CHAPTER ONE
WYATT
I peeked at the scoreboard, then my eyes fell on our team captain, quarterback, and best friend—Deacon Hurns.
Turning his head slightly, he winked.
Showtime.
We were down by three. The right play and we could win the game. Maxon hunched over at the other end of the lineup.
Sweat dripped down my brow. I tugged the face mask of my football helmet once. We disbursed. I side-stepped Jimmy from Cherokee High. Running down the side of the field, I glanced over my shoulder. Deacon released the ball, and it spiraled through the air. I extended my hands, while peeking at Jimmy in my periphery.
He ran at top speed toward me. My focus was on the play. I drowned out the cheering crowd, the band, the cheerleaders, even the coach on the sidelines. Everything felt like it happened in slow motion. The ball slapped my gloved palm midair. I tucked it at my side and sprinted toward the end of the field. A surge of adrenaline shot through my body. Felt like my legs were on fire. Two other players reached for me. A third grabbed my jersey. I shook him off, not losing my momentum. The cheering fans struck my eardrums just as my foot made contact with the end zone. Spinning around, still clutching the ball, I stared into the eyes of my ferocious screaming teammates. I slammed the ball to the ground and jammed my index finger in the air. “Number one baby,” I roared, as the guys hoisted me into the air.
“Yes, we won!”
Twenty minutes later, after leaving the locker room, my best friends and I met our families on the sidelines.
“Great job, Oak.” Dad poked his chest out, slapping my shoulder. He looked good for his age. The man didn’t have one gray strand in his jet-black hair. He still worked out a few times a week, maintaining a solid build.
“Thanks.”
I hugged my mother and little sister.
“You were great out there, Wyatt.”
I was an only child for five years, until my sister entered this world with a head full of dark curly hair. Mom said that was why she had indigestion throughout her pregnancy. The memory made me laugh inside. She’d get our parents' undivided attention once I went off to college.
“Thanks, Phoebe.”
My sister and I had the same color eyes as dad. Dark gray.
Mom’s dark hair framed her smiling face. “I’m so proud of you.” She swiped at a tear.
“My son’s going to the pros. Just like his daddy.”
I pulled her curvy frame into me. Her head fell in the center of my chest.
“Love you, Mom. Don’t soften me up in front of the guys.”
She patted my chest. “I’ll stop.” Mom sniffled.
Her green eyes met mine. “Wrap up your conversation with your friends so we can head to dinner,” she stated, with a southern drawl.
“Ok.”
“We’ll see you in the truck.” Her head swiveled toward the madness on the football field.
“Maxon, come on. Toss me into the air. We’ve practiced several times.”
“Rayne, I’m not a dude cheerleader.”
She clapped her hands. “Let’s go.”
“Be careful,” Mrs. Wynters hollered out.
Mom gasped as Maxon tossed Rayne in the air like a football. Her body twirled above his head. Stretching his hands out, he caught her midair. She screamed, “Yes.”
Maxon placed her firmly on the ground.
Sylvie popped up behind them, slapping Rayne’s hands.
“That was awesome,” she shouted.
“Oak, your friends are crazy.” Mom shook her head.
I laughed. “That they are.”
The second my family walked away; I stole a glimpse of Lakelyn. The little navy and white cheerleading uniform hugged her curves. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her beautiful brown skin glowing under the field lights. Lakelyn’s skin reminded me of the color of the little gingerbread cookie ladies. How I’d like to eat her up. Stealing her from our families, pulling her into my arms, and kissing those sweet lips ran through my mind.
Side tracked.
That happened often when it came to her.
Deacon’s arm hung protectively over his sister’s shoulder, killing the hard-on I had for her.
Lakelyn Amaya Hurns. I loved the way her name rolled off my tongue. The day would come when my tongue would roll over every inch of her body. I digress. She was one year younger than Rayne, Sylvie, Maxon, Deacon, and me.
We couldn’t reject her from our crew. Wherever Deacon went, she did, too. That was his parents’ rules.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hurns, how are you both, tonight?” I asked, with a thick southern drawl.
“Wonderful,” she smiled, stepping closer to me.
During the football season, I often watched the games with my best friend and his dad on Sundays. My dad loved the game as much as me. We always watched football together on Thursdays.
“Doing good.” Mr. Hurns face lit up. “You guys played one hell of a game.”
He had swag as Deacon liked to say. He wore his red polo shirt tucked into his jeans, which drew attention to his round belly.
We lived in Buckhead, an affluent suburb in the metro Atlanta, GA.
Everything and everyone in our town screamed wealth.
“Thanks. It was a close one.”
I felt Lakelyn’s heated, mouthwatering gaze. Thumbing her high cheekbones and oval face was one of my many goals. She was five-three and all sass. Her father walked over congratulating Deacon on the win.
Mrs. Hurns smiled up at me, flashing her brown eyes. She reminded me of an older version of her daughter. A long time ago, Deacon and I were tossing the football around in his backyard. We caught his parents making out in the living room. Let’s just say, we could never unsee that moment.
“Don’t let Deacon see the way you’re looking at his sister,” she whispered.
Thank god, Deacon wasn’t in ear shot.
Mrs. Hurns caught Lakelyn and me walking home from school a few years ago. We didn’t need to walk. We had drivers. There was no way I could ride with her or vice versa. So, I persuaded her to walk home with me from school once a week. Our conversations were innocent. She obsessed over football stats as much as I did.
“Mrs. Hurns, you’re wrong. I’m looking past her,” I lied.
She chuckled. “Boy, what about all the other times?”
I scratched my head.
“Be careful, Wyatt. I don’t want to see you and my son’s friendship fall apart because of your feelings for his sister.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Hurns.”
“Oak, there you are.” Melanie stepped beside me, threading our fingers. She licked her lips, taking in my six-five muscled frame.
Her tiny skirt left nothing to the imagination, nor did the pale pink cut-off tank top that accentuated her porcelain belly. She stared up at me batting those long lashes over her gray eyes.
“Y’all, have a good night.” Mrs. Hurns folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at my situation. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she liked the idea of Lakelyn and me. If only her brother was on board.
“Daddy, I’ll be in the truck.” Lakelyn glared at me before storming off the field. The view of her tight, round ass was perfect, until Michael from the opposing team caught up with her. He slinked his big arm over her shoulder. My fist curled at my side.