The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(4)

“There’s no new play needed, only one—get the ball to me.” I swung around, picked up my bag, and followed him out. People hung around the exits like always.

The girls who waited around after the games were always extra eager, sometimes too eager. I’d seen more than a few guys get burned over the past three years. Latest victim—me.

“Hey, Reece.”

Smile and wave. That was safest. Not to say I was a monk, I just didn’t bang everything that moved, especially not now, and never without making sure she knew I didn’t do relationships and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be anyone’s meal ticket.

There were pieces of paper tucked under my windshield wipers, right alongside a bright pink lace thong with a phone number scrawled across it. Man, I hope those aren’t used. At least it was better than what had been sitting on my windshield the previous season: fucking onesies and baby bottles. How quickly the pendulum swung. Celeste had left the school, but the rumor mill was still churning under the autographs and high fives.

Opening my trunk, I grabbed my ice scraper and flicked the papers and thong off the front of my car. The numbers written on the papers dissolved as they hit the damp ground.

I laughed and climbed inside. If this was how things were in college, I figured the pros must be insanity. Dad had screwed up by getting married before he was even drafted—not that Mom wasn’t awesome. They were disgustingly and embarrassingly in love, but damn he’d missed out. Then again, he’d had more than football going for him. He’d graduated from college with great grades and had taken over my grandfather’s business.

My barely bobbing 2.3 GPA wasn’t getting me anything other than a greeter spot at a nearby big-box store. Going pro was my chance, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I swung by campus to turn in a paper before driving back to the Brothel, and the party had already started when I arrived. They’d died down for a while, but they were in full force now. Parking around the block, I sat in the car and put on my other game face. I could be the Reece I’d been before. I needed to be.

Slushy snow and ice cracked and crunched under my shoes. The freaking salt on the sidewalk was going to screw up my shoes. High fives and chest bumps came my way, people milling around, moving from house to house looking for the best party they could get into. Cheers were called out from the houses around us. I waved over my shoulder to everyone hanging off their balconies to welcome me home.

Jogging up the steps, I pushed open the already cracked door. The bass from the music vibrated the floor. I slammed the door shut and the sea of heads turned around.

Pinned against it, I braced myself for the onslaught as partygoers, already more than a few drinks in, showered me with their appreciation, namely in sloshed drinks and bro hugs. The blue lights we’d swapped out for party lights gave the house a club glow.

Beer and alcohol, sweat and girls’ fruity-scented perfumes and lotions hung so heavy in the air I could taste it. While other guys struggled to keep their parties from becoming a sausage fest, we’d never had any trouble filling the place up with ladies. The Brothel’s reputation made it hard to keep them out, especially when the Trojans inside were on the winningest team in FU history.

Parties literally appeared out of nowhere. Kegs rolled in the front door, red plastic cups handed out by the hundreds. We’d once locked our door during a game weekend and came home to the front window busted out, the deadbolt lock on the door broken, and a party in full drunken swing inside. Sometimes we had to give in to the current of the ocean, and we didn’t want to have to pay for new windows and locks after every game.

The wood floors were going to be a bitch to clean, but we gave that job to LJ and Berk since they were juniors. Movie posters hung on the walls. Die Hard, Terminator, Kill Bill, and, of course, Rocky. The two couches and chair in the living room were pushed against the back wall to try to protect them from party damage. It wasn’t that they were nice or anything; we just didn’t feel like sitting on the floor for the next six months until graduation.

Berk and LJ took up their spot at the beer pong table in the dining room, and they shouted and waved me over. Nix held court in the kitchen as Keyton and some of the other guys from the team hung out in the living room with never-empty cups of beer in their hands. I held out my arms in front of me, waving them up and down.

“Who’s ready to go to the fucking championship?” I cupped my hands around my mouth for the last word, everyone screamed, and the beer shower began again. I needed to change these shoes or they were going to get drenched.

Playing this part had always been easy, and I hadn’t done anything I needed to hide for. I needed to show them there wasn’t a reason for me to be ashamed—right after I changed my sneakers. I took off upstairs. More high fives were doled out from people waiting on the steps, in line for the bathroom. Thankfully, I had a single with my own bathroom. Unlocking my door, I slipped inside. We’d learned the hard way to lock our rooms during a party or you’d come back to missing stuff, or worse, people banging on your bed.

A rumpled pile of clothes sat on the center of my bed, the same pile that migrated across my mattress and back onto the floor once it was dirty again. There were string lights my sister had put up when she came to “help” me move in, if by “help” she meant bug the crap out of me and attempt to sneak off to a party on campus.

My desk was stacked with books, and various papers were shoved in between the pages. With two-a-day practices, I hadn’t gotten the whole organization thing down before the semester started.