Chapter 9: Liam

I pull my earbuds out as Dylan elbows me in the ribs. I'm breathing hard from our five-mile run. It might be the off-season, but we still workout and train six days a week. Especially those of us who are looking to turn pro. There's only a few more weeks until the NFL Combine at the end of February. It's a four-day event where scouts get a chance to watch prospective players show off their athleticism on the field.

There is so much pent-up energy pinging around in my body with all the family shit going on, not to mention the draft, that I could easily run another five miles.

"Dude, what the hell crawled up your ass? Your aunt flo come to visit or something?"

I narrow my eyes and shake my head. Dylan can be such a tool sometimes. Honestly, it surprises me that his girlfriend, Lexi, puts up with him. "Yup, you nailed it. I'm riding the cotton pony."

Unable to help himself, he chuckles. "I thought so. You've been in a real shit mood lately."

I inhale a deep breath and blow it out slowly before turning his words over in my head. He's not telling me anything I don't already know. I have been in a crap mood lately, and I'm pretty sure some of it has to do with the chick I brought home a few weeks ago.

The one who took off before I even pried my eyes open the next morning.

I can't say that's ever happened before. Usually, I have to prod them into leaving sometime after a late breakfast.

Plus, the sex was phenomenal. You can't blame me for wanting to wake up and hit that again before she headed home.

It was a real kick in the ass to be shaken awake only to find Roan and Sam's ugly mugs staring down at me. I'm not even going to mention the shit-eating smiles plastered across their idiotic faces. The two of them had been all too happy to tell me about the woman they'd found hauling ass from our apartment at the crack of dawn as if she were fleeing for her life. Like I was seconds away from making a lampshade out of her carcass or something creepy like that.

Yeah, right...hardy-har-har.

Those two are complete dicks.

Apparently, that's exactly the way it went down. The chick I'd had the best sex of my life with couldn't get away from me fast enough.

After I kicked them out of my room, I'd shrugged off the whole thing, rolled over, and went back to sleep for a couple hours. I didn't think too much about it. I mean, it was a hookup. We both knew that going in. It's the reason we didn't exchange names.

It wasn't like I was planning to see her again.

Nope. It was more of a one-and-done kind of deal.

Hit-it-and-quit-it.

But that hasn't stopped thoughts of her from creeping into my head at the most inopportune of moments. Like at the gym, during class, or while I'm talking with another chick. Even when I'm lying awake in the middle of the night.

Memories of how damn sexy she'd looked standing in her bra and panties after I'd stripped off her clothing by the front door will flood through me. The husky sounds that escaped from her softly parted lips when I sucked her nipples into my mouth. How she traced her fingers over the patterns of ink decorating my arms and chest. Or, God help me, the way her tight-as-a-glove pussy throbbed around my cock every time an orgasm streaked through her.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit that the inside of my shower has seen more than its share of action these past two weeks. I'm like a horny teenager. I haven't jacked off this much since eighth grade.

Which is ridiculous.

So yeah...that's where I'm at with this.

It's not a good place to be.

To silently answer Dylan's surprisingly astute question-that my friends, is precisely what has crawled up my ass. Now I just need to find a way to dislodge it and move on with my life.

I've arrived at the disturbing conclusion that one time with her wasn't nearly enough. And the whole-not going to exchange names, which had seriously upped the whole hotness factor of that particular experience, only means I have nothing to go on.

There's no way to track her down.

Ummm...that is if I actually wanted to track her down.

Aw hell, I'd like nothing more than to track down her sexy ass. And I know damn well that I haven't seen her around before. I would remember if I had. I knew the moment she walked through the back door of O'Brien's that she wasn't a regular. And she's not a Barnett student either. I'm fairly confident she isn't going to turn up on campus. Although, that hasn't stopped me from looking. It's like my head is on a swivel.

The more elusive this woman becomes, the more obsessed I am with finding her.

Wait a minute...did I just admit to being obsessed?

Fuck. It's true. At this point, I'm obsessed.

So where does that leave me?

I'll tell you where it leaves me-up shit creek without a paddle.

Now, all that being said-am I necessarily going to confide all this in Dylan?

Hell, no.

The last thing I need is to catch any more shit from this guy. And, trust me, I will. That happens to be the beauty of Dylan. You always know what you're going to get with him. The guy is all about cracking jokes, his girlfriend, and football. He doesn't have a serious bone in his body. He's not exactly the guy I'd bare my soul to. If I had to, for whatever reason, bare my soul. So, that leaves one avenue available.

"Nothing. Just some family shit going on."

It's not a lie. There's always crap going on at the old Garrison homestead. It's a never-ending shitstorm, which is precisely why I don't need to get derailed over a hot piece of ass I nailed two weeks ago. No matter how fine that ass was. What I need to do is figure out a way to evict her from my mind so I can concentrate on the important stuff.

Like getting ready for the combine and draft, get my family's financial situation squared away, and look into outpatient programs for my dad. Maybe figure out where Cullum will attend college, and how we'll get Claire through high school.

Not to mention, I need to focus on the rest of my junior year at Barnett. I might be leaving early for the draft, but that doesn't mean I can allow my grades to tank. At some point, I'll finish up my degree. I'm not about to blow off the eighteen credits I'm taking.

See?

These are the things that actually matter. Dwelling on a chick who sprinted from my bed like her damn ass was on fire is the last thing I should be preoccupied with.