Growing up, I was always with Mom, my older sister Autumn and my younger sister Ava. Our little brother Beck didn’t come along until years later, and by then I was resigned with the idea that I’d never even have a brother.
So I was constantly surrounded by girls. Autumn and Ava used to fight like cats and dogs. Now that Autumn’s gone, away at college in Santa Barbara, we don’t see her that much. Ava is happier with Autumn gone, I think. Having an older sister trying to boss you around all the time gets old.
I know I got tired of Autumn’s bullshit. Now, I miss her. Not that I’d ever tell her that.
Deciding I need to approach this mystery girl straight on, I walk around the table, keeping a wide berth so she doesn’t get suspicious or think I’m a stalker. And once I’m facing the table, I take a good, long look at her.
She’s vaguely familiar, so I’m assuming she’s a senior like me, or maybe a junior. Our school is small, so most of the time I feel like I know everyone, but I can’t place her. I don’t remember her name. Her hair is this burnished, reddish-gold color and her eyes are big and blue. Her features delicate—except for her mouth. Full, bee-stung lips that fill my head with dirty images.
Every one of them involves my dick.
Not that I’m actually interested in this girl. I don’t even know her. But as far as my first choice to wear my jersey this week, it’s not a bad one.
Not a bad one at all.
One of my friends, I’m not sure who, makes a bok-bok noise and I send them all a menacing look before I march right up the table and clear my throat. “Hey.”
The girl lifts her head, sky-blue eyes meeting mine, her expression open. Friendly.
Until she keeps looking at me, her gaze narrowing, that open, friendly expression disappearing within seconds. Almost as if she realized who she’s looking at and doesn’t like what she sees.
Damn.
When she still hasn’t said anything, I decide to keep talking. “What’s your name?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t know my name?”
I know this sounds weird, but I like the sound of her voice. A lot. “Should I?”
“I know yours.” She sniffs, shutting the book she was reading. “Jacob Callahan.”
Ah, see? She knows me. She’ll totally agree to wear my jersey. “You have the advantage then.”
“Because you still don’t remember my name?”
I shrug helplessly and flash her a smile that’s hopefully equal parts bashful yet charming. “Guilty.”
She rolls her eyes, resting her arms on top of the table. “Did you have a question or something?”
Her tone is short. Dismissive. This girl is totally trying to get rid of me. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do have a question for you.”
“I’m waiting on pins and needles,” she says, her voice going up a notch, those blue eyes of hers extra wide.
They’re pretty, I’ll give her that. She’s pretty. There’s a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and she has very white teeth.
“I was wondering if you wanted…” I let my voice drift and I glance down at my shoes, kicking at the base of the picnic bench. I’m trying to up the anticipation a notch. Going for the golly, gee bashful vibe. Girls seem to like it.
“Wanted what?”
Huh. Guess she’s not one for anticipation.
“If you wanted to wear my jersey tomorrow.” I lift my head, my gaze meeting hers straight on, and I see the surprise in her eyes. I’ve shocked her with my request.
Come on, I can see why. I’m me and she’s…whoever she is.
She studies me for a while, and now it’s my turn to wait with anticipation. Her full lips part, like she’s about to say something, but instead, she looks away from me, grabs her things and starts shoving them into her backpack.
As if she’s about to leave.
When she shoots me an irritated glare, slides off the picnic bench and walks away without another word, I chase her, surprised by how quick she is. My friends are laughing, I can hear them as I follow after this chick—still don’t know her name—but I can’t worry about them right now.
Even though they’re total assholes for laughing at me.
“Hey!” I call out, but it’s like my voice only spurs her on. She’s practically in a full jog as she heads toward Adams Hall, and I wonder if her plan is to duck into a classroom and hide from me.
Putting a little speed behind my step, I catch up with her easily, hooking my fingers around her upper arm and stopping her escape. She turns to face me, the look on her face so full of disgust I immediately release her and take a step back.
“Why are you chasing me?” she asks breathlessly. Her cheeks are pink, and she’s practically panting. I get the sense that maybe she doesn’t exercise much? I mean, I’m not even winded.
“You never answered my question.”
She lifts her chin. Blows out an exaggerated breath, like what I’m asking is too damn much. After enduring the last five minutes with this chick, I don’t even want her to wear my jersey now. She’s making way too big a deal about this.
But for some weird reason, I have to know what her answer is.
“My name is Hannah,” she finally says, and it all hits me at once. I do know her. Barely. Hannah Walsh. Senior. Moves in a completely different crowd. As in, she doesn’t really move with any crowd. I’ve never had a class with her ever, because she takes all the advanced courses. My friends were right.
She’s a smart girl.
“Right. Hannah.” I nod and smile. “I know you.”
She smiles in return, though it doesn’t quite reach her sky-blue eyes. “Uh huh. Sure you do.”
“I do. You’re friends with…” My voice drifts. I don’t know who she’s friends with. I can see their faces, but at the moment, I can’t recall their names.
“Please.” She reaches out, settling her hand on my forearm, and it’s like a spark of electricity between us the moment our skin makes contact. She snatches her hand away like I burned her. “Stop trying so hard.”
I almost want to laugh. This girl is telling me to stop trying so hard? Does she even know who she’s dealing with? The power I wield at this school? I’m the most popular guy in the senior class—maybe in all the classes. This is my year to shine. My year to reign.
And this Hannah nobody is telling me to stop trying so hard?
Get the fuck out of here.
Can’t back out now, though. I’m fully committed.
“So what do you say, Hannah? Are you in? Do you want to wear my jersey tomorrow?” Not like I want her to anymore. She’s been rude from the moment I started talking to her.
“Gee, I sure appreciate the offer, but…” She scowls at me, her lush lips pursed. “No.”
Two
Hannah
Jocks suck.
No, really. Like I’m supposed to be honored the king of the high school, Mr. Quarterback himself, has asked me to wear his precious jersey on game day? I can only imagine me walking around campus with his number plastered on my chest and back, like I’m his piece of property.