Chapter One
Pi Kappa Phi versus Theta Omicron.
Jackson took the snap and dropped back. Holding the football in front of him and yelling, “Hut!” hardly qualified as a real snap, but the stakes had Jack in game mode.
Theta players counted out Mississippis, and Jack scanned the field for his receiver—Ryan? Rodney? Ray! That was it. The guy played for the Harrison football team and ran like the wind. And damn could he run a pass route and be where the ball was going to end up.
Grunting loudly, his fraternity brothers met the Theta rush long enough for Jack to let the ball fly. A perfect tight spiral soared the length of the field, heading for the spot where Football Team Guy sprinted. He’d put six or seven steps between him and the flailing defenders and was in the clear.
A pass rusher shoved him in the chest with both hands—clearly too late to be a sack. Jack staggered back but kept his eyes on the flight of what promised to be his tenth touchdown pass of the game. Game? More like an annihilation. Theta Omicron should have known better than to pick a touch football game to settle the bet. Football Team Guy glided over to the ball right as it came down, gathered it in, and all but danced into the end zone.
Jack pumped his fist. “Yes!”
“Fuck!” someone shouted. Jack glanced over. The guy who’d shoved him was shaking his head. “Who is this dude?”
“Jackson Murphy and bestest friend ever.” Marcus Reynolds slapped him a high five that had his palm stinging. “Awesome, man.”
The guys from the neutral frat who’d agreed to referee blew the whistle seconds later to end the game. Seventy-seven to twenty-eight. Pi Kappa won, no contest.
Marcus nodded toward the other team, and he and Jack changed course to head over.
“What happened?” the Theta captain asked the Harrison football team players who had joined them. “You guys said you’d help us win.”
“You didn’t tell us that guy—” One of the team hitched his thumb at Jack. “—could throw like Aaron Rogers.”
Jack preferred Tom Brady, but Rogers wasn’t so bad.
The captain glared over his shoulder at Marcus. “Come to gloat, Reynolds?”
“Just came to confirm you’re moving your formal to a different weekend.”
Jack didn’t give a shit about the stupid formal, but he had no problem trouncing Theta Omicron’s collective ass—despite their attempt to cheat by recruiting three ringers from the university football team.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’ll change our date.”
Marcus belched out a hoot as they moved back to their team. Their fraternity mobbed Jack. No one in Pi Kappa Phi had doubted they’d win, but now that it was over, they could celebrate for real. To Jack it was a tiny victory. They could easily have moved their formal event one week either way.
It mattered to Marcus, though, so Jack had given it his best shot. Literally.
Someone dumped the ice water bucket over his head. The cold water ran down his back and made his boxers stick to his buttcheeks. He shook his head violently, hurling water over the guys, and laughed. “Seriously, guys, the formal means that much?”
“As much as winning against Theta.”
That Jack understood.
Who didn’t like to win a bet?
Chapter Two
Jack tripped up the bookstore staircase.
He cursed under his breath as he caught his balance and subtly checked for witnesses. None, thank God. A Rise Against poster caught his eye, and the caption at the bottom had him beelining toward it. They were touring here in July? Shit! He had to get tickets. Now that would have been a great birthday gift if Marcus had any taste in music.
Jack made for the “how to” area and thumbed his way through the books until he swiped over the title: Build Your Own Electric Motorcycle. He pulled out the green book with hungry yellow lettering. A step-by-step guide to building from scratch. Damn, that would be cool.
He snapped the book into a firmer grip, then lost his self-congratulatory smile. Marcus’s dad, their dad, would kill him for encouraging this. No way he’d let either of them get or build a motorcycle.
Jack muttered as he slipped the book back onto the shelf. He looked up to find a customer in the next aisle staring over at him. Tall, hair the color of sand, light dusting of stubble that gleamed golden in the store light. Hot. Tall Guy quickly averted his eyes.
Too bad.
Jack grabbed a book off the adjacent shelf, one that gave him license to check out the other aisles. A woman crouched in the aisle to the left, and Tall Guy had his head buried in a…. Jack squinted to catch the title. Something about businesses.
Tall Guy looked up before Jack could look away. A slither of a smile quirked his lips, and Jack rushed a small acknowledging smile before sharply turning to the shelves behind him.
Marcus. Gift. Marcus. Tall Hot Guy in next aisle— Gift, dammit.
Jack ducked out the aisle and moved toward the stairs. He’d try the sci-fi section.
Before leaving the nonfiction section, he glanced back once more.
Tall Hot Guy had gone.
Jack shook off the slight disappointment and charged down to the lower level, taking the stairs two at a time.
Twenty minutes later, he found the right gift. By the time he’d purchased it, he had ten minutes to spare before he had to leave to meet Brittany. The prospect of several hours in the chemistry lab left Jack in desperate need of caffeine. White Chocolate Mocha with an extra shot. Caffeine and sugar sounded good right now.
The walk to the café took him through most of the store, a frustrating trip that turned up no sight of Tall Hot Guy. At least the line was short.
Drink in hand, he headed toward the exit, but came to an abrupt stop when a young boy in a wheelchair rolled in front of him. Before the kid could pass, someone bumped him hard enough to knock him off balance. Unprepared for the contact, he watched his much needed caffeine and sugar splatter over the floor.
“Oh fuck, sorry.”
Jack twisted around, a fire in his eye that cooled off instantly. Tall Hot Guy quickly shoved his phone in his pocket, looking totally cute as he gawked wide-eyed at the mess he’d caused. The flush of red to his cheeks had Jack staring. “It’s all right.”
“Oh man, I’m so sorry.” Casting about for a place to put his bag, Tall Hot Guy settled on the counter and started snapping up napkins by the handful. He bent over to spread them on the tiles, and the waistband of his dark blue boxers peeked above his jeans. Jack’s gaze lingered a moment.
An employee came over with a mop, and Tall Hot Guy, still looking embarrassed, moved out of the guy’s way. No longer able to stare freely, Jack tossed the empty cup before getting back in line.
The guy appeared suddenly at his left hip. “Sorry again. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s really okay.” Jack tried not to stare, but Tall Hot Guy had startling green eyes. Prickles skittered over Jack’s skin and heat crept to his face. This insta-attraction was far more intense than he’d experienced before. Maybe because they were standing so close and he wasn’t out drinking in a dark club.
The line moved up and Jack stepped forward with it. To his pleasant surprise, Tall Hot Guy came too. He had one hand shoved into his pocket and didn’t look like he was in any rush to leave.