Amalia was shuffling books in and out of her locker. I called out to her and she peered over her shoulder. Moving through the students towards her, I stopped once for a teacher who told me to cover up the tattoo on my arm.

I had my sleeves rolled to the elbows because it was eight in the morning and the heat was too much to handle. I told her I would and continued on with no intention of doing what she asked.

When I reached Amalia, I leaned against the locker and smiled down at her. Her hair was down this morning, falling in lustrous waves that reached her lower back. The school blouse pulled tight around her chest, I could see the lace pattern of a white bra and I had to keep eyes up or I'd be fighting a boner.

"About yesterday," I began. "That was—"

"Max?" She said and closed her locker. "It's fine. I figured that out eventually. I walked off thinking you were kind of an asshole until it clicked."

I laughed and slipped my hands into my pockets. "I do want to see the sketches."

She didn't answer. She was staring at me with a slight pinch in her forehead and a smile on those full gorgeous lips.

"What?" I asked.

She lifted her hand and traced her finger along the hairline of my forehead. "You have like, almost blonde highlights through here. Max doesn't," she dropped her hand. "That's how I can tell you apart."

My stomach did something fucking weird. I laughed and tousled my hair. "Yeah there's that. It won't take long though. Despite the fact that we're identical, I got the better jaw and muscle definition."

"If you do say so yourself," she grinned.

I winked and leaned off the lockers. "So, do I get to see the sketches?"

"No."

"Huh?"

She laughed, clutching her books to her chest as the bell rang. "I was going to show you a few different ones. But then last night I came up with the perfect idea. It's not quite done though. I have art class before lunch so I should be able to finish it. I'll see you on the field?"

She began to walk backwards, waiting for me to answer her. I quickly nodded. "Yeah."

She turned around and disappeared down the corridor. I realized I'd been standing there staring after her like a brainless dipshit when Shane appeared beside me.

"Summer camp 2.0?" He said with a smug smile, watching after where Amalia had just been.

I swung out and punched him in the throat hard enough that he began spluttering and behaving like he was on his fucking death bed.

"Dumb fuck," I muttered as I walked down the hall.

"Fuck me," I snapped when a football smashed me straight in the side of the head. "Who the fuc—"

Coach gave me a sarcastic smile when I glanced over the field and found most of the team staring at me with amusement.

"I know you have an international star and coach at home, Lahey," he shouted, pointing at the drills on the field. "But quit staring at the softball girls and do some damn practice please."

"Girl," I corrected. "Singular not plural."

"Well at least there's no concern about your English grades," he shook his head with exasperation and turned around to proceed his conversation with Shane who had a nice bright welt on his throat.

I scoffed and pulled my t-shirt off, letting the sun hit me in it's full cloudless force. He made it sound simple. Like not watching Amalia bat the fuck out of those softballs was a breeze. But her form, her frame, her strength. It was too mesmerizing. I didn't want to miss a minute of it.

Flynn was doing suicide runs like psychopath. Kid barely broke a sweat. I wandered over to the cones to begin some quick toss when a pissed off red head appeared in front of me with her arms folded and her brow raised.

"What's up fire crotch?"

Reece glared. "I want the bra back."

I stared down at my chest. "Must have forgotten to wear it this morning."

"Damn it, Lucas," she screeched. "I left it in your room. I want it back. It's Victoria's Secret and it was expensive."

"Well, I would tell Victoria not to be so trusting."

"That doesn't make fucking sense."

"I agree. There is nothing secret about those," I pointed at her chest. "You should start wearing bras labelled 'Miranda Sings'. You know, loud and in your face."

"You're so fucking lame, asshole," she got up close and started shoving me in the chest. "This isn't some attempt to have a conversation. I want the bra back."

"I haven't seen the fucking bra. Damn, piss off."

She didn't. She kept shoving me with her cold witch hands while she harped on. The team were watching. I stood there and took each shove with a bored glare, she didn't make a lot of progress though. Frail little thing. Amalia could throw me across this field. Bet.

"This is quite a tantrum for a bra."

"You fuc—"

Her sentence was cut off as a softball came the fuck out of nowhere and smacked her in the side of the head. I watched with bewilderment as she went down like a sack of sand and clutched her temple, wailing so damn loud.

The noise was enough to attract a lot of attention. But it was only a handful of the boys that came over to see what had happened. I stood there and watched her act as if she was being branded with an iron.

"What the hell happened here," coach pushed through Flynn and Max who stood side by side and stared at me for an answer. I shrugged as coach knelt down and helped her sit up. "You alright sweetheart? You have to be careful out here. There's balls flying everywhere."

"What else would she come for," I laughed, ignoring the disapproving glare he gave me.

When I heard the sound of someone running up behind me, I peered over my shoulder and found Amalia slowing to a jog. There was an amusement in her expression that she was attempting to hide but I caught it before she could wipe it from her features.

She held a bat in her hand and stared down at Reece with an apologetic wince. "Sorry. Bad pitch. You alright?"

"It was on fucking purpose," Reece snapped in between her sniffles. It wasn't that hard.

Coach pulled her to her feet and looked at Amalia and I. "Are you two going to take her to the nurse?"

"Na," I folded my arms. "She'll live. Walk it off girl. You've had bigger balls in your face before. I was there."

"Lucas," Max sighed, holding her shoulders. "I'll take her."

"That was hot," I told Amalia once Reece was gone and the team returned to their drills. What was with coming to the rescue?" I leaned against the bleachers and moved a little closer to the petite brunette.

"I couldn't concentrate with all of the noise she was making," she shrugged. "Besides, you weren't doing a lot to help yourself."

I laughed, it wasn't as if I was going to put hands on a girl. "So, do I get to see those sketches now?"

"Sketch," she grinned. "Singular. Not plural."

I met her knowing smile. "Damn. You pay special attention to me or something?"

"When you're running around like that, I do," she gestured at my torso and I was stunned at how bold she was.

Dad told us all the time how bold Mom was when the two of them were teenagers. He said it was the reason he fell in love with her. He said it in that tone of his. The one that takes him from middle aged Father to wise old man. He said that a bold woman was one worth keeping. She would tell it like it was. She wouldn't leave you guessing and she would keep you in line.

Which in theory, sounded kind of shit - almost controlling. But apparently a real man can admit that there's often times when we need to be told that a bad idea is a bad idea. And if we can't fess up and be honest about the fact that most women develop a hell of a lot faster than men and are essentially better at forward thinking, then we didn't deserve the love of a bold woman. And that, Lucas, is a loss that will leave you with a string of unstable, game playing airheads. His words. Not mine. But I could see his point.

Amalia seemed bold to me. She seemed like a girl that wouldn't tolerate games or bullshit. Which is why I had to play my cards right.

She went and retrieved her sketch pad from her bag. "Alright," she blew a strand of hair out of her face as she came and stood beside me. Her bare arm brushed mine and an erratic thumping pushed my heart into overdrive. "This is just a rough sketch. Like, I think a tattoo artist could do it better but—"

"Just show me the drawing," I gently nudged her side, anxious to see what she'd come up with.

Tattoos technically weren't permitted at school but coach - a huge fan of Dad's - was the only authority when we were out on the field and I wasn't the only member who had ink.

Shane Porter - the biggest douchebag on our team - had a wolf on the inside of his bicep. Leo Kane - our quarterback - had a portrait of his grandfather on the side of his ribs. Even Michael Irving who spent Sunday's at mass and had a mother who turned red at the mention of a curse word or mild sexual humor, had a tattoo. The small scrawl of his ex girlfriends name under his left pec was regretful. But Michael turned lemons into lemonade by telling all of his potential one nighters that it was the name of his dead dog.

Amalia flipped open the sketch pad and I was immediately floored. First, at the level of skill in what she described as a rough draft. And second, at how sentimental it was. The sketch was three footballs. The footballs were arranged in a triangle, the edges overlapping in an interlocking pattern and on each of the footballs were the names of Abby, Max and I. It was subtle and well done. It wasn't tacky either. It was—

"Perfect," I took the sketch pad from her. "This is— this is fucking cool. I wasn't expecting this at all."

"Really?" She smiled, tip toeing so that she could peer at the paper with me. "You have to be honest because I don't think I could handle the burden of you looking at this in twenty years and regretting it—"

"Naaa—" I interrupted. "This is so good. I honestly thought I would end up getting something embarrassing. I dunno, a trashy butterfly or a penis."

She almost choked on her laughter. "Your mind is a bit strange," she shook her head. "I could probably do that. Like both. A man butterfly. Naked."

"Oh, I'm the one with a weird mind?"

She laughed.

I closed the sketch pad and handed it back. "Hold on to that for safe keeping. You'll come with me right?"

"When you get the tattoo?"

"Yeah."

She seemed enamored with the idea as she tucked her loose curls behind her ear and nodded. "Sure. When and where?"

"I'll book it and let you know," I said, swiping at my brow. The sun was harsh. Unsurprising for summer in Texas but we were supposed to be out of the worst of our heat waves.

I thanked Amalia for the drawing and we exchanged numbers so I could let her know when the tattoo was booked. It was a good excuse to request her digits. In truth, I just wanted to have the means to contact her whenever I felt like it.

At home, when I was lounging next to the pool, I was tempted to ask her for some photos. The thought appealed to me a lot. Instead, I text her and let her know the tattoo was booked for Sunday. Tyler agreed to see me on short notice because I'm a high profile client and dad and I pay well.

Amalia seemed excited and I found myself smiling at her quick responses. She asked what I was doing and when I told her I was poolside, she sent back a tearful emoji and let me know she was jealous.

Naturally I told her she should join me and I thought about how good she would look in a bikini. That was where the desire to ask for some sly snaps came from.

Could I?

I'd done it before. But when Abby found out, she flipped. She gave me a long list of reasons for how objective and disgusting I was. If girls wanted to send the photos, they would. I shouldn't ask. Of course, I'd argued how would they know I was okay with receiving them if I didn't ask.

Needless to say that Mom got involved and then Dad did and the entire fucking house weighed in their opinion.

In the end, Abby got her point across. I think. I shouldn't use girls for nude photos. Was it using them if I cared and wanted more than just a picture? Ugh. Yeah. Amalia wasn't like that. Well, I didn't think so. I didn't want to ask. She might think I'm a total perv. Or she might send one. . .

I didn't get the chance to deliberate much longer because a shadow cast over me, hiding the sun and offering a brief, mild break from the sweltering heat I was subjecting myself to.

Mom stood beside the pool chair with her sun hat on and a sundress that seemed too short for her age. Mom was a beautiful woman though. She'd aged well and Dad was still sickeningly obsessed with his wife of eighteen years so she must have been doing something right.

"How's it going," she slapped my bare legs to move me over and I made room for her to sit beside me. "How's the first week of senior year going?"

"Uh good I suppose," I nodded and noticed Abby and Mills were over on the other side of the pool in their bikinis.

The sun reflected from Milly's pale skin. She could blind someone and I hoped she was lathered up with SPF fucking albino because her skin turned beet red like it was nothing. I'd seen her sunburned before and it was not a good time. She ended up in a hell of a lot of pain.

I let my eyes wander down and rest on her chest. There was no denying it, she has a great rack. I indulged in staring for a moment or two until Mom started snapping her fingers in front of me, drawing my attention back to her.

"Stop it," she poked me in the fucking eyeball.

"Mom!"

"I know that look. Your father wears the same one."

"He doesn't stare at other women," I scoffed. One of his favorite past times was boasting about his wife.

"I know that," she said. "That's how he looks at me."

"Gross."

"Anyway," she smiled, attempting to hide the exasperation in her expression. "The season starts soon. Feeling confident?"

"Yeah, course."

"How about Max? How's he feeling?"

I narrowed my gaze at her. "Why don't you ask him?"

Her shoulders fell and she pouted. "Come on. Tell me? I know something's bothering him and he won't tell me."

"Can't Mom," I threw my hand behind my head and closed my eyes. I knew Max was struggling with his decision between football and debate but it wasn't up to me to spill the beans. "Go and offer him the weekend in New York with Kyla or something. He can take the jet."

"Bribe him?" Mom scoffed. I could imagine she was shaking her head as if the idea was outrageous. She continued making disapproving throat noises and muttering objections. But a few moments later, we could hear Dad hollering in the kitchen to let us all know he was home.

Mom stood up, her flip flops slapped the concrete as she headed for the French doors. "Baby, can Max use the jet this weekend?"

"Luc."

I peered up and saw Abby standing beside me. Her enormous glasses swallowed half of her face and she looked as though she belonged on Pinterest next to a generic quote about the universe.

"What's up? I kept my promise. I didn't bother your precious boyfriend today. So what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Believe it or not, I do enjoy talking to you."

"Not. I do not believe it."

"I do! I just get worked up sometimes because you don't trust me to look after myself."

"I do trust you," I smiled. "I just trust me better."

"Okay fine," she took a deep breath and I felt my brows furrow when she didn't react. She must have wanted something. "Are you going to Ingrid's this weekend?"

Ingrid Marin was on the cheerleading squad. She was friends with Abby. She was a good looking girl. Or so her status would indicate.

Her lips would put Kylie Jenner to shame, her eyes were so enormous and round that it was borderline terrifying but if big doll like features were your thing, then she was the go to girl.

Her Mom and Dad split a while back. Their divorce was public and nasty due to the fact that her Mom worked for ESPN and her Dad was a big shot lawyer for most of the entertainment celebrities in Dallas.

Ingrid used the guilt over such a public airing of their family's dirty laundry to her advantage. She could host enormous parties. Drink until the sun came up. Spend hundreds of dollars on daddy's credit card and get caught with the pool boy and her parents didn't say a word about it.

She's also one of the nicest funniest people I know.

"Yeah of course I'm going," I lied. I hadn't heard about the party but I wasn't going to tell her that. "How come?"

"I want to go. And I'm going to go. But I don't want to cause a scene when we bump into each other there. So I'm telling you now that I'm going. And you're going to be cool with that, right?"

I chuckled at her attitude. I'd prefer she was where I could watch her. "Yeah of course. If Max doesn't go to New York, he can drive."

"And if he does?"

I sighed and shrugged. "Then I will. By the way, is Mills wearing sunscreen? She burns bad."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Yeah, she is. Good attempt at offering to lather her up though."

I feigned disappointment and let her think that was the motive behind my concern.