I push myself harder, willing my legs to stretch farther, pump faster.
10 yards.
My feet hit the white line. Fuck. I still hear this asshole lumbering behind me.
5 yards, and I can taste the win.
The Admiral at my feet dives for my legs, his fingers skimming my ankle before they latch onto the back of my left shoe. But I haven’t gone down yet, and I wrangle free of his grasp, yanking with everything I have. I stumble forward and sprint, my feet hitting the goal line.
We’ve won, but my hammering heart and the adrenaline surging inside my veins don’t know it yet. The crowd is losing their minds as the clock hits zero, and I throw the ball into the gridiron with a roar. My teammates cheer as the crowd roars back at me. Even though I know my dad will play the video for me and break down all the ways I fucked up, I don’t care.
Nothing can ruin this moment. The flashes of cameras in the crowd and the announcer yelling through the speakers all blur together into a loud, blinding roar.
I should probably go celebrate with the team. I should dump the water cooler over Coach’s head and pretend to be a good sport and shake hands with the Admirals, but I do none of that. Instead, I am jogging off the field and jumping the chain-link fence. I unstrap my helmet as I charge up the bleachers.
Harlow stands there alongside Raven, smiling at me, and it is as brilliant as looking into the sun.
“Congratu—” she begins, but I grab her and swallow the rest of the word.
The crowd goes wild as I kiss my good luck charm.
31
Harlow
I stand in front of the full-length mirror that hangs in the closet I share with Molly. A mountain of discarded clothes blankets my bed. The floor is like a minefield of boots, dress-shoes, and flats. I am nervous, but in a good way that involves tingles that race up my spine and not the darkness.
I shouldn’t be this excited about meeting Ian’s parents, but I am. I guess it’s because he means a lot to me, and even though my family is well off now, I wasn’t born into wealth and power. I bleed red, not blue.
Ian keeps telling me to not worry about his parents, that he—and I quote—“doesn’t give a fuck what they think,” but he’s not the one about to spend a week away from home in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.
Mom and Dad were disappointed when I told them I wasn’t coming home for fall break and made me swear to come home for Christmas.
Like most of my fellow classmates, Molly has already flown out to be with her family. The dorm is pretty much deserted, and I startle when Ian saunters into my room and eyes me from head-to-toe. I catch his eye in the mirror as he comes up behind me and looks over my shoulder at my reflection.
“You absolutely cannot wear that, sweetness,” he says with a tsk.
My eyes snap wide. Oh, no. I have literally nothing else left to wear. I look down at my outfit. A simple navy blue, a-line dress with black stockings and an unbuttoned peacoat and frown.
Ian wraps his arms around me and hugs me, my back to his front. My heart lurches. Why is it that every time I am near him, it feels like the first time we met, like he is both my salvation and my damnation rolled into one?
“You look too perfect,” he purrs against my ear. “My father will approve, and my mother will approve because my father approves.”
I bite back my smile. “And that’s the worst thing in the world?” I ask. “Having the approval of your parents?”
He brushes my hair away to trail kisses down my throat as his hands slide lower until he cups me. I moan and before I know it, I am shamelessly grinding my ass against him.
“Fuck me,” he breathes before he jerks away, warmth blossoming over his cheeks like flower petals opening in spring. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “If that goes on much further, the driver will wonder where we are. We’re all packed. The car’s waiting outside.”
“The car?” I ask.
He’s staring at a blank area on the wall as he stands next to my door like he literally can’t trust himself within ten feet of me. The realization sends my belly somersaulting.
His gaze latches on mine, and the somersaults roll at full speed now.
“I hired a driver,” he says, white-knuckling the doorknob. “I don’t want to spend the ride looking at the road. I want to spend it looking at you.”
I smile and walk over to him. He grabs my hand, and we head out of the room.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters as we walk downstairs, hand-in-hand.
“Like what?” I ask innocently.
And that’s all it takes. One little question, and I’m hauled against the wall, his large hands cupping my ass, and my legs wrapped around him. It’s a testament to his steadiness that we don’t topple down the stairs.
“Like you want to go back upstairs and finish what we started,” he growls.
I raise an eyebrow. “What did we start again? I need a reminder.”
Ian groans, throwing his back with the sound, and lets me down.
“She’s going to be the death of me,” he breathes, and he sprints down the rest of the stairs, leaving me alone and breathless.
I meet him outside where he waits for me, and we walk hand-in-hand toward a black limousine. The driver opens the door for us, and I shuffle inside across the leather seat. It’s small, not a stretch limo, but there’s plenty of room and a wall of privacy glass between us and the driver.
I grab a bottle of Evian from the door pocket. It’s ice-cold. I look over at Ian, who ducks inside the car.
“Impressed?” he asks.
I shake my head no,
