The act itself probably only lasted two minutes, and to say it was the most disappointing two minutes of my life would be a gross understatement. It was awkward and uncomfortable and there was no grand finale.
Not for me anyway.
And to add insult to injury, he called me the wrong fucking name.
Summer.
I’d never felt smaller or more inconsequential in my life. Which is saying something given I was raised in a household with a girl who has more gold medals than I have shoes.
My nails dig into my palms, the desire to punch something—anything—rising like the tide.
The following week in class he looked right through me. No hello. No dip of the chin.Nothing.
It was like our hookup never even happened.
Not only had he forgotten my name, he’d forgottenme.
I vowed then and there to never be invisible again. To never blend in. To stand out.
By spring semester, I’d dyed my hair blue, pierced my nose, and purged my wardrobe, replacing my boring, vanilla clothing with funky pieces that demand attention.
And despite it all, nothing’s actually changed because that asshole just crashed into me like I wasn’t even there.
4
PARKER
“You should’ve seenthe look on Parker’s face when he picked up the vibrator,” Coop says, cackling like a teenage girl. “I swear to God I thought he was going to faint.”
My cheeks heat, but I know better than to protest. It’ll only fan the flames. And with my luck, inspire the guys to fill my locker with dildos or some shit when I’m not around.
Fuck. That.
If I keep my head down and ignore them, they’ll forget all about it by next week when some other asshole makes a fool of himself.
“Are we doing this or what?” I ask, gesturing to the TV with my controller.
It’s Saturday night and the guys and I are hosting a Madden tourney. Just a small gathering of our teammates, a few cases of beer, and a whole lot of chill after a long week of training camp.
Coop snorts and throws his controller to Vaughn, who’s sitting next to me on the couch. “I need another drink. Anyone else?”
Reid and a couple of other guys make noises of affirmation and someone turns up the music, drowning them out as Vaughn and I face off on-screen.
I lose myself in the game, banishing vibrators and grumpy neighbors to a black hole.
No way am I going to let that shit bring me down tonight.
By the second quarter, I’m destroying Vaughn—no surprise there—and when my running back swaggers into the end zone and spikes the ball, driving up the score, a raucous cheer goes up from our teammates.
“Was that really necessary?” Vaughn mutters, giving me the side-eye.
“Hell yes.” I smirk and turn to look at him. “Can’t do it on game day. Might as well get it out of my system now.”
Coach Collins would lose his shit if I pulled a stunt like that on the field. Which is cool. He’s strict, but fair. And for a lot of guys on the team, like Vaughn, he’s the father figure they never had.
So, yeah. No celebrating on the field.
But here? In our living room, surrounded by some of the loudest, most competitive guys I know? You’re damn right I’m going to showboat.
