“I’m busy,” I say.
This time his smile is cocky, full of brazen confidence, and I get it. I really do. I get why women hand their panties over. “Come on, you can’t be too busy to celebrate our win?”
“Pretty sure of yourself,” I say in a bored voice, even though there’s a storm going on inside me.
He cocks his head. “Attitude is half the battle, don’t you think?”
“You don’t want to know what I think,” I mumble.
He grins, and despite myself, my stupid lips twitch. God, why am I acting like a dim-witted moth around him? Yes, he’s a shining star and has his own gravitational pull, but I am not into egotistical football players. My only goal is to keep my head down, finish my degree and get a job in Hollywood. Why I’m suddenly on this guy’s radar is beyond me. Did he lose a bet or something? Have to talk to the nerdy girl? If not, and if there’s something about me that appeals to him, he should go after Ivy. We look alike, except she dyes her hair blonde, and he could have her with a snap of his fingers.
“Her name is Ella,” Peyton says. “She’ll be at that party.”
I spin, and give my former best friend the death glare. She studies her nails, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. From across the field, a whistle blows, and I nearly jump ten feet in the air when a big, strong hand lands on my arm. I spin to face Landon, and he snatches his hand back.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to touch without permission.” He holds both hands up, palms out. “I just ah, I gotta go. Coach is calling.” He pauses for a brief second.
“What?” I ask as I reposition myself at the camcorder and reach for the record button. Wait, why is it on? Rattled, and pretending not to be, as Landon continues to stand there, six feet of sex in a football outfit, looming over my small frame, I flick the record button off, and close my eyes, hoping when I open them again, he’ll be gone.
“Aren’t you going to say good luck?”
Nope not gone, and goddamn that cocky grin of his. I’m going to give my traitorous body—one spot in particular—a good hard lecture when we get home. With my vibrator.
“Good luck,” I murmur, sounding uninterested.
He backs up an inch and I can almost fully refill my lungs again. “See you tonight, Ella.”
“Not going to be there,” I say.
He pauses and I sigh as I look at him. Why won’t he leave already?
“How about this? If I score a touchdown, you come, if I don’t…then it’s my loss. In more ways than one.”
His loss? Okay, I really am in some alternate universe. Football players do not flirt with me, and that’s the way I like it.
“Why would I bargain with you? What could possibly be in it for me?”
“Come tonight.” He flashes perfect white teeth. “Find out.”
“We’ll be there,” Peyton says, finality in her tone, letting us both know it’s going to happen and the conversation is over.
“We will not be there,” I clarify through clenched teeth. We have a better chance of getting snow in Southern California this late September evening. Not. Going. To. Happen.
“See you tonight, Peyton,” Landon says. “See you too, Ella.” He points to the camera. “Now you’d better press record. You don’t want to miss my touchdown.”
My God, could the guy be any hotter…I mean, cockier. Yeah, cockier, that’s what I meant. The guy is not hot. Nope not hot at all.
Much.
2
Landon
With a homefield win in the bag, my teammates and I all slap one another on the back, and nod to the cheering crowd as we tug off our helmets, and raise them over our heads, before file off the field and head toward the locker room. The crowd cheers louder when Sam, our wide receiver, attempts a flip and lands on his head. I’m not worried, the guy is as tough as leather, and it’ll take more than a concussion to bench him.
Grinning, I shake my head at his undignified flop and steal a fast glance over my shoulder to flash a smile Ella’s way, but she’s not looking at me. Did I really expect to be the object of her attention? Not really. Just hopeful thinking, I guess. I grin. Does that touchdown mean she’ll come to the party tonight or is that just more hopeful thinking?
Ella Holmes.
Christ, when Coach said he’d hired someone new, after the last one couldn’t handle being on the road with us, who knew he’d hire someone so damn sweet and interesting, or that she’d be Ivy’s twin, for Christ’s sake. How did I not know Ivy had a twin sister? Truthfully, it’s been a long time, freshman year actually, since a girl intrigued me. She might not want anything to do with me, but that simply fascinates me more. I kind of like it, really. I like that she’s different from the girls I usually talk to.
I was a little thrown off my game when I first set eyes on her, thinking I was seeing double, and while she looks like Ivy, the two are nothing alike. Ivy would never be caught dead in overalls, and a ballcap covering her long curls. I mean, I like Ivy and all. We’re friends and we’ve partied together, and she’s slept with many of my buddies. She’s just never been into me.
I guess I just don’t have the pretty boy face she’s attracted to. I’ve let that roll off my shoulders, because I’m not hard up for women. Nope. None of us have to date the palm twins anymore. Outside of football, you could say fucking is pretty much the team’s pastime. Getting my grade up in English had better soon be my pastime, or Coach is going to bench my sorry ass. Fuck, I hated English class last year, and here I am putting myself through this torture again. Why couldn’t Shakespeare just speak English? Well, I mean he spoke English, but what the fuck ever. Didn’t we all outgrow riddles with Dr. Seuss?
I turn back around, my thoughts returning to Ella as someone jumps on my back. Judging by the person’s light weight, and the long sleek legs wrapped around my waist, it’s not a teammate. Nope, furthest thing from a teammate, in fact. Soft hands wrap around my body, and nimble fingers link together on my chest. I angle my head to see who it is, and my head rears back when I see Ivy’s brilliant smile, her long loose hair framing her pretty face. Look at that, she has freckles like her sister. Nevertheless, giving a piggyback ride to the cheerleaders after a winning game is nothing new, it’s just that Ivy has never jumped on my back before. She’s never jumped on my anything.
Why now?
“Great job out there, Landon,” she says, her mouth near my ear, her voice a low seductive whisper. “You were torpedo fast.”
Why the emphasis on torpedo? It’s not like she was ever interested in riding my torpedo before. I put my hand over hers and hold her steady as we head toward the doors. But something gnaws at my gut, something uncomfortable and foreign. Drawn by a force I don’t understand, I slowly turn, and even though she’s at a distance, I can almost feel Ella’s camera pointed my way, capturing my every movement. But that’s ridiculous, right? I’m nothing to her. Sure, we all have big egos, but I’d be giving myself credit if I thought I was on Ella’s mind the way she’s on mine. I’ve never met anyone more disinterested, which totally fucking sucks. She’s the kind of girl I could have real conversations with.