One
Unknown
The sharp sound of Coach’s whistle rings through the air, signaling the end of practice. It takes me only two seconds to claw off the sweat-drenched T-shirt clinging to my body, because of course Coach would put me on shirts the hottest day of the year.
Running off to the sidelines of the football field, I instantly find my water bottle and take a few swigs, dumping the rest of the water over my head and letting it run down my body in an attempt to cool down.
“Good job today, Bronx,” Coach says as he walks by, clapping a hand on the top of my back, right over my tattoo.
Splayed across my back in black ink, shoulder blade to shoulder blade, is the wordUNKNOWNin big, bold letters. WhileMilleris the name stitched on the back of my jersey, I feel like it’s not my real last name. That it doesn’t fit.
My mother got pregnant when she was a teen, and doesn’t know who my father is. She was either too high or too drunk to recall who she hooked up with at some random party. Therefore, I had to settle for her last name and questions about this unknown variable in my life. Given my mother’s track record, I don’t expect my biological father to be a stand-up guy, but it would have been nice to know.
“Damn, man. Adrianna really did a number on you.” I hear my best friend and roommate, Chase, laugh. He runs up next to me, bends down to grab his water bottle, and then, guzzles it down. Out of breath, he grabs a towel to wipe the sweat running down his face and body. Lucky bastard got to be on skins today. “Did she break off all her nails?” he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes as he rubs the towel over his sweaty light-blond hair.
I furrow my brows, momentarily confused, until I realize he’s talking about my back. That would explain why it stings so bad—all the sweat seeping into the cuts from her nails digging into my back last night.
I can’t help the smug smile that tugs at my lips. “Maybe,” I quip back.
He lets out a booming laugh, wrapping the towel around the back of his neck. “It’s not even the first day of classes and you two are already going at each other like that?” He shakes his head, an incredulous grin on his face as he gestures to my marked-up back. “It’s going to be a long semester for you, man. Maybe she’ll actually lock you down before graduation,” he teases.
“She wishes.”
If there’s one thing everyone on this campus knows, it’s that Bronx Miller doesn’t date. Ever. I won’t even take girls back to my own room. I go to their place or wherever is convenient, we have some fun, and then I leave. When the deed is done, it’s just that. Done.
Some girls are repeats, especially Adrianna. But that doesn’t mean anything other than that they’re a fun time. Adrianna doesn’t seem to understand that, though.
She’s been after me since freshman year when we met at an opening weekend party. A raven-haired, emerald green–eyed beauty with a body that could rock any man’s world—and as captain of the dance team, it’s no wonder why she’s so popular at Garner University. It’s also no wonder why she’s my most frequent repeat either. Adrianna is the hottest girl on campus, and she knows it.
If people didn’t know any better about my reputation, they would think Adrianna and I were a couple because of how much time we spend together. Again, she’s just my most frequent repeat. Nothing more.
Adrianna has always wanted more from me, though. She’s always wanted to put an exclusive label on us and feed into the clichéd fantasy of the quarterback dating the captain of the dance team. From the beginning, I told her no strings attached. I’m not looking for anything serious. These are my golden years, and I plan on having all the fun I can before the NFL calls my name.
Football has been a passion of mine since I was a kid. It started out as a hobby my mom forced me into so she could get me out of the house so she could get high or do god knows what else. Then I started taking it seriously, hoping the skills could help me ward off some of the drug-addicted and abusive boyfriends she had.
In a way, football saved my life. Literally. Aside from making me physically stronger, football gave me a future I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Because of it, I was able to go to college, something I didn’t think I’d get to do.
Growing up, I never thought I’d amount to anything. I always thought I’d end up like my mother, a lowlife living in abandoned houses without more than forty dollars to my name at a time—or dead in a ditch somewhere before I got out of my teens.
Thankfully, I found sanctuary in football instead of drugs. By my senior year of high school I had college recruiters coming to my games, offering me full scholarships because of how well I could play. Lord knows I would never have made it into college based on my grades. That’s how I ended up at Garner.
I’m in my senior year now, and I haven’t slowed down one bit. I’m training harder than ever, and NFL recruiters are keeping a sharp eye on me. My goal is to get drafted after graduation.
“You going to the party tonight?” Chase asks as we head to the locker room, referring to the annual bash thrown by one of the biggest frats the weekend before classes start.
“What do I look like, a saint? Hell, yeah, I’m going.”
>> <<
Chase cuts the engine of his truck and we jump out. The streets are lined with cars, forcing us to park a few blocks away. Even from here we can hear the thumping of the music indicating that the party is in full swing.
Eventually, we make it to the large house and walk up the steps, which are littered with people trying to get in. Even with all the people occupying the front and back yards, the house is jam-packed with people standing shoulder to shoulder. After fighting our way through the front door, Chase and I are intercepted by a handful of people wanting to chat before we can finally make our way to the kitchen, where we grab two red Solo cups of beer from the counter.
“Yo, Bronx!” I hear someone yell, and I turn my head to see Brennen, the team’s wide receiver, waving me over. He’s wearing his favorite olive-green button-up shirt, which complements his dark skin and bright hazel eyes. He claims that shirt gets him laid more often than not.
Pushing through the crowd, I make my way to the dining room, where the beer pong tables are lined up.
“Be my partner?” Brennen asks with a hopeful smile, tilting his head at the tables.
