SCORE (Travis Brothers Book 1) Read online

  So, after another long glance at the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life, I drag my concentration back to the play.

  It takes every shred of willpower I possess to keep my focus. I take the snap and look for my man. Tyrell’s a wild card with occasional flashes of genius. And he’s right where I want him. My pass glides straight into his outstretched arms and he juggles it before securing the ball. You beauty, Tyrell.

  Touchdown! yells the announcer and the crowd goes ballistic.

  I take my opportunity. I search for her again in the stands.

  She’s watching me. Her friend is leaning close to her, pointing in my direction. Like they’re talking about me.

  I can’t stop fucking staring at her and she blushes again and smiles shyly, twirling a finger through a long strand of that surreal-looking flaxen hair.

  I want to talk to her. I want to find out who she is and where she came from.

  I have to stop myself from running over to her and climbing up into those bleachers.

  Instead, I walk over to the players’ bench and take a seat. Take off my helmet. Someone hands me some water. I barely hear Coach as he starts talking me through the next set of plays. I’m too enthralled by the shy, golden girl in the bleachers and the realization that’s hitting me like a ten-ton wall of bricks.

  I don’t want to break my rule, I want to fucking prove my rule.

  With her.

  “He’s totally staring at you!” Piper whispers ecstatically.

  “Who is he?” I hear myself asking. She’s such a football fan she actually reads about these players in her spare time and follows the scores and the schedules.

  “His name is Blake Travis. He’s a junior and already the starting quarterback. Not your typical quarterback, as it turns out. There’s this rumor going around – well, it’s actually more of a headline news item than a rumor. It’s all over Snapchat. He’s nineteen and still a virgin. He’s saving himself for his one true love. Can you believe that?”

  “Wow.”

  “Of course every girl in the school swoons over him not only because he’s a romantic but also because he’s hotter than hell. I mean, look at that guy, would you? He’s perfect.” Piper has already made friends with the girls sitting next to us. She’s so outgoing and friendly, she can just strike up a conversation with anyone who happens to be around. I feel a pang of jealousy, but it passes. I’ll never be like that, but at least I’ve made one friend so far. That’s probably all I’ll have time for anyway.

  As she talks football with our neighbors, I can’t help it: I am looking at him. And yes, he is about as perfect as a person could possibly be. He’s sitting on the players’ bench in the middle of what’s turned into a huddle as their coach talks and makes a lot of hand gestures like he’s worked up. This Blake Travis is sort of half listening and half trying to look over in our direction. He has dark hair that’s messed up from his sweat and his helmet. Even from this distance he looks big and so muscular that I know for a fact I want nothing to do with him. He may be a perfect star quarterback who’s saving himself, but that’s hardly my concern. I have bigger things to worry about than Blake Travis’s sex life or lack thereof. I have a sculpture to make in three months or less. The conditions of my scholarship: that I finish it on time, that it’s amazing, and that I maintain at least a 3.5 grade point average. In fact I should be working right now.

  The crowd groans as the visiting team scores a touchdown.

  The huddle around Blake clears and I watch him stand up. His eyes scan the crowd until he finds me. I look around me, trying to be subtle about it. Maybe he’s looking at someone else. But no, I can feel the heat of his attention from all the way over here. His lazy fascination. Usually I hate when people stare at me. But this feels different. His gaze feels warm. It’s a strange feeling. Hypnotic and intense. Like he’s already touching me. I don’t feel as shy as usual. It also feels like the temperature in this stadium has just gone up by about ten degrees. I’m practically feverish.

  He puts his helmet back on and runs back out onto the field.

  His body is long and lean and powerful as he moves. As he makes his plays, he’s cool about it. He’s not hot-headed. He’s thinking carefully about what he’s doing, measuring up his decisions as he watches his teammates. He passes the ball with graceful, measured precision each time. There’s something mesmerizing about him. The entire stadium is spellbound. You can see why he’s the star quarterback. Every single pass he throws is on target. The ball doesn’t even wobble, it just curves and spins in a smooth arc.

  I’m as riveted by Blake Travis’s style as I am by his looks. I could watch him all night and I’m surprised to find myself just as engrossed in this game as Piper is. Silently, I’m cheering for him. I want him to get the glory. One of the plays brings him closer to our side, to where we’re sitting in the stands, and this time when he looks at me I can see his eyes are a clear, jewel-like shade of blue, rimmed by dark-black lashes. As our eyes meet from this closer distance, that blue gaze does strange things to me. Connective things. Almost like I can read his mind.

  I know what he’s thinking as he runs past me with his glorious body and those steady, vivid blue eyes.

  I know why he’s watching me, even as all the other girls call out to him. I can feel not only his fascination but his resolve. His decision. You’re the one I want, that gaze says. You.

  No. The realization thrills me beyond belief but at the same time terrifies me, like I’ve just taken a seat behind the wheel of a race car and someone’s revving the engine to full tilt. My stomach does a crazy little flip and I can practically feel the gravity-defying g-forces of a ride that promises to be way more than I could ever handle. I can feel my pulse in hot, needy places.

  Suddenly, I need to get out of here.

  Blake Travis is a complication I definitely don’t want right now. If I’m too shy to talk to random strangers, I have no business exchanging meaningful glances with the likes of Blake Travis.

  I turn to Piper, who’s laughing at something one of the girls has said. “I’m going,” I tell her. “I’ll see you back at the room.”

  “What? Why? Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the end of the game?” she says. “They’re only leading by fourteen points and there’s still twenty minutes to go.”

  “No, I’ve really got to get ready to start work early in the morning. But you guys have fun. Cheer on our team for me. I’ll see you later.”

  Before she can protest more, I bolt. I try to keep calm and take deep breaths as make my way through the stands to the side exit. I walk away from the bright lights and feel a little better as I get swallowed up by the calm, quiet distance. I’m good at being alone. I’m fine. I’m good at keeping my distance and doing the things I need to do.

  Without complications.

  It’s better this way, I assure myself. I can’t get hurt if I follow my rule, which is all about keeping myself safe from the kind of emotional engagement that’ll only end up breaking my heart.

  I’m listening to goddamn Coach shouting his orders again and I’ve had just about enough of his attitude. We’re winning. We haven’t fucked up a play yet. Our defence has some issues but offensively we’re airtight. When I finally escape his power trip and jog back onto the field for the last ten minutes of the game, I look for her.

  Her seat is empty.

  I get closer and I’m scanning the stands for her. For that gleam of her hair. Maybe she put a hat on. Maybe they moved. But her friends are still sitting there.

  She’s gone.

  I feel fucking panicked. Where is she?

  I have to find her.

  What if I can’t find her?

  “Travis. Jesus. Travis.” Someone’s talking to me. We’re getting into formation. The rest of the team is ready to go and I’m still standing there, staring up into the crowd. But there’s no sign of her. Maybe she went to get a drink.

  I force myself out of my stupor and I take my
place. Once the ball lands in my hands I’m ready to pass. I know where it’s going. Tyrell wants it but he’s not deep enough. Parker’s almost there. Two more yards. What if I never see her again? What if I’ve lost my one chance to talk to her? Two monster-truck-sized defensive ends knock me to the ground. Fuck. I’m sacked. I lost my concentration and I’m fucking sacked.

  Shit, that hurt. One of the guys jammed his elbow into my stomach as he flattened me. I’m winded. I lie there for a second, picturing her face. Like an angel’s.

  Coach is freaking out from the side lines, yelling and red-faced.

  Fuck him.

  I get back up and take my position.

  I need to speak to the friend. I need to find out who she is and where I can find her. I’ll die a slow, agonizing death if I have to wander this campus, this city, this country, this goddamn world for the rest of my life searching for her. I want to see her now.

  To keep Coach quiet I focus, make the play. I throw the ball to Reeves this time. He’s a nimble little twerp and he’s in the right place at the right time. That beauty slides right into his hands and the game – thank Christ – is over.

  The noise is deafening.

  I run straight over to the stands. Coach is yelling and people are staring but I make my way through the crowds. People are screaming my name and reaching for me but I slide past them. It’s chaos but I’m on a goddamn mission. I finally reach the friends, who are staring up at me with round eyes. I’m panting and sweaty and I don’t care. I stare at the red-haired friend. “I need to know who that girl was, the one who was sitting here. I need to know where I can find her.”

  Two of the girls are squealing and giggling but I ignore them. The red-haired friend is level-headed, thank fuck. I get the feeling she’s spent a lot of time around football players. “Why do you want to know?” she asks.

  Seriously?

  I don’t have time to fuck around. So I tell it like it is. “I need to know because I want to ask her if she might go out with me.”

  This makes the friend smile. “But you never go out with girls,” she says. She’s playing with me. Protecting her friend, maybe. So I do my best to reassure her.

  “I just want to talk to her. I need to talk to her. Please.”

  “Her name is Skye,” she finally says.

  “Does she go here?”

  “Yes, she’s a freshman. An art student.”

  “Skye,” I repeat. It’s the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard. I fucking love the sound of it.

  “You’ll probably find her at the art building,” she says. “But be careful with her. She’s shy.”

  “I will. I will.” I’m going crazy. “Thank you.”

  I turn to leave and girls are calling my name and snapping photos of me on their phones but I get the fuck out of there, running back onto the field. I don’t care that the internet will probably blow up over my idiocy. That they’ll all be talking about the quarterback who crawled his way up into the stands to ask about a freshman art student named Skye.

  I have what I need. And I know exactly where I’ll be first thing tomorrow morning.

  “He did what?”

  Piper is practically bursting with the news. I’m already in bed, lying in the dark, listening to music, thinking about the work I’ll begin tomorrow. How the pieces will fit together. The materials I’m going to use. “Oh my God, you should have seen it! He came barrelling up into the stands – I mean, people were making way for him but they all wanted a piece of him and he just strode right on through all that like he had only one thing on his mind – and then he stops right in front of me and demands to know who you were and what your name was.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t tell him much. I told him your first name.”

  “He probably won’t get far with that.” I’m relieved.

  “Every female in Texas would kill to get their hands on Blake Travis, Skye. But no, he’s saving himself for his one and only true love. He seems to think you might be it.”

  I shake my head. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. How can he think I’m his true love when he’s never even talked to me? He sounds like a lunatic. Thank you for not telling him my last name, at least. There are probably lots of people named Skye at this university. Thousands.” Something occurs to me. “Please say you didn’t tell him where we live.”

  “No. I didn’t.” She’s smiling but there’s a half-guilty glint in her gray eyes. “But I did tell him you’re an art student.”

  “Piper.”

  “Please don’t be mad at me. He was just so sincere. And so hot. Jesus, Skye. How can you not be excited about this? I don’t get it. He’s grade-A Texas meat. Take a bite, girl. What’s the problem?”

  How do I explain? I hate being the center of attention. In fact, I hate any attention whatsoever. Especially attention from grade-A Texas meat. How do I explain to my new friend – who no doubt has a happy family and two parents that love her and a bunch of strapping older brothers to protect her – that my upbringing was a whole lot different than that? How do I begin to describe that my father died when I was four and my mother died when I was seven, leaving me alone in the world, doomed to a life of foster care. I hated being placed with all those random families, who were never mine. Most of the time I ended up running away within the first few weeks, only to be put with a new family. And so on. That the only way I could deal with the loneliness was to keep almost entirely to myself. I didn’t know how to relate to other people, mostly because I never did. Things just hadn’t worked out that way. I’ve felt alone and vulnerable for a long time. So I hide. It’s what I do. I don’t look at them. I don’t talk to them. I keep to myself. It’s the only way I know how to protect myself. It gives me a forcefield that keeps me safe.

  And now this.

  Now some bigshot quarterback thinks he can claim me just because he has some self-imposed ‘rule’ that everyone thinks is cute and sexy and something special.

  Well, I don’t think it’s special. I don’t know how to let my guard down, because I’ve never done it. And I’m not about to start now, especially not with someone like Blake Travis, who’s successful and gorgeous and dripping with luck. I’ve been forced by self-preservation to become a freakish, socially-stunted hermit. The only thing I know how to do is to keep to myself.

  It’s a hard thing to try to describe to my new roommate.

  “There’s no problem,” I say. “Except that I have an early start and I’m not really interested in hooking up with the star quarterback right now. Thank you for not telling him where I live. At least I can hide out here in our room if I need to.”

  Maybe Piper notices the change in my tone. I’ve become more sullen, with all my twisted baggage rearing its ugly head. “Hey, I’m sorry, Skye. If I’d known you had something going on I would never have told him your name.”

  I try to sound more cheerful. “It’s okay. It’s fine. There’s nothing going on. I just need to morph into Michelangelo over the next few months to be able to afford my tuition fees. I need to focus.”

  “That’s cool,” she says. “I get that. I’m going to be doing the same thing with my psychology classes. I guess I’ll have to morph into Freud.”

  We laugh at the thought and it feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.

  It takes me a long time to fall asleep. Even when I finally do, my dreams are swirled with memories, of my father, who died in a motorcycle accident. Of my pretty mother, who was killed by a drunk driver. Of a star quarterback who throws the winning pass. In my dream, for some strange reason, I catch it.

  I get to the art building at eight o’clock sharp. It’s not even unlocked yet. So I sit down on the concrete and lean against the building to wait. I put my sunglasses on and listen to one of my playlists.

  A shiny black Mustang drives up. Shit. Let me guess.

  And what do you know. Mr. Star Quarterback gets out of his car. As soon as he sees me si
tting there, his face breaks out into a huge smile, which, weirdly, almost makes me return the smile. It’s just so genuine. There’s something relieved about it.

  He starts walking towards me.

  I’ve never seen him this close up and I’ll admit, I’m captivated. He’s stunning. He’s wearing worn jeans that fit him like a dream and a white polo shirt that highlights the dark tan of his skin. His body is something to be marvelled at, no doubt about it.

  Someone else can do the marvelling.

  His black hair has been smoothed into place, which makes him seem younger and somehow less threatening. But not less threatening enough. This close up, as he walks closer, he looks huge. Those shoulders are broad even without all the football padding. He might be as tall as 6’3’’. He’s got one of those bodies that’s long and lean but at the same time muscled and toned, like a sculpture come to life. And those sparkling blue eyes are staring straight at me.

  He sits down next to me on the concrete, leaning up against the building just like I am. He doesn’t seem to care that I don’t want him to sit next to me. Or that I can’t think of a single thing to say to him.

  I know what you’re thinking: he’s gorgeous, he’s the starting quarterback, he drives a black Mustang, and he’s filling out those jeans like nobody’s business. And those blue eyes framed by dark-rimmed lashes really are to die for. And that smile.

  But the thing is, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to handle this guy. I almost stand up and walk away. I can hardly bear the heat of his gaze. He’s staring at me like he’s happy to see me. Very happy. And I have no idea why he would be. I’m just … me. The same old me I’ve always been.

  Well, almost the same old me. A few things have changed in the past few days.

  First, I turned eighteen the day before yesterday. I’m no longer a ward of the state but a fully-fledged human being now, who doesn’t have to answer to anyone. I walked straight out of the dingy house I’d been living in outside of Galveston, jumped on the first bus to Austin just in time to check in to my dorm. So yesterday was actually the first day of my life I started feeling free. I don’t have to worry about whether or not I’ll have to pick up and move again at the whim of someone else. I don’t have to worry about the social service drones or that feeling of loneliness that has haunted me for the past ten years.