LOGINMaya
I should leave. That thought had been repeating in my head for the last five minutes. A perfectly reasonable thought. A smart thought. The kind of thought responsible college students listened to. Unfortunately, my body seemed completely uninterested in cooperating. Because despite every logical argument my brain was making, I was still standing in the middle of a crowded football house staring at Cole Ryder. And somehow he was staring right back. The music pulsed through the walls. People laughed nearby. Someone dropped something in the kitchen. The entire party continued around us. Yet all I could focus on was the guy standing three feet away. Which was irritating. Deeply irritating. Because this was Cole Ryder. The football captain. The pizza thief. The human embodiment of every bad decision a woman could make. And somehow he kept making me forget basic things. Like breathing. Or forming complete sentences. Or leaving. “I should go.” The words finally escaped. Cole nodded immediately. “Okay.” I narrowed my eyes. “Okay?” “Okay.” Something about his agreement annoyed me. Which made absolutely no sense. “You don’t seem very upset about that.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “There it is.” “There what is?” “The real reason you haven’t left yet.” I folded my arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure.” His grin widened. I hated that grin. Mostly because it made me want to smile back. “I do have somewhere else to be.” “Mhm.” “I do.” “Maya.” “What?” “When you’re lying, your nose wrinkles.” I immediately touched my nose. Cole laughed. A real laugh. Not the confident football-player smile. An actual laugh. The jerk. “You just proved my point.” “I hate you.” “No, you don’t.” The answer came far too quickly. His expression shifted the second he said it. Not regret. More like surprise. Like he’d spoken before thinking. For the first time all night, Cole Ryder looked slightly off balance. And oddly enough? I liked that. A lot. “You’re awfully confident,” I said. “Usually.” “Usually?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The movement looked strangely nervous. “I was having a better night before you showed up.” I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected. Not even a little. “You were?” “Yep.” “Why?” He looked at me. Really looked at me. Then he sighed. “You ask a lot of questions.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only answer you’re getting.” I rolled my eyes. “Typical.” “Sweetheart, you came to my house specifically to mess with me.” “Technically, that was Bree’s idea.” “But you came.” “I was peer pressured.” “You walked in looking like that.” My stomach immediately betrayed me. “Looking like what?” His gaze drifted over me. Not in a creepy way. Not even in a cocky way. More like he genuinely couldn’t help it. “Like trouble.” Heat rushed into my cheeks. I hated how much I liked hearing that. The worst part? He noticed. Of course he noticed. His grin returned instantly. “There she is.” “Stop.” “What?” “Whatever you’re doing.” “I’m standing.” “You know exactly what you’re doing.” His laugh was softer this time. “I honestly don’t.” That should have sounded arrogant. Instead, it sounded honest. Which was somehow worse. The noise of the party faded into the background again. Not completely. Just enough. Enough for me to notice how close he was. Enough for me to notice the way his attention never seemed to wander. Enough for me to realize I wasn’t thinking about my essay anymore. Or my pizza. Or leaving. And that realization should have alarmed me. Instead, it made my pulse speed up. Which was definitely alarming. Cole took half a step closer. Not enough to invade my space. Just enough that I noticed. His expression softened slightly. Gone was the cocky football captain. Gone was the guy who stole my dinner. For a moment, he looked almost… Curious. Like he was trying to figure me out. And somehow that felt more dangerous than flirting. “You know,” he said quietly, “I probably should apologize.” My eyebrows lifted. “For what? Breaking into my house or stealing my pizza?” His grin returned. “Both.” “Good answer.” “I’ve been practicing.” “You need more practice.” “Fair.” For a second, we simply stood there smiling at each other. And that was the problem. Not the flirting. Not the compliments. Not even the staring. The problem was that being around him suddenly felt easy. Comfortable. Like we’d known each other longer than a week. Like this wasn’t the first real conversation we’d ever had. My stomach tightened. Because easy was dangerous. Easy was how people snuck past your defenses. Easy was how people mattered. And I absolutely refused to let Cole Ryder matter. His gaze dropped briefly. Then returned to mine. Something shifted. A quiet moment. A fragile moment. One of those moments where you become painfully aware of every inch separating you from another person. My pulse jumped. The room suddenly felt warmer. And for one terrifying second, I wasn’t sure who leaned in first. Maybe neither of us. Maybe we just stopped moving away. Then— “RYDER!” The shout exploded through the house. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Cole flinched. Actually flinched. Which would have been funny if my heart wasn’t trying to escape my chest. A guy came barreling into the hallway looking absolutely horrified. “Coach is here!” Silence. Complete silence. Cole blinked. “What?” The guy pointed downstairs. “Coach Daniels.” Another pause. “With his wife.” Cole closed his eyes. Slowly. Like a man receiving terrible medical news. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “He’s wearing the angry jacket.” The guy looked genuinely traumatized. I stared between them. “What is an angry jacket?” Neither man answered. Which somehow answered the question. Cole dragged both hands down his face. “This house is cursed.” The guy nodded. “That’s what I’ve been saying.” Then he noticed me standing there. His eyes widened. “Oh.” I immediately didn’t like that. “What?” He pointed at me. Then at Cole. Then at me again. Understanding dawned on his face. “Ohhhh.” Cole groaned. The guy backed away. Quickly. Smart man. Before he disappeared, he offered one final piece of wisdom. “Good luck, man.” Then he vanished. I looked at Cole. Cole looked at the ceiling. Then the music downstairs abruptly stopped. A deep voice echoed through the house. “RYDER!” Every trace of color drained from Cole’s face. I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. The sound just escaped. His head snapped toward me. “You’re laughing?” “You’re terrified.” “I’m not terrified.” Another shout echoed. Louder this time. “RYDER!” I laughed harder. “Oh my God, you are.” Before he could defend himself, Bree suddenly appeared beside me. Like she’d been summoned by chaos itself. “There you are!” I pointed accusingly. “You abandoned me.” “I strategically relocated.” “You disappeared.” “You seemed busy.” Her eyes flicked between me and Cole. Then she grinned. Uh-oh. That grin never meant anything good. “Oh my God.” “No,” I said immediately. “Oh my God.” “Bree.” “You two were having a moment.” “We were not.” She pointed at us. Neither of us spoke. Unfortunately, that silence was probably the worst possible response. Bree gasped. “You absolutely were.” “Nobody asked you.” “I know.” She looked thrilled about that fact. Downstairs, Coach Daniels yelled again. Cole physically winced. I lost it. Another laugh escaped. His eyes narrowed. “Enjoying yourself?” “A little.” “A little?” “A lot.” That earned me a reluctant smile. Then another shout boomed through the house. “RYDER! NOW!” Cole sighed dramatically. The sound of a man accepting his fate. He looked at me. Really looked at me. And suddenly the amusement faded. Just enough. “Don’t leave.” The words caught me off guard. So did the sincerity behind them. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then he took a step backward. Another. “Seriously.” My pulse stumbled. “I wasn’t planning to.” His expression relaxed. Just slightly. Then he pointed at Bree. “This one can’t be trusted.” “True,” I admitted. Bree gasped in betrayal. Cole grinned. Then he turned and headed toward the stairs. Toward Coach Daniels. Toward whatever disaster was waiting downstairs. I watched him go. Which was a mistake. Because the second he disappeared, I realized something uncomfortable. I wanted him to come back. Beside me, Bree sighed dramatically. “Oh, he likes you.” I tore my eyes away from the staircase. “No.” “Maya.” “No.” She smiled knowingly. I hated that smile. Mostly because for the first time all night… I wasn’t completely sure she was wrong.MayaThree Years Later“Cole, if that football hits my flowers, I swear to God I’m divorcing you before we’re even married.”The backyard goes quiet.Seven grown men stare at me.Cole slowly lowers the football.“We’re not married yet.”“I know. Imagine how embarrassing that’ll be for you.”Jake nearly falls out of his chair laughing.“Holy shit. She’s still mean to him.”“Still?” Bree asks from beside me. “She’s gotten worse.”“I have not.”“You threatened to cancel a wedding over hydrangeas.”“They’re new hydrangeas.”“That somehow makes it reasonable,” Logan says.“Thank you.”Cole points at him. “Why are you still on her side?”Logan takes a drink. “Three years of consistency.”Some things never change.Apparently, neither do these people.Our backyard is full of them. Jake and Markus flew in yesterday. Bree arrived this morning with enough luggage to suggest she plans on moving in. Logan came down between games, and several of Cole’s current teammates are scattered around the poo
MayaThe football lands three feet from my chair.I stare at it.Then I stare at the house next door.No fucking way.For several seconds, nothing happens. I’m sitting on our back patio with my laptop open, trying to finish an assignment before my shift tomorrow, and there is now a football resting in the grass like the universe has developed a very specific sense of humor.The back door of the football house opens.Cole steps outside.He sees me.Then the ball.Then me again.A grin slowly spreads across his face.“Don’t.”“I didn’t say anything.”“You’re thinking it.”“Pretty loudly.”I close my laptop.Months ago, a football coming into this yard started an actual war.I hated the guys next door. Their parties were too loud, their friends parked everywhere, and their quarterback was an arrogant pain in my ass who seemed personally offended that I wasn’t impressed by him.Now the same quarterback walks across the yard like he owns it.Technically, he does not.Emotionally?Debatable
MayaNobody tells you when you start college that eventually there will be a last version of everything.Not necessarily the actual last time, because technically we still have classes, football games, work shifts, and enough assignments left to destroy several forests. But lately there’s this strange feeling hanging over everything, like we’ve all suddenly realized this ridiculous life isn’t permanent.Which is probably why there are fourteen people in the football house kitchen on a Thursday night arguing about pizza.“I said pepperoni.”“You ordered three pepperoni.”“Exactly.”Jake stares at Bree like she’s mentally deficient.Bree stares back.“There are vegetables on exactly one pizza.”“Football players don’t eat vegetables.”Markus looks up from his phone. “I eat vegetables.”Jake points at him. “Potatoes don’t count.”“They absolutely count.”“They’re starch.”“Who the fuck invited the nutritionist?”I’m laughing when Cole walks up behind me and hooks an arm around my waist.
ColeI’ve played football in front of twenty thousand screaming people without throwing up.Apparently sitting in a conference room with three men in suits is where my body draws the fucking line.“You look nervous, Ryder.”I glance at Coach. “I’m not nervous.”“You’ve bounced your knee for ten straight minutes.”I immediately stop.Asshole.Patterson sits across from me with two men I met approximately thirty seconds ago and whose names I’ve already forgotten because one of them started the conversation with several organizations have requested additional film on you.Several.Organizations.As in NFL teams.This shit is actually happening.Patterson closes the folder in front of him. “Nobody can promise where you’ll go. You understand that?”“Yeah.”“Or when.”“I know.”“You could have teams interested today that go another direction tomorrow. Somebody who hasn’t called yet could become your strongest possibility.”Coach has explained all of this before.It sounded different then.H
ColeThere are seven NFL scouts sitting somewhere behind our bench.I know this because Jake has counted them four fucking times.“Seven.”“I heard you the first three times.”He adjusts his gloves. “Could be eight.”“Jake.”“What?”“Stop looking.”“I’m not nervous.”“You’ve counted professional scouts four times.”He stares toward the stands again.“Definitely seven.”I shove his helmet.“Get your head in the game.”Easy advice considering my own stomach feels like somebody tied it into a knot.This is it.Not the draft. Not some guaranteed million-dollar contract. Nothing that dramatic.But Coach made it pretty damn clear yesterday that tonight matters.Win this game and we’re playing for the conference championship.Play well in front of the men sitting behind us and my name moves higher on some very important lists.No pressure.The stadium is packed, the student section already losing its mind while music pounds through the speakers. I jog toward the sideline after warmups and gl
MayaThere are five people on the other side of this door deciding whether I get to stop checking my bank account before buying shampoo.That probably isn’t the inspirational thought I’m supposed to have before the most important interview of my college career, but it’s the truth.I sit outside the conference room with my résumé balanced on my knee, wearing the nicest black pants I own and a blouse Bree insisted made me look professional but not like I sell insurance. My palms are sweating, my stomach is trying to digest itself, and somewhere inside my bag my phone has buzzed three times in the last ten minutes.I don’t need to look.Cole.He started at seven this morning.Cole: You’ve got this.Then at eight-thirty:Cole: Remember they’d be lucky to have you.And twenty minutes ago:Cole: Also don’t picture them naked. Apparently that advice upset you.Idiot.I’m smiling when the door opens.“Maya Bennet?”My smile disappears.Oh, fuck.“That’s me.”Here we go.⸻The first question i







