Prologue Sloane

PROLOGUE: SLOANE

Thirteen years ago…

“Trouble—”

I tear my gaze away from Mrs. Evans and the Pythagorean formula she’s scrawling on the whiteboard and glance toward the whispering voice.

Cam Crawford.

One of the stars on my dad’s high school football team—and my best guy friend. I raise a brow and mouth ‘What?,’ not wanting to risk detention for talking in class. Mrs. Evans is one of the strictest teachers in the school and she’ll take no mercy on me, even if my dad is Coach Carter, the best football coach this school’s ever had.

“Lunch?” he whispers and I nod, a smile tugging at my lips. I secretly love that Cam wants to have lunch with me in our special spot. He may also want help with the Lit homework due today, but that’s fine.

Anything to spend time with him.

I shouldn’t be crushing on him, I know. He’s the most popular, handsome guy at Thunder Creek High. A football phenom destined for the pros, according to my dad. But it hasn’t stopped my stupid heart from falling for him.

Hard.

Not that I’ll ever tell him.

God, no.

Instead, I’ll be his friend. Be there to listen to all his football stories, sit around and help him memorize the running routes for the next game.

Then inevitably watch as he gives some other girl his Varsity jacket.

Because I’m Sloane Carter. Strictly relegated to the friend zone.

Add to that I’m the coach’s daughter and my dating life has been doomed from the beginning. No one on the football team dares ask me out, fearing my father. The best I can hope for is getting asked out by a baseball boy and some of them are even scared.

So I take what I can with Cam and that’s a solid friendship.

The bell rings and we all jump from our seats, shoving notebooks and calculators into our backpacks before tearing out into the hallway. Lockers slam and the linoleum squeaks beneath sneakered feet.

“Hey, Trouble—” Cam throws his long arm around me and matches my stride. “You gonna grab your lunch from your locker?”

I nod, heat licking through my body walking this close to him. He smells like the woods, and I have to resist leaning in and nuzzling his neck to get a better whiff.

That would be weird.

Instead, I pull up to my locker and twist my lock, whipping the brown paper bag out of the dark cavern.

“You have yours?” I ask, banging the metal door shut.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

Together, we head across campus and I’m acutely aware of all the stares following Cam’s every move. He’s the golden boy of Thunder Creek High, already signed and committed to the University of Alabama on a full football scholarship. I’m the coach’s daughter, but no one’s really all that interested in me.

Not here, deep in football territory.

We glance around before ducking behind the gym building, using the back door to access the weight room. Girls aren’t supposed to be in the boys’ weight room or vice-versa, but Cam’s been sneaking me in with him since freshman year when we bonded over the cafeteria smelling like rotting milk and canned peas. The weight room’s always empty at lunchtime, giving us a private place to dine. Sure, it smells only slightly better than the cafeteria, but I’ll take sweaty socks over sour milk any day of the week.

Cam pulls up a weight bench and the two of us plop on the black plastic seat, leaning against the dark blue wall. He pulls a sandwich out of his matching brown paper bag and we eat in companionable silence for a few minutes. He’s on his second sandwich when he asks about the Lit homework.

“Yes, Cam, you can use my notes. But you really should read The Great Gatsby. I think you’ll like it—the writing’s excellent.” I reach into my bag and slide my notes out of my Lit folder. “You’re missing out.”

He shoots me a sheepish grin. “I know, Trouble. You’re right. But Coach has me learning a bunch of new plays for the next game. Ran out of time to do homework.” He shrugs his broad shoulders and I can’t be mad about it.

I know my dad’s running the team hard. He wants to win the state championship this year, has talked of nothing else all season long in fact.

“Thanks.” Cam takes the notes and looks them over, his brow furrowed. “Wait, the main guy—Gatsby—gets killed in the end? And he never gets the girl?”

I nod, take another bite of sandwich. “Correct.”

“Seems like a bummer.”

“It’s tragic. But that’s what makes it great. The novel’s a harsh critique of the American Dream.”

“Hmm. That’s a real downer, Sloane. I like happy endings.” His marine eyes slide to mine and I’m suddenly lightheaded.

“Yeah, me too.” I swallow hard, acutely aware of the thudding of my heart. I hope Cam can’t hear it through the quiet.

He leans forward, the rough pad of his thumb brushing my bottom lip.

“You have a crumb.”

“Oh.” Heat floods my system, the skin at the side of my mouth burning where he made contact. “Thanks.”

The word’s a whisper, barely audible over the thrum of the air conditioning.

“Listen—after the game on Friday, you want to go out to the bonfire at the lake? A bunch of the guys from the team are going. You and Gracelyn should come.”

He inches away from me, crumpling his brown paper bag into a tight ball and firing it into the trash can across the room. The ball disappears into the can and he pumps his fists in the air, victorious.

“Yes! A perfect shot.” Cam grins at me, his perfect white teeth flashing in the fluorescent light of the weight room.

“Yeah, we can probably make it.”

“Probably?” He cocks his eyebrow, the scar above his right eye rising. “C’mon, Trouble—it’s one of the last bonfires of the season. We don’t have many left together.”

He reaches out, covering my small hand with his huge one and squeezing. “Please, Trouble.”

His marine eyes lock on mine, wide and pleading, and my heart contracts.

How can I say no to him?

Because he’s right—we don’t have much time left together before we head our separate ways. It’s our senior year; after this, everything changes, for both of us.

Just thinking about it makes my chest ache.

“Yes, Cam. I’ll go.”

“Good. You know I’ll breathe easier with you there.”

That makes one of us.

Because when Cam’s around, I’m a mess. Four years together and he still has the same effect on me as the day we met.

Breathless.

The bell rings, the shrill clang bouncing off the metal weight equipment and the spell between us is broken. Cam hops up, grabbing both of our backpacks, looping his arm around my shoulders.

Light. Easy. Casual.

The absolute walking definition of friend zoned.

Cam Crawford’s the love of my life, but there’s no way I’d ever tell him.