Rosalie wants more than boring hookups-she wants fire. Enter Reed, a cocky frat boy with a secret, and a plan to give her exactly what she craves.
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Rosalie is tired of boring, vanilla hookups. Who can match her freak?
Enter Reed Hurst, the cocky...
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Rosalie
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After we left Amber and Hailey, the tension still lingered, but the plan was set.
Tomorrow was going to be a battlefield, and we were ready for it.
We had to stay focused, especially with Dewina lurking around, trying to steal my spot.
But for now, I didn't want to think about that.
Tonight was just for me and Reed.
As we walked away from the sorority house, Reed took my hand and gave me a sideways smile. "You've got this, baby," he said, his voice low but confident. "But tonight, we're going to do something just for us. Forget about everything else."
I raised an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across my face. "Okay, what's that?"
Reed's grin widened as he tugged me along. "Just wait. It's a surprise."
I followed him, my heart picking up pace.
We walked across the campus, and I noticed the moonlight was just starting to stretch across the sky, making everything look kind of magical.
Reed's hand was warm in mine, and for the first time in a while, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. Whatever tomorrow brought, we had tonight.
We turned a corner, heading toward the back of the athletic facilities. I couldn't help but feel curious. Where was he taking me?
"We're not supposed to be in here right now," Reed said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was around. "But I wanted to show you something."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Sneaking me into the football practice facility? This is insane."
He smirked. "It's worth it."
Reed pushed the door open, and we slipped inside. The place was massive—just the kind of place where you could feel the weight of the game, the energy of it all. The lights illuminated the football field, stretching far ahead of us.
I looked around, impressed. This was Reed's world.
He led me to a row of lockers and stopped in front of one with his name on it: Reed Hurst.
"This is mine," he said, a little bit of pride creeping into his voice. "This is where I prep for all the games. We practice here year-round, and I wanted to show you my space."
I smiled as I looked around the locker. His jersey, number 9, was hanging neatly, and I could see his helmet resting at the top, his other gear hanging on the side. This was the kind of place where legends were made.
