Page 36 of Love at Second Down

Suckers, all of them. Thank God that’s not me.

Hell, maybe Avery dumping my ass was a blessing in disguise. I can do what I want, when I want, and how I want it. I’m my own man, completely independent. If I want to leave the toilet seat up in my apartment or drink a beer on the couch while watching gory action movies with gratuitous violence, or scratch my junk, I can. Zero explanation needed. No lectures. No asking for permission. No being told I’m gross or need to wash my hands.

I grin to myself with a little shake of the head and lift the cup of cola in my hands to my lips, taking a long pull as my gaze wanders over the room.

The dance floor is mostly filled with girls, with the exception of a few poor schmucks who’ve allowed themselves to be coerced into doing the Cupid Shuffle, whatever the hell that is. In the corner, several couples are starting to look a little too cozy for a high school dance, but from the look of Charlotte’s hawkish stare, it won’t be for long.

“Can I ask you something?” I jerk and glance to my right, startled at the sound of the voice beside me. Clearly, during my musing, a kid sidled up next to me.

He’s tall and wiry, with dark hair, a dark complexion, and an athletic build. For all intents and purposes, he’s a good-looking kid.

“Me?” I ask, pointing to my chest like I must be mistaken.

He nods, his gaze never leaving the point of his focus across the room.

I follow his line of sight to find a gaggle of girls, laughing and dancing in the corner of the room. “Uh, I don’t think so, kid,” I say, not wanting to get involved.

“Come on, man. You’re the star quarterback of a Big Ten college team, on the cusp of winning the CFP championship. You’ve gotta get a ton of girls, right?”

“You’d be surprised,” I mutter, because, yeah, maybe there is no shortage of girls constantly trying to hook up with the quarterback, but they’re just jersey chasers. And it’s not like I’m taking any of them up on it.

“God, even Meredith hasn’t shut up about how hot you are.” The boy grimaces, and I feel a stab of sympathy for the poor guy.

“Which one is it?” I ask him

“The strawberry blonde, in the middle.”

I nod, saying nothing as I take her measure. She’s cute. Fairly tall with a nice figure and a spray of freckles across her nose that remind me of someone else?someone I’m not supposed to be thinking about.

“You talk to her?”

“We met here two years ago in the after-school program and have been friends ever since,” he says with a frustrated growl. “But I just want more, ya know?”

Yeah, I know. I remember what it was like to skirt the lines of friendship when I was his age. Avery and I started out as friends,but it quickly evolved into more, and if I could take it back, I would. She’s one life lesson I wished I never had to learn.

“What’s your name?” I ask, turning my focus on him.

“Paul.”

“Listen, Paul, you want my advice?” He nods eagerly, and I step forward, clapping a hand over his shoulder. “Leave it alone,” I tell him. “Walk away. Stay friends if you want, but nothing more. It’s easier that way. Safer. Trust me.”

“But . . .” The kid’s cheeks turn red as he struggles to find his words. “What if it’s too late? What if I’ve already fallen for her?” He glances back over at her, and their eyes meet from across the room.

Meredith’s expression brightens like the rising sun, and my stomach sinks. Panic claws at my throat. She’ll eat this kid alive, make him depend on her, rely on her for his next breath, and then years from now, she’ll end it without so much as an explanation. He’ll never be the same. His heart will be crushed into a million pieces and scattered across the ends of the earth.

“How old are you?” I ask, my resolve hardening. It might be too late for me, but I can save this kid.

“I’ll be fifteen this summer.”

This kid has so much potential, his whole life ahead of him. “And do you have any goals for yourself? Dreams?”

Paul tears his gaze away from the girl and meets my eyes. “Yeah, sure.” He shrugs. “I play football. I’m a wide receiver, made varsity this year as a freshman.”

My brows rise, and I allow the punch of admiration I feel to shine in my eyes. “That’s amazing, man. You must be pretty damn good to make varsity as a freshman.”

“I’m decent,” he says with a smile.

Humble, too. I like it.

---