“Amber!” Hannah shouted from three rows up, her golden hair held back by a black headband. She practically swam in Jake’s practice jersey, the bottom of the number thirteen hitting her knees. “Up here!” She waved, a wide smile on her face. “You’re late,” she said once I took my spot by her side.

I shifted my bag over my shoulders, the gray T-shirt I wore ruffling under the weight. “Not even,” I said, pointing to the field as everyone took their seats. “They haven’t started yet.”

Hannah rolled her eyes but gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Are those new jeans?”

I nodded, glancing down at the ripped black skinnies I’d treated myself to last weekend on a fun shopping trip with Mom. “You like?” I asked, shifting so she could see where they tucked into my silver Chucks.

“Love,” she said.

That was the one good thing about sporting events for Wilmont—we were allowed to wear our own clothes.

Setting my bag between my feet, I gazed out at the field as the game started, my eyes finding number nineteen out of sheer muscle memory.

Even with the helmet and the bulky jersey, anyone could tell Brandon was in good shape. Muscles for days upon days, biceps thick, thighs thicker. Something I used to admire, used to compliment on the discipline he had when it came to training.

I rolled my eyes.

I used to love coming to watch the games, too, but he’d ruined it for me.

Not that I’d ever mention it to Hannah. She attended every game, rain or shine or sleep deprived. She’d never miss an opportunity to cheer for Jake.

Her sharp whistle jolted my senses, as did the loud crowd. All I’d wanted was to go home and crash for a couple hours—catch up on what I’d lost last night building the blog—but I’d promised Hannah I’d be here.

She followed my line of sight, huffing. “Wish they’d bench him.”

A laugh ripped from my chest. “The only way coach would bench Brandon is if he broke something.” I shook my head. “Seriously, it’s fine, Hannah. I’m here for you. And Jake.”

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s always so much more fun when you’re here.”

I tore my eyes off Brandon, trying like hell not to remember how I used to clap and cheer and scream his name just like Hannah. I’d even gone so far as to paint his number on my cheeks last year.

Stupid, stupid girl.

“No Code Club today?”

“Tomorrow. And Friday.”

“That’s exciting.” She waggled her brows at me, and the look took me straight back to Spanish class this morning.