Page 54 of High Hopes

We stumble back, and before I know it, I’m on the couch, his weight fully pressing into me. I can feel the solid length of him through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, and oh God, he’s so hard already.

Heat pools low in my belly, spreading like wildfire, and I can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes me.

He pauses, eyes darkening as he takes me in, like he’s trying to memorize every detail. “Birdie,” he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing against my ear. “You feel so goddamn good.”

I don’t even recognize the sound that slips out of me in response—half whimper, half squeal. My hands slide under his hoodie, desperate to feel the heat of his skin. His breath hitches as my fingers graze his abs, and then, we’re kissing again, deeper, hungrier.

His hips rock into mine, and I swear my mouth waters at the sensation of him, hard and ready, pressing against me. My mouth. Literally. Waters. What the fresh hell is happening to me?

I’ve never felt like this before. Never wanted someone this much.

But then—his phone dings in his pocket. At first, we ignore it, lost in the heat of each other, but it dings again. And again. And then it’s buzzing, vibrating insistently against my thigh where it’s pressed between us.

“Fuck,” Liam mutters, breaking the kiss, his breaths coming hard and fast. He pulls back just enough to fish the phone out of his pocket, and there’s a flicker of panic in his eyes as he glances at the screen. “Shit. I have to go.”

I’m still breathless, dazed, my lips swollen and tingling. “You’re gonna be late, aren’t you?” I ask in a whisper, even though the last thing I want is for him to leave.

He looks at me, eyes blazing with something that sends a shiver down my spine. Slowly, almost reverently, he swipes his thumb over my bottom lip, his touch lingering. “Yes, but we’re not done here,” he says, voice low and rough. “I promise. And—I want you to know I’ll miss you this week. Okay?”

I swallow heavily. “You too.”

It’s a few frantic beats before he’s gone, and the door clicks shut behind him. The room falls into a heavy silence, the echo of his touch still sizzling on my skin, and all I can think about is how much I want him back. How much I already miss him.

How much Ineedhim, screw my defenses.

19

LIAM

The sun’s barely up,and we’re out on the practice field in Cary, prepping for the conference championships. This is it—the final stretch. Everything we’ve been grinding for since August comes down to these next few days.

I tap the ball lightly between my feet. Chase is across from me, stretching his quads, while a few of the guys are passing around to warm up. The grass is dewy, slick under our cleats, and all I can think about is how sticky and damp the air feels against my skin, like it’s clinging to me in all the wrong ways.

It’s the kind of sensation that sets my teeth on edge, makes me hyperaware of every shift in my jersey, every bead of sweat. Sensations that draw me out of the game and into my own head. Not a good place to be right now.

Chase catches my eye and smirks. “Donovan, you gonna feed me some decent service, or is that too much to ask?”

“You can fuck right off,” I shoot back, flicking the ball toward him. He traps it effortlessly, laughing, and passes it back with a spin that sends it skimming just past my shin. “Keep talking, and I’ll purposely shank every cross your way.”

Chase rolls his eyes. “Coach wouldn’t like that. I’m his golden boy.”

He’s all swagger, oozing confidence like he’s untouchable. But underneath that cocky grin, I can sense the pressure simmering. For both of us. For all of us.

It’s not just another game. This is the conference championship, and there’s more at stake here than bragging rights. There are scouts in the stands—MLS reps and agents, eyes dissecting every move, every pass, every miss.

I still have next year to prove myself, but Chase doesn’t. If he doesn’t secure the Adidas contract this year, then he’ll have to enter the draft as a senior, just like I plan to. It would be a gamble, I think, for him to take that route and risk not getting picked up.

I have a backup; Chase has staked his whole future on this.

I spin the ball with the side of my foot, letting my mind focus on its movement, on the rhythm that usually drowns out the noise. But today, it’s failing.

Not just because of the sensory hell that clings to me but because I’m caught up thinking about Birdie, too. About our kiss last Friday night. The way she fit against me, the softness of her lips, the quiet sound she made in the back of her throat when I—

“Hey, earth to Liam.” I blink, snapping out of it. Chase is staring at me, eyebrows raised. “You good, man? You’ve been kicking that ball around like it owes you money.”

I grin. “I’m thinking about Birdie, actually. We kissed just before I left, and her lips were soft as hell, like—”

Chase snorts a laugh. “Jesus, man. Did you know you can keep some things to yourself? A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

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