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Bad Ass Athlete: I dare you toâŠ
Delaney Shaw:Â Who is this?
The late night text is random, but “Bad Ass Athlete” sure seems to know who she isâŠ
Delaney Shaw.Â
Good girl.
Lover of fluffy kitties and Star Wars.Â
Curious.
His dare? Spend one night in his bedâa night he promises will be unforgettableâand she can solve the mystery of who he is.Â
She knows she shouldn’t, but what else is she going to do with her boring Valentine’s Day?
One sexy hook-up later, her mind is blown and the secret’s out.
Maverick Monroe.
Bad boy.
The most talented football player in the country.
Just ask him.
Too bad for him Delaney’s sworn off dating athletes forever after her last heartbreak.
But Maverick wants more than one night and refuses to give up on winning Delaneyâs heart. She isnât one to be fazed by a set of broad shoulders.Â
After the semester ends, will the bad boy land the nerd girl or will the secrets they keep from each other separate them forever?
Excerpt
Prologue
Freshman year
 Delaney
Â
Welcome to Magnolia, Mississippi, where locusts are as big as your hand and iced tea comes with a double helping of sugar.
Itâs also home to the best damn annual bonfire party at prestigious Waylon University, which is currently happening right now in the middle of a cotton field.
ButâŠ
I shouldnât even be at this party.
Itâs mostly for Greeks and jocks and popular people, yet here I am, a mere freshman, hanging out with my bubbly redheaded roommate, Skye.
âSee?â she says as we take in the bonfire. âIsnât this better than watching cat videos on a Saturday night? What do you want to do first?â
I sigh, feeling nervous. Ever since I moved here from North Carolina, Iâve been pushing myself to try new things. Might as well put a crazy college party on that list. âLetâs get a drink.â
She claps and excitedly replies, âDone. Alcohol at two oâclock.â We weave through the crowd, headed in that direction, and eventually we reach the bar, which is really just a long collapsible table someone set up. On top are various bottles of alcohol, and I grab the Fireball to pour shots. Iâve just tossed mine back and set down my cup when a prickling sensation washes over me, giving me goose bumps.
My gaze moves across the crowd, stopping on a tall guy with dark blond hair, broad shoulders, and a cocky smile. Aha.Heâs been staring at me, and now that heâs caught, he raises his glass as a half-grin crosses his face.
I blush wildly as I adjust my black cat-eye glasses. Iâm not used to such blatant male attention.
Skyeâwhoâs followed the trajectory of my gazeâspits out part of her drink. âOh my God, do you know who that is?â
âObviously I should,â I say dryly.
Her mouth flops open. âYou really need to get out more.â
My eyes drift back to him but keep moving as if Iâm not staring. âSo who is Mr. Hottie McParty Pants?â
âIf you donât know him, you donât deserve to know. But, heâs H-O-Tâlike Chris Hemsworth hot. I dare you to flirt with him.â She wiggles her eyebrows at me, knowing full well that for some reason, I canât resist a dare. Normally rather reserved, a dare gives me permission to be someone Iâm not.
So does Fireball. I sling back another shot.
âIâll bring you a donut every day for a week if you flirt with him,â she adds, watching me.
My ears perk up. âThe ones with edible glitter?â
She nods, and I toss a quick glance back to him. Our eyes collide again, and a zing of connection fires between us. He has a strong, handsome face and a stance that has masculine written all over it. A smile tips up his full sensuous lips, andâ
Two brunettesâtwins, no lessâapproach him, one on either side, and wrap their arms around his waist. He smiles down at them. Oh. Well then.
I turn back to Skye and frown. âPlayer. Not interested.â
She waves her hands in my face. âHe likes youâI saw it on his face.â
I snort. âProbably gas pains. Your dare is not accepted.â
We hear our names being called from the other side of the party and turn to take in the helmet-haired Martha approaching us, which is taking some time due to the fact that sheâs wearing stilettos and a slinky halter dress. She carefully picks her way through the crowd, nudging people out of her wayâsometimes rudelyâas she focuses on us. Great.
âIncoming mean girl,â I mutter under my breath.
Like us, Martha Burrows is a freshman and lives on our floor. Rather full of herself, she announced within a week of meeting us that sheâd no longer answer to anything but Muffin, a nickname sheâd given herself.
She eyes us both, a look of superiority on her pretty face. âI didnât know you two were invited to this little shindig. Obviously, I know all the right people, so Iâm always invited.â Her gaze zeroes in on my outfit and she rears back. âWhat on earth are you wearing, Nerd Girl?â
âClothes.â I stiffen at her name for me as I tug on my fitted Star Wars shirt and the pleated red miniskirt I made from a manâs shirt. My long pale blonde hair is up in curled pigtails, and I went a bit heavy-handed with the shimmery eye shadow and red lipstick. Itâs not your typical look for WUâwhich is anything monogrammedâbut Iâm learning to ignore the raised eyebrows.
Skye, the peacemaker among us three, clears her throat and nods her head at the guy whoâs been staring. âDelaney has an admirer, but she doesnât know who he is.â
Martha-Muffin follows Skyeâs gaze, eyeballing the mystery man over my shoulder. She gives me an exasperated look. âThatâs Maverick Monroe, you idiot. Heâs the biggest football star in Mississippi and the freshman recruit of the year. Word is, though, girls like you arenât his typeânot at all.â Her hand flicks a stiff honey-colored curl over her shoulder.
My teeth grind together. âMartha, if you think I care what you think about me and whether or not a quasi-famous football player is interested in me, then you are confused.â
Her lips tighten. âItâs Muffin now, and why do you have to use such big words? What does quasieven mean?â is her cutting reply.
Skyeâs eyes get as big as saucers, and I assume itâs because Martha-Muffin and I are about to finally have it out. I canât stand her, and she canât stand me. We justâŠclash.
But that isnât what has Skye in such a titter.
She points over my shoulder, and I get it.
Itâs the person standing behind me, the one I canât see. I feel a nervous sneeze coming on andâthank GodâI somehow push it down.
A husky voice reaches my ears. âQuasimeans seeminglyor supposedly. What she means is Iâm probably not a famous football player but rather one thatâs been highly touted but is without merit.â
Oh, shit.The voice is rich and smooth with just enough southern drawl to make a girl swoon. He also sounds halfway intelligent.
I turn around slowly. Mr. Tall, Blond, and Football is right in front of me wearing a cocky smile.
How in the hell did he get over here so fast?
You know that moment when everything stops and the next breath you take is the first one of the rest of your life? Thatâs what it feels like as Maverick Monroe stares at me with his piercing blue eyes.
I glance down and take in the sculpted chest and hard biceps.
I look back up and see a chiseled jawline thatâs defined and lined with a slight scruff. I see the thin pink scar that slices through his left eyebrow, and it does nothing to detract from his appeal.
Heâs perfection.
Heâs air.
Which I desperately need right now, because I canât breathe.
He smirks, as if reading my mind, and I scramble to pull myself together. Someone calls his nameâitâs a girlâs voice, probably one of those twinsâbut he doesnât budge.
His eyes rove over my skirt, glasses, and lips. âThe question isâŠdo you even know what makes a good football player?â
âNice hands?â
His lips twitch. âHardly.â
âA tight end?â I smirk, feeling sassyâŠwhich is weird. I donât know who I am right now, but itâs like my mouth has a life of its own, saying things I normally wouldnât.
Martha-Muffin chokes on her drink at my remark and Skye watches me with glee, clearly excited that I have the attention of someone who is apparently very important at Waylon.
I put my hand on my hip. âThe question isâŠwhy do I need to know?â
âYou donât. All you need to know is Iâm the best.â
I suck in a little breath at his arrogance.
A guy walks past us and claps him on the shoulder. âBadass game last week, Mav. Rock on.â
âThanks, man.â Maverick acknowledges the compliment and lifts his chin, his eyes never straying from mine.
âWhat position do you play?â I ask. âQuarterback?â
He smirks. âMiddle linebackerâdefense.â
âSounds fancy.â
He laughs.
Skye, whoâs been eavesdropping unabashedly, sighs with a dreamy expression on her face. âHis stats are the best in the country.â She clears her throat. âI-I only know that because my brother is a huge fan, I swear.â
âHi, Maverick,â Martha-Muffin says as she edges closer to him, nudging me out of the way with her sharp shoulders. âRemember me?â
He focuses on her. âNo.â
She glowers. âI was in your dorm room with your roommate last week. You said helloto me.â
He shrugs. âA lot of girls come through. I canât remember them all.â
Oh. My. God.He isarrogant, but I like how he just shut her down.
Martha-Muffinâs face reddens and she mutters something under her breath, flips around, and flounces off. Good riddance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Skye is drifting away too, giving me a thumbs-up.
Whatever. I am not going to flirt with this guyâŠam I?
Heâs definitely got something about him, something that makes my body buzz. I tilt my chin up, taking in how tall he is. He has to be at least six-four.
His gaze drifts over my face. âYou know thereâs a legend here at Waylon about our famous bonfire party?â
âOh?â
He smiles, a flash of white on his handsome face. âLegend says the first person you kiss at the party is the one youâll never forget. It might be years later, and still their face is the one you dream about.â
âSounds like hocus-pocus.â
He lifts that mesmerizing left eyebrow. âI like to believe in legendsâafter all, I am one.â
I smirk. âProbably a game made up by some frat-boy-slash-jock wanting to kiss all the girls.â
He pauses for a moment as if thinking, and then he steps in closer, so close that I can see the varying shades of blue around his pupils. âMay I?â
My heart does somersaults.
âMay you what?â I ask, my voice low, but I know what he wants. My body is already leaning toward him, wanting it too.
âThis.â He kisses me, an almost imperceptible touch as he brushes his full lips against mine. The contact of our mouths is electric, sparks of fire skating along my skin.
As if from a distance, I hear someone calling his name. Itâs a female, and sheâs pissed.
Itâs one of the twins probably.
And Iâm jealous.
But, I donât look. We pull away, and I stare at him as he stares right back. A stillness settles over the party, although I donât think anythingâs actually changed. The music is still playing. People are still talking. Beers are being passed around.
YetâŠ
Weâre connected.
Two stars in the black velvet sky.
Two ships passing in the night.
Oh, fuck, stop the nonsense, I tell myself.
âWhat was that?â I ask, my voice breathless.
âThatâs your first kiss of the bonfire. Now youâll never forget me.â
And then, before I can think of a reply, heâs gone.
I watch him go back to the twins, frustration coiling inside of me as I exhale.
It would be two years before I kissed him again.
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About the Author
Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and USA Todaybest-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. She’s best known for her angsty, heartfelt new adult college romances.Â
A former high school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice; Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero.Â
She’s also addicted to frothy coffee beverages, Vampire Dairies, and any kind of book featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females.Â
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