“Peace offering?” he asks.

“It’s just a glass of water, Jace.”

“Water is rarely just water with you,” he replies. I can’t help but smile at that, and he returns it. “I’m sorry,” he surprises me by saying.

“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t want you to think I regret anything that’s happened between us,” Jace says, his gaze imploring. “Well, maybe some of the early stuff,” he amends, and I smile. “But this is my last chance to win a college championship, and it could have a major impact on my draft chances. I’ll have slightly more time next semester,” he promises.

I smile sadly. There won’t be a next semester for me. “I get it, Jace, I really do. I’m not asking you to choose between me and football. I would never do that. I know how hard you’ve worked, and how important it is that you succeed.” There’s more emotion behind the words than I intended, so I quickly change the subject, asking Jace about his practice.

He fills me in on stories from some of his teammates’ Thanksgivings as we eat our late dinner. By the time we’ve finished eating, the dining hall is even more crowded than when we arrived. With each new arrival, I feel the number of eyes on us multiplying.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask Jace.

He nods, and we gather up our dirty dishes to deposit on our way out.

“Does it ever bother you?” I wonder as we head toward the main door.

“The attention?”

I nod.

“I found it flattering at first, then it got annoying. Eventually, I just came to accept it. I just do what I want to do, and if people want to talk about it, they can.”

“You’re a publicist’s nightmare.”

Jace laughs. “I’m not stumbling out of strip clubs in the middle of the night. I’m just saying people noticing what you do doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do certain things. Life’s too short to conform to what others want or expect, you know?”

“What if it’s bigger than you, though?” I press. “What if other people will be hurt if you don’t conform?”

Jace opens his mouth to respond, but before he can reply, we’re interrupted by another familiar voice.

“Jace Dawson gracing us with his presence in the common dining hall?” Anderson asks.

I turn to see him approaching from our right. He’s followed by three other guys I recognize as being on the football team but who I’ve never spoken to.

“Fuck off, Anderson,” Jace says, but he’s grinning.

“I was wondering where you were rushing off to after practice,” Anderson continues. “Never seen you move so fast before. You better bring that hustle on Thursday.”

Jace flips off his friend, but doesn’t comment, so Anderson shifts his attention to me.

“Good to see you, Vivienne.”

“You too, Anderson,” I reply, giving him a grin. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Loud. My mother was so thrilled to finally have me home this year, she invited our entire extended family over. It’s quieter in the team locker room after we win a game.”