CHAPTER ONE
HEATH
“I’ll have another Natty Lite and forty wings, extra hot.” I hand over the menu and stretch back to watch the highlight reel behind Natalie’s curves. A view I never tire of: beer and wings framed by pigskin and tits.
“I’ll have a Shiner because I’m not a goddamn heathen.” Clark snarks next to me. “And twenty ghost pepper wings because I’m more of a man.”
“Don’t crash on my couch tonight, asshole. You aren’t stinking up my bathroom.”
“Oh, I’m not sleeping on your couch. We’re gonna get real cozy in your bed tonight.”
“If Natalie’s not already in it.” Aidan nods towards the tight shorts disappearing through the kitchen doors. “She’s been all over his nuts since we sat down.”
“No one’s going anywhere.” Jack, the asshole, chimes in. Out of the whole team, he’s the only one whose ass I’d kick in a heartbeat if it didn’t mean immediate expulsion. “Heath doesn’t know how to land a pair of tits in his bed.”
“Son, I’ve had more head than you’ve got brain cells.” I drain my beer and flick him off. “Maybe not a fair comparison because you’ve got, like, three—”
“Fuck you.”
“Put more effort into the game than your pathetic attempt at landing tail, you’d be a half decent ball player.” I spread my hands with a shrug at Clark. “Alas. He’s shit in all areas of his life.”
“No, guys.” Clark chimes in. Best friends ‘til we die. “Didn’t you hear that he was totally going to impress that scout coming down in three weeks? His daddy knows somebody and he’s so in.”
Jack shoots up both middle fingers while we laugh our asses off. Aidan claps him on the back in solidarity, but we all know Jack isn’t going to see much field time this year, and the scout sure as shit won’t give a damn about him regardless.
“Remember little league?” Clark says, though his eyes follow a set of waitresses carrying wings. His favorite things, too. “When we’d lay out on the fifty-yard line and talk about what to do with all that money once we were drafted? Buy eight big houses and drive Lamborghini's?”
“And five boats.” I grin. “Because we all know you’re more popular with a boat than a big house.”
"Bass boat, pontoon, house boat, yacht, Jon boat." Clark lists them off on his fingers. Damn things are like sausages, which is why he's a linebacker for life. "I think I'd have a whole fleet of bass boats instead of a fleet of houses now that my balls dropped. Hell, I'll take a tiny house with a ton of land and a dozen boats instead."
"I want a penthouse downtown." Jack tilts back his Heineken. His family has deep pockets, old as the Texas clay, and his answer doesn't surprise us one bit. "Big fucker, four floors tall, and a wife with tits twice as big."
"Fuck getting married." I wave him off. "Take the house. Take the boats. Lock all that shit up and make sure no woman ever gets what you busted your ass for. Remember what Coach always says—you do this for you."
"And to get laid." Aidan grins and clinks bottles with the rest of the guys around the table. "Come on, Heath. You can't tell us you didn't get into football for the pussy. That's a lie and everyone as this table goddamn knows it."
"Bullshit." My beer hits the table harder than I intend, but it shuts everyone up. "Tom Brady. Tony Romo. Peyton Manning. Brett Farve. That's why I got into football. Those badass mother fuckers who make throwing a ball look like signing your name. Those geniuses who make football the dream. Running down the tunnels chanting the school fight song. Busting through paper signs while the crowd goes fucking nuts. Hearing the roar of the crowd when your body and the football come together as one. That's why I got into football."
Everyone is quiet for a minute and I can only hope this means they'll get their shit together because we've got a big game against LSU coming up. I want nothing more than to send them back to Louisiana with their tails between their legs and their shoulder pads in a hearse.
"Damn, Davis. What girl hurt you?" Jack pipes up and everyone laughs.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, jokers." Natalie arrives with my beer and a wink. I ignore it and take a deep swig. "That's why I'm the only one the scout will give a shit about when he gets here."
"Leave him alone." Clark half-heartedly comes to my rescue, but he's eyeballs deep in Natalie's tight-fitting shirt as she doles out beers around the table. "His high school sweetheart went to LSU."
I could beat that asshole in a minute if I weren't worried about the scout. A thick smack to the shoulder doesn't deter him, either. Now everyone’s got their nose in my business.
My alleged best friend keeps talking. "She said she didn't 'get' football and then ran off to bang the LSU quarterback. Guess she has a type."
"Wait, wait, wait. She's the blonde whose been all over Harrison?" Aidan gapes. "That bitch has been blowing up social media for the last month with some serious smack talk. We made her the unofficial spank bank queen, bro."
I focus on the beer, instead of the growing desire to flip every goddamn table in the joint. "I'm going to go take a piss."
Clark gets another smack across the head when I leave. His face is only half-apologetic but that doesn't shut the bullshit streaming out of Jack's mouth right now. As if I needed more reason to hate that asshole. Now, I’ll have to kill him. The second he puts up half-naked pictures of Lynn in my locker is the second I'm going to rip off his fucking arms.
I skip the bathroom and tear up gravel in the parking lot instead. I vowed a long time ago another woman would never get under my skin again, and here Clark was, digging up the old shit I'd spent several years burying.
Well, fuck him and fuck her and fuck LSU and the whole goddamn state of Louisiana. One day, I'm going to leave this Podunk town and all the others like it, and stand on the fifty-yard line in Gillette Stadium, and know that I own it.
I beat my fist against my chest and make myself say it four times before my blood stops thrumming in my ears. These guys can keep their cracker jack dreams. Gourmet dinners are in my future.
"Four Fireballs." I slam a twenty on the bar. I recognize the girl behind it, Sealy. She offers a friendly smile I hate and push it towards her. "And hurry."
"The man of the hour over there." She slips the twenty into her bra and sets out the glasses. "Everyone loves a man who buys the next round."
"Fuck those guys. These are for me."
She pauses, liquor bottle in the air.
"We can pretend it's for those assholes back there, but I need these to not beat the fuck out of them, so how about you pour a little faster?" I slide another twenty across the bar and lean over on my elbows, teeth bared. "Please?"
Sealy bares her teeth back, equally unfriendly, but slips the other twenty in her bra and pours out four measured shots. I take all four in a row and stack the glasses.
"Four more." Two twenties get slapped on the bar.
"TABC will light my ass up." She crosses her arms. "Are you going to pay my bills when I get fired?"
"Fine. Two more."
"Did football knock your brain loose? Because you're acting like a dumbass."
Some guy in a striped polo comes up behind her and clears the glasses. "I'll handle this. Go help Leigh."
"Darren, he literally just took all four of those."
"Four more." I slam a fist on the bar. And then remember to smile through the fire. "Please."
"I said I'll handle it. Go help Leigh." Sealy mutters a loud bullshit as she stomps away. Darren pours out four more shots and slides them my way. "Sorry about that."
"Thank you, Darren." I yell loud enough for Sealy to hear. I toast the image of Lynn in a purple jersey and throw them all back, hoping the burn is enough to mar her out of my brain.