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  I kind of hate that he appreciates my knowing he’s a football player. It only confirms he’s more like Arlo and less like my desired boyfriend.

  “Derek here is the new wide receiver. The one no one knows about,” Lincoln interjects, waving his hand with the cup of punch toward Derek, then taking a long drink as he cocks his chin up another notch.

  Derek raises his chin, indignation touching the corners of his eyes, which pinch for a second before he laughs. “When your family pays for a new wing of the library, it’s tough to get out of the spotlight. Am I right? But, with a new wide receiver on the field, we’ll see if you can manage to keep it.” He doesn’t look at me, but Lincoln.

  There’s something between them, something that has each of them seemingly lifting a leg to mark their territory, though neither has any ties to me, leading me to deduce there’s definitely a feud occurring between them on the field.

  “She’s Lawson’s kid sister.” Lincoln stands straighter as he punctuates the words.

  Kid. The word makes me wince.

  Derek pulls his chin back, looking at me again. “Paxton Lawson? I thought you were older?”

  I shake my head. “We have an older sister.”

  He smiles. “You look nothing alike.”

  “Really? Most people say the opposite.” We do look alike, though Pax and our older sister Margaret, who we often refer to as Maggie, arguably look more alike. Our eyes are a similar shape and color, and we’re both left-handed. We’re told we’re expressive, and if I give as much away as Pax does, it means you know most of my thoughts with a single glance. We’re both blond, though my hair’s a few shades lighter, I missed on the height genes that both he and Maggie inherited. I’m a little on the short side while they’re both on the tall end.

  “He’s just—”

  “Going to kick your scrawny ass if you even consider it,” Lincoln interrupts him, taking another swig from his glass.

  I glare at him. “Don’t you have something better to do? Someone to see?” Under different circumstances, I’d be a giddy, nervous wreck to have Lincoln warning a guy away. This is something I’ve dreamed of for years. Literally years. But, this is not how I’d imagined it. Not doing my brother’s bidding.

  Lincoln shakes his head. “I really don’t.”

  Again, I might be flattered if he were looking at me instead of Derek.

  Derek seems to stand taller, returning the same challenging stare.

  I don’t bother waiting to find out what the two are really fighting about or why. I might care later tonight when my thoughts all roam to Lincoln like they do at the end of every day, but right now, my ego is leading me toward writhing bodies and inviting smiles.

  I check my phone again for a text or missed call from Poppy, and when I don’t see one, I head for the back door to call her. I find a switch on the wall beside the door and flip it on. The area is small, lighting up a fenced back yard that’s filled with upside-down coolers and a canoe. The air is cool as I step outside, hinting at fall. The days are still warm, but the nights are getting cold. I know I’ll be regretting not bringing a sweater on my way home.

  Poppy answers on the third ring. “I know. I know. I just couldn’t figure out what to wear. I’m sorry. I’m almost there.”

  “Everyone’s going to be drunk by the time you get here.”

  She tries to laugh, but I know it’s not genuine. It’s a nervous habit. She’s likely struggling with regret and still not happy with what she chose to wear.

  “I’m kidding.” It’s only a half-lie. At the very least, I’ll be sober.

  “Are there lots of hot guys?”

  The urge to tell her about Lincoln tickles across my tongue as I recall the details I hadn’t appreciated as they were happening: the savory scent of his cologne, the timbre of his voice, the way his gaze had swept over me. My heart thrums.

  “Raegan?”

  “Uh … yeah…”

  “You had to think about it?”

  “No. I mean…” I clear my throat. “There’s a ton of people here. There’s a lot of shaggy guys. Crazy hair and long beards. It’s still in.”

  “I’m still not sure I like that look. It kind of spells laziness.”

  “They’re guys. It comes with the territory regardless of the hair and beard.”

  Poppy laughs. Her little brother, Dylan, is too young to live up to his full lazy potential. “Okay. I just parked.” Her car door slams in the background. “I had to park like three blocks away.” A cat screeches. “This is kind of creepy.”

  “It’s not creepy. Just dark, and you’re nervous. I’ll keep talking with you and head that way.” I lean forward to look past the shrubs that surround the small porch, locating a gate in the fence.

  “Have you seen any rugby players?”

  I chuckle, closing the latch behind me. “I haven’t studied the pictures you sent me close enough to know who they are.” My best friend likes to plan and prepare for everything, which only skims the surface of why she’s gone to such lengths to orchestrate meeting the rugby team. Like the Titanic hitting the iceberg, her interest in the rugby team is clear and obvious—it’s what’s under the surface though, that has her so insistent. The broken heart she’s trying to nurse and avoid with a six-pack because she refuses to talk about her ex-boyfriend who railroaded her heart.

  “Don’t fail me now. I was told they’re going to be here. Nick for you, Blaine for me. They’re best friends. We’ll have weddings a few weeks apart, buy houses next door to each other, and raise our babies together. It’ll be beautiful.”

  “Unless he’s a mouth breather. I don’t want mouth-breathing babies.”

  “Have you seen him? Trust me, you’ll get over the mouth breathing.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m a light sleeper.”

  Poppy giggles and I can hear it echo down the street. She appears beneath a streetlight, and I hang up.

  “I should have put on more deodorant,” I tell her, rolling my shoulders as she catches up to me.

  “I’m nervous, too.”

  “It’s weird. It’s like high school but without the fear of parents showing up. And the guys are so much hotter. I’m not sure if that’s just because I haven’t known them since the paste-eating years or if guys magically reach a new level of hotness once they hit nineteen.”

  Her laughter pulls her lips into a wide smile, and then she loops her arm through mine. “Probably both.”

  “You look cute, by the way.”

  Poppy stops. “Cute?”

  “Good cute. Hot cute. Not babyish cute.”

  “Do I look like a freshman?”

  “According to Arlo, that’s a good thing. Well … kind of.” I blink back thoughts of what he’d said earlier.

  “Maybe I should…” She begins pulling on her V-neck tee, exposing more of her cleavage.

  I reach forward to stop her. “You know me. I’m not going to judge you if you want to have meaningless sex as long as you do it safely. But…” I pause, waiting until she meets my stare. “I think you’ll regret sleeping with some guy who notices you for your boobs. Which, by the way, look awesome tonight.”

  She lifts them. “It’s this bra. It’s a miracle worker.” She sighs deeply. “I just don’t want to be seen as a friend or a ‘nice girl.’ I want to be desirable. Sexy. Mysterious.”

  “I think you’re working against that last one by showing off the twins.”

  Poppy whacks my arm with the back of her hand. “You know what I mean.”

  I do. Because I want it, too. This year, I want to shed my neon flashing sign that says ‘off-limits’ and experience all the fun. And if the first step of that is finding this possible mouth breather who plays rugby, then I’m up for the task.

  “Okay, show me what Nick looks like again.”

  3

  “Paxton, Arlo, and Lincoln are playing patrol tonight,” I warn her as we round the sidewalk and head down the short driveway.

  Poppy slows, her arm squeezing mine as she looks across the yard filled with people in various states. Some are casually talking, others are dancing, and a large group on our left is doing the limbo. A couple of guys are shirtless and operating a grill on the opposite side, cowboy hats and beers in hand.

  “It’s so bizarre,” I say. “Everyone is older, and yet, reverting to dress-up and kid party games.”

  Poppy chuckles, but it’s her nervous laugh. “Well, if the rugby team isn’t here, at least you have Lincoln to look at.”

  I swiftly shake my head. “No. Remember, I am over him. No more Lincoln.”

  Her smile is shaky, conveying she doesn’t believe me.

  “Let’s go.”

  We make our way up the concrete steps that lead to the house. The door is wide open, people spilling out onto the small porch. Poppy’s arm constricts even tighter as she slows, prompting me to lead the way.

  Inside, friend groups are recognizable by matching outfits. A small crowd of girls all wearing Catholic school uniforms, their tops consisting of white bikinis. Another group is dressed in red tees with white numbers and names painted on them. It takes me only a minute to recognize Lincoln’s name and number printed on three of their shirts and only another second to find Pax’s. A group of guys is wearing sheets and drinking. Another is wearing board shorts and pin-striped suit jackets complete with ties, black hats, and shades.

  “There are so many people,” Poppy whispers. “How do you know to dress up? And as what? Are these clubs? Popular kids? Are there popular kids in college?”

  “I have no idea.” My denim cutoffs and black tee seem plain in contrast.

  “Say, party!” a guy yells, snapping a picture of us on his phone before turning his attention to others nearby.

  I blink awa
y the blinding flash and turn to Poppy. “I’m pretty sure the ratio of girls to guys is at least four to one.”

  “Seriously,” she says, peering over my shoulder. “There are barely any guys here.” She cranes her neck in the opposite direction. “There’s Arlo.”

  I turn to look in the same direction, hoping to find Lincoln with him. “Did he find the girls in the Catholic schoolgirl uniforms?” I ask.

  “He decided to keep things simple and went for the girls in the bikinis.” She points toward the back. “Oh, and look, their bathing suits go up their asses. That’s lovely.”

  “Should we wander around?”

  Poppy shrugs. “I have no idea.”

  I suck in a deep breath, searching for the confidence that had me believing this was a great idea. “Maybe we should get some beer.”

  “Yes. Beer.”

  I nod. “Okay. Let’s just stick together.”

  We make it through the living room when Poppy pulls on my hand. “There they are!”

  “There who are?”

  “The rugby team!” she hisses.

  A girl bumps into me as I make a sudden stop. She giggles and wobbles, spilling half her drink on the linoleum floor and spraying my feet and legs. I reach forward to catch her arm. “You okay?”

  She giggles again, her eyes glassy. “The beer sucks,” she says. “It’s warm. Warm beer sucks.” She belches.

  Poppy’s nose wrinkles with repulsion as the girl pivots and moves away. “God, I feel like my mother right now,” she says. “I’m judging everyone.”

  I laugh so hard I almost cry. “I wish I’d worn tennis shoes. Flip flops were a terrible decision.”

  “Hey.” A deep voice says.

  We both turn, Poppy’s hand clasping my wrist, channeling her excitement as we come face-to-face with two guys. They’re both blond. One has hazel eyes and the other light brown. They’re medium height and build, but their smiles hold enough confidence to make them appear like they’re over six feet tall.

  “They’re rugby players,” she whispers to me before she turns her attention to the boys standing in front of us. “Hi,” she manages, her voice verging on being breathy.

  “How are you guys?” The brown-eyed one asks.

  Poppy giggles. My best friend is proficient at flirting, while I remain skeptical of everyone’s intentions—even more so now that Arlo shared his view on lower classmen.

  “Are you guys freshmen? Sophomores?” Hazel-eyes asks.

  My uncertainly grows, silencing me.

  Poppy looks at me, soundless questions bunching the skin between her eyes before she looks at the guys and smiles. “We’re freshmen. What about you guys?”

  “Juniors,” the hazel-eyed one replies. His attention goes to Poppy as she asks him for his name.

  “Are you guys here with someone?” The other one asks me, leaning closer as the game of beer pong behind us grows raucous.

  As I open my mouth to say ‘no,’ a clear “yes” is spoken. Heat presses against my back.

  I turn around to see Arlo and frown. Paxton is behind him, glaring at the guys in front of us.

  “They’re possessions of the football team. Sorry, asshats.” Arlo shoos them.

  The two guys look from us to Pax and Arlo, curiosity and humor visible in their eyes.

  “We’re not…” I pause and clear my throat, lowering my voice because my first words were practically screamed. “We’re not here with them.”

  “Really?” The brown-eyed guy steps closer to me, his gaze set on Arlo. A challenge has him squaring his shoulders.

  Paxton matches his move like pieces on a chessboard, his steps are strategic and purposeful.

  “I just need to chat with them really quickly,” I say to the stranger, who doesn’t seem deterred at all by the several inches that Pax has on him. Maybe Poppy is right. Maybe there’s something to these athletes who don’t wear pads on the field. Or, maybe it’s just the alcohol that has them feeling invincible.

  I put a hand on Paxton’s chest, shoving him backward, but he barely budges. I look at Arlo, but his attention is squarely on the guy in front of me. I turn to Poppy, hoping she either runs off with the rugby player in front of her or has an idea on how to deter these two meatheads, both of whom I’m ready to disown.

  Poppy forces a smile, but it looks like a frown.

  I drop my shoulder into Paxton’s chest and face the two rugby players again. “Would you guys mind getting us something to drink? We’ll meet you over by the beer pong table in just a minute.”

  Brown-eyes looks at me, then over my shoulder at Arlo and Pax before looking at me again.

  “No, she won’t,” Pax chimes.

  The rugby player looks at me, the left side of his mouth creeping up into a hint of a smile before he shakes his head. “I think you guys have your hands full at the moment. It was nice meeting you.” They turn, shaking their heads as they walk away.

  I turn back to my brother, ready to slug him. “What was that?” I cry.

  “Those two are a bunch of hornballs.”

  “We just met them. We weren’t doing anything!”

  “But they would have invited you to.”

  I stare at Paxton for a long second, waiting for my easygoing and reliable brother to reappear and this overprotective and overbearing stranger to vanish.

  “You don’t want them. They just want to use you,” he finally says.

  “It’s not the who, Pax. It’s the what. You can’t follow me around, warning guys away. For your sanity and certainly my own.” I look from my brother to Arlo. “Same goes for you. No girls are going to come running toward you if they see you watching every step I take and every person I talk to.”

  Arlo shrugs. “I don’t know. Jealousy seems to turn a lot of chicks on….”

  “And if you want to have a wing woman one night, you can ask, and I will decide if I want to play that role. But you guys can’t do this. You’re going to drive all of us crazy.”

  “Can there at least be a couple of ground rules?” Paxton asks.

  “Absolutely. No dating my professors. No dating married men. And making sure I am happy.” I tick each of the three rules off on my fingers, omitting the most important one: not dating his best friend.

  “I’m—” Paxton begins, but I cut him off with a quick shake of my head.

  “You don’t get to make the rules. I do. I promise to be safe and smart most of the time, but I’m eighteen. I’m supposed to be making mistakes.”

  His head falls back on his shoulders, and if it were quieter in here, I’m sure I’d hear him sigh. I know his intentions are good. He wants to protect me and ensure I don’t get hurt or do something stupid. But, he needs to realize that sometimes the path to getting hurt and being stupid are the most important and memorable ones we can take. “Can we do a check-in system?”

  I nod instantly. “Party nights, I’ll check in with you. Let you know when I’m home.”

  “Mom and Dad made your curfew midnight? You goody-two-shoes, I had to be in by eleven.”

  I shrug. “This is further proof why you don’t need to worry about me. I’m the good child.”

  “And she’s got way better legs,” Arlo adds.

  Paxton throws both of his hands in the air. “This. This is why my junior year is going to fucking suck.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some rugby players to meet.”

  4

  On our way over to find the rugby players, Poppy informs me their names are Chase and Sam. Though I’ve not heard her mention them, she seems content in modifying our future to include them and forget about the other two she had originally chosen.

  “Oh no,” Poppy says, coming up short.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She points toward a crowd of moving bodies, a strobe overhead making it difficult for me to focus and threatening to give me a migraine. “Sam is talking to some other girl.”

  “That’s okay. Chase only had eyes for you. You should go talk to him.”

  “But what are you going to do?” Disappointment twists her lips and creases her forehead.

  “I’m going to find some of that warm beer and maybe get some revenge on Paxton and Arlo.”

  “You mean go find Lincoln?”

  Just his name makes my heart skip a beat.