Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)
Heart of Thorns: Chapter 14

Coach roars my name from behind me, but I block it out. All I can focus on is Briar, and the cold metal railing under my hands, and the way she suddenly bites her lip like she’s fucking shy.

She’s not shy.

Nervous, then?

“Put my number in your phone,” I tell her.

She nods slowly, still shocked at what I just declared.

I recite it when she’s done saving my contact info then hold out my hand. Not for her phone. For her.

I’m completely aware that this is another test. Not just for her—to see if she’ll take it, another acceptance of my proposal—but for me.

Because what if my lack of aversion to her has so far been a fluke?

Then this whole thing will get even more… arduous.

But there’s no backing down. Not with Coach and my teammates probably all staring at me like I’m the world’s biggest asshole, or flake, or whatever shit they’ll start to murmur when they think I can’t hear. Or they’ll just say it to my face.

There has to be a reason she came to my practice. A game—wearing the other team’s jersey, no less—is one thing. This is practice. The girls who come and watch, giggling like mad or cheering at every throw, drive me nuts.

And yet, Briar sitting here has me confused.

She’s not a jersey chaser.

She’s not swooning over me—although, honestly? I kind of wish she would. Just once.

After her abrupt departure from the library, I had a calm few days. Okay, that’s a lie. They were boring. Eye-wateringly dull. But not calm. Because all I could think was what I’ll eventually have to say to my parents when my truth comes out.

If Briar says no, that truth will reveal itself sooner rather than later.

My mother called, and I dodged questions about it. I cut my call with Dad short, claiming a meeting with a professor.

So many lies.

And now… she said yes.

She takes my hand.

Her palm slides across mine, her fingers curling. Gripping. Squeezing. My heart damn near lurches. Her skin is warm and dry, at odds with the chilled wind buffeting at me.

Not a single part of me wants to release her hand.

I tug her to her feet, fast enough to surprise her, and reel her in. Until we’re face-to-face.

Up close, I can make out every single freckle smattered across her cheeks and nose. Her warm brown eyes bore into mine, widening just a smidge.

“I’m looking forward to this,” I say, even though I shouldn’t.

We’re so close, my lips barely brush hers when I speak. Close enough to be a kiss, but… not. So instead, I bring her hand up between us and press my lips to her knuckles, and the redness that blooms on her cheeks is so worth the reaming I’m about to get from my coach.

Three hours later, I walk into the familiar pub. It’s got a good selection of food, plus cheap margaritas on Thursdays. And, as a bonus, they rarely check IDs. They won’t do anything crazy, like serve someone who could pass for a high schooler.

But everyone else? Free passes, for the most part.

I find Briar already at a booth in the back and slide in across from her.

“Briar,” I greet her. My gaze roves over her.

She’s changed since earlier. Or maybe I just didn’t notice what was under her black jacket. Her black sweater—not sure this girl ever wears color—dips into a low V-neck, finally giving me a peek at her cleavage. Her long, dark hair is loose around her shoulders. It has a bit of a wave to it, and even as I watch, she runs her fingers through it.

The sweater seems soft, sure, but her hair looks grab-able.

Nothing better to tug on during sex, directing her head back so I can kiss her as I fuck her from behind…

“Cassius,” she replies.

I choke. The sex thoughts vanish. “Don’t call me that.”

“Shouldn’t your girlfriend call you by your first name?” She puts one elbow on the table and rests her chin on her fist. “I thought that was the kind of intimacy we were going for.”

“Everyone calls me Thorne,” I say, dismissing it without consideration. I don’t even know how she discovered my first name, but I think that her throwing around Cassius is an automatic flag on the field.

That’s why we’re here. To set some ground rules.

The texts I had waiting on my phone when Coach finally released us—yeah, I was right, we had to do some extra conditioning sprints because of my lack of focus—made me smile.

Then frown.

First, a waving emoji followed by the frowning cat. Fitting.

Then, a request to meet up for said rules.

She’s right, though. They’ll keep us straight when all else fails.

“Cassius Remington Thorne the Third,” she says under her breath. She leans back and crosses her arms, a smirk gracing her lips. “It has a certain rich ring to it.”

I scowl. “Stop.”

“What?”

“You wanted ground rules? That’s the first one. Don’t insinuate that you’re interested in my money, and definitely don’t use my first name in public.”

Briar raises an eyebrow. “What if I am interested in your money? What if you picked a gold digger?”

I stare at her.

Truth? It’s uncomfortably close to all the other girls my parents have set up with me. They come from money, so they’re not wide-eyed about the size of the trust fund, or my future inheritance, but they have expectations.

That, ultimately, is probably worse.

But it’s a sore subject all the way around. Most of the school had heard of my last name before I even started playing football here. Money means power, and power is eye-catching. My family has wielded power like that for over a century.

There’s a very real possibility that Briar accepted my proposal because of that, and it sits uncomfortably on my shoulders. I didn’t think that of her.

Should I have?

“Fine,” she relents. “No talk of your parents’ money. I’m assuming that also relates back to some Daddy issues?”

My mouth opens and closes, but I’ve got nothing to say to that.

Our waitress appears, just in time, and takes our order. Briar gets water and a lemonade. I get the same, plus a basket of fries and boneless wings. My stomach growls at the thought of food. And, under normal circumstances, I’d probably have ordered a beer.

But this isn’t a date. It’s more like a business meeting.

As soon as the waitress is gone, Briar bulldozes ahead with, “My first rule is that there’s no intimacy.”

“Do you mean sex?” I run my thumb under my lip.

She nods once, tightly. “No undressing or under-the-clothing touches.”

“Well, duh.” My stomach knots. “This is just for show, grumpy cat. I don’t really want to fuck in public, so…”

“Great.”

“But we do have to have public displays of affection,” I continue. “Hand-holding. Kissing. My arm around your shoulders. I know smiling isn’t your strong suit, but you have to seem happy to see me.”

Her throat works. “Kissing?”

Oh, interesting. I lean forward. “What, you afraid of a little mouth-to-mouth action?”

“No.” The lie comes out too fast.

It’s just too unbelievable.

“There’s nothing wrong with kissing.” I smirk. “I’m quite good at it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not.”

“So practicing goes out the window,” I muse. “If there’s no intimacy in private.”

I imagine pressing her up against a wall and getting in real close. I bet her breath would hitch, and her eyes would widen… her pupils would dilate.

“What about the physical therapy help?” She clears her throat.

“Right.” I nod to myself. That was part of my pitch, wasn’t it? Help her out with the knee. “We don’t want to overdo it. And, frankly, my schedule is shit during the season. Three times a week should be good to ease into it.”

“I don’t want to ease into it.”

I shake my head, trying to suppress my smile. I was the exact same way—not that I’d tell her that. The pressure to get better, to fix what was hurting, was all self-driven.

“Three days a week,” I reply, more firm. “After my football practices, unless you have something else going on in the evenings? Any late classes?”

She shakes her head.

“What else, then?”

“My two best friends know.” She gives me a look. “Lydia and Marley. The ones I was sitting with. They know this isn’t real.”

My chest tightens. “Spilling our secret already?”

“I—” She glances away. “They’re a big reason I’m even here right now.”

“That’s quite existential of you.”

Briar frowns and tucks her hair behind her ear. “They’re the only ones who can know. I trust them, they’re not going to say anything.”

I hum. “My best friend, too. Rhys.”

“Fine.”

I relax.

The waitress delivers the food and drinks all at once. Hey, I never said this was a five-star restaurant or anything. She sets down straws and silverware rolled in paper napkins and disappears without a word.

I pop a fry in my mouth and spear a wing. “Help yourself.”

She does, carefully unrolling the silverware and putting the napkin on her lap. She loads her plate with chicken and douses it in ranch dressing.

I press my lips together.

“What?” She glares at me.

“I’m more of a less-is-more person,” I admit. “But only when it comes to condiments.”

She rolls her eyes. “Lame.”

We eat in silence for a minute. There’s something else I need to tell her, something that occurred to me on the walk to meet Briar.

And I already know it isn’t going to end well.

“My parents.” I set down my knife and fork.

This, by the way, is why I like boneless wings. There’s not such a pressure to be a barbarian and eat with your hands. A reduced chance of buffalo sauce getting smeared across my lips and cheeks, or God forbid, my fingers or chin. It feels civilized.

“What about your parents?”

“You’ll probably meet them.” I focus on my food. Exhaustion tugs at me suddenly, and all I want is to go home and crawl into bed. “And they can be intense, is all.”

And judgmental.

Mainly judgmental—especially about how a girl appears.

But I can’t seem to spit out those words, so I leave it at that. There will be time for some sort of makeover at a later date. They like coming to home games, and we’re scheduled to be away for the next two. It would be easy enough to coordinate Briar’s movements and theirs so that they don’t meet until I’m ready.

Or until Briar’s ready.

Or… until Briar’s wardrobe is ready.

I try not to wince, because what had occurred to me earlier? A shopping spree—for her. To buy her clothes that my parents won’t immediately flag as tacky or cheap…

Not that Briar is either of those things.

In fact, I like her all-black ensemble. It shows commitment.

“Hey.” Briar taps the back of my hand. One finger against my skin. “I can handle intense, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

I force a smile and try to believe her.