Page 10 of Give You Up

“How can I press charges when I’m not sure who he is?”

Natalie starts crying. Oh, God, she cannot mean . . . I shove my fist against my mouth.

“You can go to the authorities with what you do remember.”

“Tall with dark hair describes a lot of guys on the team.”

“Was there anything that stuck out?”

I hold my breath, afraid I’ll miss Natalie’s answer if I breathe too loudly. My heartbeat pounding in my ears is loud enough.

“Snake and butterfly tattoo along his ribs.”

Snake and butterfly tattooalong his ribs. Thank goodness the tat isn’t on some other place like a guy’s or guys’ arms, excluding Dare and Midnight. Not that my friends are capable of harming a girl. Except Dare might have hurt Gwen two years ago . . .

“The head coach can have the players undress.”

“No, please don’t. Word will spread around campus, and he’ll hear of it and know I spoke with someone. It’s my last year. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Natalie—”

“Please. I just want to forget and move on.”

Natalie has my position because a guy hurt her and she doesn’t know who he is. I have to find out who this dirtbag is. He needs to answer for what he did.

Formulating a plan in my head, I push off the wall and hurry down the steps and across the first floor of the library until I’m outside.

The fresh air calms my nerves. The students milling around, laughing and chatting it up with their friends, get me more determined to find the jerk who hurt Natalie. I take another sip of my latte and reset my mind to thinking of something else.

With my position with the football team, I’ll have to rearrange my schedule on my calendar. There are spots for my school schedule, the little hours I work at Shades, my now non-existent schedule working at the library, corgi-sitting Primie, and hanging out with Dare and my friends. Intentionally left out are guys and dating.

The vibrator was invented for a reason. All the “O’s” and none of the complications of adding a guy to the mix of me and Dare. Another bonus? Physical release without the emotional emptiness.

I do not handle casual hookups well. The reason they are few and far between. I’m not wired like my mom or Beau. I need more. More is Dare and without the sex.

He is high maintenance, taking up my free time. That guy . . . Shaking my head, I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder. He will be the death of me, with his high maintenance asks.

Then there’s Riley with her habit of “borrowing” other people’s stuff, including Midnight’s. She should know better than to mess with her boss’s stuff. One of these days, he will fire her.

Damn it, I wish she weren’t hung up on Midnight. I would ship her and Dare in a heartbeat. Except two bad habits does not make a right. Midnight and I would be bailing those two out of their troubles left and right, leaving little time for anything else.

Oh, crap, me being away for the weekend or however long the team travels for will mess with my arrangement with Dare.

I mentally talk through what I’ll tell him.

In it, I will focus on words such as security blanket, tough love, and rolling with the punches. I groan. I can’t do that to him. He needs time to adjust. I didn’t get the same courtesy and look what is happening. My heart is jackhammering against my ribcage. I am breaking out in a cold sweat. My stomach is in knots again. I toss my coffee cup in the nearest trash can.

Not good. So not good. I have time. I have time. I blow out a breath. I have time! Dare won’t be back from seeing his family in Cambridge, a small farm town east of here, for another two days.

When I met Dare for the first time at a party my freshman year, I would have never guessed he was a farm boy. That boy is far from the image of coveralls and straw hats. No, he is all man and all danger with his killer good looks and those aqua-colored eyes of his.

Everywhere we go, the womenandthe men hit on him left and right. I am jealous. No, I’m not into Dare.

I’m jealous because he is a part of a big family. The Sterling family is close-knit and huge. His father has four brothers. I grew up an only child.

Sighing at the familiar stone sign mounted on the lawn—I’ve circled back to the front of the library—I pull out a campus map from my back pocket, and squinting, I find the library and, with my eyes, trace a path to the stadium. I pocket the map.

There is a buzz of conversation, and students part around me like the Red Sea. Class just let out. Great. Someone smacks into me from behind. I tip forward. Strong hands clamp on my waist and pull me back against a solid chest. Big hands slide inside the pockets of my jeans.

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