Chapter Five

Chessly

" I can't believe it took until our junior year for Jamaica to attend a game. The atmosphere alone is worth the price of admission," Saylor gushed as she raised her cup of "hot chocolate" to Piper and me for a toast.

"Guess ‘studying' with a certain sexy tight end convinced her to give it a try," Piper said with sly air quotes before she touched her cup to ours.

Together, we waved hard in the direction of the special VIP seats on the fifty-yard line. Callahan had given Jamaica and her friends Axel and Drake tickets to sit directly behind the Wildcats' bench. When we caught their attention, they waved back, lifting their cups for an air-toast.

"Speaking of hot football players, you still haven't given us a proper explanation about why you disappeared for an age at Stromboli's on Thursday night. Those kiss-swollen lips you brought back couldn't have had anything to do with a certain studly middle linebacker whose lips were equally swollen, could they?" I teased over the rim of my cup of spiked chocolate.

Piper studiously ignored me in favor of focusing her attention on the players swarming onto the field. My eyes strayed to the field too, and much to my consternation, I sought out number ninety-one: Finn McCabe.

Being an avid football fan, I knew exactly who he was before he offered me a ride home after the Homecoming bonfire. On the field, he was an animal. His speed and aggression knocking down opposing offensive linemen in his single-minded mission to hit the quarterback or the running back—whoever had the ball—impressed any true fan.

In truth, he was breathtaking to watch. The laws of physics said his grace and athleticism shouldn't exist in a man of his immense size. Yet there he was Saturday after Saturday, bulldozing through O-lines, pirouetting around blockers, and leading the team in tackles for the second season in a row.

I liked stats so I kept track of the team's. Especially the defensive stats. Especially Finn McCabe's. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that in person, he was a bashful, sort of awkward man with twinkly, whiskey-colored eyes. Those twinkles drew me in purely because I wanted in on the joke. Turns out, the joke was on me when Tory Miller showed her vicious face and blew the play to smithereens.

As though he knew my mind was on him, Finn glanced up from where he'd been high-fiving and fist-bumping his teammates to home in on me. Desperately, I wanted to look away, to not give him the satisfaction of knowing I was watching him. But even from a distance, those warm eyes snagged mine and wouldn't let me go.

At last a coach swatted him on the ass, drawing his attention from me, and Finn sprinted out onto the field. Only then did I catch on that I'd completely missed the opening kickoff.

Saylor's voice was in my ear. "You okay?"

"Sure." I sipped from my peppermint schnapps and hot chocolate. "Why would you think I wasn't?"

"Because you slipped away into some kind of trance for a minute and didn't shout your usual ‘Go! 'Cats! Go!' cheer during the kickoff." Her expression turned sly. "Could it have something to do with another football player? One who had no finesse in his attempt at getting your number?" She smirked.

"Not a chance," I said. "Apparently, he and Tory Miller have something going."

"Huh." She sipped her hot drink. "That's not the vibe I was picking up the other night."

Her innocent act as she shifted her focus to the field didn't fool me for a second. Saylor loved to stir the pot. With something going on between Piper and Jamaica and a certain pair of Wildcats players, I'd think she had enough to keep her gossipy little heart happy. Besides, it didn't matter that Finn McCabe was gorgeous and talented on the field: his response to Tory in front of the dorm after Homecoming proved the man had terrible taste in women. I might have been interested in him for a minute, but after that night, I was over it.

Right as I swigged back a healthy swallow of pepperminty hot-chocolate deliciousness, Finn blew past his blocker and into the backfield. With his deceptive speed, he was on top of the quarterback almost before the poor guy had secured the ball from the center. As Finn covered the quarterback and dragged him to the turf, he somehow managed to punch the ball from his hands and another Wildcat fell on top of it.

All of us in the crowd went bananas as the Wildcat who'd recovered the fumble held the ball aloft and the defense skipped and jumped their way back to the sidelines to make way for the offense to take the field.

I wanted so badly to ignore Finn McCabe, but then he went and played like a freaking rock star and all I could do was cheer for him. And watch him with his teammates on the sideline as everyone on the defense made their way over to him to congratulate him on his stellar play. When he gazed up into the stands, he caught me staring, and he had the audacity to salute me with a wide smile on his handsome face. My dad raised me not to be rude, so I inclined my head in his direction, mainly because he'd already caught me staring at him. It wouldn't do to pretend I wasn't. That would only give him something to believe about me that wasn't true.

At. All.

I had zero interest in Finn McCabe.

Beside me, Saylor shouted, "That play was incredible, wasn't it?" Then she clocked where my eyes had strayed and added, "Yeah, I can see you have zero interest in a certain Wildcats player."

Shaking my head, I mumbled, "Whatever," into my hot chocolate and swigged the rest of it back. My empty cup gave me an excuse to disappear behind the student section for a minute while I disposed of it. The time away didn't provide the breather I hoped it would though, as Finn's broad smile played across my thoughts.

The raw power he displayed on the field already raced my heart enough when I watched him play. Then after his field heroics, he had to go and shoot me that boyish grin that threatened to set my panties on fire. The man was a padded-up ad for sin.

When I returned to my friends, the offense was on the move. Mick Patterson, our star quarterback, called, "Hike!" and dropped back three steps after the center hiked him the ball. He scanned the field and fired a laser of a pass to number eighty-two, a new player I didn't know. But from the way he ran his post route, shedding the corner and making himself an easy target for the pass, everyone was going to know who he was sooner rather than later. The thirty yards the team gained on that play took them into the red zone, the area on the field within twenty yards of the goal line, and the stadium started rocking in anticipation of a touchdown.

The student section went wild when Tarvarius Johnson, the team's best running back, gained ten yards and another first down on the next play. Everyone in the stands was on their feet, cheering at the tops of their voices—us included. Mick handed the ball off to Tarvarius a second time, which apparently was a mistake because the Bulldogs were ready and tackled him behind the line of scrimmage, costing us four yards. On the next play, Mick dropped back again, and this time he found Callahan O'Reilly with a pass into the end zone for a touchdown.

When Callahan pointed the nose of the ball at the stands where Jamaica was watching the game, Piper, Saylor, and I cheered even louder. All of us bounced up and down and laughed as our friend pulled her Wildcats scarf over her face right as a cameraman caught her on film and broadcast her reaction on the Jumbotron.

Involuntarily, my eyes strayed down the rows from where Jamaica, Axel, and Drake were seated to the Wildcats' bench. I caught Finn engaged in a complicated sort of ritualistic hand game with Callahan. After their congratulatory silliness, he stepped back to the bench, snagged his helmet, and joined the rest of the defense on the edge of the field to watch the kicking team kick off to the Bulldogs. Right before he tugged his helmet over his head, he gazed up into the stands, his eyes zeroed in on me, and the corner of his mouth tipped up.

Ugh! He'd caught me watching him again—and judging by his smile, he was enjoying it.

Jerk.

I needed to find some self-control, pronto. No way did I want him to think I was harboring any interest in him whatsoever. After all, he was involved with Tory Miller, which proved he wasn't my type at all.

"Anyone else need a hot chocolate refill?" I asked my friends.

"Ooh, I could use one," Saylor said.

"Count me in," Piper added.

Yes, the defense was back on the field—Finn was back on the field—but I needed a break from watching him. And from thinking about him and the way his smiles lit up my insides against my will.

As I headed to the concession stand, I promised myself under no circumstances would I ever get involved with Finnegan McCabe.

Ignoring every excuse I gave, Saylor insisted I attend the post-game party at the big Victorian on Jock Street where Finn and his roommates lived. The Wildcats' win today had moved us one step closer to the conference championship and the playoffs, so the party was likely to be wild and rowdy—not my scene at all. If only I'd had to be on call at the dorms...

After the game, we'd headed to our favorite pub for a mountain of loaded nachos and beer. I'd backed off on the chocolate and peppermint schnapps before the end of the first half. The cloying sweetness of Saylor's favorite game-day drink made my teeth hurt. At the halftime tailgate, I drank a couple of White Claws and switched to black coffee to stay warm during the second half. By the end of the game, I was still sober, which was most of the problem with going to a party with a bunch of jocks and the jersey chasers whose mission it was to bag one of them.

"At least pretend to have fun," Saylor admonished as we walked up the sidewalk to Finn's house. "Who knows? Maybe if you fake it, you'll make it." She elbowed me in the ribs and laughed uproariously at her bad joke as we stepped onto the front porch.

The house was teeming with people. A big guy who seemed to have no neck sat on a folding chair in the foyer checking IDs. When I saw the party had a bouncer, I let myself relax. We shouldered our way through the throng dancing to thumping hip-hop in the living room and discovered Jamaica standing close to Callahan in the kitchen.

"Hey! Look who made it," she said as each of us hugged her.

"Football parties are way more fun than frat parties," Saylor said with a smirk. "We'd much rather be here than over at the ADRs." She laughed. "But if either of you ever out me to one of my brothers, I'll toss you under the bus so fast it'll leave tread marks on your bones."

I shot her a look. "Overdramatic much?"

Beside Jamaica, Callahan laughed. "Grab a beer and join the fun."

Right as he said that, Saylor glanced over and caught the eye of the gorgeous Black guy from the other night at Stromboli's—the one with the knowing smile who couldn't stop staring at her then either.

"Don't mind if I do. You want one, Chess?"

"Only if it's still cold when you hand it to me." I was sure she'd have no trouble deciphering what I meant from my sardonic tone.

"What was that all about?" my best friend asked as we watched our other friend sashay over to where the hot lineman was manning the keg.

"We met Jeremiah Fitzgerald the other night over pizza. Saylor put on the flirt, and he jumped right in. If not for the fact he and his buddies were on their way out the door at the time, she probably would have shown up at this shindig with him instead of me."

"You would have liked that too, wouldn't you?" Jamaica teased.

"Too bad you weren't on call this weekend. I could have covered for you again. No charge."

I didn't miss the way Callahan's face lit up when I made my offer. Nor did I miss the way his hand snaked around Jamaica's waist as he held her close to his side. Interesting .

Saylor handed me a red cup full of nasty keg beer, but at least it was cold. "For you, milady. Enjoy." She touched her own cup to mine and downed a healthy swig, her eyes twinkling over the rim. Without another word, she returned to where Jeremiah was filling cups for the line of people streaming in from the living room.

Addressing Callahan, I said, "Guess we know why your party is more fun than the frat party where Saylor is a little sister."

Speculation narrowed Jamaica's eyes. "Guess we do."

"I'm noticing a disturbing trend among my friends," I said as I took a sip from my beer—more as something to do than because I wanted to drink it.

"What's that?"

"You're all hanging out with Wildcats players. You"—when she opened her mouth to protest, I stared pointedly at where Callahan's hand rested on her hip—"Piper, and now Saylor."

"Why is it disturbing that your friends are hanging out with me and my friends?" Callahan asked with a smirk.

"Because some of your friends have questionable taste in women." I sipped more beer.

With a sage nod, he said, "Don't judge Finn. It's not taste he lacks but finesse. Jersey chasers are easy to impress." He tugged Jamaica a fraction closer to his side. "Women who are worth impressing are harder for him to affect. He gets all tongue-tied and says stupid things."

I shrugged. "I don't recall referring to your roommate."

Callahan barked out a laugh. "You didn't have to. We knew who you meant."

Wrinkling my nose, I said, "Whatever."

The voice of the man in question sounded behind me. "Hey, 'Han. Jamaica."

When I didn't bother to turn around, Callahan smirked.

"Chessly?" Finn asked from somewhere behind my back.

Letting go of a long-suffering sigh, I shrugged and half-turned to incline my head at him.

Callahan's low voice held a note of mirth. "Cold, Chessly. Cold."

Jamaica's narrowed eyes told me my best friend was in solidarity with me. Whether or not Callahan was right and Finn lacked finesse with women it didn't excuse whatever he had going on with that witch Tory Miller.

"I didn't think you'd show tonight."

With another shrug, I sipped my nasty beer. "What can I say? My friends, apparently, are sadists. They enjoy torturing me."

Saylor's snorty laughter drew our attention to where Jeremiah Fitzgerald was entertaining her as he filled cups like a pro.

"Or they think everyone should have a thing for a Wildcats player." That last part came out huffier than I intended, and Jamaica shot me the big eyes. "Don't worry. I was referring to Saylor." Under my breath I added, "Mostly."

"I thought you were a fan of the Wildcats." Consternation crossed Finn's face, and I stomped on the mental brakes when a smile tried to twitch its way over my lips at how cute his expression was.

"Football is fun to watch."

Both Callahan and Finn stood a bit straighter and preened.

"So, yes, I'm a Wildcats fan. But being a fan doesn't mean I want to date any of you." I shot a glance at Jamaica, who narrowed her eyes at me and then at Saylor, who apparently didn't hear me, judging by the way she was smiling at Jeremiah's beer-pouring antics.

The way Finn's' shoulders dropped gave me a pang, like I'd kicked a puppy or something. My remorse made no sense.

"We're nice guys. We do community service and everything," he said, his earnest tone nearly tugging that grin from me after all. But I squelched it.

"By community service, do you mean entertaining freshman and sophomore girls in the Union?"

As soon as those catty words had left my mouth, I wanted to kick myself. His furrowed brow at my question told me more than I wanted to know. I thought he'd noticed me the other day when I saw him at a table surrounded by Tory Miller and her band of mean girls. Guess he hadn't. And what did that say about my interest in him?

Because I most certainly was not interested in him.

Not even a little bit.

"Um, I volunteer in the pediatric ward in the hospital. 'Han here walks dogs at the animal shelter." He nodded in Jeremiah's direction. "Fitzy helps out over at the campus wellness center. It's a requirement of our scholarships to give back."

I folded my arms over my chest and hid behind a sip of beer. He volunteers in the pediatric ward? I did not need to know that.

"I don't think that's what Chessly meant." Callahan smirked.

"Look, I, um, figured I screwed up somehow that night." He scuffed his feet on the linoleum. "Can we talk?" Glancing around at the crowd, he added, "Without an audience?"

My first reaction was to hide behind my usual snark and turn him down. But something about such a big man being so vulnerable in front of his friends had me nodding instead. At my response, Jamaica's eyes almost bugged out of her head. Giving her the tiniest shake of my head, I shut down whatever comment she wanted to make.

The smile that bloomed over Finn's wide mouth was worth my acquiescence. I just hoped the price for it wasn't going to be too high.