1. Chapter 1

T hey say a woman who changes her hair is about to change her whole life. Well, I guess I'm about to change the world with how drastically I've changed my appearance over the last few months.

Not only have I dyed my golden-brown hair with natural blonde highlights—the color people pay big money for—black, but I just packed up my Jeep and moved nine hundred miles.

All without telling my parents.

Can you say college crisis?

Or maybe it's not a crisis.

Maybe it's me finally taking control of my own life and doing the things I want to, the way I want to do them.

For as long as I can remember, I've done everything right. I've been the perfect daughter, sister, friend, student, and girlfriend. But the problem with trying to be perfect in everyone else's eyes is that along the way, I lost myself.

The traits I thought made me who I am are not actually my traits but the characteristics that people around me want me to be. At twenty years old, I've spent so much time pleasing everyone else that I forgot to please myself. I have no idea who I am or what truly makes me happy.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on the phone with my older brother—by fifteen months—he was filling me in on what's new at CTU for the upcoming school year. Grant briefly mentioned one of his buddies on the team was in a lurch for a fourth roommate since someone who was supposed to move in had bailed. Grant is a wide receiver on the college football team, where my dad is the head coach. When he mentioned Tyler Harris, the quarterback, was the one needing a roommate, I filed that information in the back of my mind.

Lying in bed after a particularly rough day, I searched for Tyler on Facebook. There was a post on his profile inquiring about a roommate, and I noticed it was still open. After a brief war in my mind, I decided to shoot my shot and send him an email. Praying my last name was common enough and that my dad and brother hadn't mentioned my real name, I hoped it was enough for him not to put two and two together. Hitting Send, I locked my phone and waited.

Forty-eight hours later, after a few back-and-forth emails, Tyler was sending over the lease agreement. I mean, I was the perfect candidate. What group of athletes wouldn't accept a sports management major who plays intramural basketball, has a zero policy for drama, and whose favorite movie is The Fast and the Furious ? Once that acceptance notification hit my phone, I quickly filled out the transfer application from the University of Arizona to Central Texas University.

Should I have specified that I was a female? Yeah, probably. But what's the fun in that? And it wasn't like there was a spot on the form for me to mark my gender. So, I mean, whose fault is it really ?

Anxiety coursed through my veins as I signed the form with my electronic signature. Never in my life have I made such a big decision without my family knowing, but I've got to get far away from Arizona. I've got to escape the fear and crippling worry. It's time to run from the monster chasing me.

It's time I join my dad and brother and become an Eagle. I'd much rather soar like an Eagle than roar like a Wildcat .

Turning down the radio, I lean forward in my seat as I gaze above my steering wheel, searching for the entrance to the apartment complex. For some reason, having the volume off makes my concentration and vision so much better. My GPS says I only have a few hundred feet to go, but all I see are rows and rows of buildings behind a black metal gate.

Glancing down at my GPS, my eyes bounce from the screen to the road. Ah, there is the opening. I flick on my turn signal as I step on the brakes, causing the car behind me to honk and shout at me.

"Sorry. Sorry," I mumble, knowing the person behind me can't hear me, as I turn onto the road that leads to the parking lot.

The black metal gates welcome you into the complex with a sign stating "Eagles Landing Apartments." Continuing down the paved road, I pass a white brick and black-roofed community building with an in-ground pool beside it. The pool is overflowing with residents inside the water and lounging in chaises around the pool.

And wait, I lower my sunglasses for a better view, is that a DJ?

"The apartment complex doesn't hold back," I say, shaking my head and letting out a soft chuckle.

Pressing down on the accelerator, I pass cars and people walking as I try to find the road where my new home awaits. I can't get over how clean this complex is. Each building has flower beds with fresh black mulch, trimmed green shrubs contrasting against the mulch, and a few other blooming flowers. The bottom units have small covered porches, while the upper units have balconies in the back.

Taking in each building, I feel a sense of warmth. I can see myself happy in these units. I hope my roommates aren't too mad about the fact I'm a woman. But if they really wanted to know, they should have had a specific spot on the application to state whether the applicant is male or female .

At least, that's the defense I'm going with.

Turning right and following the main road, I find building eight and pull into a vacant spot. Shifting the gear into park, I rest my face against my steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths in the grounding exercises I've been working on. I hope at least one of my roommates is home. I'm arriving a few hours later than anticipated.

Here's to a fresh start.

A new you.

You can do this, Bret.

I slowly release the air with one last deep breath and push the ignition button off. Reaching for my purse, I step out of the Jeep and walk to the back to grab one of the two suitcases I brought.

The moving company I hired to move all my belongings from Arizona to Texas isn't picking them up until tomorrow. Thankfully, Olivia, my former roommate and best friend, is an angel and was willing to help make sure they get everything.

For now, it's just me, my Jeep, two medium-sized suitcases, my backpack with my laptop, and of course, my favorite basketball. There was no way I was leaving Spalding behind. We've been through too much.

Wheeling one of my suitcases toward the steps, I hoist the heavy bag by the handle toward the third floor where unit eight-thirty-four awaits. The area where this building is located is quiet. The only noise is my feet echoing in the enclosed space as I climb the wooden stairs. It's a good thing I'm all about exercising because climbing these stairs would get old quickly if I wasn't in shape.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I glance to my left and right and see that unit eight-thirty-four is on the right side of the walkway. Taking another deep breath, I try to center myself and my nerves before my feet carry me toward the awaiting door. The rolling vibrations of my suitcase wheels against the wood are the only soundtrack to the next chapter of my life.

This is it, girl. Here's to the new you. Gone are the hard days of living in Arizona. Your new future is behind this door.

My knuckles rap against the metal as I wait for my new roommates to answer. The white door swings open, and my jaw nearly hits the ground. Maybe I didn't think this whole living with guys situation over enough.

Standing before me is a god. He's tall—having five to six inches on my five foot ten frame—and has golden-tanned skin on full display thanks to his lack of shirt. My eyes trail down his six, no wait, eight—eight? I pause, counting the indents again. Yes, eight-pack abs. And stop at his very defined v that leads to what I can only assume is…

"Not that I don't mind the blatant eye fuck, but can I help you?" he says with a chuckle interrupting my, well, blatant eye fuck.

"Oh shit." I snap my eyes back up to his, where a waiting smirk is spread across his face. "I'm Bret Campbell, your new roommate."

I watch as that sexy smirk morphs into a straight line of confusion. "I'm sorry. Can you say that again?"

My mouth opens to repeat myself when I'm interrupted by a loud, albeit familiar, voice in the background. "Yo, Harris. Who's at the door?"

Harris? Taking another long look at the man in front of me, recognition dawns. Tyler Harris, the CTU Eagles star quarterback and one of my brother's close friends. Shit . Tyler slides away from the door and opens his body so that the guy shouting his name gets a clear view.

"Addy?" His voice was a shocked whisper, and my eyes quickly widened.

As I stand there, Tyler's god-like presence is suddenly overshadowed by the Herculean Adonis approaching us. His disheveled blonde hair and mocha brown eyes command attention, and I question my decision to be here. Crew Riggsby and I have a history, not in the romantic sense, but in the ‘we met once and sort of became friends' kind of way. I never expected to see him here.

God, seeing him in person, I forgot how much his looks affect me. Not only is Crew model-worthy attractive—like he deserves his own Sports Illustrated cover—but he's a big, powerful guy. His six foot five inch frame towers over me, making the apartment's entryway tiny. His muscles bulge from his two hundred and thirty-plus pound athletic build without needing to flex. He's the perfect body type to be a starting tight end for the football team.

And dear lord, those athletic shorts do nothing to conceal the outline in his shorts. Crew has been blessed in the big gene department…everywhere.

"Hey, Crew—"

"Wait?" Tyler interjects. "I thought you just said your name was Bret?"

Both guys stare at each other and then back at me. I watch Crew's eyes rake over my body, which heats along his path. From my red, white, and blue Nikes, his eyes lick up my tan, toned legs from hours spent running up and down a basketball court. They skim over my distressed denim shorts and pause at my chest.

My eyes widen as I mentally palm my forehead and realize why his gaze lingers. I completely forgot that I removed my bra during the two hours I was stuck on the interstate in standstill traffic. The underwire was digging into my skin so badly I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to free the ta-tas.

And now I'm standing before two hot-blooded males wearing a skin-tight white cropped top with my new piercings on full display .

Does dying your hair black and getting your nipples pierced signify a crisis or a rebellion? Asking for a friend.

Refusing to cower under their assessment, I steal my shoulders and wait for them to stop gawking.

Tyler is the first to break. His eyes snap to me and widen as the realization hits. "Wait? Addy like Addy Campbell? Oh, fuck. Like Grant's sister? Coach's daughter?"

I point to myself and say, "Bret Addison Campbell. Not that I don't mind the mini-interrogation. I knew it'd be coming, but do you mind if we do this inside? It's been a very long day of traveling."

Both guys jerk to the side, making way for me to enter the apartment. Taking a step in, I enter a small hallway. A wall-mounted coat rack sits empty since it's the middle of Texas heat. There's another smaller key rack next to the coat rack. It's simple, but I didn't expect a fancy entryway in an apartment filled with college football players. At least the place smells good. Fresh. Not like dirty gym bags.

Walking a few more steps into the entryway, there's a galley kitchen to the left. It's closed off from the rest of the apartment and smaller than my last place, but that's fine—cooking isn't my specialty.

Diagonal from the kitchen is the first bedroom. My eyes peek inside, and I notice the unmade bed. The hallway opens to the living room, where there is a black leather sectional, and a big-screen TV is mounted to the wall. Yes, this is definitely a guy's apartment, considering how big it is. I think it's at least seventy inches and takes up most of the wall. No doubt this TV sees a lot of video games and Sports Center.

A sliding glass door sits at the back of the room and opens to a balcony with a view overlooking the green space toward the clubhouse. I can't make out much else from where I'm standing .

Wheeling my suitcase off to the side near a dining table behind the living space and the kitchen, I turn toward the guys who follow on my heels.

"So let me get this straight, your name is actually Bret?" Crew asks.

"I'm so confused," mumbles Tyler.

Life should come with thought bubbles above people's heads, like in comics. I'd love to read the thoughts that are no doubt swirling inside his head. This way, I can figure out how best to reassure people that, yes, my name is Bret.

Bret Addison Campbell.

A female.

Here's the thing. I like my name. It's cool and unique and fits my personality perfectly. The thing I don't like is the dumbfounded look everyone gives me. Or them constantly asking if I said Britt. No, Bret. B-R-E-T.

As if naming me after my uncle wasn't confusing enough, Mom decided to drop the second ‘t' because she thought it'd be more feminine. Turns out it isn't. It led to more explaining in my life.

Pulling out a wooden chair, I sit at the dining table and watch the guys follow my lead.

"I was named after my dad's brother, his best friend in life, who passed away when my mom was pregnant with me. Evidently, it was a whole debate between the two of them. She wanted to name me Addison after her grandmother, and Dad wanted to name me after his brother. So they compromised and spelled my name with only one ‘t' because it made it more feminine, whatever that means."

"Okay," Tyler draws out. "That explains the name, but what are you doing at CTU? I thought you went to school in Arizona. "

Chewing on my lip, I look around the table at the two guys who need more answers than I want to give. Crew's eyes dart away when I make eye contact with him.

Seeing him in person is weird. Last Christmas, when I was visiting, Grant invited me to the Football House where his buddy Quinton lived. Crew was there, and the two of us kind of hit it off. Not in the romantic sense—I had a boyfriend at the time—but there was some kind of spark between us.

It's hard not to be drawn to Crew. There's something about his personality that welcomes people. He's the goofiest of my brother's friends, but that's what drew me to him most. I firmly believe that people come into your life when you need them the most. Last Christmas, I was in a really dark place, hell I've been in a dark place for far too long, but Crew's beaming smile, jokes that had me curling over with laughter, and flirtatious attitude that had me blushing and my brother scowling was not what I needed.

Since then, we've kept in touch by sending random text messages and liking each other's pictures on social media before I deactivated my accounts. But the vibe he's throwing my way is not the same one we've been sharing the last few months.

Shit, does he think I, like, stalked him, and now I'm forcing myself onto him? Of course he does, Bret. This whole situation is quickly turning into a mess.

"I didn't know you were Tyler's roommate." I point the words to Crew, who looks taken aback by my outburst. "Seriously. Grant filled me in on the roommate situation during one of our phone calls. He has no idea I'm here, and I had no idea you lived here. I'm not like stalking you or anything, if that's what you think."

Crew shakes his head and scoffs but doesn't say anything. Tyler is the one doing all of the talking, and I can see that he's freaking out internally. "This just keeps getting worse. Your brother has no idea you're here? I assume your parents know, right?"

I wince, and he curses. "Look, it's a whole story, one I really don't want to get into right now. In the past two days, I've driven from Arizona to here. I'm honestly exhausted. I promise I'm cool, and I won't cramp your bachelor lifestyle. Bring back all the girls you want, I'm not about to be a cock block. I needed to get out of Tucson and find someplace where the rent wasn't insane. I clean up after myself, don't do drama, and have no problem keeping to myself in my room."

"You don't do drama, but this sounds like a lot of drama," Tyler says, and I can't fault him for it. Yes, it sounds like drama at this moment, but once I talk to my family, it'll all be okay.

"How do we know we can even trust you? For the past seven months, I thought your name was Addy. Jesus, I've been talking to a stranger." Hurt laces Crew's voice, and it kills me. It was never supposed to go down like this.

"You two talk?"

Putting my hand in the air, I attempt to halt the spiral around the table. "Okay, let me sum everything up. My mom and brother call me Addy, while my dad always calls me Bret. It's confusing, I know, but it is what it is. I needed to leave Arizona because some…stuff…happened, and I haven't told my family I moved here. I needed to be closer to my family."

"Are you okay?" Crew's eyes lock on mine, and it's as if he's reading me for a lie.

With a tight-lipped smile, I nod. "I will be."

Turning to look at Harris, I find him watching me intently, too. It's very intimidating to be under their stares, and I also can't help but be a little turned on by the two gods sitting across from me shirtless. It's been a really long time since I've been this close to two very attractive guys.

For the past four months, I've been a hermit in my apartment. Since classes ended last April, I have only left the apartment to go to the gym and the grocery store—but never alone. My life has been really depressing, so much so that I've collected six tattoos from my roommate, who is an apprentice at a tattoo shop. She needed someone to practice on, and I was a blank canvas begging to be touched.

Clapping my hands together, I snap my attention back to the matter at hand. "I promise to tell my family this week. It's all a little unexpected, but I have a car to unload if we're done with the chit-chat."

"Yeah, we're good, Bret. Don't make us hide the truth for long. I don't need tension on the team," Harris says in what I can only assume is his football captain tone.

"I promise." I smile at the guys before reaching into my pocket and fishing out a fifty-dollar bill. Slapping it on the table, I slide it toward the middle. "Pizza and beer are on me tonight."

"Yo," a voice shouts from the hallway. "I was talking to Rick downstairs, and he said some babe was rolling her suitcase up the stairs. Looks like there's some fresh—" his words trail off as he rounds the corner to where the three of us are sitting. His eyes widen before they land straight on my chest. I really need to grab a bra.

"Uhh, what's Coach's daughter doing in our apartment?" The guy says, and I recognize him instantly. Jeremiah Prince, or JP to everyone, is a defensive back on the football team and another of my brother's closest friends. I also met him in person at the Christmas party last winter, but I've heard a lot about him over the years.

"Hey, roomie!" I greet my new roommate as cheerfulness drips into my words .

"Grant didn't say anything about you moving. How's it going, Addy?" he asks me before turning his attention to Crew and Tyler. "I thought we were getting some dude named Bret?"

"And that's my cue. You boys fill him in while I carry my stuff up from my Jeep," I say, standing from my seat and adjusting my clothes, which had ridden up from sitting. All three track my hands, sliding down the denim cutoff shorts and adjusting my crop top.

You need this fresh start, Bret. It'll all be worth it.

I'm halfway to my car when I feel him approaching.

"What the fuck, Bret ?" Crew's words cut through me like ice.

Instead of stopping at his words, I continue to my Jeep, hitting the button on my fob to unlock the doors. Opening the back, I reach inside for my other suitcase. I'm about to pull it out when large arms move me out of the way. My body tenses at the contact as my back goes ramrod straight.

"Sorry," Crew grumbles, lifting my bag and placing it at our feet. He watches me, curious about my reaction.

Hello, trauma, it's been a while.

I hope there's a time in my very near future when the sudden contact of someone else won't have me crawling out of my skin.

"It's fine." My voice wobbles as I grab my black backpack. Tossing it on my back, I adjust the straps so it's not digging into my piercings. My nipples are still a little sensitive to the metal.

Warm-brown eyes bore into me, and I want to crumple right here in the middle of our parking lot. But I won't do that. I can't be that weak girl anymore. I left her in Arizona.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you my real name was Bret. I didn't think it'd be an issue."

"You didn't think it'd be an issue? All these months, what were they? "

"I don't know, Crew. What do you want me to say?"

"I think I want you to be fucking honest with me, Ad— Bret —whatever the fuck you want me to call you. Do you still have a boyfriend, or was that a lie?"

I halt my movement and turn toward him. We're nearly chest to chest, and I can feel his frustration vibrating off of him. Reaching up, I place my hand on his bare chest, next to the cross tattoo he has over his heart. Electricity zaps between us, but I fight not to let the spark of our connection ignite.

"Crew, I'm sorry. It's Bret or Addy; call me whichever you want. No, there's no boyfriend—not anymore. And yes, I can be honest with you. I know I don't deserve your trust, but please trust that I will tell you everything when I'm ready."

His eyes soften, and I feel it. I feel that there's hope that we can move forward from the lies. "Just tell me one thing."

"I'll try."

He brings his hand up and cups my cheek. I only flinch slightly at the contact, which he no doubt notices. Brushing his thumb across my cheekbone, he asks, "Who hurt you?"

And I melt into his touch. Out of everyone in my life, I know it's going to be Crew Riggsby who will be the one to break down the walls I'm trying so desperately to build.