Page 9 of One Mistake

She cocked her head and poured herself a glass of wine. “Of course, they do. Finn’s did.” She shrugged and smug-smiled me over the rim of her glass. “Or maybe he just uses it better now, but…”

If I had to hear about her sex life one more time, I was probably going to shrivel into an unused ball of horny nerve-endings. “That’s great, Fliss.”

“He came home early yesterday.” Her eyes rolled back into her head. “I’m not one to brag, but—”

“Yes, you are.”

“That’s because I have something to brag about. And you could, too. Finn has a friend.” A few weeks ago, Keaton had a friend, too. I wasn’t about to be some cause of theirs, the single friend who needed a man. No matter how hard they tried.

I shook my head. “I’d rather go in and bang Ryder.”

She finished her glass of wine then narrowed her eyes at me. “I knew you saw his junk.”

“I might have glanced a bulge, but definitely no skin, fore or otherwise.” Despite her crazy insinuation, something about my friends risking prison time to help me brought a tear. “Thank you so much for this, you guys. I know I haven’t been around much lately.” I lived in a whole other state and was only home now because my mom passed away and I had to deal with this house. “But knowing I can call you guys when I need you…” I sniffed, barely holding it together.

Avery plopped a sandwich in front of me then hugged me from behind. “We’d do anything for you. But if we go to jail, you’re my bitch.” She kissed my cheek.

They argued for a minute about whose tasty treat I would be before I sighed. Time to make the big move.

One Decade Ago

The Alpha house was like any other frat house on campus. Big. Not at all well kept despite the cleaning service and the gardeners employed by the university. Full of rowdy guys too old to be teenagers, too immature to be men. Except the Alpha house had one thing none of the others did. Ryder Kennedy. The guy I woke up every morning thinking of. The one I went to sleep every night dreaming about. The same guy who ignored my ten or twenty phone calls a day. To say I was desperate was an understatement.

That was because he’d ignored me for three weeks. Three. Fucking. Weeks. Made me pathetic enough to hide behind a two-hundred-year-old oak tree, trying for a glimpse of him.

And there he was. Going deep to catch a ball. Going deep. I had somewhere deep he could go.

And that was the problem. The thoughts. Taking every sentence spoken and unspoken and turning it sexual because I was horny. And it was Ryder’s fault. He’d created a monster. And left her to her own devices so her brain could go mushy with innuendo and sex dreams that made her moan out loud. In class. Where he never even glanced my way.

I should have been screaming mad. Heaping abuse on him for taking my virginity and then pulling a Houdini, but I just wanted to see him. I just wanted to feel the way he made me feel that night on the boat.

Pathetic was an understatement. Horny was an understatement. I, apparently, was an understatement.

One who’d forgotten to keep her eye on the ball and barely ducked out of the way—I picked the wrong moment to forget to hide—as the football sailed close enough I felt the wind of it on my face.

Shit. There was no graceful way to explain hiding behind a tree. None that came to me, anyway.

“Well, hello.”

Jameson King was a linebacker. Probably why he’d missed the ball. “Hi.”

“Reese, right?”

Holy crap. There must have been some sort of good looks qualification in the Alpha selection process. This one was almost as gorgeous as Ryder, and that he knew my name sent a little tingle along my skin.

“Yeah.”

He looked me up and down. “Did you wanna play?”

I wasn’t sure we were talking football, and my heart fluttered. “Uh, no. I was just…”

He hugged the ball in front of him and leaned in like he was very interested in what I had to say. “Hiding behind a tree to stare at Ryder?” He looked over his shoulder. “It’s for you, dude.” He called over his shoulder. “Another one of your groupies.”

Fuck. The shame. Utter humiliation. Mortification. My skin burned with it all. Knowing that I wasn’t the only one stalking Ryder—no matter what I called it—did nothing to lessen the indignity of this moment. “I was just walking by.”

Jameson laughed. Threw his head back. And laughed. “Okay.”

Whatever he saw on my face—probably something that said I was about twelve seconds from throwing up on him—had him backing up a half step.