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I shake my head at him, rolling my eyes. I love Jonah, I really do. He’s been my best friend since we were kids growing up on the same cul-de-sac. But, sometimes, he gives in too quickly to peer pressure. It’s why his chocolate-colored hair is highlighted into caramel strands, why he’s covered in meaningless tattoos that his other friends encouraged him to get, why he’s constantly sifting through the couch cushions for the vape he’s been addicted to since his freshman-year roommate asked him to try it. I don’t even bother asking for the details on “why he didn’t have a choice” to not steal Coach’s trophy. I can read between the lines enough to know that that means “someone told me to do it, and so I did.”
If it were anyone else, there’s no way in hell I would’ve taken their place getting reamed by Coach Bryer. But Jonah’s a special case. Not only is he one of my best friends, but, unlike most of the kids at Texas University, he’s on a prestigious football scholarship. Since I’m captain of the team, Coach Bryer is a lot more likely to grant me some grace. I mean, I could tell he didn’t believe that I was the one who took the trophy, anyhow. But if Jonah were to admit that he did it… there is no doubt in my mind that he’d be off the team in a heartbeat.
Without that scholarship, he’d have to drop out of college entirely.
“You wanna go upstairs, baby?”
The soft whisper tickles my ear as slender hands wrap around me from behind, startling me a bit.
“Natalia, you scared the shit out of me,” I reply, turning to face the tall brunette clutching my waist and pressing her toned body to mine.
The music is deafening as she sways gently to its rhythm, with multi-colored strobe lights enhancing her feminine curves.
“What’s wrong, handsome?” she asks, batting her ice-blue eyes at me as her lips curve into a devilish smile. “You don’t want me tonight?”
“I’m not so sure, considering your dad practically skinned me alive after practice today.”
Natalia chuckles softly, her dainty finger trailing down my abdomen.
“There must be something I can do to make up for it.”
“Huh… I’m sure I can think of something.”
2 | Georgia
MY TEXTBOOK THUDS closed in front of me, mid-paragraph, just missing my fingertips.
“I was reading that,” I grumble to myself, well-aware that I’ve read the same sentence 25 times already.
“You’re stalling,” Patrick grunts as he moves around the living room, haphazardly stuffing last minute knick-knacks into miscellaneous backpacks and boxes.
He’s right. I’ve been dreading this day all summer.
Moving day.
“Do we have to go? I-I feel like I’ve just started to get comfortable…” I trail off, sensing his disapproval from across the room.
“You know I hate this place, Georgia,” he remarks stiffly, his jaw tightened. “It still smells like Rachel in here.”
Rachel. His ex-girlfriend – the love of his life, just before he met me. They had lived in this apartment together; blissfully, from Patrick’s perspective. Little did he know, Rachel had been getting a little too acquainted with a few different guys in her Computer Science courses. One day, Patrick woke up to find all her things gone, without even a note. He found out about the Computer Science hookups from a mutual friend and never seems to have been able to kick the hurt – even after two years as my boyfriend.
I sigh and begin to pick up my History of American Literature textbook that I’ve been unsuccessfully using as a distraction.
“Your other textbooks are already in my car. Go put that one with them so it doesn’t get lost,” Patrick says, his demanding tone souring the space between us.
He doesn’t look up, and I don’t attempt to argue.
The air outside is scorching and heavy, wrapping around me like a thick blanket. I feel the heat of the Central Texas sun beating down on my skin, and I squint instinctively against the brightness.
“Oh, God,” I mutter, wiping my brow frivolously.
It has to be at least 2,000 degrees outside. It's the only logical explanation for the amount of sweat barreling down my back right now.
As I stride towards Patrick’s car, fiddling with the heavy textbook hung clumsily in my arms, I'm immediately stopped – like I just walked into a brick wall. I step back in surprise, the jerking movement sending my textbook onto the blistering pavement with a solid thud.
“Georgia?”
I glance upwards and am met by the smiling face of Danny Mendez, an old coworker of mine from when I worked at the local mall in my freshman year. He’s tall, with his straight, white teeth nearly blinding me as he smiles from ear-to-ear. His golden-blonde hair hangs in ringlets on his forehead, dampened from sweat.
