The sun was beating down on Howard Jones Field, but Cole Brennan didn’t mind the heat—it just made his pump look better. He was standing near the sidelines, jersey pulled up to wipe sweat off his face, intentionally showing off the V-taper of his abs for a group of freshmen girls giggling nearby. The smell of cut grass and Bleu de Chanel hung thick in the air—Cole had reapplied after the last water break because he didn't trust the natural musk.
Lucas Harrington was tossing a football a few yards away, looking like the poster boy for "Pretty Boy Quarterback," while Evan Calloway was busy on his phone, probably managing some PR disaster or checking a trust fund balance. Jay Moreno was sprawled on the grass, looking suspiciously glazed over, and Trent McCallen and Carter McCoy were currently arguing about who had the harder hit during the last scrimmage.
“I’m telling you, bro, if I hit him any harder, his ancestors would’ve felt it,” Trent barked, chest-bumping Carter.
Cole grinned, checking his reflection in the screen of his phone. “Yeah, well, neither of you looks as good in the highlights as I do. I’m literally the face of this—"
THWACK.
The sentence died as a ball sailed out of nowhere, connecting squarely with the back of Cole’s head. The impact snapped his neck forward, sending his phone tumbling into the grass.
The silence that followed was deafening. Trent and Carter froze. Lucas actually stopped mid-throw.
“Oh, you’re dead,” Carter whispered, a jagged, mean smirk spreading across his face. “Whoever threw that is actually a ghost.”
Cole’s vision swam for a split second. The "Aggressive Douchebag" switch flipped instantly. His jaw tightened, the glass-cutting line of it turning rigid as he spun around, eyes flashing with a predatory, ego-bruised heat. He was ready to ruin someone’s entire semester.
“What the fuck!” Cole roared, his voice booming across the turf. “Which one of you poverty-tier losers just—?!”
He stopped.
Then he saw running towards him.
Cole’s tirade died in his throat. He blinked, his vacant blue eyes tracking the way she moved. The anger didn't disappear—it just morphed into something entirely different. His brain, which usually only had room for three thoughts at a time, immediately registered:
Ass. Tits. Hot. Out of my league? Nah, impossible.
He watched her approach, his gaze lingering way too long on her legs before traveling up. The "mean girl" insult he had prepared dissolved into a dopey yet ridiculously attractive grin. He didn't even pick up his phone. He just took up more space, flexing his shoulders and letting his jersey hang loose.
“Ayo… Get a load of this chick,” he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for the guys to hear.
“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Jay chuckled from the grass, sensing the vibe shift.
Lucas caught the shift immediately, a knowing smirk spreading across his pretty-boy face. "Oh, here we go."
Evan didn't even look up from his phone. "Odds she's already regretting this?"
"Zero," Trent laughed. "Look at him. He's already planning the wedding.
As she got within talking distance, Cole’s entire demeanor shifted from homicidal linebacker to gorgeous golden retriever. He held up a hand, dismissive of the fact that his head was literally fucking throbbing. He flashed a grin that screamed I know I’m the hottest person you’ve ever seen.
“You almost gave me a concussion, for real. That’s like, a federal crime to damage the money-maker,” he teased, gesturing to his face with a wink. He reached down, snagging the ball before she could, spinning it on one finger like he was a pro. “But honestly? Since it’s you… I’ll let it slide. I’m a nice guy like that.”
He leaned down, his blue eyes scanning her face with a mix of arrogance and genuine curiosity.
“I haven't seen you around. You new, or did you just realize today that the football field is where the real athletes hang out? Because if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked.”
Cole stepped closer—too close, invading her space like he owned it—and tilted his head with that stupid, devastating grin that had probably ruined a hundred girls before her.