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I shouldn’t be thinking about Dean Warren.

I definitely shouldn’t be going to this game, for him.

And the smile on my lips when he does a double take over his shoulder as I sit on the bleachers, that really shouldn’t be showing.

He’s a mistake waiting to happen.

The cockiness and arrogance mixed with the hard edge in his eyes are what tell me that much. As if a simple look wasn’t enough to warn me off.

He’s the type of guy who will force you against a hard wall, lift up your skirt and rip off the thin fabric beneath it with a forceful tug. The type of guy who will hold you there while you scream as he takes you harder and harder.

He’s the type of guy my mother told me I should stay away from …

Good thing I stopped listening to my mother years ago.

A mistake I’ve made before. Not just once or twice, and you’d think I’ve have learned my lesson by now. Maybe I can blame it on insta-lust.

My heart flicks hard in my chest, hating that I’m in such denial.

He’s a distraction. Dean is a distraction who could ruin everything. And maybe that’s why I can’t resist him. I clear my throat and square my shoulders as my shoes sink into the grass. The urge to turn around is strong, to not look back.

But I was going to head this way anyway.

The thought makes me smile. It almost makes me think that it’s even okay. That everything was meant to work out like this.

It’s a little late for me to start college, but hey, being thrown to the wolves when you’re legally allowed to drink isn’t the worst thing in the world. I’m only a year behind and I have plenty of catching up to do. Although it’s easy picking the student life back up. I graduated high school, went to community college for a year, then dropped out when Grandmom got sick. A year later and I’m picking up the pieces, but blending in has been easier than I thought it would be.

“Go State!” I yell out and clap after setting my bag down on the ground.

There are maybe a dozen people scattered throughout the stands.

The field is small, as is the university. No one comes here because of sports, that’s for damn sure.

It’s just a hobby rugby team and there’s not even a real game today. Just some guys fucking around. Shirts versus skin and lucky for me, Dean happens to be one of the ones with no shirt.

Just as I let my eyes roam down his body, he jolts forward and tackles the shit out of another guy—Daniel, I think. It’s only when the guy stands up that I confirm it’s Daniel.

Rugby’s a violent sport in a lot of ways.

The violence is what attracts me, but right now I’m not sure this is what I need. It’s like playing with fire … but that’s what I came to do.

The men crash together and I keep staring at one in particular. They slam into each other, brutalizing one another, all in the name of a good game.

It’s not a game to me. There’s too much at risk to call it that.

My blood heats and my muscles coil; I can’t watch, but I also can’t rip my eyes away.

Thud. Thud. My heart pounds harder and harder as the memories slowly come back to me and I have to shove them away. Hide them, bury them deep down inside.

Deep breaths. Calming, deep breaths.

It only takes a glance in the wrong direction at the wrong time and it all comes back.

I force a small smile to my lips, unclenching my fists and only just now realizing how my nails dug into my skin. As I reach down for the water bottle in my bag, I lift my gaze back to the field, only to find Dean staring back at me. The grim look proves he was watching me and knowing that, I can’t breathe.

It’s like he can see right through me. I’m saved by the loud clap of someone else sitting in the bleachers behind me. Our gaze is broken and only then is my body willing to play it off. To relax and pretend like it’s alright.

Dean is like a drug to a recovering addict.

He makes me question everything. All the stupid shit I have planned.

He makes me want to run, but at the same time, he paralyzes me.

Five more minutes and I’ll leave, I promise myself.

I’m waiting for them to break up their huddle and then to keep playing, but that’s not what happens.

The bottle nearly slips from my grasp as Dean strides over to me and the other guys line up on the field without him.

Dean takes a seat next to me and I’m instantly hit with his warmth and masculine scent. His sweat smells sweet and addictive.

“What are you doing?” he asks me.

“I was watching this hot guy who has a crush on me play this dumb sport,” I tell him and fail to hide my smile as I add, “He gave up though.”

He chuckles and that gorgeous smile flickers onto his face. “I wasn’t sure you were going to stay and I wanted to make sure I told you before you left that we’re having a party tomorrow night at James’s place,” he tells me.

“First a game and then a party?” I ask him, taking another swig from the bottle and fiddling with the plastic cap in my left hand. “You like asking me on dates, don’t you?”

He shrugs and glances at the guys on the field, but I keep my eyes on him. “I think you’ll like the party better. I’ll be able to give you a little more attention.”

I roll my eyes and almost turn back to the field, but I stop myself.

“You think if you get a little alcohol in me, you’ll have a better chance?” I ask him, although I keep glancing behind him to the field to see who’s watching.

Dean makes a show of looking over his shoulder in the direction I keep checking out before shifting to block my view and standing a little closer. His broad shoulders tower over me. I haven’t been this close to him yet, and it only makes me want to be closer.

I can smell his unique, sexy scent and feel the heat in his eyes when I meet his gaze. It’s a heady combination. To have someone you’re innately drawn to so close. To know they want something you want. But to also know it’s the last thing you should do. The temptation heats the suffocating air and everything around us turns to a blur of white noise.

“I don’t need a better chance,” he finally answers me, his eyes narrowing. “I already told you, I want you and I’m not going to stop until you’re screaming my name just how I want to hear it.”

“So confident,” I reply although it comes out differently than I’d planned. It was supposed to be sarcastic, but instead, there’s a hint of reverence.

“Come to the party,” he tells me like it’s a command and ignores the voices on the field. The ones calling out his name to get back. And I use that as my excuse to leave.

“You go play, and I’ll see you this weekend,” I answer him without thinking.

“You’re leaving already?” he asks me and I nod.

“I’ve got shit to do, now that I have plans for tomorrow.” He likes that; I can tell by the way he smiles, and it does something to me. Something it shouldn’t.

“Twenty sixteen Broom Street,” he tells me, but I already know the address.