The guy my friends liked. The arm girls wanted. The confident, charming quarterback. The guy that every girl wanted, except Ellie. "Just… get away from me." I shook my damp hair and grabbed my bags. Heated air coated with a burning smell warned me of Mom's cooking. Never a good sign. "Hey!" Mom called outside two steps away from my truck, running behind me with a frying pan, spoon, and container in her hands. Damn, so close. "I made breakfast." "Fabulous." I frowned at the black lumps she moved from her cooking pan to a plastic container. "Hurry up. I'm running behind." "Up late thinking about your stupidity?" Mom's eyes threw daggers at me. "When you're back, we're talking about what's on your phone." I held up my hand. "It's not what you think." "Then it's worse?" Her glare followed me as I opened the passenger's door. "And you check in on Brody." Yeah, no. I grimaced and tossed my bags on the seat. She handed me what used to be eggs. The plastic scalded my palm, so I dropped it on my bag. "Brody's a big boy." I shut the door, trapping that awful smell. "He needs to figure shit out on his own and doesn't want his new team to know he's my brother. So, no, I'm not checking on him." "Language, Logan." In an emotional one-eighty, Mom's eyes filled with tears. She inhaled with a nose full of congestion, and I was not indulging her quick-flash guilt crying. "Don't look at me like that. You two will always be my babies." Time to go. She dragged her sleeve over her leaky eyes. "Please call me." I scoffed at her dramatics. Not going to happen. "Sure, Mom." During my hurried exit, the plastic container puffed up with steam. Whatever Mom turned eggs into smelled worse than roadkill. Once her house disappeared from my rearview mirror, I dumped this salmonella poisoning science experiment out the window. Food poisoning was the last thing I needed. Been there, done that, never again. In ten minutes, Salesian High welcomed me back. Cream buildings with minimalist architectural designs held up gray slatted roofs. Familiar cars and trucks were parked near a large silver bus. Before I exited my truck, I felt the weight of multiple eyes on me. Girls mingled around the players. Most were 'desperately seeking trophy boyfriend' cheerleaders. The one exception approached. Long, straight blonde hair wagged in a tail behind her. Dressed in full maroon and black Mustangs uniform, her gray-blue eyes sparkled. "Logan!" Her sweet voice called. "Hi, Ava." I leaned over and hugged her. She smelled like hairspray and whatever fruity, fresh girly shit Josh was high on. "Hey." She tugged my arm. "Come on. There's someone, well, three someones -" I shook off her claws. "I'm good." "You should meet Eliza. She was telling me how much she likes your truck." Ava pointed to where four girls huddled together. I was a stereotypical football player who drove a pickup truck. Dad insisted on it as my last birthday present from him. Despite hopeful school rumors, my truck hauled my ass and sweaty, stinky football equipment. Eliza's heated gaze had nothing to do with my… truck. "Nope." Ava's match-making efforts were shit. The worst example was the black haired-girl who tried to burn me on the spot with one glare. Kendall. Fuck, I hated that mistake. I even hated her when her head was between my legs. The other three whispered and raked their fingers through their hair. A pet peeve of mine, hair-petting insecurity was a major turnoff. Ellie hadn't done that. She also looked like she hadn't brushed her hair in weeks. A smile tugged across my face at Ellie's ocean-torn-up appearance. She didn't care how she looked. Simple, but a big turn-on. "Aww, c'mon." Ava's tug on my arm brought me out of my thoughts. "Eliza-" "No." I flashed a polite enough smile, then groaned at their eye fucking. At 6-5, that was a lot of inches to cover. Best to keep that herd at a safe distance, so I grinned at Ava. "You'd better say goodbye to Josh. I don't want him whining for two weeks about missing you." "He's good," she assured me with a wink. "He got a proper send off." Lucky guy. The mismatchmaker pitbull yanked my elbow as her chew toy. "Logan, come and meet -" Thank fuck my phone rang. "Excuse me." I answered the call, "Hello?" "Yeah, this is Harper. What in the fuck of all fucks do you want with my best friend? Because I swear, if you touch a hair on her innocent head, then I'll grind your dick into dust and sprinkle it into the ocean for shark food!" My nose cringed. I deserved that but probably should've let this one go to voicemail. "Aww, I thought we had a special moment last night," I teased and stepped away from Ava's curious gaze. "Oh no, fuckhead," Harper spat venom. "If you want to have your own special moment, where you wake up tomorrow with your dick still attached, then be a good Neanderthal and leave her the fuck alone." Ellie was strong enough to fight her own battles. With no patience, I scanned the parking lot for an out. Bryce came up with two thick duffel bags slung over one broad shoulder. Perfect. "Harper, someone here wants to say hi." I handed the phone to Bryce and bit back a grin. "She's all yours." "Uh, yeah?" Bryce's eyes widened. "Woah! Woah, calm down, sexy phone girl. Babycakes, you are my kind of feisty. With a capital F for fuck-aaa-bull. Send me a sweet picture, make sure the girls are on full display, and I'll enjoy it." My shoulders bounced from a suppressed laugh. Bryce smirked while profanities screamed out my phone. "She hung up." My friend-through-physical-proximity handed it back with a shrug. "Right after she said she'd chop off my dick then ram it back into my asshole." I pocketed my phone with a smile before Bryce asked me for Harper's number. His type was… breathing. Among other blatant deficiencies, Bryce was too impatient for a steady girl. He always looked for the 'next best thing,' whatever that meant. To each his own. "Glad I can count on you, Bryce." "No problem." He bumped my fist, then jogged over to our defensive linemen. With a sigh, I greeted every returner and welcomed the newbs, memorizing their names and positions. By the seventieth politician exchange, my throat was dry and I was done with the fake niceness. "There he is." Head Coach Williams slapped me on the back. I grinned at his flat-top, military hairstyle that never changed, and shook his outstretched hand. "Was worried your Mom fed you breakfast, son."