Page 30 of Return Policy

“Way to be a cock block,” I grumble, unable to suppress the amusement on my face as Elijah stares at me with his jaw clenched.

“Sophia’s gonna give you a run for your money, isn’t she?” Noah asks Elijah, running a hand through his perfectly tousled brown hair.

“I’m counting on it.” Elijah’s gaze locks on mine.

“Alright, well, I’ll let you guys get back to whatever”—Noah waves a hand between us—“this is. Don’t eat too much shit before practice.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Elijah puts a french fry in his mouth and winks at me.

Noah chuckles and rolls his eyes before walking his perfectly conditioned ass to a table with a few guys who, I now realize, are staring right at us with dopey grins on their faces. Also… all disgustingly gorgeous. I assume they’re teammates of Elijah’s too. It appears CBU’s recruitment criteria demands attractiveness.

Elijah snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I turn my attention from Noah’s ass back to him. “You got a little drool there.” He reaches across the table and drags the pad of his thumb slowly along my bottom lip. All of the oxygen leaves the restaurant, and the smirk on his face says he feels it too. I clench my thighs together at the contact, but he thankfully removes his finger.

When did the simple touch of a thumb become so fucking sexy?

Probably because it’s attached to the walking depiction of Apollo.

“Well, he sure loves giving you shit,” I say in an attempt to curb my non-friend-zone thoughts.

“Almostas much as someone else I know.”

10

ELIJAH

Seventy thousand screaming students and parents alike pack CBU’s stadium to the brim. We’re three quarters in, and I’ve ridden the bench the entire forty-five minutes of playing time. Déjà vu from the past few games we’ve had. As if Noah could get any better, he just beat his personal record and threw a sixty-three-yard touchdown. I’m thankful to be on a winning team with an extraordinary player, but damn, he’s a tough act to follow.

We’re beating the University of Michigan by fourteen points with ten minutes left on the clock when our offensive line runs back on the field. Noah calls one of our tougher plays, and the guys set up on the line of scrimmage.

“Hike!” I barely hear him yell over the roar of the crowd. Julian, our center, hikes the ball, and it lands in Noah’s hands flawlessly. He runs backwards, scanning for an open man. Theo, one of our running backs, flies down the field at record speed without a defender in sight.

“Throw it to Theo!” we all yell from the sidelines, but it’s no use, the stadium is too loud.

A defensive man from Michigan sneaks through and heads straight for Noah.Where the fuck are his guards?

Noah is tackled to the ground, causing us to lose five yards.Damn it.

The clock rolls as Noah and the other player get up. Noah looks at his wrist, rotating it.That’s not a good sign.Coach Porter calls a timeout, stopping the clock. Noah runs over to Coach on the sidelines, and they both talk intently. Simultaneously, their heads snap in my direction, and a wave of electricity jolts through my body like lightning.

“Anderson!” Coach Porter shouts.

Am I imagining this?

“Elijah!” Noah yells, waving his hand at me. “Get over here!”

I grab my helmet off the bench, then pull it on my head and tighten the strap as I run towards them.

“You remember the play we did in practice yesterday?” Coach Porter asks, fixing his brown eyes on mine. “Little birdy?”

“The one where I don’t get tackled and bomb it as far as possible towards the end zone? Yeah, I remember.”

“Good, run that.” Coach Porter slaps me on the helmet and nudges me toward the field. “Now get out there.”

I run towards the guys huddled near the line of scrimmage. We have thirty-five seconds to get the ball hiked.

“Alright, boys,” I shout over the stadium crowd as they welcome me into the huddle. “Little birdy is flying the coop. You ready, Theo?”

“Sure am.” He holds up both arms, pretending to kiss his biceps with his helmet.

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