I met her in a men's bathroom in Vegas, and while that should have ended in a wild hook up story that I told to my teammates for years to come, it was a beginning, not an end. I was a red shirt, and she doesn't deal with red shirts. She's got her eyes on the guys going pro. The big names with big futures, and until I can prove I'm one of them, she's not interested.
Or is she?
See, I wasn't supposed to call her until I was a starter, but I couldn't resist. I couldn't forget her, and now we're talking almost every day. She's driving down from her rival college to see me, to taunt me. To kiss me. To spend the night in my bed, in my arms. We're breaking all of her rules because as much as I want her, she wants me just as bad. Life would be perfect if I was the only the one.
But I'm not.
Everyone calls her a Star F#cker and a Golddigger, but I know that's not true. That's not her why. She has a reason for doing what she's doing, and it starts with-
"Today I'm nineteen..."