"Pushing it, Harrison," a gruff voice observed from behind me.

The background rock music beats, clanged weights, grunts, and self pep talks faded around me as my attention focused inwards. A hot tension rushed through my legs, clenched tightly in my quadriceps and calves as I ground my heels and sank my glutes down. Beads of sweat dribbled down my forehead like my head had sprung a leak. They tickled as they tipped over my nose and upper lip but I ignored them and pounded out another round of squats.

"You've gotten stronger..." Tim Harrell's thin-lipped grimace popped up into my view. His gray eyebrows drew together and the overhead lights highlighted his bald head as it shook slightly. "Or something's pissing you off because this is supposed to be a recovery day."

"Needed... a release," I grunted out and tightened my hand grip around the metal bar that now cut into my trapezius, the meaty muscle that joined my neck and shoulders. Gravity and the two hundred pounds of weight that sat on each end of the bar weren't my friends at the moment and my knees strained under the pressure but I just gritted my teeth and pushed harder.

"Let's see," he chuckled and cupped his gray goatee-covered chin in one palm while I groaned through another twenty squats. "Can't be for the Colorado game."

My only answer was another grunt as I lifted the bar overhead, rotated my wrists, and slid it down my chest. Every intrinsic posterior chain muscle screamed at me as I slowly hinged over, and despite the almost instant sagged relief I felt when I dropped the bar, my ego ratched up a notch at my continued upwards progress.

Last year's season, my third, couldn't have been scripted better. After the starter I'd backed up my first two years went into the NFL draft, I'd easily won the starting quarterback position in camp and moved forwards since. We won the PAC-12 Southern Division Championship, the PAC-12 Championship notably over Logan's UW Huskies, and then the National Championship in the Rose Bowl.

My first two years on the team, I patiently served mop-up duty whenever needed in blown out games. Last year, my third year, I won the starting quarterback position in camp, we tore up the PAC-12 Southern Division, and won the NCAA Championship game in the Rose Bowl.

That was last year though. Pressure this year under everyone's expectations is even greater.

I set personal bests in my quarterback stats and lined up a challenge that I not only repeated last season's success but also elevated my performance even higher. But I'd trained all summer for this season and my entire body practically twitched at the idea our season opener game was in five days.

"You know the punishment. Ten minutes ice, shower, film study wants you in thirty." Tim jerked one of his thumbs over his shoulder, past the industrial-designed white walls, exposed ductwork, and black rectangular-patterned floor with red squares inset with the intersected yellow S and C letters. The trainers' room was located down an invisible hallway between the weight racks and at the end of a yellow ladder-like pattern painted on the floor.

Ten minutes after I cleaned and racked my weights, shock pierced into my skin as I submerged myself into Tim's diagnosed ice bath. I sucked in a deep breath since my skin felt like it had been burned until the cold numbness quickly took over. My muscles clenched and tightened but I steadied my breath and lowered myself down to a seated position until the water chilled over my shoulders.

Fuck, this never feels good.

Self-reflection was a bitch during ice baths because my mind searched for any distraction from the needle-like pricks of the water into my skin, the heaviness that sank into my muscles, and the ache that came from the cold.

Tim, our team trainer, wasn't wrong. He wasn't the only one who'd noticed that I worked out harder than normal today but was right in that my extra efforts weren't for physical gain. Just like when Evan and Zach chirped in my ear earlier about pent-up frustrations, I ignored the unwanted commentary on my headspace, which had been nothing but fucked up since Ellie told me Harper was here.

Technically she's not here but damn close enough.

I was more pissed at myself how I'd responded like a lovesick teenager again and spammed her phone until she blocked my number. A quick look down at my screen showed a completely one-sided, borderline desperate, conversation.

me: Hi firecracker.
me: Next weekend, party at USC football house after our home opener, need your ass there.

When I texted her, I thought I was being nice, even offered her game tickets, but she blocked my number without even an insult.

Guess that's her first move.

I knew Harper better than anyone else, definitely more than she was comfortable with or ever admitted. She hated ambushed surprises and unwanted public attention drawn towards herself, so I made damned sure my next move involved both.

A quick glance through my phone brought up a couple of welcomed distractions. My eyes rolled at a few solicitations from previous hookups who wanted another round even though Brit and I weren't broken up. I quickly blocked the numbers then deleted the messages.

Hard pass.

Thankfully, my missed Sunday night call resulted in a follow up message.

Mom: I know you'll turn off your phone on Thursday so best of luck in game 1! So proud and will see you next week. ❤️

I pressed the call button and a few rings later, one of the two women in my life who loved me unconditionally, even when I hadn't deserved it, answered, "Hey Jake."

My head tipped back until it rested on the tub's cold metal rim. "Hi Ma. Just got your message thanks."

"Sorry, I can't talk long," she replied in a distant, distracted voice. Rustling and banging sounds meant she was in the kitchen. "Maria and I are up to our elbows for a dinner party order tonight."

"It's fine," I replied quickly as a slight tremble quivered my spine. "I've got film study in about fifteen minutes, figured I'd call beforehand."

"Did you talk to Ellie?"

Tension pinched between my eyebrows at her odd question, which I threw back at her, "Did you talk to Ellie?"

"A little," she admitted before the loud sounds of a blender buzzed into my ear and swallowed up the rest of her answer.

A line of goosebumps ran up my spine and spread over my shoulders and my toes numbed while I waited for Mom to finish. Once she did, I pressed, "Just tell me, Mom."

"She might have mentioned Harper is in your vicinity."

"Of course she did," I muttered and shook my head a few times as the numbness in my toes spread upwards into the soles of my feet. "Are you going to pry into my business too?"

"Just wanted to know if she's joining us for dinner next Saturday," Mom chirped back right away.

Subtle wasn't in my mother's vocabulary and she made no attempts to hide whatever lovefest she had with Harper when she added, "That way I can look forward to dinner and entertainment."

"Since she's not speaking to me, Mom," my voice cracked as my lower lip trembled slightly. "So I doubt you'll see her next week."

My Aunt Maria's voice shouted out in a muffled, background sound, "And who's fault is that?"

"Don't both of you start," I warned her.

Mom had never kept her opinions about Harper to herself, my sunt either, and now apparently wasn't the time for censorship. "I like how that one doesn't put up with your bullshit, Jacob."

"Right. Thanks, Aunt Maria," I grunted. "Mom, I'll see you next week."

"I'll be following the Colorado game from here. Call me tonight but I probably won't answer if we're still wrapping up the event," Mom spoke up, then we said our goodbyes.

At the silence that filled the space around me, I glanced down at my phone and rolled my lips inward.

Great, now Mom is on Ellie's side.

A loud groan left my lips at the sweet relief a hot shower provided me. The rivers of hot water loosened and lightly massaged my aching muscles, since I'd done an all-body workout and not just legs today. After I toweled off and dressed casually, I grabbed my bag filled with sweat-soaked clothes and joined the offensive team in film study.

Our near military-regimented schedule during the season offered both structure and no room for deviation in our lives. We practiced every day six days a week, which included light warmups the morning of game days. Weight sessions were five days a week, morning or evening depending on a guy's class schedule, with a different focus between upper, lower, and all-body that rotated, conditioning drills three days a week, two-hour practices Mondays through Fridays, and film study every Friday and Sunday evenings.

"That was rough," Evan complained as he, Griff, Zach, and I walked back to the house. The emptier sidewalks as we left the practice field.

"Emily's coming over after dinner," Zach's casual admission about his sister drew all of our attention. At my raised eyebrows, he just shrugged. "What? She was there Friday with Sophia."

Sophia was Zach's long-term girlfriend but Zach was entirely clueless at how London was absolutely in love with Zach's younger sister Emily. Normally quiet but sarcastic, Drake turned into a speechless fangirl whenever Emily was around. Sophia definitely knew, which was why I assumed she dragged Emily over for so many dinners and movie nights.

While girls passed in and out of our house daily, our parties were only held Saturday nights after home games. In addition to team-only Sunday night dinners, we had a tradition on Friday nights where guys brought their girlfriends or whatever flavor of the week for a house movie night. Horrified was an understatement at how loudly Brit squealed at the idea she snuggled up against me like a side piece because, if she was anywhere in our house then I wanted her all to myself in my bed.

Or, I did.

"I'm definitely chillin' tonight," Evan announced. "Drake's got a new prototype he said I can try out."

The most introverted guy on the team, Drake was probably also the smartest. As a computer science major, he also had a side job where he tested out video games for small companies, a perk more guys than just Evan took advantage of.

"No girls tonight?" I teased him.

"Last night's slept over," he groaned quietly. "She was a wild one though, too much fucking teeth though. Thought she was going to bite my cock off at one point."

Zach just shook his head at Evan's bragging but my mind went in a different direction.

While I'd certainly gotten a lot, and I meant a lot, of blowjobs here at USC, most girls had been pretty terrible. They almost always tried too hard, rushed too fast, a few went for ball grabs but definitely none of them used their teeth.

Except just one... and when done right, fuck it's the best.

My cock swelled slightly as the mental image of it sucked in between Harper's lips came into my mind. She gave the slowest, most detailed blow jobs I'd ever received, her fingers, lips, tongue, and lightly grazed teeth covered every inch from my tip down past my base. During the last one, she'd shamelessly slurped my balls into her hot, wet mouth, teased her tongue further down into the tight skin -

"I think you'll live," I cut off my own dirty thoughts and replied dryly to Evan. "Even if you never pay attention in film."

Personally, I liked film study. Games were often one in the trenches, where the details mattered. Knowing the habits and instincts of defenders prepped me better so I beat them. I'd never had an experience where the time and effort in film study, memorizing defensive schemes and how to break them down, hadn't paid off on the field.

While I definitely met my academic scholarship requirements and worked hard in my classes towards a Sports Management major, I took playing football at USC more seriously than I took my classwork.

My chest filled with pride every time I slipped that cardinal red and gold uniform on, each step my cleats took onto the Colosseum's field, every rep I snapped in practice, and for every fan that cheered during the games. I welcomed the pressure that uniform brought with it but honestly every game was my childhood dream come true and I never took a single second for granted. The other guys probably had more relaxed approaches but they also hadn't been as close to losing this dream as I had.

"True, that's why I have you Jake. I just have to catch the damn ball," Evan joked, ran his fingers through his short blonde hair, and pulled out his phone. With a slight head shake at his screen, he added, "Damn."

"Don't fucking show me that video again," I warned him about the 'mystery girl throws tomatoes at Jake Harrison's billboard' video that the entire offensive team had a good laugh when Drake put it up on our film screen.

Like every time I'd seen the video, which thankfully was taken down but not before it had been shared many, many times on my social media, I laughed it off. I deleted all the references to it as they flowed in, which included the incessant 'who is she?' questions, but knew exactly who Harper was without her turning around. Her sarcastic grunt each time she threw a tomato at my face only widened my grin.

Definitely in a league of her own.

"Not that..." Evan's eyes nearly rolled out of his head as he gawked down at his screen. "Fuck, definitely not... that."

"Don't want to know," Zach muttered my same sentiments.

"This one's definitely worth a look." Evan flashed him, then me a topless picture of a busty girl whose light blonde hair framed around her bare breasts. "Shouldn't have forgotten these already, Jake."

"Fuck, Evan..." I frowned at the photo, then flicked my thumb so it scrolled up. My jaw unhinged when I recognized my supposed girlfriend Brittany's face. An internal switch flipped inside me and I gnashed my teeth and zoomed out the photo.

Sure enough, Brit knelt on a bed, topless, dressed in just a tiny pair of skin-tight white shorts and her breasts on full display. Her lips were parted seductively with one index finger pinned against her lower lip, chin tipped downward, and definitely 'fuck me' expression in her eyes.

"How the fuck did you get this!?" I practically broke his phone in half with how tightly my hand clenched around it.

"Playboy's college edition, bro," he casually shrugged and pulled his phone back. "Take it she didn't tell you? There's a small bio... Fuck Jake, you're dating a Playboy model."

Shockingly, I wasn't as excited about Evan's proclamation as I probably should've been. In a moment of self-preservation, I growled in a low voice, "Tell me it doesn't mention USC."

A few silent moments later, thankfully Evan shook his head. "No USC, just that she's at UCLA. Doesn't even mention you, lucky man."

Lucky that my girlfriend just bared her breasts nationally?

My phone was up at my ear before we'd crossed Jefferson Street back to our house. The early evening sun set behind us, which cast deep shadows from our tall frames onto the sidewalk in front of us. As a slow burn of anger rose inside me, I wasted no time and called Brit.

Her girly voice greeted me on the second ring, "Hi Babes!"

My nose and eyebrows scrunched together at that pathetic nickname and I got right to the point, "Brit, the fuck are you posing in Playboy for?"

"Ohhh..." She gasped quietly. "I was hoping to surprise you, they sent me a full-sized poster. I got it framed -"

While parts of me definitely appreciated that effort, the idea other guys jacked off to my girlfriend's breasts settled uncomfortably in me. I probably wouldn't have minded as much if she'd told me but the cracks in this so-called relationship were earthquake-sized and I was done.

Beyond done.

"Brit, listen. I don't think -" I started when she squealed loudly. Muffled girl voices erupted in more background squeals and I assumed her roommates came into the conversation.

"I gotta go," she rushed out. "We're celebrating tonight at Palomino's. Wanna join us?"

"No." I always turned down Brit's invitation for her favorite wine bar, especially with her roommates and especially especially at what I needed to tell her. "Brit, we -"

Her faint, muffled laugh told me she'd pulled the phone away and I ran my free hand through my hair, then gripped a few strands at the nape of my neck.

After a few more muffled sounds, her faint voice cried out, "Whatever it is, come see me tomorrow, 'kay Babes?"

"Brit, no I -" I started again when a dial tone buzzed into my ear.

A string of curse words erupted from my mouth as I turned off my phone. Thankfully, the guys had enough sense that they avoided any questions, although my reaction probably gave away enough gossip details without saying any of them. Zach offered one sympathetic hand slap on my shoulder as I shook my head.

Unbelievable.

After an unusually quiet dinner with more silverware clattered against plates than shared conversations, I quickly excused myself, washed my dishes, and headed upstairs. Since I'd already gotten ready for the first day of class tomorrow, I fell into my other Sunday night routine, called Mom, then called Ellie.

Mom's call went to voicemail, which I'd expected since she'd just told me she worked a catering job tonight with my Aunt Maria, but I still left her a message. Personally, I thought Mom was insane for the late career switch but Uncle Anthony's business connections in Palo Alto meant she and Aunt Maria had no shortage of parties they catered.

Ellie's soft voice greeted me right away though, which pulled a smile on my face. "Hey! How are you Jake?"

"Alright," I muttered, locked my door, then sank down on my bed.

"That sounds convincing," she teased.

"I'm breaking up with Brit," I grunted out and laid back against my pillows.

"Oh... that one's umm..." Ellie's voice sounded completely flat but I knew she suppressed her inner approval at that decision. "Still around."

While Ellie mentioned she was happy I'd found a stable relationship, she only knew Brit through one glance at her social media pages. My younger sister wanted nothing to do with the spotlight side of football and, by how I imagined by the end of tonight, Brit put at least a Playboy announcement up on her wall, they could not have been more different there.

A twinge of guilt twisted in my gut at the slight strain in Ellie's voice when she asked, "Did something happen?"

"No." I stretched my legs out long and kicked off my shoes. "Should've never gotten into that mess in the first place."

"Not that you ever listen to me but I think that's for the best." Her voice paused on the subject I already knew she wanted to ask me about. "So..."

"Yes, I contacted Harper," I filled in with a sigh.

"You're still breathing," Ellie deadpanned. "So?"

My earlier annoyance flared back up inside me. "Blocked my number."

"Of course she did," Ellie muttered a low curse word, followed by a quiet sigh on her end. "What did you say to her?"

"I'm offended," I teased her and grinned, although she couldn't see me. "I can be charming sometimes."

"It's not you I'm concerned about," Ellie's serious tone grabbed my attention. "Harper's... I'm really worried about her, Jake."

"She's an adult, Ellie, capable of making her own decisions," I replied in the understatement of the century. "You know better than anyone she does whatever the fuck she wants."

"She's making some really bad decisions though." The amount of concern that flowed out of Ellie's voice filled my left ear. "She's... hooking up with random one-nighters, she doesn't even remember their names, Jake."

Not surprised but fuck, now that rejection really stings.

My wounded ego took the conversation in a slightly different direction and my voice sounded a lot more irritated than I was comfortable with, "Why should I care, Ellie? I tried, she made it perfectly clear she wants nothing to do with me."

"Are you sure you're ready to hear this?" Ellie asked in a quiet but firm voice.

My sister had always been and would forever be quiet and introverted but she was also one of the smartest and most insightful, if not the most insightful, people I knew. The fact she allowed me to consider whether I was ready to hear what she really wanted to say paused my response for a few moments. My thumb absently stroked over the stubble on my right jawline.

Ellie only says that when she's worried I won't like what she has to say.

"Spit it out, Ellie," I finally responded.

"Fine..." My ear buzzed as she exhaled sharply, then paused while I mentally pictured she gathered her thoughts, another Ellie habit I didn't possess. "I hoped the two of you could get past your stupid, argumentative ways. On a different level, I wished you could apologize to her, she could -"

"Me apologize?" I interrupted as my entire face tensed in a frown.

"For the shit you know you've put her through," Ellie shot back. "Take some fucking responsibility for your actions and how they've possibly hurt people, Jake. She might surprise you."

"Ellie..." My free hand's palm rubbed over my forehead. "She... hates me."

"Just apologize to her," Ellie spoke quietly, without an inflection like she asked or requested I considered her suggestion, but more indicated that was what I needed to do.

Fuck, I hate when she does that.

I sat back and considered her words. My hand raked through my hair a few times although the movement hadn't gathered my thoughts. In a rare moment of indecision, I'd come to the same conclusion last night before Harper blocked me and my ego took another hit when I realized, like usual, Ellie was right.

My chest expanded with a slow, deep breath, then I relented, "Fine, I'll track her down."

"Good," she replied simply. "Do the right thing, Jake."

A slight pinch bit into the bridge of my nose as I rubbed it tightly between my thumb and index finger. "I hate when you're right, know that?"

"Yep." She giggled softly. "But you love me for it too. I've gotta go get started studying but thanks for calling. Have a good first week and good luck in Colorado."

Only Ellie studies the night before classes start.

After we said our goodbyes, I glanced down at my phone for a moment. My thumb pulled up my texts, where I scrolled down and opened my history with Harper. It looked pathetically one-sided at the end but I tapped on her picture until it filled up my screen.

"Drake!" I yelled out my best option for tracking down anyone local. By the time I swung my feet off my bed and opened my bedroom door, his head stuck outside of his cracked open door.

"I need a favor," I stated, not asked him. Once his brown-haired head pulled back into his room, I caught sight of Griff and Grant seated in his guest chairs, their mouths slightly parted and eyes glued on the video game that blared on Drake's television.

Drake rotated his USC cap backwards, smirked knowingly at me, and sat down at the open laptop on his desk. "Can't lock down Playboy's site, sorry Jake."

"Not that," I growled quietly and handed my phone over to him. With one hand slapped on Griff's shoulder, I added, "You guys are helping too. In fact, we're all going. Tomorrow."

My declaration was met with three frowns. "Going where?"

"UCLA."