The crowds scream around us, but the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing behind my ears as we pull apart, and a corner of Colt’s mouth tips up in a little smirk. ‘Not bad for no rehearsal.’

The thudding of my heart is still uncontrollable. Adrenaline, certainly. We’ve just won a game. Of course, that’s what it is. This is definitely not a teenage fantasy come true. I’m not losing it right now.

‘Not bad,’ I repeat.

Well. Not bad, and then some, but you won’t catch me admitting that to him.

Chapter Twenty-One

No Signal

May

‘You know, I can’t get a read on you.’

‘Huh?’

I regard Colt’s look of confusion with a raised eyebrow as I kick my sneakered feet up on the bleachers in front of us. The entire field’s empty now, the crowd all gone home, and the only indication that they’d ever been here is all the ravaged shooters and beer cans lying in the stands, where we’re sitting now. ‘I mean, come on. First, you leave me in the dust in high school. Then, you throw all these things about “regretting it” every which way. And then you put me in what you know is the most uncomfortable possible position in practice. And then, finally, you kiss me in front of the entire university.’

Colt grabs his backpack, fiddles with the whistle still around his neck. ‘I won’t lie to you, May, this game plan thing hasn’t been the easiest for me. It’s … yeah, we have a history, and that hasn’t helped it.’

‘I’m afraid it’s been more confusing than anything else.’ I clear my throat, running a hand through my now-loose hair. I have to pause before carefully choosing my next words. ‘I just want to know, Colt. You’ll make it through the rest of the semester, right? Because—’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I will, I swear.’ I watch a light go out in those deep eyes of his the second the curt words are out of my mouth.

Colt shoots me a tight smile. ‘See you tomorrow, May. Good shit today.’

My heart plummets a little at the sight of him leaving the field. It reminds me too much of that memory in the hallway, the last time I saw him. But now, I’m not asking myself why he’s leaving any more. I’m asking myself why he’s back – and why, this time, I’m driving him away.

‘Good shit,’ echoes Rod’s voice. My head snaps right to the source of his rich baritone, and there’s Colt’s right-hand man, a couple stair-steps below me on the field, leaning against the bleachers. ‘You guys gave it a pretty solid shot. I might have bought it if the both of you weren’t so emotional in love.’