Because once I did, it would be real. More real than it lighting up my best friend’s cell phone. More real than Sabrina telling thousands about it.

I wasn’t ready.

But I had to be.

“Yay!” Hannah clapped and cheered as the game ended, Wilmont winning. “Come on!” She clutched my wrist and propelled me down the steps. She shoved her way through the bodies doing the same thing, pushing us through the pack and to the fence that lined the field.

I sucked in a breath when we cleared the crowd, the pressure easing on my lungs at being pinned among so many people. The fence was less packed, the mass of students heading toward the exit in drones.

“Great game, Jake!” Hannah called as he walked to the other side of the fence, his helmet tucked underneath his arm.

“Thanks, babe,” he said.

Sweat dripped down his golden-brown skin, a clear line of dirt showing exactly where his helmet had been. He leaned down, planting a deep, long kiss onto Hannah’s lips, and the girl didn’t flinch at the ick of the game all over him. No, she snaked her fingers around his neck, soaking her nails in the dripping black hair at the base of his neck, tugging him closer. If the fence hadn’t been between them…

I shuddered and turned my head the opposite direction. I’d seen them embrace like this plenty of times—my house was one of the only places they could be fully relaxed and themselves. Hannah’s parents weren’t the strictest, but there was one issue they’d never budge on and that was sex before marriage. But it didn’t mean I enjoyed being the third wheel to their true-love show.

It hadn’t always been like this. For a while I’d been a fourth. Smiling and congratulating just like Hannah—

“Amber.”

My spine turned into a steel rod while my legs felt like Jell-O.

I swallowed a mouthful of acid, turning to set eyes on Brandon. He brushed past Jake, who was still completely tangled up in Hannah, their PDA totally concealed by the bustling crowd still leaving the stadium.

“Brandon.” His name passed my lips quietly, timidly, where I’d intended it to be sharper than a razor. I was stronger than this, damn it. Why did one look at his dark eyes, muscles, and shiny, buzzed-black hair turn me into a weak…victim?

He shifted his helmet under his arm, stopping at the fence right in front of me. His eyes roamed up and down my body. I was suddenly conscious of the rips in my new jeans and the tiny strips of skin they exposed.

I took one step back, clutching the strap of my bag.