Page 16 of Give You Up

“How do you have so much clout?” Jackson crosses his beefy arms and peers down his nose at me.

He thinks I’m yanking his chain, and I understand the reason. He’s never seen me in his life. I’m a nobody.

“She’s dating Midnight’s cousin, Dare, punk,” someone in the back pipes in. “I live next door. She stays over. A lot.”

“Um, thanks, peanut gallery in the waaay back.” I stick my hand up, pointing my index finger skyward. The guys laugh and the tension on the field evaporates.

“We like her.”

“She’s a keeper.”

After hearing Midnight’s and Dare’s names, I assume Jackson will drop the idea of tapping me. He doesn’t.

Why am I not surprised? Jackson must not be used to a girl telling him no. Did he hurt Natalie? I look him up and down. Tall. Taller than the other guys. Muscular. Charming smile that can make any woman weak in the knees and follow him to God knows where. Except he has dirty-blond hair. Natalie said the guy has dark hair.

He takes my not-very-discreet observation as a sign of interest.

“He can’t be with you twenty-four-seven. There’s a reason there are away games. It’s a chance to get away and let down your hair.”

He stares at my hair, and his brows furrow. I resist the urge to run my fingers through the short strands. Or blow at the pieces that fall near my eye. My bangs are cut in this slanted fashion. The old guy who cuts my hair says the slant highlights my best feature—my big two-toned eyes.

“I’m not dating Dare. I’m—” I pause for effect. Look around as though seeing if anyone is eavesdropping. “He—” I wave for the guys to lean in. They do. “I’m—” I blow out an exaggerated breath. “Now, this cannot go beyond us. And, no, I’m not offering my services. I am . . . I am Dare’spersonalprofessionalsnuggler.”

Jackson straightens. Quirks a brow. “No such thing.”

“Google or YouTube it. It’s valid.”

“Or it’s your way of telling us you’re Dare’s fuck buddy.”

Crass some? I glare.

“You ain’t denying that part, so it must be true. Where there’s one, there’s room for another. I’ll be tapping you later.” He winks.

Low growl from behind me. Suddenly, I’m picked up by the waist and set off to the side.

“I said she is off limits.”

“And she’s saying she’s fair game.”

Oh, hell no, I did not. I open my mouth. The guys rush at one another with arms pulled back. This is not happening. One, guys don’t fight over me. It just doesn’t happen. Two, it’s crazy but I’m seriously considering I’m part of a casting call, and soon, some guy will walk onto the field and yell out, “Cut!”

When it doesn’t happen, I jump into action. I’m either a glutton for punishment with as crazy as my day is, or I’m dumb as rocks. I step between the guys with egos the size of the sun and tempers just as hot. Yanking off my ring, I reach back and jam it into Taron’s palm.

He grunts and, leaning in, says for me only, “One wish. After practice. Inside my truck.”

He walks away, leaving me out of breath and dizzy from the promise in his lust-laden words. I walk on wobbly legs off the field and sit on the bleachers. Hank follows and takes a spot next to me. I rest my elbows on my knees, clasp my head in my palms, and blow out a breath.

I am in trouble.

In deep shit.

I should quit.

I cannot be in proximity to the man I couldn’t face with my godawful truths, instead choosing the easy way out, which is to run away. Except just when I am ready to tell Hank I’ll be looking for a different job off campus—good luck with that; jobs are filled before school starts—his words and the hope in his voice has me changing my mind.

“Well done, Syn. Taron will need all the help he can get. It’s not ideal playing with guys who have chips on their shoulders.”

“Then why play at all?”

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