She tilts her head. “I almost like it better when you’re this way. At least I know there’s some genuine emotion behind your scorn. It’s better than your fake good humor.”

The itch turns into heat. “Fake good humor? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you’re full of it most of the time and that you’re more interesting when you’re angry, like now. Or when you’re being genuine, like when you were talking about being scared of flying because it makes you worried you’ll be too much like the guy you used to admire but who turned out to be a terrible human being. I know exactly how that feels.”

I open my mouth to unleash a torrent of insults, beginning with how she couldn’t possibly know how I feel because she’s a nobody and I’m Easton Royal, but I’m saved from my own stupidity by Pash, who slaps me on the back as he runs to his next class.

“What day is it, son?” he yells.

“Game day!” Dominic yells back.

Hartley twists around to watch the two players race by. “You have a game today?”

I pluck my jersey away from my chest. “You think I wear this for the hell of it?”

“What do I know? I went to an all-girls school for the last three years.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm what?” she asks suspiciously. “Ugh. Are you thinking something dirty?”

“Nope, I was thinking how that’s the most information you’ve ever willingly shared about yourself.”

“I let you listen while I practiced,” she protests.

Time to put my plan into motion. I really want her to come to a game so that she can see I’m good at something like she is. That there’s more to me than my smart-ass comments and my looks. Besides, even though I promised not to hit on her, I think if she sees me in my football gear she’ll be like every other female on the planet who loves a man in uniform.

I’m playing the odds here. There’s no such thing as platonic friendship between guys and girls. Eventually the clothes are gonna come off. So, really, I’ve just got to be patient.

“Well, since I listened to you practice,” I say, “that means you have to come to the game tonight. You owe me.”

I brace myself for a bunch of excuses, but she surprises me.

“If we’re doing quid pro quo then I should come to a practice, not an actual game.”

“Look at you with the fancy Latin. Sure then, come and watch me lift. I get it—you want to see me without my shirt on. You know what? Let me give you a sneak peek. It’s awesome, by the way. You might want to close one eye to reduce the effect.”

With a wide grin, I pull up my jersey to expose my abs.

“Royal! Pull your shirt down,” barks Headmaster Beringer, who chooses that moment to walk past us.

I sheepishly tug my shirt down.

Hartley’s cheeks are pink, but she plays it cool as she says the words I want to hear. “Fine. One game.”

* * *

I arrange for Hartley to sit with Val and Ella so it’s easy to spot her when I run out of the tunnel. I don’t want to brag, but I play awesome. So does the rest of the team. Bran, in particular, shines. He’s a real asset, and I have no problem telling him that in the locker room after the game.

“You played great, man.” I slap him on the back as we head for the showers.

“Thanks. The defense made it easy for me.” He grins. “I don’t think I had to drive farther than sixty yards to get a touchdown tonight.”

Everyone else is jubilant, too. There’s a lot of towel snapping and ass slapping as we shower and ready ourselves for some postgame fun.

“After-party’s at Dom’s house tonight,” Pash yells.

A loud cheer fills the locker room.

“You going?” Connor Babbage asks as we shuffle out of the steam-filled shower area.

“Probably. Gotta check in with my peeps, though.” I plop my towel-clad butt on the bench and grab my phone.

U still here? I text Hartley.

Yeah

Good. Meet me in the parking lot?

OK

The parking lot is packed with students. With so many headlights on, it’s nearly as bright as day.

Bran falls in step with me as I walk toward the girls. “Going to Dom’s?”

“Maybe.” To be honest, the last thing I want to do is go to another high school party where I see all the same people and do the same thing I’ve done for years. It’s nothing more than music, mixed drinks, and making out with girls I don’t really like.

“That sounds like an enthusiastic yes.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m going. Seems like it’ll be a good place to get to know my classmates.”

“Why? They’re all assholes,” I say sourly.

Bran cocks his head. “Including you?”

“I’m the worst of them all.” I don’t know why I’m in such a foul mood. We won, for chrissake. I let out a short breath. “Sorry. I don’t think I got enough hits in during the game. You spent too much time on the field.”

“Get used to it,” he says cheerfully, unfazed by my bad attitude. “I plan to spend a lot of time out there.”

“Good game!” Ella cheers as we get close, saving me from responding.

I look to Hartley, who echoes the praise with a single thumbs-up. Would it kill her to show a little more admiration? Two thumbs maybe? Jeez.

“Hi,” Ella greets Bran. “I’m Ella.”

“Bran.” He sticks out his hand. “I think we have Spanish together.”

Ella nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. You sit in the front row.”

“The front row? Nerd,” Val teases, waggling her eyebrows at Bran.

“This is Val,” I tell him, gesturing to Ella’s best friend. “And Hartley.” I jerk my head at the girl who thinks one thumbs-up sums up how amazing I played tonight.

“Confession time.” Bran makes a little gesture with his finger and all three girls lean in. Even Hartley. “I actually don’t mind school.”

Hartley mock gasps. “Well, since we’re baring our souls and all… Me neither.”

The two exchange a grin that makes me want to gag.

“School is how those in power train young, malleable minds into enforcing the status quo,” I bite out.

Everyone wears varying looks of surprise. Bran wrinkles his forehead. Val’s and Ella’s brows crash together. Hartley looks utterly dumbfounded.

“Um, okay,” she says.

Ella pats me on the back. “Don’t mind him. He’s mad because he only got to sack the quarterback once.”

Bran nods. “That’s what he was saying before. Sorry, bro. Next time I’ll make sure to score quicker so you can have more opportunities on defense.”

“Bran!” someone shouts. “You coming?”

Our celebrated quarterback raises a hand. “On my way. See you at the party, folks.”

The girls wave at him as he jogs toward a souped-up Nissan GT-R. Those are Dom’s wheels. Bran’s having no problem fitting in, apparently. I should be overjoyed by that, but the prospect of going to the party and watching him and Hartley—who barely gives me the time of day—flirt with each other makes me want to punch something.

“What’s wrong?” Hartley asks warily.

I shove my hands in my pockets to hide my fists. From the corner of my eye I see that Ella is also watching me, but rather than suspicious, her expression is resigned. She knows me well enough to figure out what’s going on.

“Easton?” Hartley presses.

I shrug a few times, because my shoulders feel like moving. “I don’t know, I just get like this sometimes. Like there’s all this energy rushing through my blood.” I shrug about five more times. “It’s fine. I’ll settle down.”

“How?”

“I just need to expend some energy.”

Ella frowns.

“What?” I say defensively. “She asked.”

Hartley leans against the passenger door of my truck. “Okay. So how do you do that?”

I give her an overly lewd look that includes a lot of eyebrow waggling.