Chapter Four

Finn

F rom the first time I set eyes on her sitting in our players' booth at Stromboli's weeks ago, all I'd wanted to do was impress Chessly Clarke. Judging by Saylor's comments, I'd impressed her friend, but the scowl on Chessly's face said I'd missed the mark with her—again.

Guess my friends were right. I was a glutton for punishment. "Are you coming to the game this weekend?" I asked, and I couldn't stop the hope that rose in my voice.

"We're definitely going to the game—right, Chess?" Saylor answered.

"Can't pass up an opportunity to tease Piper about her sudden interest in a certain Wildcats player," Chessly deadpanned. "Speaking of Piper, I should probably go check on her, make sure she didn't fall in."

"Didn't fall in where?" The purple-haired hottie who'd turned out not to be a figment of Bax's imagination appeared beside me.

Our roommates and I had razzed the shit out of Bax about making up a girl he supposedly hooked up with a while back. Then he'd dedicated a sweet pick-six to her a couple of games ago, and we all had to admit she was real. Up close, she dazzled in a punk-style way. But she didn't make my heart hammer in my chest the way her smart-mouthed friend did. Chessly looked the part of the gorgeous girl next door, but she had an edge to her, a way of focusing on a man that made me feel seen the night we met.

I'd hated it when she dropped that focus the minute Tory Miller showed up.

"Glad you could join us. We left you a couple of slices," Chess said as Piper stepped around me and slid into the booth beside Saylor.

At about that time Bax, Fitz, and Johnson sidled up beside me. "Time to go, Finn," Johnson said.

"Not so fast." Fitz's eyes were on Saylor, and I let a little air out. "Hello, ladies," he intoned in his best James Earl Jones voice. "You coming to the game on Saturday?"

"Absolutely," Saylor answered for all the women at the table.

"And the post-game celebration at our place afterward?" I directed my words to all of them, but my eyes were on Chessly.

"That sounds fun—doesn't it, girls?" Saylor replied.

"Sure." The lack of enthusiasm in Chessly's tone worried me.

"Give me your number, and I'll text you the address." Too late, I caught my mistake. Behind my left elbow, Johnson snickered. Bax gave a hopeless shake of his head, and Fitz stared at me as though I'd just whiffed a game-ending tackle.

Somehow from her seat in the booth, Chessly glared down her nose at me. "Everyone knows where you live, Finn. Big old Victorian on Jock Street, right?"

"Yeah. That's the one." I coughed into my fist. "So we'll see you there after the game, yeah?"

"Possibly," she said while her friend talked over her.

"Can't wait," Saylor said with a flirty grin for Fitz.

When I opened my mouth to say goodbye, Johnson nudged me toward the door. We followed Bax and Fitz out to the sidewalk in front of the bar.

"I never thought I'd say this because neither of you two have any moves, but I think Baxter might have scored a touchdown considering the puffy state of Purple-Hair's lips while you whiffed on every down, Finn." Fitz's laughter echoed off the side of the building.

"Seriously amateur move to ask for her number in front of a crowd." Johnson shoved my shoulder. "Hope you play better than that on Saturday." Teasing mischief danced in the depths of his dark brown eyes.

"Asshole," I muttered. "You're all assholes."

"Yeah, well, at least we know how to pick up women." Fitz laughed again. "Here's a tip: you don't ask for their numbers in front of their friends—or yours."

Throwing up my hands, I headed in the direction of my truck. When Bax didn't immediately fall into step beside me, I half-turned and said, "You comin'? Or is the rest of the peanut gallery giving you a ride home?"

Their laughter followed me all the way down the block to where I'd parked my pickup. When I opened the driver's door, Bax simultaneously opened the passenger door. Guess he was catching a ride with me.

Before he could keep the joke rolling, I preempted him. "At least I'm classy enough not to do her in the can at the most popular hangout spot on campus. You know, like some people." I glared at him in case he thought I was talking about someone else.

"Piper ambushed me in the hallway. All I did was kiss her back."

"Which explains why you were away from our booth for days."

"What-the-fuck-ever."

Yeah, it was childish, but both of us sulked all the way back to our place.

When we walked through the front door, we heard Jamaica's soft laughter coming from the kitchen followed by Callahan's groan. Right about then, Danny stepped out of the dining room with a load of clean laundry piled in his arms. He nodded toward the kitchen.

"Yeah, don't go in there unless you're up for today's special—mush with a side of more mush." Danny shook his head. "I detoured through the dining room to grab my clothes from the dryer, but you might want to go all the way around the outside of the house and in through the back door if you have any laundry to do."

Shouldering past us, he headed upstairs to his room. Without a word Bax and I followed him.

Game day dawned clear and cold, exactly the way I liked it. When I strolled back into my bedroom after my shower, my phone buzzed with a text.

Ma: Good luck today, Finnegan. We're cheering for you.

With a smile, I texted back.

Me: Thanks, Ma. Love you.

Ma: Love you more.

Since the first game I redshirted freshman year, the ritual had never wavered. Mom and I exchanged the same text message in the morning of each game day. Even though I'd had dinner with the folks the night before and she'd said pretty much the exact same thing, here she was with the texts.

Whistling a little tune, I dressed in dress slacks and a button-down. Didn't matter to Coach if we were playing at home or away—on game days we showed up to the locker room dressed for success. It drove Bax nuts that Coach wouldn't let him wear one of his signature T-shirts even under his button-down. Thinking about my roommate's angst over that tugged a grin from me as I closed my bedroom door and nearly ran into the guy in question.

"What are you so damn happy about?" he asked as we fell into step down the hall.

I gave him a once-over, noting his dark blue button-down and gray slacks. "Nothing. Just wondering what T-shirt you're trying to sneak past Coach today."

His shoulders hunched slightly before he straightened and pushed at me so he could go first down the stairs. "Who said I'm wearing anything under this shirt?"

"Your sleeves have enough trouble stretching over your biceps, that they can't hide the telltale line of your T-shirt sleeve beneath them." For emphasis, I gave his bicep a little love tap with my fist when we dropped to the bottom of the stairs. "What are you hiding under your dress shirt, Wyatt?"

"You never learn, do you Bax?" Callahan asked as we entered the kitchen. "If Finn noticed your T-shirt, you'd better believe you won't sneak it by Coach."

With a snarl, Bax jerked at the knot of his tie, loosening it enough to drag it over his head. The ruthless way he unbuttoned his dress shirt had me fearing for the integrity of its buttons. When he pulled it back to shrug out of it, he revealed the shirt underneath it. We read "Fuck it. My final thought before making most decisions" and cracked up.

"What's so funny?" Danny asked as he joined us in the kitchen.

"Bax." Callahan chuckled.

I snorted. "I don't know what's funnier—the truth of that statement or the irony of it being your exact thought when you got dressed today."

Danny shook his head as he pulled his travel mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. "Even though I've only been on the team for less than a season, even I know Coach is never going to let you wear one of your favorite shirts on game day." He read over Bax's T-shirt a second time. "Even if it is totally accurate." He hid his smirk behind a sip of morning brew.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Bax grumbled. "I wear a T-shirt every other day of the week and no one says anything."

"It's about respect," Callahan said in his best Coach Ellis voice. "It's about pride—in yourself and in the team."

Callahan, Danny, and I, exchanged a glance and added in unison, "Now take it off."

No doubt the basketball players living in the house next door wondered at the loud laughter coming from our kitchen at a time most normal college students would still be in bed on a Saturday morning.

"You three are fucking hilarious," Bax growled, but I caught the twitch of his lips before he dragged his T-shirt over his head and draped it over the back of a chair.

The timer on the oven signaled our hot breakfast burritos were done, so Callahan pulled the pan out and set it on top of the stove. While Bax redressed himself, I poured us each a mug of coffee. Danny laid napkins on the table, our portable hot pads for the foil-wrapped burritos, then helped himself to one.

"You riding with me, Finn?" he asked.

"Sure." I snagged my breakfast off the pan and followed Danny out the front door.

After we survived the first day of practice freshman year, Callahan and I had become best friends. But these days his fascination with his study buddy, who happened to be best friends with the girl currently blowing me off, made it uncomfortable to be around him sometimes. I was glad Danny wanted to drive today.

Until he started in on our way to the field.

"What's this about you trying to snag a girl's number in the middle of Stromboli's last night?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught his teasing grin. Asshole.

When I didn't respond, he filled the silence. "Amateur move, Finnegan."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I studied the passing scenery through the passenger window. "I'm aware." Under my breath, I added, "Fuckin' Bax."

"She must be hot for you to lose your cool that way."

Sliding farther down on the seat, I mumbled, "What-the-fuck-ever. I had no idea I lived in a house full of gossipy old ladies."

Danny's laughter filled the cab of his Mustang. I ground my teeth and focused on the road. It was one thing for the guys to razz me about the jersey chasers whose attention I loved—which apparently was a problem I couldn't bring myself to care about. Sue me. But those girls were nothing more than a distraction, someone pretty to hang out with rather than looking at my friends' ugly mugs all the time. Chessly was different. Special. Not someone I was okay with the guys giving me shit about.

"Don't get pissy, Finn." Danny smirked. "It's game day. You're the one who's always reminding us it's the best damn day of the week."

One side of my mouth lifted in a sneer, which didn't faze my roommate in the slightest. Guess all his military experience left him immune to sarcasm.

We arrived at the facility to find Coach Ainsworth waiting right inside the doors, clipboard in hand as he checked off players' arrivals. If anyone even thought about showing up late on game day, Coach would make an example out of him for the next week. None of us had ever made that rookie mistake, even when we were rookies, but we also knew he was checking to make sure we'd followed all the rules—including the dress code.

"Nice shirt, Bax. Not so sure about that tie, though." Ainsworth coughed into his hand.

Back at the house I'd been so focused on saving my friend from his T-shirt-wearing stupidity that I hadn't paid any attention to his tie. Guess that had been true of our other roommates too because we couldn't help our grins at the light pink tie with the red lips all over it.

"That's as close to a girl's mouth as Bax has been in weeks," Callahan said, laughing.

"Not true," I corrected.

Callahan's brow shot up. "Yeah? Do tell."

"Shut up, asshole," Bax said as he shouldered past all of us and headed down the hall to the locker room.

For once I was on the giving end of the razzing. No way could I pass up this opportunity. "Bax's unicorn is a real person. He says she started it at Stromboli's the other night, but no matter who came on to who, they both had swollen lips when they came back from the can."

Coach Ainsworth narrowed his eyes. "I hope you boys are being smart. We don't need anyone putting the team in a jam over some woman."

That sobered the rest of us up quick.

"Got it, Coach." Callahan spoke for all of us.

As we headed toward the locker room, we couldn't help but to exchange snickers and grins. Since I'd been on the receiving end of Danny's jokes about women, it was fun to be dishing them out for once. Coach's warning notwithstanding. A picture of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed babe flashed through my head, and I tensed.

As I folded my dress clothes and stacked them neatly on the bench in front of my locker, images of Chessly Clarke played on a loop through my thoughts. Her friend said they'd all be at today's game. Maybe if I impressed her with my play, she'd forget about my clumsy fuckup when I asked for her number.

Then again, I don't think that was my fuckup at all. Somehow, without me having a clue, I blew it on the night we met when I acknowledged Tory Miller outside the dorm when I'd dropped Chessly off. When it came to women, I might be a little slow on the uptake—all right, a lot slow—but I caught on quick that bad blood swirled between Chessly and Tory. Wish someone had given me a heads-up about that before I found out the hard way.

After I pulled my pungent pads from my locker, I tugged them over my head and wrinkled my nose at the stink of sweat assailing my sinuses. Too bad these pads couldn't be run through a washer when the team managers washed our uniforms. I jerked my jersey down over them and yanked on my pants. As I laced my cleats, Bax sat on the bench beside me.

"You ready to knock some heads out there today?"

My response was automatic. "Damn straight."

He slapped me on the back. "That's how we impress a certain pair of ladies."

"Speak for yourself." Standing, I grabbed my helmet from the shelf above the lockers. "I plan on messing Crawford up for the beat-down he gave us last year when he had that NFL-caliber O-line. From what I saw on film, their replacements are mostly rookies." Flexing my fist, I said, "I'm going to own them."

"That's what we love about you, Finnegan."

My brow shot up.

"How you flip the switch from sweetheart to beast mode the second you pull on your pads." He held out his fist, and without thinking, I bumped it, wondering if "sweetheart" was a compliment. The gleam in his eyes could have meant anything.

Coach Ellis called us together for our final pep talk before we ran out onto the field. In his usual understated fashion, he had the entire team wound up and ready to kick some Bulldogs' ass. For a time, I forgot all about a certain hot blonde and how much I wanted to impress her.

As we exited the tunnel to run behind the tumbling cheerleaders through the gauntlet of marching band members playing our fight song, the roar of twenty-five thousand screaming fans rumbled through my blood, amping me up for the dogfight we all knew would be our latest contest with our archrivals. When I reached the sidelines where my teammates and I back-slapped and high-fived and fist-bumped each other, all I wanted to do was race out onto the gridiron and go to work.

Then I glanced up into the stands. Like a heat-seeking missile, my focus zeroed in on a certain hot physics major and her friends. For a few seconds, our gazes locked and the whole stadium faded away.

From somewhere beside me, Coach Ainsworth's voice penetrated my attention. "Get out there and kick some ass, McCabe!"

Dragging my eyes away from Chessly Clarke, I nodded to Coach and ran out onto the field.

Time to impress a certain sexy science nerd.