3. Chapter 3

I heard the boys leave an hour ago. A lot of noise came from the living room and kitchen, with a mixture of shushes as they all tried not to wake me.

Good news for them…I hardly ever sleep.

Last night, I was wide awake at 2:07, which is the same time every night. I wake in a cold sweat, unable to fall back asleep. No matter how hard I try to exhaust myself, I'm never able to escape the nightmares that come calling in the late-night hours. Bravery is a trait I'm working on building, and after an internal pep talk about how I was safe and far away from Arizona, I stood from the heap of blankets I had piled on the floor in search of a late-night snack. Something about pouring a large bowl of cereal in the middle of the night calls to me. Knowing I was living in an apartment full of boys, I assumed my odds of finding cereal would be high.

Lucky for me, I was right.

Inside the large pantry were five boxes of cereal. I was even surprised to see my favorite brand sitting there. After preparing the delicious cinnamon sugar treat, I climbed on the counter and enjoyed the serenity. The only noise in the apartment came from the whirring of the refrigerator. It was peaceful. For the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely safe inside the four walls that made up my home—as temporary as it may be .

Seeing that it was the middle of the night, I didn't put any thought into my state of undress. But as soon as Crew walked in from his bedroom, I instantly regretted my choice of not putting on pants.

Crew Riggsby has been on my mind for nearly seven months. And there he was, standing in the doorway of the kitchen we now shared in a pair of tight boxer briefs that squeezed his strong thighs and no shirt. Every ridge of his was on display, and I had to fight with all my might not to give away the reaction he was causing me.

Everything between us has been amicable. I dumped him in the friend zone, and it wasn't a hard decision since I was dating someone. But I won't lie. When we are near, there's a current that runs through us. There's a spark, an instant attraction. I mean, who wouldn't be falling to their knees before him?

As a tight end for the football team, Crew isn't just tall, but he's freaking built. At six foot, five inches and two hundred and thirty-five pounds of pure muscle, he makes me feel tiny. And I'm not a tiny girl. Height runs in my family, and I'm five foot ten inches and athletic.

Did his build instantly attract me? Absolutely.

But there's so much more to Crew than tanned skin, muscles, the perfect amount of blond hair dusting his chiseled face, and his dazzling smile.

Crew Riggsby is like a golden retriever puppy. He bounces around with his jovial personality. You can't help but smile when he's around.

Which is why I found myself needing to escape the tight galley kitchen. He makes me want to tear down the walls I've been trying so desperately to construct over the last few months. But then my idiot self had to go and kiss him. I practically climbed him like a tree, like a magnetic force field pulled us together .

If I thought there was a connection before, there is no doubt there is one now that our lips have touched. His tongue stoked a fire deep inside me and had me wanting to beg him to take me right there.

But I'm not ready for that. I'm so far from ready.

This year, I'm supposed to be focusing on myself. Figuring out who I am. I'm not jumping the first guy who fires up my engine.

Shaking my mind from last night's encounter, I leave the confines of my room, the very dull and very empty room. I seriously cannot wait until the movers arrive so I can slowly transform this drab apartment room into my hidden sanctuary. I have a feeling I'll be spending a lot of nights in here not to take away the bachelor vibes of the apartment. No guy wants to bring a girl back and have to explain that they live with a girl. I figure I should stay out of sight and out of mind.

Walking a few steps from my bedroom to the living room, I reach for the remote and turn on the TV. I scroll through the apps, hoping one of the guys uses the same workout app I do. It's my lucky day. I find the black icon and click it open, scrolling through the programs until I find the one I'm searching for. Gearing up for the yoga and meditation workout I like to do in the morning, I sit on my floor.

Time to nama- slay this day.

Locking up the front door, I jog down the stairs with my backpack and forever trusty Spalding—the basketball I carry everywhere. I realized I forgot to pack my gym duffel in the items I brought from Arizona, which means I'm juggling a basketball, a lanyard with my keys and wallet, a phone, a protein shake, and a water bottle .

Hitting the bottom of the steps, I spot a guy sitting on the wall that separates his porch from the flowerbed.

"Hey, are you Rick?" He turns toward me and nods slowly. "Cool, I'm Bret, the new tenant in eight-thirty-four. JP made it sound like you sit outside and monitor the parking lot frequently."

"Yeah, I guess you could say I do," he says, and I can see the nervous energy radiating off of him. His uneasiness makes me want to chuckle. Rick's probably afraid I'll tell him off for running his mouth to JP about how a "hottie moved in" or whatever he said.

"Listen, can you let me know if you see anyone wandering around the apartments? Like they're scoping things out or looking for someone?"

He eyes me quizzically, but he must sense the seriousness based on my tone and the expression on my face because he doesn't question me. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Thanks, Rick, I appreciate it." I give him a small smile, and that's when I see the CTU golf logo on his polo. "You golf?"

"Yeah, I'm on the CTU team."

"That's sweet. Good luck this season."

"Thanks," he calls after me as I turn and walk toward my Jeep.

Unlocking the doors, I toss my basketball onto the passenger seat and situate the rest of my things in their places. Climbing in the driver's seat, I start the engine and quickly hit the button to retract the roof and roll down the windows. It's another scorcher in Texas. You'd think I'd be used to the heat coming from Arizona, but I swear it feels hotter here.

My phone connects to the Bluetooth, and Mac Miller starts playing as I pull out of my parking spot. Something about his music gives me the mood boost I'm always searching for. It's like a hit of serotonin. Too bad he was gone way too soon .

Ten minutes later, I arrived outside of the football facility. My mouth gapes open as I stare at this insane building. The facility has a massive red brick exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows in the center. I've seen pictures, of course. Dad sent a selfie on his first day coaching, but to see it in person is remarkable.

Closing the roof and windows on my Jeep, I climb out with my large water bottle in hand, already finishing my shake on the drive over. Maybe Dad will let me use the weight room while I'm here.

Digging into the side pocket, I pulled out Grant's ID and swiped it on the keypad next to the door. If I thought the exterior was impressive, I was thoroughly wrong. This lobby would have me signing up to play for CTU in a heartbeat. Which I guess is the point.

Unlike its exterior, the lobby is modern, with a large open staircase and multiple large screens hanging from the ceiling with scrolling images. One of the screens has highlights from what looks like last season. It's cool to see players flash across the screen with the highlights.

Trophy cases line the walls underneath the screens and are filled with awards from over the years. In the center case stands the national championship trophy from last year in all its glory. It is a beautiful sight to see.

A reception desk sits off to the right, manned by a woman wearing a CTU polo, and her graying hair is perfectly coiffed. "Hi honey," she greets. "Is there something I can help you with? The facility isn't open to the public at this time."

I step up to the desk and flash her a warm smile. "Hi, my name is Bret Campbell. My dad is Derek Campbell."

Her eyes widen, and she straightens her spine. I guess tossing out that my dad is the head coach is like announcing you're part of the royal family. "The team is on the practice field right now. Do you know how to get there? "

"Honestly, I have no idea, but if you're busy, I can figure it out."

"I don't mind at all. It's easy to get lost in this building. I'm Ruth, by the way. I'm typically the one here during the day. Hank comes in around 5:30 if you're ever here in the evenings."

She leads us down a hallway where more video screens line the wall. Videos flash highlighting NFL draft picks, and I recognize a famous number thirty-one. Quinton Boyd is among the most recognizable NFL draft picks to come through CTU in recent years.

"That screen is on a loop. You'll see videos from the season, NFL combine, highlights from players playing in the NFL, and everything in between. It's fun to stand and watch."

Ruth doesn't stop to talk, she simply speaks over her shoulder as she leads the way. I assume she needs to hurry back to the desk in case anyone else comes in or tries to come in.

She leads us past the weight room, and my eyes widen at the equipment lined up. There are tons of machines, all in pristine condition.

Yeah, I want to work out in here.

"Here you go, honey," Ruth says, pausing outside the glass doors where I can see the team practicing.

My eyes widen as I take in the room. "Wow," I say, my voice filled with awe. The room before us has a full-length football field surrounded by large windows. The white ceiling somehow manages to let in lots of natural light. There's room on the side of the field for the team to stand, but there isn't much else inside.

Ruth chuckled at my slackened jaw, and what I could only imagine were stars in my eyes. "It's an incredible facility," she says, following my eyes. "The inside is temperature controlled too. We don't want any of our players passing out from the heat."

All I can do is nod. Not only am I impressed by the state-of-the-art facility, but my anxiety has crawled up my chest and settled in my throat. My nerves are all-consuming, and I'm terrified to walk through the doors.

How is my dad going to react? Is he going to be upset that I transferred? Or will he be more upset that I drove across the country by myself?

Suddenly, my need to please everyone else constantly is screaming at me to turn around and not face my problems head-on. I'm such a daddy's girl, and I can't face the fact that he may be upset with me.

I startle at the contact of Ruth's hand on my forearm. Glancing down at our contact, my eyes bounce up to find her watching me, reading me. "He'll be happy to see you, honey. Your dad talks about you all the time. Whatever it is that has you coming here, you're in the right place."

"How-how did you know?"

"Oh honey, I was young once. I recognized the hesitancy as soon as you walked in those doors. But whatever it is, it'll all work itself out. One day, you'll wake up and be sixty-six, and you won't even think about your troubled past."

"Really?"

"Really. Put on that brave smile I saw earlier and surprise your daddy." With a final pat on my forearm, Ruth leaves me alone.

Steeling my shoulders, I take one last big inhale, hold it, and slowly exhale the breath while reciting the mantras my therapist has had me practicing.

You are strong.

You are brave.

You are worthy.

You are fearless.

And I'm pushing the doors open .

The room must be entirely soundproof because the noise is the first thing that greets me. The sound of fans cheering and roaring from the sound system is painfully loud. It's like experiencing an actual game. I guess this is good practice for what they can expect in a week.

Slowly, I make my way down the wall, trying to hide. Glancing across the sea of players, ocean-green eyes find mine.

Grant .

Of course, he would be the first person I saw. Flicking my hand up, I give him a quick, subtle wave from my hip, not wanting to cause a scene.

Luck wouldn't be on my side for that.

"This is a closed practice," shouts a voice from the field, garnering everyone's attention. Heads whip in my direction, and I feel my cheeks heat from all the curiosity.

Eyes wide, I scan the group of guys. I find Grant shaking his head, his expression set in his signature stoic look. He needs to find some way to release his grumpy attitude. It wouldn't kill him to smile every once in a while. Still scanning the crowd, my eyes latch on warm-brown eyes. Crew is standing off to the side, helmet clutched in his hand as his sweat-soaked face stares at me. His expression is unreadable, which is not an expression I'm used to seeing on his face.

"Bret?" my dad's voice booms over the field. My eyes move to find him. My dad is standing diagonally from me on the sidelines, dressed in his signature coaching outfit of mid-thigh navy athletic shorts, a moisture-wicking CTU football T-shirt, and a cap.

A huge smile breaks free, and I watch him push his way through a line of players. Before I can think about it, my feet carry me to him.

"Hey, Dad," I say, barely above a whisper as my nerves struggle to strangle me. I know he can't hear me, but I'm sure he's reading my lips as he tries to figure out my body language. I could never hide anything from him. His brows furrow, and his shock morphs into concern. Yep, he's definitely reading me like a book.

The two of us meet on the field, and he pulls me in for a hug. "Bretster, what are you doing here?"

"Can't a girl come see her favorite dad?" Extending his arms, he keeps his hand on my biceps as he pulls away to get a better look at me.

"Of course you can, kiddo." His voice is lined with worry, and I hate that I'm putting more stress on him as he gears up for the start of a new football season.

Mustering up all my strength, I paste on the biggest, brightest smile I can and hope my dad can't see through me. His soft chuckle tells me he knows I'm full of shit.

Swinging his arm across my shoulders, he pulls me into him as he starts steering us toward the sidelines. "Stand over here and watch the guys, and we can chat afterward."

I squeeze the arm wrapped around my dad's back and fall in step with him. As we approach the sidelines, one of the coaches makes his way over to us.

"Sorry, Derek, I didn't realize she was your daughter."

"No worries, I didn't know she was coming." His eyes snap down to me, and there's a slight twitch in the corner of his lips. "And she decided to change her entire appearance."

My eyes widen, and I bring my lip between my teeth before looking at the field before me. As much as I try to fight the pull, I'm a weak bitch. As subtly as I can, my head turns until I find the deep brown eyes, the ones attached to my new roommate.

Life sure loves to throw a plot twist your way.