"Thanks..." Harper sat up and pressed her lips lightly against mine.

Before she pulled back, I grasped my hand around her wrist. Her eyes widened, probably from how tightly I clutched onto her. My heart pounded painfully hard in my chest, like I nearly gave myself a heart attack with the insane thought that I was in love with her.

Yet, my hand clung tightly to her like a rope tossed to a drowning man. My eyes roamed over her face like the answers to the thoughts that clashed in my mind were somehow written in those pink cheeks, light blue eyes, darker blonde eyebrows and lashes, and smattering of adorable light freckles.

Oh fuck.

I'm in love with Harper?

My throat squeezed inward, tension crunched my stomach like I braced for a punch, and Harper's lips parted as I squeezed her wrist tighter.

No, I'm not. Can't be. Am I?

"Jake?" A soft warmth spread over my left cheek from where she placed her other hand's palm. A thunderous pulse pounded in my ears as my eyes memorized every slightly darker blue striation in her light-colored eyes. The light glinted off them like -

Fuck, I am.

No, just post sex bliss. Clear your head, Jake. The one above your shoulders.

I was vaguely aware of the fact I'd come more than thirty minutes ago, and sat tired but entirely clear-headed after the blowjob that the girl I -

It's fine. I'll be fine. Play it cool.

Just... don't tell her Jake. She'll freak out.

Perspiration, fueled by an entirely different reason, broke out on my forehead and I drew in a shaky breath. Harper's murmured words barely registered in my brain as a sense of lockdown welled up and I swore all my internal functions screeched to a halt.

With a frown, she repeated herself, louder with a yank of her hand against my grip, "I don't know what the fuck freak-out moment you're having right now, so I'll just -"

"No," I squeaked out in a high, strained voice that sounded like my balls were in a vice.

Because fuck, they are. Harper's.

No, they're not. They're attached, empty, and refilling like normal.

Everything's cool, Jake. Except how she's looking at me like I'm a total psycho.

A deep crease line etched itself down the center of Harper's forehead, which drew her blonde eyebrows together. I couldn't read the emotion in her eyes past an obvious, 'The fuck is wrong with you?' vibe.

I deserve that.

And she deserves to know how I feel.

No! Make something up.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and exhaled against the pulse that thrummed in my veins. My brain dizzied, rational thoughts disintegrated, and heat rose in my palms until they also broke out in sweat.

Pretend you're sick. She'll respect real vomit more than vomited feelings.

"Stay," I blurted out in a weakass, near tortured voice because fuck, I sure felt internally tortured. My eyes flipped open and found hers stared at me like I'd suggested we got matching couple's tattoos, her nose scrunched up and lips wrenched sideways. "I just... don't... Can you... please, uhh, stay?"

"Did you fry your last brain cell when you came? Figured I was doing you a favor with no-strings exits," she muttered and shifted her eyes to the clock on my dresser. "I don't have any of my shit for class tomorrow and need a shower, so -"

"Just for a little bit," I croaked out and swallowed against the tightness that constricted my throat. "I'll take whatever you can give..."

Isn't that the damn truth.

After what felt like the longest moments of my life, Harper pressed her lips together tightly and studied me like she suspected I experienced a brain aneurysm. My cheeks tingled as her eyes ran over them and lips parted when her gaze dropped down to them.

"Okay," she finally relented quietly. Like she spoke more to herself than me, she added, "You made me feel better last week so... I can do that. Just for a little and if anyone asks then you have male PMS."

My chest expanded with a cool breath that refreshed my lungs and I puffed out a loud exhale. With a slight lean back, I pulled her towards me and wrapped my arms around her upper back. The warm, slight damp skin on her bare torso pressed into my ribs as she curled up next to me. She rested her cheek in between my chest and shoulder, like my pec muscle was her personal pillow.

Softness from her hair tickled my chin but I slid my eyes closed, hugged her closer, and willed the loud pounding in my heart to slow.

The traitorous organ pumped harder.

Harper actually stayed with me until I fell asleep. I wasn't sure how she slipped out of the cage that my arms hooked around her, but woke up the next morning relaxed until I found myself alone in bed.

"Fuck... did that really happen," I groaned and rubbed my palms over my eyes.

A lightening sensation flowed through my chest since the last thing I remembered was I crossed my arms over Harper's chest and hugged close. The warmth and softness of her curves pressed against me and dragged me right to sleep.

All that lightness sank under a weighted heaviness from the sight of the empty space. The blank white sheets where she'd laid hit me harder than a smack in the face. I fought an urge that I opened my mouth and screamed out my frustrations.

Patience, Jake.

Fuck, I hate patience.

In terms of stalling the inevitable conversation, my timing couldn't have been better with our three weeks of road games and fewer chances during the week to see Harper.

It's fine. I'll just keep it to myself and tell her after the road trip.

I'd already planned, and even told Harper herself, that we needed to talk on our date. The stakes seemed weighted higher with a possible love confession, but I buried that shit down deep, so deep it left my thoughts by the time my feet touched down on my bedroom carpet.

Completely burdened with the upcoming midterm exams at school, a condensed practice schedule, and everyday shit associated with having eleven roommates, I successfully distracted myself from thoughts about Harper.

She snuck into my head at random times but I used my years of experience and enacted my game-first lockdown mode... five days earlier than the actual game. I was largely successful, even with the slip-ups I mouthed over Harper's head when she showed up for a mid-week quick-fuck.

Wednesday night, by her own admission after the next time we hooked up, Harper was stressed over her own upcoming exam on Friday. So I offered some stress relief, which she happily took on all fours while I railed her from behind until my walls vibrated from how loudly we both moaned. I had a few more ideas for incorporating her vibrators, between us, but she needed a quick-fuck so that's what she got.

Her paralegal course's certification exam wasn't until the end of January but her professor teased the class with intermittent versions of it and based most of her grade on them. The idea that I offered her some relief warmed my stupid heart, which did me no favors afterwards.

"You'll do great," I assured her with a soft kiss on her forehead.

She smiled faintly, then took the hasty exit we both needed, except for different reasons. After the door clicked locked, I exhaled what felt like the entire room's air supply and rubbed my hands over my face.

Never needed a road game so badly.

While traveling up and down the West Coast on team-chartered flights and buses might've sounded glamorous, it really wasn't. For as many cities and other campuses I'd visited in almost four seasons, reality was I spent most of my time in the hotels.

San Jose State University in, what else, San Jose was the closest I got to Santa Cruz. My hometown was still forty-five minutes southwest but the familiarity when our plane touched down in San Jose's airport put a smile on my face.

My shoulders relaxed when I saw the Spanish-style buildings, with white stucco and red-tiled roofs, as we drove past the evergreens and palm trees that lined the street leading up to the campus entrance. The green ivy that grew up the sides of Tower Hall, the tallest building on campus, was dotted with a few brown spots that pointed at how late into the season we were.

As if my phone offered a celebratory 'welcome-home,' it lit up with hundreds of messages by the time our bus was five minutes from the hotel. I scrolled through until I found a string from Mom.

Mom: We're still all at Anthony and Maria's, except for Anthony.

I snorted at the less than helpful message. Including their kids, I had too many cousins on Mom's side named Anthony to count.

me: Which one?

Mom: Your cousin AJ. He'll join us for breakfast and the game tomorrow. Uncle Anthony got banquet room 2. I told everyone to back off since you have homework, so we'll see you tomorrow.

I wasn't surprised that my loaded uncle had reserved the hotel's banquet dining room next to the team's but I was glad they were in close proximity. A small smile tugged on my face because I knew if we were in the same building, then Mom needed about ten minutes before she tracked me down.

I didn't answer her message since the bus pulled up to the hotel front with screeched tires and lurched forwards. My long legs stretched out the travel-stiffness that sat in the back of my knees and a soft crack sounded between my shoulders when I raised my arms overhead.

"Let's go, old man," Griff teased and patted his stomach, which growled loudly like he hadn't snacked the entire trip up here.

Drake and I tossed our bags on our beds then reassembled with the team in the downstairs lobby. With our longer practices and travel times, Coach Campbell arranged for us to have dinner at a local steakhouse. Afterwards, we were bused back to our hotel, where most of the guys did homework or studied.

Not really that glamorous.

One benefit to redshirting my freshman year was that I'd lightened my academic course load each semester and maintained high enough grades for my academic scholarships. While I wasn't anywhere near as smart or studious as Ellie, the fact I only took twelve credits in the fall semesters, sixteen in the spring, and six over the summer helped me maintain my required minimum 3.0 GPA.

Even with a lighter four-course fall semester, I wasn't immune to USC's academic demands. So, my books came with me on road games. I still had academic work that needed my attention and knew I'd be wiped out more post-game, so I buried myself in my books Friday night. I finished my Calculus homework, studied some practice sheets my professor had given me for an upcoming quiz next Friday, typed up my Accounting and Sports Management classes' homework assignments that were due on Monday, and emailed them to my professors.

Hotel homework was the primary reason I roomed with Drake on the road. With the exception of his fingers quietly clicking on his laptop's keyboard or phone screen, he was pindrop quiet as a roommate.

"How's your capstone project going?" I asked as we stowed away our work and undressed for bed. He'd mentioned at one point needing my help for a class project but hadn't asked further.

"Good." His brown eyes drifted over towards the table between our two double beds, where my phone sat silent. Like usual, I'd turned it off before tomorrow's game, although I had checked for any messages from my family on the bus ride here.

My restless mind needed another distraction, so I picked up my phone and chuckled at my family. They hadn't disappointed me, with seventy-six variations of 'See you tomorrow morning!' texted.

Another particular message had also grabbed my attention.

HER: Good luck.
HER: Might watch your game... If I can't find Ryan Reynolds abs.

That doesn't work for me.

With a grunt, I got up out of bed and stepped into the bathroom. The door closed behind me, I flicked on the lights, crunched my abs hard, and snapped a headless picture of my bare torso and the muscles football blessed me with. Back down in bed, I shot it to Harper.

me: Use mine.
me: [ image attached ]

To my surprise, Drake's phone buzzed quietly after I hit send. I stared at it for a moment, then lifted my eyes to a guilty look in his. "Drake?"

"Uhh... Remember when I asked for your help on that project?" he mumbled and scratched his chin with his fingernails, London's nervous tic. When I nodded, he smiled sheepishly. "You already have."

"Drake..." I narrowed my eyes at him. "What exactly is this project?"

"A third-party rooting algorithm," he muttered quietly.

"A..." My eyes closed for a moment while I processed what I thought his words meant. The casual way he said them hadn't helped, so I clarified, "You're tapping my phone?"

"Just for three weeks," he promised like that wasn't a big deal. Technically I'd agreed that I helped him but fuck, he could've warned me. "I've actually written a malware program, but I set up your phone so it's actually hacking mine."

"My phone is hacking..." I groaned and remembered the night Drake lingered longer in the locker room after the Notre Dame game, when I'd showered with my locker left open. The timing lined up. "After we beat the Irish. Why didn't you just ask?"

"Whole point is to not modify the test subject's behavior," he grumbled quietly.

"And this is for a class." My eyebrows raised. Technically, my phone housed nothing but personal pictures and football-related shit. Not that I had much money but the security on my banking app was already set so that a fingerprint and password were required but if Drake had taken those then we needed to have a serious conversation and me a new bank.

"Promise, it's for our cybersecurity capstone project only," he replied earnestly, then lifted one hand up to the middle of his chest. "I've actually finished collecting all the social media data I need to finish it, so thanks."

With a swing of his legs, he sat up in bed, grabbed my phone, and pulled up what I'd thought was a social media app. A strange dashboard popped up instead, but Drake disabled the app with the screen held up in my view like he'd swept away his digital footprints.

Somehow that doesn't exactly fill me with warm fuzzies.

Silently, I uploaded my entire photo album up to cloud storage, with a mental note I downloaded the pictures onto my laptop once we were back at home behind the house's more protected Wi-Fi firewall. I trusted my friend of four years that whatever the fuck he'd done was all for school but, just in case, wiped my sim card empty, and turned my phone back over to factory settings.

"Sorry I didn't tell you," he mumbled quietly once we both settled down in bed. He still held his phone in his hand, at whatever social media site he was into at the moment.

Don't know, don't care.

"It's okay... But fuck, tell me before you do that shit, Drake." I still wasn't entirely happy that he'd gone behind my back, so I rolled onto my left elbow and looked over at his reclined form tucked under his white blankets.

His impassive face, highlighted by the light from his screen, reminded me I'd wanted to discuss something with him and not with the other guys around on the plane, bus, or at dinner. "Listen Drake, I uhh... need to talk to you about something."

His brown-haired head rolled towards me. "Yeah?"

"It's about Emily," I confessed with a slight amount of hesitation because his cheeks turned pink at the mention of her name. "You know I'd never burn you like that, right?"

"I'd hope not," he quipped back.

So my stance was crystal-clear, I emphasized, "Just to let you know, I'm -"

"Obsessed with another blonde." He absently tossed me a thumbs up but kept his eyes on his phone screen. "Whole house knows that, Jake... and hears it."

"Right." I chuckled and ran my hands through my hair, satisfied enough that he'd at least heard me.

Silence enveloped the room and I shifted my thoughts towards tomorrow's game, the matchups, the holes in the Spartan's defense, my Uncle Anthony's bald head and small belly stuffed in a USC cheerleader outfit, anything so I didn't think about a particular blonde I was stupidly crazy over.

Despite my efforts, I still saw her face, with a side of her middle finger for good luck tomorrow, before sleep finally took me under.

"Jake!" "Jacob!" "There he is!"

Fuck, here we go.

My cheeks pinched from how widely I grinned and stretched my arms out at the dark-haired mob of Italians that converged on me from where I waited in the hotel's lobby Saturday morning. Dozens of feet thumped across the carpeted floor at me and their voices rang out loudly.

"Handsome like always!" "Too busy for a haircut?"

"Jake!"

Arms hugged around me, lips kissed my cheeks, and happy squeals hit my ears. As usual, the worst part were their grabby hands, which squeezed mine, petted and stroked my hair like a petting zoo, patted my chest, cupped my bicep muscles, even lightly smacked my ass for not calling more.

Like I've ever done that.

Among the craziness, warmth flooded through me at the sight of faces I'd known my whole life. Sure, their faces wore more crease lines, hair streaked more with grays and some bellies a little bigger but their high-energy affection washed waves of comfort over me... or it did until the insults appeared.

"Jacob!" A thinner, taller version of Mom cupped my cheeks in her palms and rubbed over the slight stubble I wore ever since Harper had said - "You look thin! No, you look... shaggy?"

"Hi Aunt Maria," I forced out of my smushed-together lips.

She gently shook my face side-to-side. I gasped for air when she released my cheeks, then her thin fingers reached up and tugged on a few longer strands near my ears in a silent reminder about my non-haircut.

Right before I assumed Aunt Maria performed a dental inspection, another gushing voice hit my ear, "Hai bisogno di un taglio di capelli, Jacob! Sembri un gorilla peloso." (You need a haircut, Jacob! You look like a hairy gorilla.)

My shoulders bounced at my crazy Aunts, but I leaned over and kissed the cheek of the craziest one, Aunt Stella. "Non sapevo che saresti stato qui!" (I didn't know you'd be here!)

She grunted quietly as I gently hugged her small, frail form. Aunt Stella had grown a lot smaller over the past few years, to the whole family's concern. Her short, curly hair was more salt than pepper and the Salvatore side's dark brown eyes narrowed at me. "Il mio vecchio non vivrà per sempre, Jacob." ("My old ass isn't going to live forever, Jacob.)

"Hush, Stella," Mom scolded her eldest sister and beamed up at me as she came in for her hug. "Don't mind her, Jake. She just needs her diaper changed and a nap."

Aunt Stella glared at Mom and I rolled my lips inward at the laugh that rose up inside me.

"So where is she?" My cousin Anton, whose muscles got bigger and swallowed more of his neck each time I saw him, grinned widely at me. "Or you going dry on me?"

The fuck does that even mean?

"Anton," I warned him because my womanizing cousin was the last guy I wanted to discuss my love -

Fuck, not supposed to be thinking about that this weekend, Jake.

"Yes, Jake! Tell us!" Aunt Maria's eyes lit up and she clasped her hands at her chest. "Has anyone special won the heart of my favorite nephew?"

"I thought he was dating Brittany," my cousin Antonia announced in a bored tone of voice, right before she snapped her gum loudly. "Or that influencer, Shay who slays."

I threw her a look that I hoped read, 'Who the fuck is that?' but she simply flipped around her phone screen. On it was a page of a pretty enough girl, with black hair, big brown eyes, and puffy lips. She applied lipstick in what looked like some makeup tutorial, then smacked her lips a few times.

"Oh!!" Maria cooed and gazed up at me. "Shayla, I like her. You'd make beautiful grandbabies, Jacob. Is that her?"

What the fuck?

"Aunt Maria," I warned her in a dry voice because enough of her eight kids had already produced enough offspring for the next Salvatore generation.

"He is her celebrity crush," my cousin Sofia added with a smirk, like that information added anything. "Did you DM slide, Jake?"

"Nah, Jake's into blondes," my cousin Tone-Tone chirped out from where stood back with his wife, Angelina, and their four young kids - AJ, Gia, and twins Marco and Isla. I wasn't at all surprised at the pregnant belly and tired face Angelina wore. "Aren't you, Jake?"

Every time I see them, I swear she's popped out another.

"Okay!" I lifted my hands up since I felt like the last corn kernel that an entire hen house pecked over. On my fingers, I counted off, "First, I'm no celebrity. Second, I have no idea who Slay is -"

"Shayla," Sofia corrected me with an implied 'duh' in her voice.

"Third..." I swatted Maria's hands off where they'd gone back to petting my hair. "Yes, my hair's longer. My girlfriend likes it -"

I snapped my mouth shut but the word had already slipped out.

Double fuck.

I obviously chose the wrong word because ear-splitting squeals erupted around me like a ruptured geyser. My hands hit my forehead and a groan vibrated my throat when questions pelted at me like rain in a hurricane.

"Chi!?" "Girlfriend!?" "Who?" "When?"

Aunt Stella peered around me, like I'd hidden a girl back there. "Jacob?"

Before I answered, I caught a glimmer in Mom's eyes, which drew the herd's attention to her. "It's Jake's business," was all she offered with a shoulder lift, which I appreciated.

"I need to see a picture!" Sofia snapped her gum, then blew a loud bubble..

"Oh yes," Aunt Maria smacked Sofia's bubble with her palm, then beamed up at me.

"Uhh..." One of my hands rubbed the back of my neck because last night I'd wiped my phone clean. Honestly though, almost all the pictures I had of Harper on my phone involved her raised middle finger. Mom's bright smile was absolutely no help when I admitted sheepishly, "You've already met -"

"Ellie's lesbian?" Aunt Stella coughed out the word..

"Ellie's friend," I corrected her.

Thanks for the reminder of why Ellie never brought Harper back for a holiday dinner.

"She was hot. Way to convert one over to team sausage," Anton snorted, then tossed me a thumbs up.

"She is not -" I started when a tug on the hair over my left ear brought my attention in that direction.

"It's... Harper?" Aunt Maria's mouth dropped open and her eyes blinked rapidly up at me. "Oh, please bring her home for Thanksgiving Jake. I liked her. Sharp tongue, giant... " Her hands cupped under her breasts. "Uhh, heart."

"I can't come back," I replied honestly and tried to push the mental image of Harper's breasts out of my mind.

Mom shot me a guilty look because, for the first time in four years, she wasn't coming to mine either. I threw her a tight smile back because I understood. She'd never complained but the solo travel trips had worn her down.

"Settle down everyone. He's at BYU on Black Friday," a calm, even-toned male voice parted the sea of feminine chirping. My Uncle Anthony extended a hand to me. "Great season so far, Jake."

"Thank you." I grinned, even with the sense of humility that washed over me as I shook his hand.

"Between the food comas, we'll be watching," he assured me. "Taped all your games like usual. You're moving a lot out of the pocket more, using your size finally. Unbelievable season, except for those damn Huskies that keep -"

"Alright!" Mom clapped her hands together loudly. "No dragging Ellie's boyfriend into this. We're all here for Jake."

"You got your tickets?" I jumped in on the subject change, because the last thing I wanted was a side-by-side comparison of me and Hightower from Uncle Anthony. He usually sung Hightower's praises but pointed out my room for improvements.

"First row, north end zone, right behind the goal posts so we can see all your touchdowns." Mom winked at Uncle Anthony, who'd scored them a lot better seats than the nosebleeds I'd offered.

"I'll try." I chuckled quietly because we rotated end zones each quarter and she knew that. With a quick scan around my family's faces, I added, "But seriously. Thanks for making it."

My words elicited a round of clasped hands and cooed out, "Awws."

Inside Spartan Stadium, I sure knew where my family sat. From their signs, USC jerseys, face paint, and loud cheers whenever my hands touched the ball, let alone executed a play or scored, the entire team knew. At one point they were put on television, to their absolute delight.

We gave them a lot to cheer about in what turned into a one-sided blowout that left me benched during the fourth quarter. While I felt like I'd been punished for good behavior, thankfully the embarrassing 'Go Jake!' cheers and 'That's my -' blood tie reminders on every damn play subsided, much to the dismay of my teammates. Our scoring continued, though mostly limited to field goals from Drake.

Deep into the fourth quarter, a cooler breeze blew around Spartan Stadium. Technically, it was named after a credit union bank but we always called it by its nickname.

We approached the end of the game, up 51-17, which had sent most of the stadium home early. The crowd had filtered until the quarter-filled seats were faithful Spartan fans, general football fans, USC supporters, or my crazy family's herd. I grinned like a fool at some number seven Santa Cruz High Cardinals jerseys I'd seen, like they supported their hometown boy.

"They're nuts," Griff remarked to me while my family, apparently bored without cheering for me, organized a fan wave... in a visitor's stadium. "And they look like a cult, or the mafia."

"We do look similar," I stated the obvious and closed my eyes when the USC fans around my family picked up the early wave ripples.

After four touchdown passes, two to Griff himself, I'd been turned into just as much a spectator as my family. After another touchdown halfway through the fourth quarter, my normal receivers had joined me on the bench, although the last thing I appreciated was Griff's side commentary.

He proved me right with a side eye look and smirk. "Always thought your sister was cute. Got any single cousins?"

Griff's words snapped my head down from the stands and I glared at him. "Griff."

While Ellie's business was her own, obviously she was taken.

By a guy who said he wanted to marry her, but guess not yet.

Not that I'd have ever set Ellie up with one of my teammates, the smirks Griff shot me between water sips showed off his teasing. "Only hotter sister is Evan's."

"The fuck, Griff?" Evan scoffed from where he sat on the other side of Drake.

"It's true." Griff lifted his shoulders. "Just ask Drake."

At that announcement, Drake's head lifted from where he stared out on the field, and turned in our direction

Interesting.

"You got another crush?" I teased him, although internally I really hoped that he did.

"She doesn't know I'm alive," he mumbled a familiar sentiment, at least from him.

"Bro." Griff palmed a hand on Drake's shoulder. "Gotta be more than one in twelve million followers."

"Hold up." I looked at Drake over Griff's matted down brown hair. "Twelve million?"

Fuck, I only have two and most are USC alum.

Hightower actually had more followers, not that I'd noticed. Even Ellie had fourteen thousand, on a cooking blog of all sites.

Drake nodded silently and I shook my head with a quiet grunt. "That doesn't mean shit. Followers -"

I stopped at the sullen look on his face, with his eyes shifted down to the turf in between his feet and mouth corners turned down.

"Slide into those DMs, bro." Evan leaned forward and offered his useless input. "Just not my sister's."

"Says the guy who facetimed and spanked one out while I was in the shower," Griff mumbled just another reason why I was glad I roomed with Drake on the road.

"I... never mind." Even in the night air, Drake's cheeks turned pink, a sign that I knew the subject needed to be dropped sooner than later.

"Drake!" Relief and appreciation filled London's eyes when Coach Jenks, the special teams coach, trotted over. "Ball ain't gonna kick itself!"

"Thanks Jake," Drake muttered at me and stood up.

"I got your back," I assured him, although the skeptical look he shot me looked more like he hoped I did.