1. Chapter 1

I'm never drinking again.

The soft chirp of birds fills the silence around me as the sky is slowly starting to wake. Steadily, I begin to rise from bed, only to be met with the pounding in my head that is trying to consume me.

Another morning, another hangover.

Glancing around the room, I search for my clothes. There is no way I am making the trek to my car in only a borrowed Central Texas Eagles football shirt that looks more like a dress than a shirt on me.

I throw the covers off me, sitting up slowly, trying to avoid the inevitable feeling of the room spinning and the need to empty my stomach.

"The sun isn't even out," Quinton groans from the makeshift bed on the floor.

"I've got class," I reply, jumping out of his warm bed. It's either I get up now, or I'll cave in and spend all morning lying in bed. "Besides, don"t you have to get up soon for weightlifting?"

"Coach pushed weightlifting back until eight o'clock, thank god," Quinton replies.

"Lucky you," I say. "Meet me at the Student Union at eleven thirty for lunch?"

"Yeah, see you later," Q says, rolling over and bringing his blanket up to his chin. He looks so comfortable. I wish I could say the same about myself. Why did I want the best professor for my Psychology 3600 class? And why does he only teach eight a.m. classes?

Locating my clothes on his desk chair, I throw off Quinton's T-shirt, toss it in the pile of clothes that I assume are dirty, and pull on my clothes from last night. I'm always thankful when parties are casual and not themed. It makes the next morning less awkward. Cutoff jean shorts, a cute tank, and Converse don't scream "walk of shame" quite like a tight dress and heels.

Stumbling over to the nightstand, I pick up my round, tortoise-framed glasses and pop in a piece of gum. Gum will have to do until I make it back to my town house to freshen up. The inside of my mouth feels like I licked the mat that holds overflow draft beer at bars. Gross!

Stepping out of Quinton's bedroom, I notice that the house is calm and quiet, the total opposite of last night. But before I can take in my surroundings, I am met with the stench of weed, sticky floors, and littered beer cans.

God—this house is a disaster.

Dubbed the Football House around campus, Quinton's house is a three-story brick colonial. His parents purchased the house for his older brother to live in while he was in college. Once Damien graduated, Quinton moved in with some of his teammates and younger brother. The Football House is the place to party on campus. They're known for throwing the wildest parties. But since a lot is riding on the line for all the guys that live here, the parties are usually invite-only to keep the crowd under some control.

Since I don't live nearby, Q lets me crash in his room after parties, as long as he isn't hooking up with some chick. On the nights he's got a lady, I crash in the third-story movie room. The couch isn't as comfortable as Q's bed, but it gets the job done. Nothing will ever compare to Q's bed. It's the most comfortable bed I've ever slept on. It's like lying on a cloud. There's no way I'd give up sleeping in this bed if it was mine. But Quinton does every time I stay over. He never sleeps in the bed with me, he always takes the floor.

Quinton Boyd is not only a Power Five running back for the CTU Eagles, but he's a potential first-round draft pick in the NFL. With Q's stats, it's a no-brainer that he will go first round, top ten. He's insanely talented, can bench and squat an ungodly amount, and makes defenders look stupid. While he may have the NFL's eye, he also has the campus eating out of the palm of his hand. The guys want to be him, the ladies want under him, and I'm lucky enough to call him my best friend.

Football season kicks off next weekend. Every September, the team kicks off the season and the new school year with their weekly Thirsty Thursday party. The guys always say their Thirsty Thursday nights are going to be low-key, but the parties are far from laid-back. Last night's party got a little carried away.

That's what happens when people start talking about a party, especially one at the Football House.

Carefully, I make my way down the old, hardwood staircase, stepping over a few bodies of passed-out partygoers, and walk straight into the kitchen. For some reason, during the party, I ended up taking my Converse off, and now I have no idea where they are. This brings me to a better question than where, but why would taking my shoes off in this house even cross my mind?

Pulling a kitchen chair to the refrigerator, I stand and look to see if someone put them on top. Nope, not there. Glancing around the open concept kitchen, dining room, and living room, I see a lot of random things, but no Converse. My eyes keep scanning and snag on something hanging from the patio. Stepping off the chair, I make my way to the kitchen window and peer out over the yard. And there they are. My shoes are dangling from the patio roof. There's no way I'm going out to get them now. Deciding to let them hang, I make my way to the front door barefoot.

It's six o'clock in the morning, my head is pounding, and I got four hours of sleep, but I can't help but take in the quiet campus. I don't think there's anything better than the morning on campus. Even hungover, I can truly appreciate the historic campus that makes up Central Texas University, a one-hundred-fifty-year-old university. The school hasn't lost any of its charm over the years and somehow, like a fine wine, keeps getting better with age.

The mature trees line the sidewalks and are flourishing. Instead of paved streets, CTU features a majority of brick-lined streets. The buildings that make up the campus are all original with stunning architectural designs.

Attending CTU had always been my brother's and my dream. I'm so glad I decided to attend, even though his plans changed. Thankfully, I met Quinton. He helped ease the guilt of being at CTU.

Quinton and I met freshman year. But we weren't instant friends.

The first week of school was ‘icebreaker' week. Each day, we were assigned mandatory activities. Quinton and I were assigned a lot of the same activities. My team kept beating Q's team, and apparently, he's a sore loser.

Then at the end of the week, we were both at the same party. Q and I were paired opposites in a beer pong game. He and his partner were on their ninth game-winning streak, when my partner and I beat them. We continued our winning streak and won the little tournament that was going on.

My cockiness might've shone through as I ran my mouth to all of his friends about how much he sucked. I might have been a little—okay, a lot—drunk.

Karma would then come around and bite me in the ass when we both had the same mandatory freshman class. The only open seat was beside Quinton, which made us partners for the semester. It ended up being a blessing because we quickly became best friends and have been inseparable since.

Making the ten-minute drive to my town house, I park in my designated spot. I share a three-bedroom house with my two best friends, Chloe and Macy. Before I get a chance to open the front door, I'm forced to halt my entrance as Macy opens it with a tall man behind her. He looks familiar, but I can't quite place where I recognize him from. Story of my life.

"Well, looks like it's a good morning for you," I greet Macy and her friend.

Her face flushes red as she lets her friend out the front door.

"Gregg, this is my roommate Brynn Wilder. Brynn, this is Gregg Carlton." She introduces us as Gregg reaches his hand out for me to shake. "Thanks for last night, Gregg," Macy says, turning her attention back to him.

Gregg leans down and kisses Macy on her cheek, her face turning even redder.

"See you around, Macy."

He turns and walks down the three steps off our front porch and heads down the sidewalk toward the guest parking.

Shutting the door after I walk inside, Macy turns to me.

"I could say the same about you," Macy retorts.

"Oh please, you know I stayed with Quinton," I reply, placing my keys on the hook by the front door before heading into our kitchen.

As put together as I try to be, if I don't put my keys on the hook right away, I'll be tearing the house apart trying to find them. Once I put them in the freezer, and it took four hours to find them.

Macy is right on my heels, and we both make our way to the Keurig. Coffee is essential this morning. Caffeine is vital every morning, but especially today. I will never understand people who don't drink coffee. That first sip of hot coffee rolls through my veins and warms up my black heart. It's the absolute best.

Reaching up in the cabinet above our coffee cart, I pull down two mugs. One is a yellow mug that says "My anxiety is chronic, but this ass is iconic" and the other is a blush-colored mug with "Have fun. Don't do stupid shit. Study hard. Go to class, Call Home" written on it. The mug is definitely not from my collection. While I'm grabbing the mugs, Macy is loading the Keurig with Death Wish coffee. Turning to me, she grabs a mug from my outstretched hand, places it under the drip, and resumes our conversation.

"When are you two going to give in to all of that sexual chemistry? I see it. Chloe sees it. Cody sees it. Everyone sees it but you two," she says, leaning against the counter.

A sigh escapes my mouth as my eyes roll in a dramatic fashion. Grabbing my mug from under the Keurig, I take my first sip.

Ahh that first taste is like the perfect hit.

I can feel my soul waking up, putting Bitch Brynn to rest.

"Mace, I'm going to stop you right there. I'm too hungover to have this conversation with you for the hundredth time. Q is my friend. That's it. End of," I say, turning to head out of the kitchen. Before I make it all the way out of the room, I turn over my shoulder and say, "I've got to shower and head to class."

Macy just stands there, leaning against the counter with a smirk on her face.

Quinton and I are constantly getting asked why we aren't together. Even in college, people can't understand our relationship. He's my best friend.

Do I find him attractive? Of course. I have eyes and a pulse. He's stunning, there's no denying that.

Quinton Boyd has flawless, medium-brown skin marked with black ink. Tattoos line his left arm from his shoulder to his wrist. Across his strong chest is a giant eagle with its wings spread open, stretching from one pectoral muscle to the other. Inked down his rib cage on his right side is a detailed cross. His black hair is kept in a tight fade on the sides, with longer curls on top. A gold chain always lays around his neck with a small cross at the center—it was a gift from his grandma Cleo.

And his smile. Goddamn, Quinton Boyd has a panty-dropping smile, perfectly straight, white teeth and the tiniest dimple on his lower cheek, but only on the left side. The dreamiest brown eyes that remind me of rich dark coffee are outlined with an umber-brown ring.

But what makes him most attractive is his personality. He's cocky, yet charming and protective, with a wild side. He's a man of few words. The quiet one who sits back and listens. Quinton would give the shirt off his back for a stranger, and he's the first person to help an old lady cross the road. Believe me, I've seen him do it many times.

But the thing is, I value our friendship too much to ever even think about crossing that line.

And I'm too damaged to be in a relationship, especially with someone as good as Quinton.

The next hour flies by as I shower and get ready for Friday classes. It's the end of the first week, and I only have two classes. I throw on a black pair of bike shorts and an oversized graphic T-shirt with a pair of dad-style tennis shoes. Since I don't have time to fix my hair or makeup, I settle for tossing my blonde hair in a claw clip. I am forever thankful to whoever decided to bring back claw clips—y'all are the real MVPs.

Quickly, I apply a small layer of mascara. It's the only makeup I have time for. Before I leave my room, I put on my gold bar necklace that has the letter ‘B' engraved on it. This necklace is my favorite possession, and it only comes off when I shower. I try to never leave the house without it.

Running down the stairs, I stop at the entry closet and pull out my backpack and grab my keys off the hook. Sitting on our entryway table is a cup of on-the-go oatmeal and a note.

B,

Didn't mean to upset you this morning. Have a kick ass Friday.

XO,

M

PS- Say this out loud and put that shit in the universe. "I am worthy of an amazing life"

Macy is all about manifesting. She says things are more likely to come true if we speak it out loud to the universe.

Taking a deep breath in and exhaling slowly, I close my eyes and look up to the ceiling before repeating: "I am worthy of an amazing life."

And with that, I rush outside to my car.

Finding a parking spot on campus after nine a.m. is a challenge, but before nine a.m. is a piece of cake. There's a spot two rows in and five cars in. Doing one more glance at my appearance in the rearview mirror, I decide it's as good as it's going to get. Thankfully, my glasses help hide some of the dark circles under my eyes. Why did I sign up for such an early class? Oh yeah, hot Prof. Peters. Grabbing my bag, I exit my car, locking it as I head toward all of the walking zombies, I mean students, who are looking as tired and hungover as I am.

I enter Rogers Hall, finding the elevator and stepping on with others. Pushing through the bodies and standing shoulder-to-shoulder until the doors open on the third floor. I follow the rushing crowd to Lecture Hall 302, one of the largest lecture halls on campus. It's a three-story auditorium and holds a couple hundred students.

Descending the steps, I walk toward the middle of the room. Glancing around, I finally spot a familiar person and head toward him. He must hear me coming, because Cody glances up with a questioning look before a smile takes over his face.

"Yo, B, I'm glad to see someone I know in this class," Cody says as he shuffles his backpack out of my way.

Cody Jacobs is a pitcher on the baseball team, and the two of us run in similar crowds. Like Quinton, Cody is one of my best friends. No, I'm not a jersey chaser, I just prefer hanging out with the jocks. Plopping down in the seat next to him, I fold my arms on the desk and rest my head on my arms. There are about ten minutes before class begins and I'm planning on taking full advantage of the calm.

"Ohemgee, Cody, why does Peters have to teach the Friday morning lecture?" I whine.

"What's the matter, B? A little hungover?" Cody asks with a chuckle as he spins his pen on his fingers.

I don't even bother with an answer, just look at him with my eyes squinting.

He lets out a chuckle. "Let me guess, you're taking tonight off?"

"I'm hungover, not dead," I answer. "I think we are heading to The Eagles' Nest for happy hour and wings."

"Dude, I'm in. The Eagles' Nest has the best wings around."

The Eagles' Nest, yes the bar is named after the CTU Eagles, is a local campus essential. While the Football House is the place to party on campus, The Eagles' Nest is the spot to be when you need to unwind off campus. They serve cheap food and cheap beer. There's always some kind of local band on Friday nights. It's the place to be around campus. The owner loves football, and Q can usually get a few tables reserved for us.

"I'll have Q add you for the total," I say, finally pulling my head off my arms and reaching into my backpack to pull out my iPad and stylus.

"So, B, you and Q?" Cody begins before I cut him off.

"Don't even think about finishing that question, Cody."

"Just making sure nothing has changed," Cody replies with a smirk.

I shake my head. Cody has been trying to get me to go out with him for a while, and for some reason, I just can't bring myself to say yes. Cody is a good guy, the best guy, and he'd be a good time—at least, that's the rumor on campus—but that's all it would be, a good time. And I prefer not to mess around with close friends. It always makes everything awkward, and then all of our friends are in our business. I'm all about that "no strings attached hook-up."

Before we have a chance to finish our conversation, the first-floor door opens, and Professor Peters walks in and slams the door. Peters is a second-year professor, and he's not much older than we are. He is hot, hot, hot. As in, model hot. He's like that guy on Instagram you stumble upon and immediately become obsessed with. Tall, lean-built, but not skinny, more like a swimmer's build. He has dark hair, dark-green eyes, and a golden tan. Not to mention a permanent five o'clock shadow that he keeps groomed to always look a little disheveled.

"Good morning, this is Psych 3600," Professor Peters greets the class. His eyes look around the lecture hall. "If you're not a psych major, you shouldn't be in this room. This isn't a GenEd course." He pauses, making sure no one gets up to leave the room.

Reaching over with a tissue, Cody says under his breath, "Here, B, wipe the drool from your mouth."

"Oh shut up, Cody," I reply with a chuckle and a one finger salute. Because, yeah, I was totally staring and picturing Peters doing some "not safe for school" activities.

Why yes, Professor, I do need some extra help. Oh, meet in your office during office hours? See you then.