The Relationship Pact (Kings of Football, #3)

by Adriana Locke

“Want me to knock him out?” I ask. Her eyes widen. “What? No! Why would you do that?” “I haven’t been in a fight for a long time, and he looks like he could use a good ass-whippin’.” Her jaw drops. “I don’t … No. We’re not …” Her face flushes, and she does everything in her power to remain unaffected by me. “No punching. Okay?”

Before she can say anything, Douchebag, his girl, and about five-hundred bottles of men’s cologne join us.

I usually try to give people the benefit of the doubt and not judge a book by its cover or however that saying goes. But Sebastian seems to have gone out of his fucking way to print asshole on his forehead.

Holidays always suck when you don’t have a family. But it’s times like this when you need a sounding board—or just somebody that actually gives a damn—that makes it the worst.

He took pity on the kid in foster care from Indiana and offered him a football scholarship. He had hope in me when no one else did.

“The gentleman in me wants to say that you look beautiful.” He smirks. “But the man in me wants to tell you that you look fucking hot.” My cheeks flush. “Well, thank them both for me, okay?”

If this girl turns out to be a sports fan on top of being hot and funny and willing to spontaneously do shit like pretend to date a guy, then I’m done. I’m taking her home and calling it a night.

Even though I’m sure her words were a Southern slang or term of endearment kind of thing, they still feel good. And despite my natural reaction to shrug them off, I let what she said sit with me for a minute. Because no one has ever laid claim to me like that.

Intercourse is a pleasure transaction. Kissing is a communication, an intentional decision to face someone and form a personal connection.

But as I turn to go back inside, an engine rumbles down the street. I don’t have to look to see who it is. His car sounds like him—rough and smooth and a little grumpy when he doesn’t get his way.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hollis bites out. “We’re having an adult conversation,” Sebastian says. My mouth hangs open. Sebastian either doesn’t read the room, or he wants to die.

My eyes widen, and I let them. I don’t even pretend not to be impressed. Downplaying something that was clearly chiseled by an angel seems like a disgrace.

“Do you know how hard it is to know that no one wants you?”

You have to get up the next morning and go to class or to work or whatever it is and know the whole time that you’re just out there by yourself.