Chapter Two

As the assistant trainer, I was required to attend all of the football practices. There were multiple trainers, each designated to watch over a specific sport, including every practice, scrimmage, and game. Luckily for me, I was placed with Sandra and the football team at the start of the season my freshman year.

I've always loved football. I suppose I was bred into my love for the sport, seeing as my father used to be the head coach for my high schools team back in North Carolina. I was raised with a strong head on my shoulders and the belief that beer and football are all a person needs in life. You can thank my dad for that.

"Damn it, McCall, catch the damn ball! Peterson is throwing a perfect pass!" Coach Baxter shouts across the field.

I look up and see Trevor jogging over to the ball that he failed to catch, his head hanging low. My gaze grazes the rest of the field, watching the other players as they went about their drills. My eyes land on the fifty yard line at the exact time that Vincent launches the ball down the field in a flawless pass, thirty five yards closer to the end zone.

Max catches Vincent's pass and let's out a holler of victory as he runs it into the end zone. I glance back at Vincent and see him smirking, an air of confidence surrounding him as he stands at the fifty yard line. I want to roll my eyes at him, or shake my head, but don't waste my energy. Guys like Vincent were better off being ignored than indulged in.

"Good pass, Bradshaw." Coach praises reluctantly.

I smirk. Coach understood how large Vincent's ego was just as well as I, and he was reluctant to admit when Vincent did something right. To be fair, Vincent bothers Coach with more issues than just his ego. His poor grades, reputation, and manners kept him from playing in games sometimes, and more times than not, result in a loss for the team.

I look back down at the notes I was reviewing for my biology class, trying to memorize the cells and their specific functions. Unfortunately for me, I was failing. Miserably. As a student studying physical therapy, you would think that I was good at all things science, especially when it had direct correlation with body parts. Well, you'd be wrong.

The shrill sound of a whistle distracts me further from my studying, or lack thereof, and I hear Coach Baxter shout: "Alright boys, that's it for today. Hit the showers!"

A defeated sigh left my lips. At the start of practice, I vowed that I would know everything I needed to know about the cells by the end, and I had only managed to memorize a quarter of what I was supposed to. I begin to pack up my notes and throw them into my bag, then sling my bag around my shoulders, ready to leave.

"Lil, wait!" I hear Trevor call.

I turn toward the field and see the football players trudging off, slumped and exhausted, probably dying in their thick football pads underneath the hot sun. Trevor jogs to the sidelines holding his helmet in his hand, and uses his free hand to rake through his sweaty mop of hair.

"What's up?" I greet, my eyes scanning his body for any injuries. "Did you pull something?"

Trevor cracks a grin and shakes his head. "Nah, nothing like that. I wanted to know if you were going to come out tonight."

My gaze snaps back up to his and I shake my head. "No, I wasn't planning on it."

"But Sig Ep is throwing their kickass Hawaiian party," Trevor whines, as if he's trying to convince his parents to let him go. "Come on, Lil, have some fun for once."

I hear a scoff, and don't even have to glance up to see who it is before I hear Vincent's obnoxious voice. "Do you know who you're talking to?" I turn to glare at him, but he ignores me and raises his eyebrows at Trevor. "That chick wouldn't know fun if it hit her in the face."

I narrow my eyes at Vincent, who had stopped to stand beside Trevor. "'That chick' is standing right here, and I know how to have fun."

Vincent finally looks at me, as if realizing for the first time that Trevor was talking with me and not about me. "Is that so?"

There was a stupid smirk on his lips that I wanted so badly to smack off, but I knew Coach wouldn't approve of me physically assaulting his players, so I had to refrain. Instead I glared at him as he stood there with his helmet tucked under his arm, sweat lining his forehead, his hair sticking in every which way from the wetness.

And even though I detest parties, even though I can't stand a bunch of sweaty people stuck together in one room, even though I would rather off myself than hang out with a bunch of dumb frat boys in my free time, my insatiable urge to prove Vincent wrong makes me say the most idiotic five words of my life.

"I'll come to the party," I tell Trevor confidently.

He grins widely, reaching to ruffle my hair. "Awesome! I'll see you there tonight, Lil."

I give him a smile as he walks away, but it drops the second I turn my attention to Vincent. He's smirking at me like I'm bluffing and only he can tell, and my smile turns to a scowl in seconds.

"I'll believe it once I see it," Vincent remarks cockily, and then follows Trevor toward the locker rooms.

I want to scream profanities at him while explaining, in detail, just how much he sucked as a person, but I was stopped by one of the boys on the team. Max asked me to fix up the tape on his knee that had peeled off as a result of the ridiculously hot day, so I clamped my mouth shut and nodded my head. As I tended to Max, though, all I could think about was how sweet it would be when I proved Vincent Bradshaw wrong.

• • •

"You did what?" Jane, my roommate, questions when I recount the events of practice to her.

I groan, falling back on my bed. "I told Trevor and Vincent I'd go to the stupid Gamma Alpha Beta party."

Jane snorts and corrects, "It's Sig Ep."

"Whatever," I mutter. "It's still stupid."

"If you think it's stupid, then why are you going?" I can practically hear her eye roll when she asks the question.

I sit up again and defend, "Because I want to prove the guys wrong. I have fun."

"Reading a whole book in one night isn't fun," Jane points out, and when I pout at her, she grins. "Well I, for one, am absolutely thrilled you want to go out. I've been trying to get you to come to parties with me since last year!"

I don't listen to what she says, because I'm too busy thinking about her first claim. "Reading is fun!"

Jane laughs at me, shaking her head as she realizes that I'm not listening to her. "Right. Since you don't have any going out clothes-"

"How do you know I don't have any going out clothes?" I fire back.

She gives me a blank look. "Do you?" Sheepishly, I shake my head, and she smirks. "As I was saying, I'm going to be your stylist tonight then. We only have..." she looks at the time on her phone and nods. "Three hours."

I roll my eyes at her dramatic tone. "We have plenty of time."

Jane rolls her eyes at me. "That's what you think. So, black or red?"

I spend the next hour and a half trying on clothes for Jane and trying to make a case as to why I needed a longer dress, or higher neckline, or more material. Unfortunately, I lost in the end, because she shoved me into a two-sizes-too-tight crop top with a deep neckline and flowers that somewhat resembled the Hawaiian theme, and high waisted shorts so short that they rode up my butt. Jane even tried to get me to trade in my converse for heels, but that's where I drew the line.

"No way am I wearing those," I said fiercely, shaking my head. "I will fall on my face."

Begrudgingly, she let it go, and I grinned when I got away with pairing the outfit with white high top converse. The next half hour was spent sitting on the edge of my bed while Jane put all kinds of makeup on my face that I don't normally wear. She explained what some of it was and how to use it, but I tuned her out. All a girl needs is mascara and maybe concealer and you'll be on your way. I had no interest in learning how to use a pencil to draw my eyebrows on my face.

Jane spends the next half hour after my makeup is done curling my hair so it fell in big, loose ringlets around my head. She refused to let me catch my reflection in a mirror until she was truly finished, and the second she set the curling iron down, she grinned widely. Her eyes studied me for a long moment, examining her work, before she finally clapped her hands and squealed.

"You look amazing!" Jane squeaked through a wide grin. "Look, look!"

She ushered me toward our full body mirror, and when I look at my reflection, I'm not sure it's really me. I mean, I look good. I usually wear jeans and a t-shirt, and this was far from that. The crop top was so tight that it clung against the curves of my chest, and then ended two inches above the short shorts to reveal a sliver of tan skin. The simple silver necklace with a small 'L' dangled around my neck like it always did; perhaps the only thing about me that looked the same.

I tugged the shirt to try to cover my chest more, seeing as the deep neckline left little to imagination, but Jane swatted my hands away and told me to leave it. I look different, that's for sure, but it was a good different. I think. I smirk a little at myself in the mirror, imagining what Vincent's face will look like when I actually show up to the stupid frat party.

"Thank you, Jane," I say with a genuine smile, looking at her through the mirror.

She grins back widely. "I feel like a proud mom," Jane glances at her phone and her eyes widen. "Okay, my turn!"

With a speed and precision that I'm impressed by, Jane changes into a tight floral dress and wedge heels, straightens her jet black hair until its perfect, and puts on her makeup. I'm not sure why she even wears so much, considering she's one of the prettiest girls I know.

Jane Donovan was stunning, and without a doubt, she knew it. She had a minor boy obsession and absolutely loved playing with them just to see how much power she can hold over them. There are plenty of boys on campus who fawn over Jane every day.

And despite the fact she's my complete opposite, we get along perfectly. Where I lack, she oozes, and vice versa. She knows everything about me, including my brothers state of health and the story of my father, and she's never not been there for me.

"So," Jane finally steps away from the mirror and spins. "How do I look?"

"Flawless, as always," I answer honestly.

She giggles. "Why, you don't look so bad yourself, Lily. Let's get going."

I nod and grab my phone, casting one more look at the stranger in the mirror before heading out the door. We walk to the elevator and wait while Jane tells me about Marco, her latest conquest on the soccer team, and I give a supportive head nod and the occasional "yeah" to show her that I was listening... Which I wasn't.

I was too busy freaking out about the party. Was it too late to turn back? Did I really care if Vincent was right? My eyes narrowed subconsciously at myself as I fiercely answered my own question: yes, I cared, and I was going to prove him wrong. So, merely fueled by the strong urge to prove a point to Vincent Bradshaw, I made my way to the party.