Chapter 1


    Chapter One


    Prelude


    Shay


    I was seven when I fell in love with Easton Connor. He was four years older than me and best friends


    with my brother Carter, but that didn’t matter to me. I never thought of him as too old back then. Never


    thought of him as off-limits.


    When I fell off my bike while racing down the street after my brothers, it was Easton who circled back to


    help me. Easton who took me inside, helped me clean the bits of gravel out of my knee, and then


    dabbed it with hydrogen peroxide. Easton who turned my tears intoughter by telling me about


    Carter’s inability to speak every time he saw his crush in ss.


    I decided right then that I was going to marry Easton. Because I was seven and didn’t understand the


    realities of romantic love. Because Easton hadn’t yet be the Easton Connor. Because I hadn’t hit


    puberty and be chubby Shay. Because I still believed in fairytales, I believed I would marry this


    boy with the light brown hair and blue-green eyes.


    It was my secret. One I vowed to keep to myself until the time was right. Easton didn’t know my ns.


    And I had no idea he’d break my heart.


    ***


    Shay


    April 27th, draft night, thirteen years ago


    “Shay!” Easton hoists a shot ss in the air and wriggles it in offering. “Tequ? What do you say?”


    Carter spins on him and frowns. “What the fuck, man? Don’t give my little sister alcohol.”


    “Shit, sorry,” Easton says, but his mischievous eyes are on me as he says, “I always forget she’s so


    young.”


    The tequ must be going to his head, because there’s no other exnation for the way he’s looking at


    me. His eyes drop to my mouth, and warmth spreads through me. If I didn’t know better, I might think


    that . . . No. That doesn’t make sense. This is Easton. My friend now, sure, but East is everything. Girls


    everywhere are crazy about him—a football star on the brink of NFL fame, he could have any woman


    he wanted.


    Carter grabs a beer and leaves the kitchen and pushes out the back door to join the party. And then it’s


    just me and Easton. Alone with a bottle of tequ and the full shot ss that’s still in his hand.


    He shes a nce over his shoulder toward the back door. “Does Carter have any idea that you’re not


    a little girl anymore?” he asks, closing the distance between us.


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    I bite my bottom lip. My skin flushes hot when he’s this close, and I swear he’s looking at my lips again.


    Do I have something on my face? Spaghetti sauce from dinner or something? I discreetly wipe my


    mouth with the cuff of my sweatshirt—or as discreetly as I can when he’s so close.


    Easton grins, as if he knows he’s making me ufortable and likes it. “Have you ever done this


    before?”


    A thousand possibilities fly through my mind at that question—most of them involving the hands and


    mouth of the man asking. “Done what?”


    He lifts the shot ss and sniffs the tequ. “A snakebite. Salt, tequ, lime.”


    I shrug. I’ve had alcohol before. My family isn’t exactly puritanical when ites to alcohol. But I’ve


    never done a shot, and certainly never a snakebite. Whatever that is. “How do you do it?”


    Grinning, he hands me the shot ss then grabs the salt shaker from the counter. He lifts my free hand


    to his mouth and licks the inside of my wrist. My breath whooshes out of me at the sensation of his hot


    tongue on my skin. I want to close my eyes, but he’s watching me, and I’m afraid he’llugh if he has


    any idea what affect he has on me.


    Grinning, he sprinkles salt on the wet patch of skin before putting the shaker down and grabbing a


    wedge of lime from the counter behind me. “Lick the salt. Take the shot. Suck on the lime.”


    “Lick, shoot, suck.” I nod. “I can do that.”


    His nostrils re and his pupils dte, turning those blue-green eyes dark. “I think I’d like to see you try.”


    I swallow hard. Is Easton Connoring on to me? I don’t want to be the idiot who believes that could


    be true. I don’t want to be the dumb fat girl who fell for the practical joke because she believed a guy


    like Easton could be attracted to her.


    I don’t know how long I stand there trying to decide, but my skin tingles where he licked, and my mouth


    has gone dry.


    “Want me to go first?” he asks, his voice a little husky.


    I nod.


    He takes my wrist and brings it to his mouth, licking off the salt. Shocks of pleasure roll down my spine


    and settle into a riot of butterflies in my stomach. He doesn’t even take the shot ss from me, just


    wraps his hand around mine and leads the ss to his mouth so he can shoot it back. Then he pops


    the lime in his mouth and makes a goofy face at me as he sucks the juice.


    “Got it?” he asks, still squinting from the sourness.


    “I think I can do that.”


    He refills the tequ then looks over his shoulder again.


    “Why are you so worried about Carter seeing?” I ask. “He knows I’ve had alcohol before. He’s just


    being a prude about the shot.”


    “I don’t want him pissed at me,” he says, shrugging. “God knows he did worse than take a couple of


    shots when he was sixteen, but—”


    “I’m seventeen. Eighteen in a few months.”


    He slowly turns his attention away from the back door and back to me. “My timing is shit.”


    “Timing for what?”


    His eyes are so intense on mine, but it’s a good kind of intensity. Like he sees me. Has anyone ever


    looked at me before? Really looked? “Nothing.” He lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. “Then


    Carter really would kill me.”


    Iugh. “You’re ridiculous.”


    “What? Why do you say that?”


    “You just got drafted into the NFL, and you’re acting like you’re attracted to me.”


    His gaze skims over me, from my hair all the way down to my bare feet and the bright pink polish on


    my toes. “What does one have to do with the other?”


    I don’t understand what’s happening here. Am I dreaming? Has he had more to drink than I realized? I


    throw the shot back before I can lose my nerve, totally forgetting the salt.


    I shudder. “That’s awful!”


    Heughs. “You did it wrong. Are you always this terrible with directions?”


    Only when you’re here. Only when you’re looking at me like this and making me think I can have things


    I can’t. But as awful as the taste was, warmth blooms in my chest. It’s more intense than the effects of


    the ss of wine I drank with Easter dinner, and I do like that.


    “Now I risk getting you drunk if I make you do it the right way.”


    “I’m not drunk.” I shake my head. “I don’t feel anything.”


    He grunts. “Give it a minute.” He steps around me and stands at the counter, pouring himself another


    shot. I guess he’s not going to drink it from my ss this time. It’s dumb to be disappointed.


    He doesn’t bother with the salt or lime, just throws it back. Doesn’t even grimace. Then he braces his


    arms on the counter and hangs his head.


    I’d have to be emotionally stunted not to feel the change in his mood. He just went from yful flirt to


    morose jock in the span of a blink. “What’s wrong?”


    He shrugs. “Nothing.”


    “Liar.”


    He drags a hand through his hair and finally turns to me. He leans back against the counter. “Can you


    keep a secret?”


    “Of course.”


    He hesitates a beat, and I see the emotions ying across his face—he’s trying to decide if he can


    trust me with this, or if he even wants to own up to whatever it is.


    “I never told anyone when I caught you with that dirty magazine when you were thirteen.”


    His eyes widen and he grins. “Oh, fuck. I’dpletely forgotten about that. Jesus.” He scrubs a hand


    over his face. “Okay, fair enough. That kind of discretion so young is definitely meaningful.”


    “Meaningful? Are you kidding me? That’s preteen ckmail gold, and I never used it. Not even when


    you wouldn’t dump that girl you took to senior prom.”


    His forehead wrinkles, and I can tell he’s trying to remember his date.


    “Hry,” I remind him.


    “I didn’t know you wanted me to dump her.”


    “I didn’t realize I needed to spell it out for you. I told you she was a bitch and you deserved better.”


    “Honestly, I was eighteen, and she was hot and willing. I probably didn’t care that she was a bitch.”


    “She called me a fat tagalong.”


    “What?” The tops of his ears turn pink—a tell I learned long ago means he’s angry. “You never told me


    that.”


    I shrug. When Easton was with Hry, I was fourteen. I’d foolishly believed that he wouldn’t notice I was


    fat if no one ever told him. Not the dumbest thing I’ve let myself believe in the name of loving him, but


    not a delusion I’m particrly proud of either.


    “You’re not fat,” he says.


    I fold my arms and arch a brow. “Come on, Easton. I might be naive and shamefully inexperienced for a


    girl my age, but my eyes work just fine.”


    He holds up a finger. “One, so do mine, and you’re not fat. You’re not skinny. You have a nice body.”


    A nice body. The words are both the balm and the de. On the one hand, I’m intelligent and rational


    enough to know I should be d he thinks of my body in better terms than I do. Intellectually, I know


    nice is as good as it’s going to get for a girl like me. On the other hand, part of me wanted to believe I


    saw heat in his eyes earlier. As irrational as it is, I want to believe he might think I’m beautiful, even


    while I know I’d never believe it if he used those words.


    Emotions are dumb.


    He holds up another finger. “And two, I’m going to need you to tell me what you mean by shamefully


    inexperienced.”


    “Absolutely not.”


    “Please?”


    My face is on fire. Why did I say that? I would be fine if no one ever knew the extent of my innocence,


    but Easton is thest person I want to admit it to. “Forget I said anything.”


    He steps closer. “I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.”


    “You go first,” I blurt. Because who am I kidding? Anyone who had to guess would know I’ve never


    kissed anyone. It’s not like I’ve ever had a boyfriend.


    His eyes soften and something like pain shes over his features for a beat. “I wish the Demons hadn’t


    drafted me.”


    I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that came out of left field. Easton’s dreamed of the NFL his


    whole life, and tonight we’re celebrating him being selected in the first freaking round of the draft. Now


    he’s telling me that achieving this lifelong dream is what has him down. “Why’d you enter the draft if


    you didn’t want to be picked up? Carter said you could’ve waited until next year and finished school.”


    “I wanted to be drafted. I suck at school and I . . .” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I wanted to be


    drafted, but I was hoping Chicago or Detroit would draft me. I’m scared to move so far from home.


    Which I realize is dumb, but . . .”


    “It’s not dumb.” Easton had his pick of colleges, and he went to Starling College in Grand Rapids. They


    have a good football team, but he could have gone to Florida or LSU—teams whose football programs


    are practically NFL breeding grounds. I figured it was because he wanted to stay close to home, but it


    never urred to me that those preferences would hold true three yearster. Only, this time the


    choice is out of his hands. “You can visit, though, right? A contract that big means you can fly home as


    often as you want.”


    His gaze locks on his feet. “Right. Of course. It’s stupid, I know.”


    “It’s really not.”


    “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want toe across like the ungrateful rookie or like I’m too immature to


    handle the move.”


    “I promise.” I squeeze his wrist, but I’m suddenly all too aware of the fact that I’m touching him. His skin


    is warm under my fingertips. I can feel his strength and the power of his big hands. How many times


    have I imagined those hands on me?


    I jerk away, but he grabs my hand before I can get far.


    “It’s your turn,” he says, threading his fingers through mine. What is he doing? “Why do you think you’re


    shamefully inexperienced, Shayleigh? Your friends aren’t pressuring you to have sex, are they?”


    Sex. Oh my God. He thought I meant sex. Now my dumb secret feels even more mortifying, but he’s


    still holding my hand, and even as embarrassment warms my cheeks, I don’t want him to let go. “No


    one’s pressuring me.”


    The back door ngs closed as Carter pushes into the kitchen. Easton jumps back and drops my


    hand.


    “What are you two talking about in here?” my brother asks. He crosses the kitchen between us and


    opens the fridge. “Don’t you know the party’s outside?”


    Easton’s throat bobs and he tucks his hands in his pockets. “We’re just catching up.”


    Carter pulls out another beer and uses the opener on the wall to pull off the cap. “Well, I hope you’re


    finished, because people are starting to wonder if you already moved to L.A. or something.”


    “Rx, Carter,” I tell him. “The night is young.”


    He frowns as he looks back and forth between me and Easton. “I don’t like you two being alone in here


    together.”


    I snort and for the millionth time in my life wonder what it would be like to not have five overly protective


    brothers. “Why not?”


    Carter stares at Easton for a long beat. Easton gives a subtle shake of his head and Carter sighs.


    “Because you’re my little sister, and this punk breaks hearts in his sleep.”


    “My heart is fine.” Liar, liar. Does Carter know how I feel about Easton? I’ve never told anyone. “We’re


    just talking.”


    Carter taps Easton’s arm with the neck of his beer. “You. Outside. We’re celebrating your news, after


    all. And anyway, that redhead Tri-Delt showed up and is looking for you.”


    Easton heads toward the back with my brother. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He opens the door


    and turns back to wink at me before heading toward thekeside bonfire with my brother.


    I guess Easton doesn’t want to know my secret after all. I dodged a bullet.


    So why do I feel so disappointed?