Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
And there’s no better place to do it than at a Computare Caterva event.
Dickson University’s underground society is always a thrill—a secret mix of risk and adrenaline that guarantees a good time. But it’s terrifying too. One wrong move could land us all in hot water with the university and then some, and I’d certainly have a hell of a lot to lose. A single misstep could cost me my football scholarship and send my future dreams of playing in the pros spiraling down the toilet.
Normally, I’m cautious about my actions, and when it comes to football eligibility, I always follow the rules. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, and knowing what I know now about Double C, I shouldn’t be doing this.
But when the text came through two hours ago, telling us to meet at Dragon Stadium, I wasted no time reaching for my keys.
There’s only one reason I’m not my usual rational self about this…and all the signs point to Lexi Winslow.
This is likely the last Double C event of the year, and with my crush, Lexi, running the show while inching closer to finishing her doctorate—and leaving Dickson University for good—I couldn’t miss it. Even if being here is a risk, it’s a chance I’m willing to take.
She’s a few years older than me—twenty-five to my twenty-one—and I’ve been crushing on her beautiful, endlessly intriguing personality since the first time I laid eyes on her at the start of fall semester. I thought it was a stupid crush, but instead of fading, my feelings have only grown. Her stubbornness and complete avoidance of every advance I throw her way? That just makes me want her more.
After all, a good quarterback goes for the win at every possible opportunity, down to the last second, even when the odds aren’t in his favor.
“Guys,” I call back to Ace and Julia, who’ve stopped for a giggle in the middle of the hall that leads to the locker room. “Hurry up.”
We have five minutes until we’re supposed to be at the meetup location in the south end zone, and I know from experience that the walk from the locker room takes at least half of that. We used my code to get in the back entrance door, but I have no idea how the hell the rest of tonight’s attendees are getting in.
Our athletic director implemented pretty strict stadium security two years ago, the year before I came to Dickson, after the team came to practice one Monday to find a goal post missing. Ironically, now that I know about Double C and the brilliant girl who runs it, I can’t help but wonder if she had something to do with it.
If she ever decides to give me the time of day, I’ll have to ask her.
“Blake, is this your locker?” Julia asks, her soft whisper turning into a trill of interest. “Can we look inside?”
I laugh. “There’s nothing exciting in there, I promise.”
“No sweaty game-day socks you refuse to change?” Ace hedges, waggling his eyebrows.
“No.”
“What about a jock strap you’ve used since you started here?”
“What exactly is your obsession with poor hygiene practices, Ace?”
“I just figured you’d be superstitious.”
“I’m too good to be superstitious.”
“Hell yes, you are, you cocky son of a bitch,” Ace replies, his mouth curved so high it threatens to brush his damn forehead as he loops an arm around my shoulders and jostles me side to side. I roll my eyes and laugh, waving Julia away from my locker.
“Come on, Jules. I’ll show you my locker another time if you really want to see it.”
Ace runs back to grab her hand and pull her forward again, and we’re off to the races at a run to make it out to the field in time. I follow the curve of the golden dragon that’s painted on the tunnel wall, grazing it with my fingers as I lead the way just like I have for every home football game this year. Without the roar of the waiting crowd at the tunnel’s end, it feels a little different.
The delusional part of me thinks tonight’s version is even better, and that’s all because of one specific girl and a whole lot of unfounded optimism. Lexi Lou Winslow treats me like the scummy dirt on the bottom of her shoe, but tonight, if I have any say in it at all, that’s going to change.
Golden blond hair shimmers in the moonlight atop the girl of my dreams’ head as she scrolls through her phone, checking people in. I study her closely, willing my racing heart to calm down a little in the hopes that I won’t come off as a total fucking dweeb.
It’s not like I’m some virginal schoolboy, for shit’s sake. At twenty-one years old, I’ve had more pussy than Garfield. Girls flock to me, throwing themselves at the Dragons’ star quarterback every chance they get.