Senior Year.

The bleachers shake under the thunderous might of our home football team; their cleats pound and clatter against the concrete as they run from up the tunnel underneath me. I always choose this spot.

Gripping the warm metal edge to steady myself, the vibrations buzz through me while I strain to catch sight of him—number thirty-seven.

First out onto the field is our fearless mascot, a somewhat ferocious-looking red wolf in black boxers with flames. I hold my breath as he springs into a series of acrobatic tumbles to entertain the crowd. Max is known for his athleticism, but also for being completely accident-prone.

I breathe a small sigh of relief once he's made it across the field to the home benches, where he runs the sideline encouraging spectators to stand and cheer. The crowd doesn't disappoint.

Screams split the air around me, a chorus of "Go! Red Wolves Go!" It's our final regular-season game tonight, and we're on our turf. There's not a free spot in the bleachers.

Our beautiful, acrobatic, and scantily clad cheerleaders are out next. The crowd goes wild as they enter to the tune of ACDC's Thunderstruck, a fitting match for the thumping, pulsing, pounding sound of cleats against the pavement as they boys wait to hit the field. The crowd is primed.

The coin toss is at seven, then the Senior Night dance starts at nine.

I'll barely have time to change, but bless my best friend's beautiful heart; Amy's bringing my dress and makeup when she comes later. She hadn't wanted to miss one minute of dolling herself up for the dance, but I couldn't miss watching him play. I've never missed a game.

I frown slightly when the squad dances across the field without their captain. Her signature blonde ponytail is missing from the herd. It doesn't seem to slow them down, though, so I wonder what our school's reigning Drama Queen has planned for the big homecoming special.

Like there's, somehow, somewhere, some unwritten rule with cheerleaders, Chelsea is a complete bitch. Although most of the other girls on the squad are actually quite lovely, Chelsea runs a tight ship— nearly everyone on the team lives in fear of her. Mostly, they leave me alone, though. Unless they need notes or help with their studies.

It probably helps that I'm barely on their radar. I'm what you call a social butterfly— I live on the right side of town, I'm smart, but not too smart. I'm artsy, but not out there; social, but not intrusive. Gran always says to treat others as you want to be treated, and well, I guess it's working for me so far. I'm the girl who will show you around school, introduce you to your people, or keep you company at lunch until you find your way, but otherwise, I keep to myself. Well, myself and Amy.

But, once my boyfriend was made captain of the football team, everything changed. Gone are the quiet lunches spent wrapped up in one another sitting at the edge of the campus, in our secret spot. Gone are the double dates on long lunches with Amy and her boyfriend, Beau.

Griff's been consumed by football this year— more so than ever before. He needs a scholarship to go to college—a full ride. The scouts are already all over him since he got his NCAA eligibility and was a relative newcomer in their eyes. I'm applying to all the same schools as him just like we plan in those secret moments together. Both the University of Florida and Georgia are looking promising. Still, I'm secretly hoping for UGA, so I can stay closer to Gran.

Trying to be a supportive girlfriend isn't all it's cracked up to be. I want to support him in his dream, but I also wish for and miss time alone with him. After almost two years, I'd finally convinced him I was ready to lose my v-card this summer, and it was everything I dreamed it would be. I wasn't his first, but we'd promised one another in the dark of the night that we'd be each other's last. Together forever, carved into the old live oak at our secret spot by the salt marsh. Each time we're there, I run my fingers over the scar in the bark. And every time I do, I relive those moments over and over again.

I'm yanked out of my daydream by the sounds of the crowd. Our players are hitting the field, one-by-one as their names are called. I enjoy the show, knowing Griff will be last.

What I'm not expecting is for him to walk across the field, helmet off, and Chelsea on his arm. She's looking up at him, batting her perfect blue eyes at him, her signature bright smile pasted on her face.

What are they doing? Griff and Chelsea hate one another, and I mean hate. With a capital H—A—T— and E. He's everything the popular kids enjoy hating; A boy from the wrong side of the town, a broken family, a drunk for a dad, an absent mom. Pair that with his wild, reckless attitude and a blatant lack of respect and even complete disregard for authority, and you've got yourself one teen powder keg. If Coach hadn't gotten involved in his life, everyone says Griff would probably be in juvie by now. Just like his good-for-nothing daddy was at his age.

As for Griff? Well, he despises everything that the popular crowd values in their peers. But, for better or worse, he craves their validation— although he'd never admit it. He's worked hard to get it, after all.

I cheer for him as they call his name, and he turns, knowing exactly where I'll be in the crowd. Our eyes lock for only a moment, and I know that devil-may-care smile and wolfish wink are only for me, so I hold them close to my heart.

He might be trying to earn everyone else's validation, but he's always had mine. Not that he's ever needed it, in my eyes. I love him just the same. Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves. I wear mine in my eyes and in my smile when I look and smile at him. At least that's what Gran teases me about nearly every night.

When the rival team hits the field next, they torpedo from their side of the turf, fanning out as they head to their bench. The spotlights glare down on all of us, somehow adding to the intensity of the Savannah heat. There's nothing quite like those Friday night lights.

I watch Griff head to center field and shake hands with the rival captain. It's barely a handshake, only a nod to the tradition. I bite my lip, already anticipating Coach's talk on sportsmanship he's sure to get later.

Silence falls over the crowd, and as the ref tosses the coin, someone calls it. Griff nods, and I watch him rally the team to receive the kick-off. It's game time.

* * *

How the fuck am I supposed to lead and motivate a team under pressure this immense? I'm barely holding my shit together for myself, let alone my team. But the scouts are here, so it's do or die time.

I shake Chelsea off my arm, not looking back at her once we make it to the bench. It's all about the team now; I don't have time for anything else, especially not for her or her games. Our futures are on the line this season.

"Huddle up, boys."

I look around at the caged faces with their snaps hanging loose and the copper-red jerseys that stand out under the lights. My pack of Red Wolves— every set of eyes is on me, waiting. Even as I feel like an imposter, their expectant stares somehow bolster me.

"Leave your worry and stress on the bench tonight. Nothing else matters other than the game. Play every snap like it's the last one. Leave it all out on the field— there's no room for holding back tonight. We're Wolves— fearless, smart, canny, and wily as fuck. I know we can win if we work together like we've done every other game. There's nothing different about this one. Don't forget that Wolves hunt together. Wolves play every snap together. Who's with me?"

Their loud, chanting grunts fill me with energy, and I prowl the circle, slapping shoulder-pads and knocking helmets with my team. With my somewhat reluctant brothers.

I shout over their chanting, "Tell me on three. One-two-three—"

"Together." Our one-word battle cry resonates on our side of the field, and my work, for now, is done; we're fired up and ready to rock. Before we break away, I grab Drew's helmet cage in my fist, holding his head to mine. "We've got this. I'm with you. Do or die, brother."

Drew and I are the only two players on the team with everything riding on the season. Every other senior has a backup plan, but not us. It's football or nothing. And we both know it.

What I wouldn't give to have the security of a backup plan tonight. But I know that if I can lead the team through this regular season and into playoffs, I can achieve all my dreams. I can almost taste it— and it's fucking sweet.

I never want to be the shunned kid in the lunchroom covered in bruises, wearing torn, old, dirty clothes, with no food and no money. I know Andrew feels the same— although his home situation is arguably, marginally better. He can at least count on someone putting food on the table.

When Coach found me sleeping in the janitor's closet one night when I'd been hiding from my drunk dad, he'd made me a deal. I could crash in his basement if I found a sport to direct my anger and that restless, wild energy that got me into so much trouble.

So, each day I showed up at his place to sleep on the old sofa-bed, he brought a new ball out or threw some boxing gloves at me. We'd eventually found the best of both worlds— speed, endurance, agility, aggression, power, fearlessness— everything I thrived at, right on the defensive line. I've taken down more QBs in my two years on the team than any other rusher in the school's history.

When Coach asked me to officially join the team, I did it on one condition; Drew and I were a package deal. Luckily, it turns out my only friend has a killer arm. So here we are about to change our lives. We both know how much we have Coach to thank for taking us under his grizzled wings— we thank him every time we win a game, even if we don't say it. Every win is for him first, then for ourselves.

There's nothing I won't do to make sure I never slide back to where I came from— and tonight, that dream is on the line. And I'm all in.

Drew grins at me and pounds my shoulder pads. "Let's fucking do this!"

And we do. From the coin toss to the first snap, we're primed. With every single snap, we drag our opponents through the battlefield. With every touchdown, their game falters. Just as their resolve does when I sack their QB, and captain, for the second time in the game.

So when the final buzzer goes off, we celebrate momentarily on the sidelines. The cheers from the crowd are wild, fuelling our ear-splitting, body-slamming victory huddle.

After a moment, we're hushed by Coach, who already has us lining up to shake hands.

As soon as we shake for a good game, my teammates erupt with pride and excitement. I let them push me around between them, slap their backs, pound their chests. Eventually, I find my way out of the tight circle, leaving them to celebrate without me. 

Instead, I wander to the sideline to meet my girl. I know she'll be waiting in our usual spot beside the bleachers.

She smiles a smile that transforms her beautiful face, but just as I'm about to hop the partition, a hand on my shoulder stops me.

"You Griffin Donovan?"

I turn back, frowning at the unfamiliar voice, but I relax when I see Coach behind him. "Uh, yeah, who's asking?" Coach clears his throat and gives me a stern look, so I try again. "Yes, I'm Griff Donovan. What's this about?"

The man's lips twitch before he smothers his expression, carefully keeping a neutral face. He pulls a business card out of his pocket and hands it over. "I'm Mark Debes. Head Coach at the University of Georgia. I hear you're interested in pursuing your football career when you head to college. Your coach and I have been talking since your sophomore start. I'll admit, I was surprised to hear about a player who seems to have fallen out of the sky like you did, but your coach has explained your situation."

"And? What does my situation have to do with why you're here?" I look over at Coach, shifting my weight nervously back and forth. Coach knows I don't want people to know about the shit I deal with at home, not that I'm there much; I've taken up nearly permanent residence in his basement. I'm not even eighteen yet. Although I will be in a few weeks, there's still the risk that someone will force me to move away, to stay with strangers, or worse— to go home.

The man continues, oblivious to or ignoring my unease and the attitude that comes with it. "I have a spot on my defensive line that will be opening up. I'm ready to offer a full ride, as long as certain conditions are met. Grades, attendance— nothing out of the ordinary."

He pulls an envelope out from inside his jacket and holds it out. "Take the time you need to think about it. Your coach says you'll be eighteen in a few weeks, but he's prepared to represent you, walk you through this. We can talk more once you've had a chance to look at the offer, the conditions."

I reach out to take the envelope, then tuck it into my helmet to shake the man's hand when Coach glares at me. There's no one else in the world who can communicate without words as he can.

"Thanks, Mr. Debes. I'm honored to be considered by the Bulldogs."

Coach gives me a nod, then claps Mr. Debes on the shoulder. "Let's chat, Mark. There are a few other players who I'd like you to meet. Did you get a look at our QB tonight? He was on fire..."

I listen as Coach rattles off Drew's stats, pleased that Drew might end up on the same team as me, although I know he's already talking to a few other schools. He wants to get far away from here, but more and more, I'm finding reasons to stay close. For my girl, sure, but also her grandma, who treats me like her own family.

"Griff, that was amazing! You were amazing! Who was that man? Was he a scout?"

Turning at the sound of her voice, I drop my helmet when her smaller, lush, and sinfully curvy body slams into me. I catch her mid-jump, and her legs band around my waist, her hands diving through my sweat-soaked hair.

I let her kiss me, savoring the feel of her lips on mine. Not giving a shit who might be watching. Fuck did I luck out with her. My perfect girl. "I must absolutely stink— but fuck me if I want you to stop."

Her eyes twinkle down at me, and I boost her higher, banding an arm under her round ass to hold her up against me. My hands ache to squeeze it as she moves against me, but we are still in public after all.

When I finally pull away, I already know the answer, but I ask anyway. "Any chance I can convince you to ditch this dance and spend the night with me?"

Her sexy pout delights me, and I want to sink into kiss all over again. "You promised, Griff. Plus, Aims is already on her way with my stuff. We're going to the dance. If you're miserable, we can go, and I'll let you talk me out of my dress, and maybe even into what's underneath it."

My whole body reacts to her statement, and I press my lips to hers again, edging the kiss to that dark, desperate place I crave. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart. Now, are you going to tell me who that man was or do I have to go gossip with Coach?"

I drop her down to the turf, catching her just before her feet hit the ground to soften her landing. "A scout from UGA."

Her eyes light up in excitement. "And?"

I shrug, refusing to get my hopes up. "Need to talk with Coach, but he said something about a full ride if I want to be a Bulldog."

"But that's incredible, Griff. Oh, my God! We have to celebrate. I know you haven't decided anything, but still. We should go out for dinner— you, me, Gran, and Coach."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Her face falls, and I kick myself for spoiling the moment.

She twists her hair around her finger, looking up at me with those big, grey eyes a little uncertainly. "No, of course not, but you have to celebrate a little. This is a big deal, no matter what decisions you make. I'm so proud of you."

I run my hand over her hair, leaning down to kiss her forehead to take the sting out of my earlier comment. It seems to do the trick because she leans into me for more as she continues to steamroll on.

"Plus, don't the Pats recruit from UGA? Isn't it like a thing? You've always wanted to get out of the heat."

I shake my head at her, unable to stop the smile. "It's so fucking sexy that you know which college teams fill the NFL locker rooms." It's so damn sexy that she learned it all for me when she helped with my college applications.

"What can I say? I like to be prepared. I have a vested interest in where we end up." She kisses me quickly, then pushes at my chest playfully. "Hit the showers because you were right; you do, stink." Her eyes twinkle up at me as she teases.

"I'll be ready in twenty. I'm giving this dance thirty minutes tops to impress me. If it doesn't, we're leaving, and I'm taking you up on your offer."

She smiles at me, then bites her lip in that sexy-as-fuck way of hers that turns me on nearly beyond reason.

"Take your time. I need longer than that if I'm going to look dazzling for you tonight; hang with the team, let's say forty minutes, okay?"

"You always fucking dazzle me, babe. You don't need to do or wear anything to do that." I grin when she blushes, then I bend down to pick my helmet and the letter up off the ground. "Go, I'll see you girls and Beau in a bit. He better not get a peek at my girl before I do."

"I love you, Griff. The forever kind. I'm so proud of you."

"I love you too, Belle. More than anything." 

And for tonight, I meant it. I meant it with every fiber of my being. But temptation has a funny way of leading you astray.

- - -

I'm sorry that this update was later than promised! Work was so busy this week and I also fell behind on my book clubs and read and reviews!

This chapter is the only one I currently have specifically planned to switch POV inside the chapter. It's also a little on the longer side compared to my other planned chapters. As mentioned in my previous parts, I'll indicate POV in the chapter name, so you'll know who's mind we're working with ;)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first look at Annabelle and Griff - as always, I hope you'll join me in the comments to let me know what you think! Please consider giving this chapter a vote if you loved it!

Xx Toria