The Devil Wears Cleats

. That's why I'm so

ean muscle wrapped in a grin that could melt glaciers. The crowd roared as he jogged off the field, helmet dangling from one hand, dark hair tousled just right. The scoreboard screamed 42-7, another victory carved out by his arm and

the lot

s shoulder so hard it'd leave a bruise on anyone else. Coach's mousta

ipped him off, and Jaxon's grin widened. They thought he was hilarious, the life of the party. No conscience, no worries-just pure, unfiltered fun. He didn't tell them he'd spent halftime wondering how lo

s. Carter in the cafeteria slipped him an extra chocolate chip cookie like he was a damn puppy. He was mid-s

ia in a hoodie two sizes too big, brown hair yanked back in a ponytail, eyes flicking around like she expected an ambus

asked, waving a meaty h

blivious to the high school circus. That flip hit again. Harder. His left eye itched, and he scratched it quick and sharp, nails biting skin. It was his only tell-nerves weren't his thing, but when they crept in,

tching her. She didn't giggle at his cracks about Hamlet's mommy issues. Didn't even glance his way. The flip turned into a twist, and his eye twitched again. He scratched

ming for the bus stop. Alone again. The flip jabbed him, sharp and annoying. He didn't like it. Didn't like her for making it happe

" Bryce hollered,

king rivals-can't let you steal my crown." Bryce laughed and b

ands in his pockets, whistling some earworm pop song. The bus rolled up, she climbed on, and he clocked the route number.

gain, a slow, deliberate drag. "New girl," he muttered