I could do this.
I trotted to where the pair of color guards holding the American flag on its pole stood. The girl wearing the tight, colorful leotard extended the flag with her strong arms.
The floodlight’s broad beams blinded me. Silence hummed. Bugs buzzed. Energy sizzled as both teams stood off on the sidelines with their hands on their hearts.
It was now or never.
I lifted the microphone to my lips, imagined my opening pitch, closed my eyes, and began.
“Oh, say can you see...”
I was at home, by myself, singing to my mirror. I was alone in a room, with no one else around to hear me. I connected to the song, to the words written over two hundred years ago, picturing Francis Scott Key and the circumstances he’d been under while writing the stirring lyrics. A feeling of confidence swelled inside of me as the song reached its highest pitch, the climax rising out over the autumn air, and I finished strong with particles of soul seeping out along with it.
The crowd in the stands erupted. I opened my eyes to see people—strangers, not my family, most of whom I didn’t even know—cheering, whooping, and shouting for me. Jenn gave me a wave from the cheerleaders’ position and then both teams were running onto the field and I was rushing off of it.
A thrill of accomplishment marched in my shoes as I made for the stands with the others. I felt so alive. I wasn’t ready to go back to my dorm. Besides, I’d never watched much football before. I decided to stick around to see what the fuss was all about. Toward the front of the stands, Janae Braxton from Calculus and her group of girls waved me to join them.
I skimmed the crowd. What the heck? For all Dad knew, I was with the friends I’d mentioned.
The ballgame consisted of people jumping around bleachers after a ball got thrown. Or dropped. Or guys crashed into other guys. Seattle’s frigid autumn air snaked its way into every crevice and opening in my clothing. Up my sleeves, down my collar and through my jacket. And though the girls I stood beside watched the players with fervid excitement, though people around me stomped and screeched, I hid a yawn behind my hand.
Janae Braxton shook my arm. “That play was incredible. We have the best team.”
I couldn’t agree with her—I didn’t exactly understand enough of the game to know when a play was good or not.
Fortunately, her friend, Hallie Pinter, squealed and spoke before I could. “I know, right? Doesn’t hurt to watch so many hot guys in jerseys and tight pants.”
The three of us laughed, and I had to agree with her on that. While I tried finding Carson, my view was inexplicably torn away any time Tate was on the field. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was confident and sure-footed. He threw the ball with precision and impressive force. I couldn’t help but be amazed at the spiral it made every time it left his hands.
Billionaire Academy’s marching band made a fabulous debut and was probably my favorite part of the entire night. The band marched in synchronized fashion, creating flawless lines and circles while playing fanfare versions of pop songs. Color guard guys and gals pranced along around the band’s formations, tossing their flags and catching them with equal prowess. I cheered and clapped with the rest of them, wishing the band would perform another number. The drumline beat out a catchy cadence as the band marched along the track back toward the school, and then it was right back to the game.
Tate made the first play of the game’s second half. He trotted backward on his toes, cleats digging into the green. Arm poised, muscles tense, he launched the ball to one of his teammates and received an upsurge of cheers.
I clapped too, but my sentiments tended to be on Camryn’s view of things. I honestly didn’t see the wonder of someone throwing a ball and then having the snot knocked out of him because he’d been the last person to hold it. Then again, people probably didn’t see the point in studying music, so there we were.
The ball sailed through the air in a perfect spiral and landed in another teammate’s arms. The teammate booked it toward the white pitchfork at the end zone and the energy in the stands increased.
“I can’t believe he’s your boyfriend,” Janae said over the noise. “You’re so lucky!”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just smiled. Truth be told, at the word ‘boyfriend,’ my gaze darted to Charly in her ponytail and skimpy cheerleader uniform. If she was angry at me for singing to Tate, then kissing him, then being a contender for Professor Granger’s blog feature, I could only guess what she’d do now that I’d sung again. Now that I was being called “Tate’s girlfriend.”
Then again, Tate and I hadn’t been all that public since the kiss. Did the threat still stand?
I fought back another yawn and stared at my phone.
Nine o’clock and I was already bushed. The elation I’d felt after finishing my song had deflated. I wanted to slip away and make for my dorm, to curl up in my bed where it was warm and dig into the homework I’d received earlier today while my body slowly relaxed and prepared for sleep. Tate wanted me to stay up after this?
Finally, the game ended—though if I had to relay the exact events required for a football game to be won, I’d be hard-pressed to. The crowds in the stands thinned, and the team made their way in two lines toward the locker rooms. Fortunately, Dad and Laurel weren’t anywhere in sight.
My nerves jangled like bells the entire trek back to the dorms. I pulled out my phone, ready to text Tate and tell him never mind. No boy was worth this anguish. Sleep was definitely better than boys. Add peace of mind to that, and you had a winner.
But I’d lived my life in the safety zone. A desire to not play it safe replaced the tiredness I’d felt during the game with singeing energy and anticipation. Besides, I needed that selfie to send to Camryn.
I had all weekend to get through my assignments. I’d never been the procrastinating type, but I’d also never been invited anywhere like this before.
Mrs. Partridge’s warning played in my head, but I brushed it off. I was a good student. This was my senior year, and I wasn’t about to miss out.
I checked my appearance in the mirror. The red ombre I’d dyed in my long, platinum blonde hair last year had faded to pink at the tips. Usually the thought annoyed me, but I found I liked it tonight. For some reason, the sight made me feel a little more rebellious than I had earlier. I dabbed some gloss on my lips and gazed as if seeing myself for the first time.
I’d never considered myself a bad girl in any sense of the word, but here I was, being kissed by a devilish boy, breaking rules with that boy and running off to midnight bonfires, no less. I was a good girl gone bad, and I’d never felt such a rebellious thrill course through me about anything before.
I was sneaking out. And I was getting that selfie. But not just with Tate. If I played things right with Carson, I could make it back home with pictures of myself with both boys.
Chapter Nine
If the football team was trying to be discreet, they were terrible failures. An entire row of cars was pulled up outside the dorms, making its own procession. So much for being a sneaky bad girl. The school staff had to know what was going on tonight. From the amount of people gathered, something told me this was more than just the football team and their girlfriends, but I wasn’t going to point this out.
Tate wore a gray hoodie beneath his letterman jacket, and the casual blend of that combination with jeans after seeing him in a school uniform for days was like settling against a stack of pillows on the couch after being on your feet all day. Totally comfortable. I went for the hoodie look as well, opting for my fave—white with a rainbow hood and rainbow streak on the pouch.
He stood aloof from the guys as if on the lookout. Was he watching for me?
“Hey there,” I said.
He turned, his gaze flicking to my jeans. “Bailey,” he said. His tone mixed with my name did strange things to my joints. He slipped his hand into mine. “Looking good. And speaking of good, nice job singing out there tonight. Set the perfe
ct tone for us to crush the Lions.”
“Did you crush them?” I asked.
“Uh—yes. You were there. Didn’t you watch?”
I scuffed my shoe against the sidewalk. “I did, but that doesn’t mean I knew what was happening.”
Tate barked a laugh, instantly drawing people’s attention to us. Charly glared and leaned to whisper something to Carson, whose eyes grazed in our direction. Warning knotted in my stomach, but I did my best to focus on Tate.
Slipping a hand behind my back, he pulled me against his chest and brushed his cheek along mine to mutter in my ear. Fire blazed everywhere our bodies touched. My lids fluttered, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
“Remind me to tell you how the game is played,” Tate said like a secret. The tone of his low voice made me shiver. I took in a cool breath as he released me, winked, and guided me to his truck in the lineup of vehicles. Seconds later, my gaze raked to Charly, who scowled and folded her arms.
Leaping up and balancing one foot on his truck’s runner, Tate gripped the top rack, raised a fist, and called out, “Let’s do this!”
Several others whooped their agreement and the sound of slamming car doors filled the night air as the group entered their vehicles. Tate got my door, waited for me to hop in, and closed it behind him before making his way around to the driver’s side.
A streak of daring rebellion coursed through me, filling me with excitement. I still couldn’t believe this was happening.
Turning his ignition, Tate peered at me in the darkened cab. Shadows emphasized his features, creating lines and angles I hadn’t noticed in the light. It added mystery and intrigue, making me want to stare a little longer and giving me permission to do just that. Darkness always was a ticket for sneakiness.
I stole an extra glance at him, one that he returned before squeezing my hand. “Ready?”
I nibbled my lip, trying to get a grip on my gushing emotions. “Sure. How far is this place?”
“Rainier Lake. The bonfire will be on the beach there.”
One by one, cars and trucks led out toward the road. We followed a white car’s taillights. With the rumble of motion, I tried and failed to hide yawns behind my hand.
“Tired?” Tate asked.
“How could you tell?”
He rested a hand on the seat between us. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold my hand, but I took a chance and slipped mine into his. His fingers closed on mine, and my entire body pulsed.
“What did you think of the game?” he asked.
“Good job tossing that ball.”
He laughed. “Let me guess, football isn’t your scene.”
“That it’s not. But I know you love it.”
“I do. It’s my life.”
The car in front of us slowed. Tate followed before turning off onto a dirt road that jostled us along its decline. He released my hand for a better hold on the steering wheel. I gripped the door handle for stability.
“Why?” I asked. “I mean, not to sound rude, but I don’t get the appeal.”
Guiding the wheel, he proceeded slowly along the dirt road’s switchbacks. “It’s the rush. It’s the win, the energy, the urgency I get working together with the guys. We made some incredible plays tonight, and it wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t been completely unified as a team.”
“I never thought about it like that before,” I said, lightening to his explanation. That increased the appeal, for sure. I remember his confidence on the field as he’d been analyzing the direction of his throws. Not only had his footwork been impressive, but the fit of his uniform had been gawkable.
“You’re good,” I told him, deciding to be honest.
“I know.”
Not even a thank you? How was that for confidence? “You mentioned scholarships at dinner the other night. Are you wanting to go pro? Play for the NFL or something?”
“You bet I am.” His glance slid a cinder into my stomach. That smirk was smoky and seductive in the darkness of his car. I swallowed down the heat it surged into my chest. “The parents are like you though. They don’t see the appeal and think throwing a ball around is pointless. They worry I’ll—never mind.”
“Get hurt?” I suggested.
He lifted a single shoulder. “Something like that.”
Dad and Laurel were adamant about Tate’s life choices, that was for sure, but I decided not to bring that up. “I can’t believe my dad wants to make those dinners a weekly thing. I can hardly stand to be around him.”
“You mentioned something like that before. Why is that? You don’t like your dad?”
Whoops. I wasn’t one to share this with many people. It had taken a near-death experience during a blizzard and the threat of sliding off the road for me to open up to Camryn about my family.
“I don’t know,” I told Tate. He was being friendly, and I was grateful to not be completely alone at this school after all, but I couldn’t bare everything about myself to him, whether his mom was married to my dad or not. In fact, that presented a worse problem than just telling my feelings to a random person at school. Tate had direct access to his mom, who, in all likelihood, would relay whatever I told him to my dad.
That was the last conversation I wanted to have with him. I wasn’t about to tell him Dad had hurt me. He’d destroyed our family. He’d shattered promises made years ago when he would tuck me in at night or sit on my bed and listen as I read to him.
So many reasons, so many painful memories.
Fortunately, the procession of cars turned again. The ground flattened, and the beach came into view. We parked along a roped-off segment of flat ground and then the rocks descended. Tate held my hand during the hike down to the beach. I wondered what we’d use for firewood until we landed in the sand and meandered along to a huge pile someone had taken the time to assemble earlier.
The group of twenty or so of us gathered and watched as one of the guys poured gas on the pile and tossed a match toward it. Flames shot toward the sky, lapping their way along the wood and gathering momentum until the orange blaze created a beacon on the beach. Several kids cheered. A few couples kissed, though I was grateful to see Carson standing with a few of his buddies, girl-free.
“Someone’s looking at you,” Tate said, leaning in close enough to brush his cheek against mine like he did earlier. He smelled like temptation and dark spices. His low voice curled in my belly. I followed his line of thought and gazed. Taking advantage of the moment, Tate slipped his hand around my waist and tugged me closer to him.
“Lean into me,” he said in that tantalizing low rumble.
“What?” My lids fluttered. I tried not to get caught up in Tate’s attention, to remind myself the real reason he was doing this. “Carson’s watching?”
“If he wasn’t before, he will be.” Tate slid his hand across my cheek to brush a stray hair free from my eyes. The touch had the effect of a torch, melting me with every movement. “Don’t want you to be cold.”
I was enraptured. With the force of his gaze, the chiseled shape of his jaw, and the heat of his body against mine, I couldn’t take my eyes from him. “How could I be with this fire blazing?”
He cocked that grin. “You’re talking about the bonfire, right?”
My heart drummed. Chravis had always been so self-conscious about PDA, even after we’d dated for a month or more. But here was Tate, football star, pretty boy extraordinaire, taking full advantage of the situation and making it look like we belonged together.
Confidence probably had something to do with that, and I had to say, in that moment, his confidence made him sexy in the starlight.
Trapped in Tate’s gaze, I found my voice. “Do you think it’s working?”
Fire flickered in his eyes. “It’s working for me.”
Carson meandered his way over. Tate’s tactics had apparently worked. Though we acted this way to get Carson’s attention, for some reason I didn’t want to move away from Tate.
I had
to do something before he did something like kiss me again. And with the way his gaze kept tripping down to my lips and back again, that possibility was becoming likely.
Clearing my throat, I pulled my phone from my back pocket. Selfie time.
I held my phone out. Tate closed in, just like I hoped he would. He pressed his cheek to mine, jutting out his chin in a manly pose, but before my thumb could tap the button, the phone was yanked from my hand.
“You don’t want to do that,” Carson said, mockingly waving my phone in front of me.
In an automatic reaction, I reached for the phone. He jerked it back again.
My hands curled around my middle. “Hey, give that back,” I said.
With a jeer, Carson jokingly dangled my phone closer to the fire. Just behind him, Charly watched with arms folded and pretty face creased in glaring approval.
“Don’t!”
With a wicked grin, Carson tossed it in. My phone became an afterthought to the flames. In an instant I was frozen, stupidly reminded of Sam standing at the threshold of Mount Doom while Frodo succumbed to the Ring’s temptation and slipped it onto his finger. I was horrified. Dumbstruck.
Tate swore. In seconds, he shoved past me and dove for Carson, knocking him to the sand.
Girls shrieked. Guys hollered and scattered away from the bonfire, gathering instead around Tate and Carson as they rolled in the sand.
“Fight, fight, fight!” they chanted.
Tension clenched its fist around my heart, making it hard to breathe. Carson attempted to rise, but Tate wrestled him back down. Teeth bared, he pinned Carson to the sand, called him a nasty name, and punched him right in the face.
“Stop!” I shrieked, attempting to elbow through the crowd. No one else seemed to care. High on the adrenaline of the fight, they continued egging the two boys on.
“Stop them!” I shouted to a pair of boys in letterman jackets off to the side. Exchanging a look, they barged in and dove between Tate and Carson, prying the boys away from each other.
Don't Kiss the Quarterback: Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 5 Page 8
