I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(17)

“Dude…”

“Nah, listen. This girl—she could be your lucky charm. Remember last year when Zane challenged me to knock him out in a boxing match?”

Zane is a defensive player and weighs close to three hundred pounds. Sawyer is muscular but wiry, his body perfect for playing wide receiver. Not boxing.

I nod. “Yeah, you practiced for six weeks, worked out your arms like crazy. You lost ten pounds, but your shoulders filled out—”

“Right! And I had the best season of my career—because I knocked him out and beat the challenge. Along the way, I overcame my fear of getting punched. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

I scrub my face.

His brown eyes narrow. “I’m serious. You need to work your magic and check her off. Mystery solved. No more wondering about the what-ifs. Flush her pheromones from your system. You have the game to focus on, but if your head is daydreaming about some girl…” He pops an eyebrow. “Do it for the team.”

Screwing Serena for a challenge? Nah. I don’t have a shot with her. Besides, the idea of using her to make my game better is inherently wrong—and the idea of wooing her makes me jittery. “That’s a no-go. She couldn’t wait for me to leave her place.”

“So? You’re Dillon McQueen. Has any girl ever turned you down when you turned on your smile? Come on.”

She did three years ago.

Troy slinks out of his bedroom, his shoulder-length brown hair everywhere. A talented running back from Texas, he rounds out our roommate situation. I’m not as tight with him as I am with Sawyer, but he’s cool. A stiff expression grows on his face as he approaches me, his eyes wary as he enters the kitchen.

“Uh, Dillon…” he says, his eyes shifting from me back to his bedroom.

“What’s up?” I ask.

He exhales. “Don’t be upset. It just happened. Well, I mean…” He chews on his bottom lip. “She looked so hot, man, and a little lonely. You weren’t around.” His look turns defensive.

I stalk toward him, towering over his six-one frame. For some reason, my mind goes to Serena. “What are you talking about?”

His fists curl. “Don’t get pushy, man.”

I rear back. I’m the charmer, Sawyer’s the wisecracking manipulator, and Troy’s the quiet one—only right now, he looks pissed.

“Oh for the love of… He’s talking about me,” Chantal mutters as she stumbles out of his room, hopping around as she puts on one of her heels. Her blonde hair is mussed, mascara smudged, lips swollen. She darts her eyes at Troy then back to me. “Troy and I…” She blushes furiously and gives me an unsure look. “A girl has needs, Dillon. Are you terribly upset we hooked up?”

Hell no. She and I have never been a thing. “Winter Soldier, huh?”

She sighs heavily. “And tequila.”

Troy stiffens, his body turned to Chantal. “We didn’t just hook up.”

Chantal frowns. “Hang on, it was fun, but—”

He juts out his chin. “You followed me outside last night. You sat next to me. You played with my hair.”

She shrugs. “You’re pretty and I was drunk. It was nice. Thanks for the orgasm.”

I wince. Burn.

He gapes. “You used me?”

“Like that Chi-O last week meant something to you?” She tosses the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “You guys mess around with girls all the time. What’s good for you is good for me. Men don’t own the hook-up scenario. I can be with anyone I want, a different one each week if that’s what I decide. I do adore football players—”

He sputters. “If you want a football player in your life, you come to me, jersey chaser.”

“—but,” she says, crossing her arms, “the next person who refers to me as a ‘jersey chaser’ is getting a fist in their face. I’m pre-law, for God’s sake. I’m going to find a guy as smart as I am, maybe check out the Phi Beta Kappa honor society!”

“Hey now, ease up,” I say. “I’m a psych major with a French minor.” And decent grades. Not a 4.0, but considering how much time I spend on football, it’s freaking exemplary. During my freshman and sophomore years, when I first realized Ryker was always going to be the starter, I even considered getting serious with it, but I wanted to play football. A job behind a desk would never suit me.

She smirks at me. “You like numbers so much, maybe you should be a statistics major.”

Ahhh. “Good one.”

“Are you saying I’m a Neanderthal?” Troy asks.

“Your words,” she chirps. “All you alphas, sniffing around females like a, a—”

“Strange you should bring that up—Dillon is a wolf,” comes from an amused Sawyer.

She ignores him. “You think we’re just waiting to do your bidding, and I did. Last night, I followed Dillon around the grocery store like some love-starved kitten, and I’m done!”

I know when to keep my mouth shut.

Troy’s lips tighten, his eyes holding Chantal’s, a silent communication seeming to simmer between them. “Baby. Come on. This thing between us has been brewing since the contest started—”

“In your dreams,” she smarts back.