Page 14 of Give You Up

His green eyes gleam. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Hank is . . . He is handsome. An idea pops into my head. Why not ship him with Cindy? I check out his left hand. He’s not wearing a ring and looks to be close to Cindy’s age. Bonus? He has a steady job.

Now that she isn’t my boss, her personal life is fair game. If he isn’t married, is he dating anyone? Divorced possibly? Does he like dogs? Or is he a cat person? Cindy adores dogs but is allergic to cats. Is he a patient man? Cindy’s quirks can test anyone’s patience. Or is he married but one of those guys who doesn’t wear a wedding ring for a multitude of reasons?

Cindy’s been burned before with a guy who was cheating on his girlfriend with her. Cindy hates cheaters and liars with a passion. If she knew of my past, she would end our friendship. It’s a good thing my past stayed behind in Cali. Until he followed me to Washington state.

“Why me when there are plenty of girls willing to take that spot?” I return my mind to the issue at hand.

Later, when I have my laptop open, I’ll pull up my calendar and schedule time for playing matchmaker.

Hank tips forward into my personal space and says in a low voice, as though we’re sharing a secret, “Taron has a bad rep on and off the field. He can’t keep his junk in his pants, and he’s quick to use his fists. The dean wants a complete haul-over of Taron’s reputation.”

He straightens. Now it is my turn to get in his personal space. “You didn’t answer my question. Why me?”

“You two have history.”

I narrow my eyes. “What kind?”

No way will I let Taron use me as his crutch again.

“The two of you dated in high school. His coach made sure you attended their games, including the away ones. You’re a good influence on him, and from what he tells me, one of the few who can keep him in line.”

“What about his time at Stanford?”

“He had a PA he liked.”

Was she the stunning redhead on his arm at Bayside? Doesn’t matter. I did not sign up to be his servant.

Ignoring the girls cheering and ogling the players from the stands, and the dean watching practice from inside the broadcast booth, I march onto the field, find Taron in the crowd, and grabbing on to the front of his jersey, I demand an answer.

“How could you?”

“It’s three months of your life, Syn.”

“My verywell-constructed,drama-freelife. Babysitting your ass will destroy all that.” I can find the jerk who hurt Natalie without resorting to bowing down to the new football god.

Taron peels my fingers off his jersey and strokes his chin. It’s a good thing we have an audience. I am ready to smack the satisfied smirk off his pretty face.

“Come on, Syn. Be a good sport, why don’t you?”

I open my mouth to give him an earful. He collars me around my neck and rubs his knuckles on top of my hair. His teammates jog over and crowd us.

“Hey, man, who you got there? She’s tiny.”

“Small but fierce, boys. Don’t let her sink her teeth into you. She’s got the bite of a pit bull. Won’t let go for shit.”

Some of the guys laugh. The rest are silent, and it’s not the good kind either. I am getting animosity vibes directed at Taron from the other players. My heart aches for him.

He has a temper and has made poor decisions from what I have read online, but no one is expected to be a saint. Take my friends, for example. Riley is a thief. Dare uses alcohol and pot as his crutch when he doesn’t want to deal with the difficult stuff in his life. And Midnight? Midnight can be a controlling jerk who uses his wealth and influence to get his way, bulldozing over people and leaving hurt feelings and anger in his wake.

I untangle my head from Taron’s arm, tug down my tank top that rode up, showing bare mid-drift, and eye his teammates.

They are huge. Sweaty. Stinky. Curious. They look from me to Taron. They’re wondering what our history is and where I came from.

Other than group class projects, I keep a low profile. The college scene isn’t my scene. Something else I have in common with Riley. We work. We study. I hang out with Dare. She spends time with these old folks for reasons beyond me other than she enjoys doing things for them. Wash, dry, repeat.

“What’s she doing on the field?” This from Terrance, the jerk who tripped me in sex ed class.

“She’s my personal assistant. Where I go, she goes. She’ll keep me in line. Me in line will help us win games. Got it?”

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