe this is not a casual hookup?” A flutter of hope sparkles somewhere, maybe I can work something out with her, she seemed okay yesterday.
“Yes, this just screams potential relationship candidate.”
I can just feel the sarcasm drip off of her.
She’s right. I did say I was done with casual, and have good reason for it. But last night–when I went out for drinks with my band after our gig–my fellow members all quickly disappeared to their respective partners. Leaving me alone. Again. Turns out that I’m not making the best choices when I’m feeling particularly alone.
And who can blame me? I’m in a new country, have few friends here, not to mention any family–not that I had any at home, not really–and the people who do start a convo with me usually only love the band's music and want the attention of the new lead singer.
It’s just easy to get lost in. And it makes it easy to forget.
“Let me guess, you put your flirt on like you always do because you just can’t help yourself. But now you are trying to figure out if you want to take her on a date to see if there’s something there, so you didn’t completely lie to yourself last night. Or if you should get rid of her because she maybe only wanted you because of our popularity?”
“You know me so well,” I deadpan, taking up the spot beside her. “She was actually kind of nice.”
“Was she? Or was she a groupie who just wanted a night with you?”
“I hate you.” I nudge her.
“You don’t, you love me. But you know I’m right.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Missy. We’re not that big yet, we don’t have groupies.”
“Says you. You just joined us a month ago. We are big here on campus and with you we’re becoming even bigger. The buzz is happening already now people are coming back for classes.”
And I know that. But knowing it and experiencing it is quite different.
I sigh as I take in the girl again. When she came up to me I was just happy to make some small talk, maybe hoping for a sliver of a
second that she was interested in me. But I found out very quickly that she was mostly interested in the guy she saw on stage minutes before–the performer. Which is okay, I get it. It used to happen back home with my old band as well, so it’s nothing new. I just kind of hoped it would be different here. Turns out it isn’t.
So yes, she was being all pretty and flirty and I totally took her home and took her up on her offer, happy to have some fun last night. Shame on me.
It only makes me feel like shit afterwards, not during.
“So, what are you going to do?” Missy asks after a minute where we were both staring at the girl as a couple of creepers.
“Well, I did say that I had to get up early in the morning, so that she couldn’t sleep in.”
Missy’s brown eyes flick to my alarm clock which mocks my excuse because it’s almost noon. “You obviously lied.”
“I know I lied, but she doesn’t know I lied.” I groan, not liking that I have to face her. Which is cowardly, I know. I gesture at the naked woman again. “How was I supposed to know that she wouldn’t leave? I could ask her if she wants to hang out later?”
“You’re so dumb.” Missy rolls her eyes at me before straightening her black and bright orange football jersey from the Summerset Shore Tigers–which is a totally cliché name for a team if you ask me–in the mirror on my closet door. “You can sort this shit out yourself. I’m going, Ava is waiting.”
“You’re dumb yourself,” I mutter.
According to the indignant huff she gives me before she leaves my room, she really doesn’t give a shit what I think.
“Please, I’m sorry. I love you! Can’t you at least help me with this?” I plead, desperation seeping into my voice when I raise it. “How do I know if there isn’t something there? What if I make the wrong choice and she turns out to be great?” It’s a stretch, I know. I also know what this was, she was clear about it, but the fact that I’m just a conquest doesn’t sit right with me. Which is stupid because I never had a problem with hookups before.
But that was before.
She pops back in the doorway with an evil smirk. “See, I told you you’re dumb. Because I think you don’t have a choice. This is obviously just a hookup.”
“Please, Missy,” I whine. “I’ll do the dishes for a week.”
Those stupid eyebrows rise mischievously. “A month,” she counters.
“Two weeks.”
A devilish smile appears on her glossy red lips. “Deal.” Without warning, she grabs an old bottle of water from my desk and pours its meager contents onto the woman's behind.
Startled, the woman springs out of bed, clutching the sheets in front of her. Finally awake, she directs her bewildered gaze at Missy, who holds the empty bottle in her hands. “What are you doing?”
As the woman approaches me, attempting to dry herself with the sheets, I notice her confusion. “What’s she doing?” she asks again, this time aimed at me, blinking like an owl.
“Sorry,” Missy states, lifting her shoulders in a short shrug. “I tripped.”
The girl frowns at Missy, concern in her eyes. “How? Have you hurt yourself?” When Missy shakes her head that no, she didn’t, the girl focuses back on me and immediately gives me a small smile. “Hey, you.”
“Hey,” I say, barely containing my smirk at Missy’s stupid solution. “Sorry for waking you, but we need to go.” I gesture at me and Missy, while simultaneously trying to find if there’s something there in this girl's eyes which could mean there is potential for something more.
But she just shrugs and starts collecting her belongings, obviously having had her fill of me and that’s that, squelching any hope I had in a second.
Missy notices, and taps me shortly on the arm in comfort, which is a lot for her because that woman has some serious Morticia Addams vibes sometimes.
I sigh at the contact, I’m such an idiot. She was upfront with me last night, so the shitty feeling I have now is purely on myself, and I never should’ve taken her home. Not without properly dating first.
My dick just got the best of me, like usually happens. Because she is hot.
But really. No more one-time-girls. Or boys for that matter.
Lately it leaves me more drained while it’s supposed to give some satisfaction, and it’s just not worth it. Well at least I will have more time for the band if I forgo any interaction with both the female and male population on campus.
Which reminds me. “Exactly how popular are we?” I ask Missy, knowing I should've asked this before, but hey, I’m fairly new here. I’ve only gotten here in Summerset Shore, Southern California a month ago, moving halfway across the world from The Netherlands to attend this college.
And moving around the world and attending a foreign college is hard.I was very busy with all the paperwork, trying to find my way around the campus, and moving in with my long time friend, Missy, who fortunately had a spare room in her apartment.
It’s thanks to her that I got in in the first place. Being the Dean’s daughter might have helped with that, I know her dad my whole life.
But she also made me audition for her band. Which is plain stupid because she’s the one who told me to move here so I could join said band while finishing up my degree at the same time.
But with Missy being Missy, she made me do it anyway just because she could. Just like she made me do a lot of things when we were younger. With her Dutch grandparents being our neighbors and all, we spent quite a few summers together.
“Well…” With a pair of black heels dangling from her fingers, Missy smiles sweetly at me. “You do check your socials sometimes, right? I know I’ve tagged you a few times when I was posting photos from our rehearsals, but you never reply.”
I blink at her mutely. Yeah, of course I use social media. You kind of have to if you want to hit off your music career. But I handed the managing of it over to our bassist, Ava, who’s a genius with everything social media related. I just haven't really paid much attention after that, too busy with everything else.
I grab my phone, but before I can open Instagram and figure out why the hell I’ve been missing these notifications, my hookup pops up in front of me–fully dressed this time–and smiles at me.
“Missy is right, you are a trending topic right now. Didn’t you know that? Thank you for last night.” She kisses me swiftly on my cheek, pulls her shoes out of Missy’s hands and slams the door behind her when she leaves, never even giving me a chance to reply.
Well, that’s that I guess. But trending? I take a peek in the app and am stunned to find that I’ve gotten a fuck ton of tags, followers and messages. “Well, this is just weird. How does everybody know who I am this quickly?”
Missy sighs, irritated at me for what feels like the dozenth time today. And my day just started. “Ever heard of the power of social media? This isn’t a new band you're singing in, we’re not newbies. You also don’t seem to realize exactly how good Ava is with marketing. But come on, we have to go. Don’t look at that crap.” She takes my phone and drops it in her way too big of a purse.
“Hey, I need that!” I protest but she ignores me, messing around in her enormous big bag.
She pulls another black and orange jersey out and throws it at me. “Put that on.”
I comply with a lot of grumbling and take a look at the back before throwing it on over my white tee and grabbing my keys and wallet. “Which player is number twelve? Is his name really King? Is he hot?”
If looks could kill, I would spontaneously combust right there. “You really need to look at that wonderful thing called the internet and get up to speed. But not right now, because we’re late thanks to you. The game starts in thirty minutes.” She pulls me along with way more strength than I thought possible and I follow obediently.
A ten minute walk later, we arrive at the stadium to watch the game. My very first football game to be exact. American football that is.
I’ve never watched this stupid sport before. It isn’t a big thing back in the Netherlands, so I didn’t come across it very often.
But here? Everywhere I seem to go there’s football on tv or there are students wandering around wearing orange and black jerseys when there isn’t even a game. I’ve been here for the entire summer and it was one of the first things I noticed. The football-love. But the game looks just weird to me. Probably because of the ball that isn’t even a ball, in my opinion they’re supposed to be round. If balls aren’t round, I don’t like them.
Yes. Give me perfectly round balls anytime and I’m a happy man. Pun intended.
“There you two are. Hurry up, we’re late.” Ava–our bassist–stomps our way in front of the entrance, barging her way through some last stragglers who also wear the team colors. “I’ve been waiting forever. What was the holdup?”
Missy throws a look my way and gives Ava a short hug before we follow her into the busy stadium. “He had to get rid of the trash.”
“The trash?” Ava frowns to me over her shoulder where I dutifully follow her, her pink hair clashing horribly with the black and orange of the shirt. “Don’t you guys have that container thingy in the hallway for trash?”
Missy huffs. “Well that’s not the kind of trash that I’m talking about.”
Ava shakes her head. “Really? Again? Didn’t you say last week that you wouldn’t hook up anymore?”
Missy snickers quietly beside me, and I elbow her before replying to Ava.
“Yes, I know but–”
“But you just couldn’t help yourself?” Ava interrupts. “I get that flirting is your way of communicating, but honey, can’t you start a conversation with people without them ending up practicing their kegels on your stick?”
“You know it doesn’t work that way with guys right? I don’t think you can kegel your ass,” I state with a grin, which rewards me a glare from my pink haired friend.
“So annoying,” Missy mutters, but I ignore her.
“At least you confirm the rumors about you,” Ava states, worming her way through some guys who painted their entire faces orange and are singing along to the music that’s blaring through the stadium speakers.
“Which rumors?” I ask loudly, feeling dumb for not noticing this before. I follow her up some steps to our seats and am glad that we’re apparently not all the way to the top. The stadium is huge, way bigger than what I expected from college football. But hey, in America everything’s bigger right? I thought that it wouldn’t be this crowded, this being a practice game and all, but the stadium is packed with students that all returned to campus for the fall semester that starts come Monday.
“That you’re a gigantic flirt and like to fool around.” She shakes her head and pushes past the last people in our way before plopping down. I sit beside her, and find myself sandwiched between the two striking women who I consider my close friends. I throw my arms around their slim shoulders and sigh.
Not showing the girls that I’m bothered by what apparently is the campus population’s opinion about me–because while I might be trying to change, it’s not entirely false–I fake a grin and push my hips up. “Do they at least say that I’ve got a gigantic dick as well?”
Missy groans, rummaging through her oversized bag. “Why on earth do I like you?” she mutters.
“Because I can belt out a killer tune? Have impeccable bone structure? Flash a charming smile?” I offer her said smile, and she sighs, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.
“I'm immune to your charms, you know. After seeing a boy shit on your grandmother's lawn, he loses some appeal,” she declares way too loud, and Ava bursts into laughter on the other side of me.
“Come on, don’t be mean. I was only four.”
“I was four too, and I wasn't the one leaving a 'present' on her lawn,” Missy retorts, handing me my phone with a mischievous grin. “I'm going to grab us some drinks. You have five minutes. I don't want you to get sucked into the never-ending abyss of SSU's social media gossip.”
“But sucking is a good thing,” I quip. Missy leaves with a flick of her hair, leaving me to dive back into the sea of notifications. I steal a quick glance at my phone, trying to block out the rowdy crowd and the pulsating bass that reverberates through the stadium seats.
Well, it isn’t thatbad. I guess.
Missy and Ava apparently shared some pictures and videos, tagging me in them which explains the increase in followers. Fortunately, it seems that I’m not doing anything overly embarrassing in the vids, like picking my nose or rearranging my junk, so that’s good.
But I cringe as I scroll further down my feed, seeing my eighteen year old half naked self staring back at me.
“How did you get these?” I ask Ava and show her the screen. Those pictures aren’t from our rehearsals; instead, they're remnants from a time when I needed quick money and resorted to posing for a paycheck.
“Oh, I know right? They’re so hot. I found them when I googled you. You never mentioned you used to model? Is it okay that I used them?”
I grunt and nod in agreement. It’s fine, I know they’re out there somewhere, just didn’t expect to run into them. While the pics are on the brink of being indecent, they did save me at the time, so I can only be grateful for their existence. Without that cash, I would never have been able to leave Europe behind and come here.
And thankfully the comments beneath the daring pics are mostly fine, even flattering maybe. Some are tinged with comparisons about Brad, the old frontman. But from what I’ve heard from the girls and our drummer; Brad’s apparently honoring his name and living up to being a brat, so that doesn’t bother me.
“Well? Is it sinking in yet?” Ava leans her head on my shoulder, tapping on the screen and switching to selfie mode. “Looks like they're liking you so far, but you should post some stuff about yourself too. It's good for our exposure. We want to make it big, you know?”
I grunt again in agreement as she grins into the camera, her big bun of pink hair invading my face. With a few taps on the screen she
posts the photo–where I’m mostly hidden behind her hair–with some tags to the game and the rest of the band, including herself.
“Where's Asher, anyway? Wasn't he supposed to be here?” I inquire, noticing the heart emojis she uses when she’s tagging her boyfriend, who’s the last member and drummer of our band.
“He's not a fan of crowds. They make him nervous. We'll hang out at his place later,” she explains.
“He doesn’t like crowds? Then why the hell is he in a rock band?”
“Ever seen it crowded on a stage? When he’s sitting behind his kit, he’s fine.”
“Huh,” I marvel, admitting the logic behind the madness. “Fair point.”
Returning my focus to the phone, I witness the comments and likes pouring in. “That was fast.”
“Welcome to the it-crowd at Summerset Shore University,” she remarks with a hint of a bite. “I don’t like the scrutiny either,” she gestures towards the phone, “but it’s what people expect from us. It’s important these days, and we need followers if we want to have fans. And we need fans to make it big.”
“I’m starting to get aware of the fact you guys already have a lot of fans, but I thought you were mainly a cover band, playing gigs in local bars?”
She tuts at me. “Just a cover band? We have a lot of original music. We used to sell out venues all across Southern California. But then Brad decided to be a jerk. Fortunately, we found you, and your voice and performance is way, way better. So yes, I'm very pleased to see the positive response you're getting so far.”
I smile gratefully. “Thanks, me too. So, you're not a fan of this social media stuff otherwise?” I give my phone a playful wiggle.
“Oh, I am. I'm actually a marketing major. I love it, really. I'm fascinated by the strategy behind it, creating great content, and it's thrilling when something you've crafted goes viral. I just don't appreciate how people automatically feel entitled to voice their negative thoughts online about anyone and anything. But I guess it comes with the territory.”
“Tell me about it,” I retort, well aware of the negatives that come with being in the limelight.
“Time's up!” My phone disappears out of my hand, swiftly replaced by a cold Coke which Missy passes me before dropping down next to me. “You have to pay attention, the game’s about to start.”
“Thanks. Cheers, babes.” I raise my cup, and my girls tap theirs against mine. “To a fantastic and awe-inspiring game.”
“I do understand sarcasm, you know,” Missy says before taking a quick sip. “You don’t know any of the rules do you?”
I gulp down half of the drink before setting it aside and flash a wide grin. “Nope. So, while I check out all the fine asses in those too-tight pants, you two can explain everything to me.” I gesture towards the field where the practice game is about to commence, with players swarming in either black-orange or very tacky red and gold get-ups. “The red ones are ours, right?”
Missy slaps my leg, and I chuckle. “Don’t be a dumbass, you know they’re not. And number twelve is King, our quarterback and star player, to answer your question from back in the apartment.”
“He’s so hot,” Ava sighs. “Sometimes I just wish he wasn’t a onewoman man. I would totally be all over that.”
“Well, from the backside, he looks okay,” I comment while checking out number twelve. “I just can't see his face with that horrible helmet. But hey, when you take a dude from behind, you don't see his face anyway.”
This time, two more slaps land on my legs.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Total man whore.”
“Why do we like you?”
I grin again, throwing my arms over their shoulders and settling in. “Because I’m awesome.”
“Just shut up and watch the game. We'll explain it as we go”" Missy says, snuggling closer to me.
I smile once more and lean back, attempting to follow her advice and enjoy the game. As predicted, I don't understand the rules, but I do relish the company. Plus, the view isn't too bad either. Watching twenty-two muscular guys in their snug uniforms running around
and grabbing at each other? Nope, I can think of worse ways to spend my afternoon.
We won. Of course we did. I didn’t actually think we were going to lose, but the pressure still gets to me every damn time. Before every game, I'm a bundle of nerves, jittery and anxious. It's only once the first ball is thrown, the first play unfolds, the first inches are won, that the magic takes over. Every single time.
And this was just a practice game. The real season starts in two weeks, and I know it'll be ten times worse. The anticipation will gnaw at me even more. But for now, I relish in the victory.
“Go Tigers! Go King!” Another random girl throws herself at me. I cringe inwardly when a whiff of alcohol comes from her and I gently peel her off me, plastering a smile on my face.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I say, trying to be polite to her and her giggling group of friends, all with orange swirls on their cheeks. Football is a big deal around here, and since I'm the starting quarterback this year–my junior year–let's just say the bar is packed tonight ever since news got out that the team's here. Music must be blaring somewhere in the background, but it's drowned out by a constant buzz of excitement.
I offer them another smile when they leave, then settle back next to my girlfriend on the red bench at our regular table in Yetties, the bar-diner-club hybrid on campus where everybody hangs out. She wraps her arms around my waist and smiles broadly at me.
“I’m so proud of you, Ty. You did amazing.”
I pull Kaylee closer with one arm, planting a kiss on her blonde head before taking a sip of my beer. “Well, you did great too, from what I could see in between plays.”
Her pink lips stretch into a wider smile. “I know, right? We have a few new cheerleaders this year, but I think everything went
smoothly.”
“Yeah, speaking of those new girls on your squad...” Lamar, my best friend and tight end on my line, settles in across from us, leaning over the hardwood table. His big ass grin stands out to his golden brown skin. “That new girl on the left, with the curls. Who is she?”
“Ask her yourself.” Kaylee nods her head at the booth behind him where a few girls are seated with some guys in team hoodies. My teammates.
Of course Lamar turns around, hangs over the back of the bench and pulls on a wild ponytail with dark curls. A shriek follows.
“I guess he found her,” I chuckle, taking another sip of my beer before turning back to Kaylee. “What do you want to do after–” I start, but she’s already chatting animatedly with one of her friends who sits on her other side.
Since I'm not really in the mood to socialize anyway–the adrenaline from the win slowly winding down–I just settle back, drink my drink and try to ignore the lingering gazes coming my way.
The key is to avoid eye contact. It's something I learned last year when Lamar and I found our rhythm, became an unstoppable duo and improved our stats dramatically, catching the attention of agents and college football followers.
It still feels strange when random students or people approach me and start discussing football. I never quite know how to respond when they analyze my throws in meticulous detail to me. I was the one who made those throws. Sure, I’m hit in the head one too many times during games, but I’m not stupid enough yet that I’ll forget what plays we executed.
And I never fuck up a play. It’s what makes me such a damn good QB if I may say so myself. I’m very focused on my men, knowing the speed and positions of each player, enabling me to make very precise throws, which almost always land in exactly the correct spot. My arm never fails me.
So no, while I secretly hope that I’ll never have to get used to attention, because I trust my game and amateurs rehashing it is just nonsense, my ultimate goal is, of course, an NFL contract. And if and
when that happens, I’ll just have to deal with all the scrutiny anyway. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck every once in a while.
So when a couple of guys sidle closer to our table, probably wanting to talk about the game, I’m kinda glad that some commotion by the entrance catches all of our attention. I spot a familiar black-haired girl, with a permanent scowl on her face, and her bubbly Latina friend, who changes her hair color every few weeks. Which is very pink tonight. Missy and Ava. So SSU’s local band, Encore, has arrived. Well, at least half of them anyway. They make their way over to their usual booth next to the small stage and slide in next to two guys I can’t make out.
“They have a new lead singer, you know.” Kaylee taps my bicep when she notices me staring. “I heard that he’s from Europe. Apparently, he’s really handsome.”
“Apparently, huh?” Gulping down the rest of my drink, I lean back again and cross my Chucks under the table. “So you’re telling me you haven’t been checking him out online like the rest of the campus?”
My grin spreads when she starts to blush and rolls her eyes. I’m not a total idiot. Yes, my girl is a bit of a gossip, and there’s no way in hell she hasn’t been stalking his ass online.
When word got out over the summer that some foreign dude would be replacing Boozer Brad, buzz happened. Even I heard about it since she’s not the first to tell me this news when I came back to campus three weeks ago for football practice.
She is the first to show me a picture on her phone, though.
“Look, he’s just different,” she almost swoons, and I arch a questioning brow. “Not like that.” She giggles and slaps my arm. “You know I love you, but he’s just new and shiny. I get why the girls are all over him.”
All I see is a half naked–very ripped–guy, who’s looking way too sultry into the camera for a normal picture.
“New and shiny, huh? Is he like a model or something? Why is he in his boxers?” The bulge leaves nothing to the imagination.
Hell, If I would be posting pics like that, my followers would be staggering. Not that I’m that arrogant, but I already have a lot of
fans, which still amazes me. That’s why I don't post stuff like that online and use socials only for tracking some football stuff every once in a while. Sometimes Kaylee makes me upload selfies of us and shit, but it’s not my favorite thing to do. I prefer to be out of the limelight, which is hard considering what hopefully is going to be my choice of profession.
“They say he is,” Kaylee's friend leans around her and she answers my question. “But I heard he’s a dick.”
I chuckle. “You girls think every guy is a dick.”
“No really. My roommate went home with him last night after the annual Beta Phi kick-off party, and he totally ditched her this morning. She said he lives together with Missy and that Missy was being jealous this morning. Can you believe that?” she asks Kaylee.
Well no, actually. But that’s because they don’t know that Missy spent a lot of nights last year in Lamar’s room at our house, and I’m 99% sure his so-called interest for the girl in the next booth is only a scam because he’s bored.
Missy and Lamar think they’re being stealthy, but they really aren't fooling anyone.
Lamar's room is right next to mine, and the walls are paper-thin. Sometimes their late-night activities keep me up. Last year, after a week of enduring it, I retaliated by banging on Lamar's wall at six am every morning before my run, just to give him a taste of his own medicine.
And last night, I had to take out the damn earplugs again. Guess why?
Since the girls are engrossed in their conversation again, and I couldn't care less about their drama, I toss a balled-up napkin at Lamar's head. He scoffs and turns around, frowning.
“What’s that for, you dickweed?”
“I’m thirsty. Are you finished over there? Let's get some new drinks.” I flip my black ball cap backward and stand up.
“You're always thirsty.” He shuffles on his knees off the bench, hops down, and pretends to bow dramatically. “But whatever you want, your wish is my command, my King,” he says, mocking my last name like he always does.
I push him, nearly toppling him over, and he cackles in the process. Dick.
“So, the girl?” I nod at the table where he was talking to her. He shrugs as he leads me toward the bar, navigating us through the crowded room.
“Nah, she’s pretty and all. Nice too, but I’ve already found someone better,” he says over his shoulder, throwing a lopsided smirk my way.
“Yeah, so I heard last night. You guys are official, then?”
“Nah,” he says again. “It’s just for fun, but the fun is good, real good. Missy is bendy as hell and hot as fuck. And the best part? She doesn't whine or complain or force me into things I don't want to do. Whenever we hook up, she leaves afterward without any drama. It's like a sacred arrangement, man.”
I hum in agreement as we reach the bar. Unfortunately, I know all about whining and forcing. I love Kaylee, and she’s amazing, but she can be quite pushy when it comes to getting her way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even be here tonight. After taking a beating on the field today, all I wanted was to retreat to my room and spend a quiet evening with some ice packs and my girl. But hey, here I am.
Given her drive, it wouldn't surprise anyone that she wants to go to law school.
“Hey, you two. Had a good summer?” Gus, the brick of a man who is the owner of the establishment, greets us with a nod as we secure a spot and lean against the oak bar.
“Yeah, man, it was great. We came back a couple of weeks ago for training, though. Sorry we haven't stopped by until now,” Lamar responds, offering his fist to pound one out.
“So, you guys can finally drink beers here, right? Legally, that is.” Gus smirks.
I grin and nod. Funnily enough, Lamar and I share a birthday. We just turned twenty-one a week ago, and he still insists that we're 'twins from the universe' or some nonsense, making us wear matching silly shirts every year for the entire day. This year they were bright blue ones with tiny yellow ducks on them.
With our moms being best friends, there's no escaping Lamar. Not that I mind… Well, most of the time.
As Gus taps our beers, he spills half of it on his Superman shirt, being the closeted dork that he is. If the various game, comic, and movie memorabilia adorning the walls of Yetties wasn't enough of a clue, the bar's full name, Ye Olde Tavern, should make it obvious. But since it's the only bar on campus, it quickly got nicknamed Yetties. I'm grateful for that because I doubt I can pronounce the full name after a few drinks.
I’m also grateful that Gus usually has a full staff working for him, because the dude can’t bartend for shit. He’s better off in the kitchen, where he usually is.
“Just put it on my tab,” Lamar says, and I don’t object. I’ve known Lamar my whole damn life, and the idiot is loaded. Well, his mom is. If he wants to pay for my drink, I’ll let him. He won’t miss the money, and I definitely can use it, easy as that. I’ll never ask for it, but hey, if he offers.
“Sooo,” he begins, settling onto a bar stool, seemingly just as reluctant as I am to return to the booth. “Cheers to the first win of the season.”
We clink our glasses together and drink some. “Technically, it was a practice game.”
“Yes, but it was the most important one.” He nudges me. “If we lose, we’re doomed, baby. If we win? We rock.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. Superstitious idiot. “Our first official game isn’t for a couple of weeks. The game today was just that, a game.” A practice session against an inferior college up north. And on a Sunday, which rarely happens during the season. But they do it every year before the start of the semester to boost morale.
Yeah. Go Tigers.
“I know, but the team gelled well, especially for a first try. I was afraid the rookies would get the jitters, but they held their own.”
“You sound like a proud co-captain.”
He twirls an Avengers coaster betweens his thick fingers and flashes me a toothy grin. “Jealous that you don't have the spot all to yourself, bruh?”
“Well, no, actually,” I say sincerely. “I'm glad they chose cocaptains this year. I don't have the time to handle it all alone, you know that.” Because, yeah, I have my eyes set on an NFL spot like any other player, but I'm realistic about it. I want and need a backup plan. Plus, I spend most of my summers helping out at my big brothers' gym, and I actually enjoy it. Pursuing a business degree is what I'm after.
“Yeah, but you have the best stats. Top quarterback in the league? Fuck, I thought for sure you were gonna get it.”
“But I do have it.” I raise my fist and we tap it out. “Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, sweetums.”
He cackles. “I’m totally going to get us BFF bracelets or something.”
I smile into my glass, knowing that he’s probably going to buy them too, and spot Missy next to the stage, fumbling with some equipment. I think she’s getting ready for a quick performance. They do a few impromptu songs almost every weekend here–at least they used to last year.
“So, how isMissy?” I ask my self-appointed BFF, nodding towards the stage. “Did you have fun last night? Sure sounded like it.”
“We kept you up again?” His smile widens and he waggles his black brows suggestively. “Weren’t you preoccupied with your girl? Didn’t she just return to campus yesterday?”
I shrug and tinker with the rim of my ball cap, suddenly somewhat tense. “She did, but she didn’t stay over. She was busy setting things up in her new room at the Beta Phi house.”
Lamar frowns–of course he does–but I’m saved by the bell, or a guitar in this case. A short riff surprises everyone and the buzz quiets down.
“Hello there, Tigers! Are you all excited after our first win this year?” Missy’s voice booms through the microphone, eliciting a massive response. She gives a rare smile, her lips painted a dark red, and bows, showing some cleavage because the black dress she’s wearing is very tight and low-cut.
More roars and catcalls follow, with Lamar being the loudest, of course. The idiot.
Missy, being Missy, simply ignores it and slings her hot pink guitar over her shoulder. “Are you ready to give our new frontman a formal welcome? To give Brad a big-ass fuck you?”
The audience cheers again, and the new guy pops on the stage. He saunters to the microphone, sporting a crooked smile.
Yeah, he’s taller than I imagined. The pic that Kaylee showed me wasn’t photoshopped either, as the tight white v-neck he’s wearing leaves little to the imagination. Paired with tight black jeans, heavy boots, and a couple of brown leather strings wrapped around his wrist, his style is pretty basic. Especially compared to his more eccentric band members.
“Hi Tigers. Nice to meet you,” he says with a smile, his deep voice carrying an unidentifiable accent. “My name's Jace, and I transferred here over the summer. Although we did perform at some parties last week, Missy is making me sing tonight and considers this my final test since this is our home base.” The audience hollers, making him smile. “Thank you for having me, and please scream your passionate hearts out. Don’t let her kick me out, yeah?”
He flashes another broad grin while brushing back the longer strands of his sandy hair on top of his head. A girl screams, and he chuckles into the microphone, giving her a thumbs up before signing something to Missy.
“Wouldn’t it be a total fluke if the guy can’t sing for shit?” Lamar asks, and I snicker, taking a sip of my beer. That would be a holler.
“Somehow, I think that he can sing.”
And I’m right.
He starts belting out ‘Natural’ from the Imagine Dragons. And holy shit, it’s fitting because he’s a goddamn natural at it.
It doesn’t take long before this Jace guy captivates everyone in the otherwise rowdy bar, his voice strong, sure and in perfect sync with the band, making everybody shut the fuck up.
I amkinda glad that the focus isn’t on me for once.
But hell, this guy is on another level. His unruly hair, which he repeatedly pushes back with one hand while hitting all the right notes, the way he thrusts his hips in sync with the beat, and those
intense eyes that seem to connect with every person in the room. It’s as if he’s singing this song just for you.
Well, I guess I can understand why everyone is so obsessed with this dude, even if I still think it’s plain stupid. He’s just a guy. A very enigmatic guy, sure. But still just a normal guy.
Although I have to say that the way he moves his body should be downright illegal. It’s mesmerizing.
“Wooh, go Missy! You go, girl!” Lamar cheers beside me, and I give him a bewildered look.
“Are you demented?”
“What? My woman is killing it,” he defends.
I gesture toward the stage. “Are you not paying attention to him? Do you have ears?”
“You know, my grandma used to ask me that on a daily basis.”
Shaking my head, I refocus on Jace, feeling somewhat starstruck. Christ, he isn't even famous. But there's just something about him... I don't know. Yeah, they've definitely found someone better than loser Boozer Brad. He wasn't entirely terrible, but this? I down my beer, shaking my head in disbelief. I’m not that familiar with music, but I sure can spot talent when I see it.
And this dude is on a whole other level.
