4. Chapter 4

" R iggsby, are you planning on catching a ball today, or would you like to stand on the sidelines watching everyone else?" Coach yells from behind the line where he's watching us perform.

Shaking my head, I tap my hands on my helmet, hoping to clear the funk I've found myself in. Is it not bad enough I have to share an apartment with Bret Campbell, but now she's showing up at practice? And after our awkward encounter last night.

Jogging into the huddle, I chance a quick peek at Harris, who is already watching me. His eyes bore into mine, and I can feel him telling me to focus.

Harris calls the play, and we all run to our positions on the line. My fingers twitch at my hips as I wait for the play to begin. The ball is snapped, and I take off straight down the field before faking right and going left in a diagonal route. The defenseman is on me, and I'm not able to shake him. I know the ball is in the air, and with a quick spin move, I jump into the air just as the ball hits my fingers. Curling my fingers, I pull the ball into my hands, securing the pass.

"That's what I like to see," Coach yells, and I can't hide the excitement any longer.

An excited roar rips through my chest as I break out in a bit of a celebration dance. I'm feeling it right now. Jogging back to the huddle, wide grins greet me .

Coach blows the whistle twice in quick succession, signaling the end of practice. Helmets come off as we all move toward the fifty-yard line. My gaze moves past my teammates as I search for the raven-haired beauty. She's standing alone on the sideline, dressed like she's ready to hit the gym, and all I can think about is how good her legs looked dangling from our kitchen counter.

She's the beautiful fruit dangling from the branch that is just out of reach. We've all been warned to stay away from her, but her sweet temptation is overpowering. It's a craving I feel in every fiber of my being.

"Great practice, boys," Coach praises from the center of the huddle, interrupting my thoughts about his daughter. "Be sure to check the schedule in the locker room for each position's team meetings. Tomorrow, we'll have all the details finalized for next weekend's first game in Ohio."

Our first game is quickly approaching. And as luck would have it, we are playing a team that isn't far from my hometown.

It's been a long time since I've played in my home state, and I'm excited for my family and friends to catch one of my games in person. Last week, when I talked to my mom, she said she was busy planning something big. But true to her, she wouldn't spill the secret. My mom loves nothing more than surprising her kids and making us feel special. Has she always been the one to spoil us? Absolutely.

I follow the line of my teammates as we head off of the practice field, but not before giving her one last glance. It's like she can feel the magnetic field because our eyes lock. At this moment, I can see the turmoil raging a war in her mind. Her smile doesn't shine, and her eyes are filled with something I can't quite put my finger on. Is it fear?

Who hurt her ?

"Goddamn, Coach's daughter is fine as fuck," one of my teammates says inside the locker room.

Taking a deep breath, I ignore the jackass mouthing off about Coach's daughter. I'm trying so hard to keep my cool and not show my cards. That's not my style. A loud commotion sounds behind me as I reach for the sports drink bottle I left in my locker.

Looking over my shoulder, I watch Grant storm across the floor, fists clenching at his side. I make the hasty decision to step in line right behind Grant as he reaches the guy who was mouthing off. Before he can hit him, or whatever his plan, I'm sliding between the two.

Grant's eyes widen at my interference. His hand flies above my shoulder as he points to our teammate. "Don't you fucking talk about my sister like that again. I swear, I'll kick your ass if I hear anything come out of your mouth again."

Our teammate raises his hands in surrender as Grant's chest heaves.

"That goes for all of you. My sister is off limits ."

This altercation should clear the air if anyone has questioned his protectiveness toward his sister.

This is another reminder that I must keep my hands away from Bret Campbell.

She's. Off. Limits.

Pulling into the parking lot, Harris has to park further away from our building than usual due to a moving truck taking up most of the road. Bret's things must have arrived. Climbing out of the car, Harris and I walk toward our unit .

We step aside to let two of the movers through and overhear their conversation. "Damn, I would've killed to be those guys in college," one guy says.

"Especially with a girl who looks like that, shit," said the other.

Moving into their path, I allow my shoulder to bump into one of the douchebags. On contact, the guy stumbles to the side. "Oops, my bad," I mumble, sarcasm dripping from my words as I continue toward the steps. Harris chuckles from behind me as he follows me up the stairs.

"What the hell?" Harris questions from behind me as we land at our floor. In front of us are piles of boxes and pieces of furniture. The door to the apartment stands wide open as music blasts from inside.

"She better not get us a noise complaint," he mutters, pushing his way into the apartment.

I follow behind him and add, "It's mid-morning, Grandpa. I think she'll be fine."

Tyler Harris is one of my closest friends here at CTU. And while I value his leadership on the field, sometimes he forgets that he's a college-aged student with his constant need to parent us.

Last year, Quinton, our running back who was drafted into the NFL, took me under his wing and helped morph me into the friend group. Harris and I are in the same year, and while he's the starting quarterback, I was on rotation with the other tight ends. His leadership on and off the field has really helped me improve and take the game more seriously.

And since we are roommates this year, I'm hoping my never-too-serious personality rubs off on him so he can have some fun. The dude needs to relax. He lives a high-pressure life between being a quarterback and a kinesiology major .

If we thought the boxes outside the door were terrible, it's even worse on the inside. Cage the Elephant is blaring from a Bluetooth speaker, the patio door stands wide open, half-open boxes scatter around, and Bret is nowhere to be seen. Tyler doesn't let her lack of appearance detour him. He marches straight to her bedroom door, which is cracked open.

I'm right on his heels as he barges into her room. She's lying on a makeshift bed of blankets on her floor in what looks like a bird's nest. Headphones are in her hair, and she appears to be on a FaceTime call.

Glancing to her left, she practically jumps out of her skin at the sight of a steaming Harris.

She screams, clutching her heart and nearly dropping her phone on her face. "Yeah, Liv, I'm fine. My roommate just scared the shit out of me."

Bret tells whoever she's talking to that she'll call them back and hangs up, turning her glare toward us as she gets to her feet. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem is this entire apartment is full of your shit, and you're sitting on your ass with all the doors open and music blaring," Tyler shouts. Her body language shifts at his raised tone, and I instantly want to step in. It seems like anything that has to do with Bret Campbell has me wanting to step up and be a protector.

"They literally just dropped my shit off, and I was on the phone with my friend thanking her for getting everything organized and sent my way. But fuck it, maybe I'll let it sit a little while longer." Bret shrugs and goes to turn away, but Tyler's following words have her freezing.

"Or maybe you should find another place to stay." With a long sigh, Tyler pauses. "I-I don't think this is going to work out. "

Fear streaks across her face. I see it, and so does Tyler. "Guys, c'mon. Let's just take a deep breath. Everyone's tired, everyone's overwhelmed."

"Sis?" Grant calls from behind us. We all turn to see him standing in our hallway, twirling his keys. He eyes the mess before him before rubbing the back of his neck. "This is a lot of stuff."

A soft chuckle escapes, but I watch Bret's facial expressions morph again. "Yeah, Liv is moving into the studio above the tattoo shop, so she sent me some stuff she no longer needs. Do you have room for some of the furniture? Or can you at least let me store some stuff in your spare bedroom until I can get it to Mom and Dad's?"

Grant looks around the space again. "Or you can just move in with me?"

"Grant," Bret groans as she places her hands on her slender hips.

With a frustrated sigh, he runs his hands through his hair. "Yeah, I'll store some of your shit, but you can't keep it there for long."

Bret's shoulders relax as I speak up. "All right, roomie, now that that is settled. Make us your bitches and tell us which boxes to haul to his truck."

Tyler groans, but the small smile that curls the end of Bret's luscious lips makes the additional workout worth it.

It's officially been forty-eight hours since Bret moved in. To say things in the apartment are tense is an understatement. JP has barely been home, but much of that is due to the shifts at the bar he's been squeezing in between practices. Tyler is still worried about the fact that Coach's daughter is living with us. And I'm trying to keep the peace .

Honestly, I'm surprised we haven't had Coach call us out on living with his daughter. There's no way he wouldn't have a conversation with us if he knew where she was living. Hell, maybe she fed him a line about where she was staying. Bret's clearly hiding something. What's one more thing? For the past day, I haven't seen her leave her room. Grant took all the extra furniture and boxes she didn't need, and since then, Bret has been avoiding everyone.

This morning, I passed her on the steps as I was coming home from practice, and she was leaving in workout clothes with her basketball. I tried looking her up on social media to see if there'd be any clues on what she's up to, but since being here, she's deactivated everything except her Facebook page. Her last post was a post she shared from the college basketball tournament.

Unable to take the tension any longer, I reach inside my pocket and pull out my cell phone.

Me: When will you be back?

JP: Heading home now.

Me: Cool. We are having a video game tourney.

JP: ??

Closing out of my messaging app, I pull up the Cousin Jimmy app and order two Jimmy specials and an additional large pizza. I have no idea what kind of pizza Bret likes, but she doesn't seem like a weirdo who would put pineapple on pizza or anything.

Getting up from my bed, I head out to the quiet apartment. Flicking on the TV, I turn on Sports Center to fill the noise while I get everything set up for game night. I remember Grant telling us that he and his sister used to have epic video game battles so I know she can play.

In the kitchen, I pull down napkins and paper plates before grabbing the tote in the pantry, which is full of junk food. Is it the best thing we should be eating tonight? Nope. But desperate times call for Doritos and Red Vines.

Once the supplies are gathered, I drop them off at the coffee table before walking to Harris's room. With a quick knock, I wait for him to answer.

The door swings open, and Tyler stands scowling in front of me. "Roommate video game tournament in fifteen minutes."

Tyler goes to protest, but I stop him. "We need this. She needs this. C'mon."

With a deep sigh, I watch as he finally accepts. "I'll be right out."

I nod before going to Bret's room. I can hear music playing softly from behind her door, and my heart hurts at the fact that she feels like she needs to hide away. Rapping my knuckles against the wood grain, I wait again for my roommate to open the door. It takes her longer to come to the door, but when she finally opens the barrier separating us, my eyes widen as I take in her appearance.

My eyes trail down the woman standing before me. Her olive-tanned skin is fully displayed. Scanning up her legs, I take in the muscular calves and thighs only someone who works out possesses. I stifle the groan when my eyes lock on the tiny navy boy shorts she's wearing before my blatant perusal climbs her tight stomach. Are those abs peeking out? Her arms are folded across her chest in annoyance, but I can't help myself. I'm obsessed with her.

Her naturally plump lips are the perfect shade of pink but are set in a firm line. I trace the curves of her face with my eyes and land on the bright green eyes that magnetize mine .

"Are you done? Or would you like to take a picture?" she snaps, and I can't fight the sly smirk that spreads across my face.

"Is a picture an option?" I ask, leaning my forearm against her doorframe. I'm six foot five, and Bret stands more than half a foot shorter than me, hitting me around my chin.

She surprises me back, gently slapping my stomach as we both laugh.

"Oh my gosh, Crew. You're terrible." It's brief, but I take in the smile that warms her face. It's like a curtain falls, and her face hardens. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, roommate video game night is starting." Just like with Harris, she starts to interrupt me, but I stop her. "Don't even, we're all doing this, and your brother has let it slip multiple times that you kick ass at gaming."

She bites down on the corner of her lip, and I know she's trying hard to keep from smiling. With an eye flutter, she turns, tossing out, "Fine. Let me change."

Stepping away from her door, I will myself to head to the living room where Tyler and JP are waiting. The apartment is bathed in a golden hue as the sun starts setting on our last night of freedom. Tomorrow starts a new school year, and this weekend is our first game. The summer went by too fast, and with all the new tension since Bret arrived, I knew we all needed a fun night. A night where we can relax, steal a couple of cars—on Grand Theft Auto, of course—and veg out before our chaotic schedules have everyone running in opposite directions.

Sinking onto my spot on the couch, I adjust the pillow underneath my elbow until I'm at the maximum level of comfort while still being able to handle the controller. Opposite me, JP tosses me a controller while Harris gets situated in the corner of the sectional. Somehow, the three of us have worked out our positions on the couch, and each of us has dubbed those positions our spots. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Bret leave the solace of her bedroom in a pair of loose-fitting fleece shorts that resemble cutoff sweatpants and a longer sports bra.

We all must be staring at her—I know I am. I can't keep my eyes off her—because Bret pauses her steps as she quirks an eyebrow at us.

"What? You guys can parade in your shorts and no shirt. Well, so can I." She pauses, her gaze never leaving ours. "Anyone have a problem with it?"

"N-no," Harris splutters.

Bret nods while mumbling, "Good," as she takes her spot between Harris and me. Tyler stretches his hand to her, holding the extra controller. With a hesitant sigh, she takes it from him, and I watch as she brushes her fingers across his skin. She shifts awkwardly on the couch, her stiff body moving back and forth as she tries to find a comfortable position. The cushions do nothing to alleviate her uncertainty as she worries her lip between her teeth.

What I'd give to take a peek inside the mind of Bret Addison Campbell and figure out who in their right mind could hurt such a beautiful person.

"Dammit!" JP yells from the couch. "Why am I always the one being chased by the cops?"

"Maybe because you drive like you just stole a car—oh wait, you did. Right in front of them, dumbass!" Bret retorts, chomping down on a Red Vine.

Harris nudges her shoulder as he laughs at her sarcasm. We've been playing GTA for the past hour. Pizza and Doritos are long gone, and so is the ice that froze the mood in the apartment.

"Don't worry, JP, I'll hire you legal counsel when you get your ass thrown in jail," Harris adds.

Bret clicks away on her controller, her eyes never leaving the screen. "You'll be the only one able to afford legal counsel, Mr. Next Number One Draft Pick."

With a glance so he doesn't crash, Harris flashes his gaze toward the raven-haired beauty who is currently kicking our asses. Grant said she was good, but I didn't think she was this good. Maybe we should be concerned about how well she navigates all these heists.

"You mean that?"

She looks over at him, her eyes softening as a subtle, earnest smile spreads across her lips. "Of course I do. Your accuracy and arm strength are one of the best in college football. And your work ethic and football IQ are both out of the world."

The room is silent as we all stare at the bombshell sitting next to us. "What?" she muses.

"Damn, I didn't think Harris's ego could get bigger," I chime in. Harris chucks a Red Vine at my head, and it bounces off my cheek. "Ouch!"

Laughter fills the room as our attention is drawn to the game before us. The sun has fully set and the glow from the television illuminates the space, casting shadows across our faces. Sometime in the evening, someone puts on a classic rock station that plays through Bluetooth in the room.

Game night was the perfect idea. Except somewhere during the night, Harris lowered his guard, and now there seems to be quite the bond blooming between him and Bret. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's done being a dick about her living here, but I don't want them to have a spark.

A faint knock comes from the front door, and I bounce my head up to see if anyone else has heard it or if I am hearing things. My eyes find JP's, whose eyebrows are quirked. Pausing the game, I leave the couch and go to the front door. Without looking, I flip the lock and open the metal door.

"Coach?" I greet, eyes wide. Standing before me is a very intimidating man dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, but the woman standing at his shoulder has me pausing. "Mrs. Campbell."

She doesn't spare me a glance as she brushes past me. Stepping aside, I watch her retreating form as Coach crosses the threshold.

"Bret Addison Campbell," she shouts as she storms down our hallway. A faint ‘mom' comes from the living room.

And just like that, our peaceful evening has gone up in a burst of flames.