Love means fading out so another shines brighter.
Right clothes. Right school. Right fiancé. As a Wyndemere, Arian’s expected to abide by the rules. The most important: be perfect. But Arian’s seemingly flawless life is far from it. An embarrassing expulsion from her parents’ alma mater spirals an already unhealthy obsession out of control, exposing a dark truth.
Faced with having to attend a small private college after a stint in rehab, Arian’s just ready to coast under the radar and repair some of the wreckage, but her father’s looming control is like a vise choking off her air supply.
When a run-in with Braxton’s beloved star quarterback, Ryder Nash, puts Arian squarely in the crosshairs of his devoted teammates, the last of her controlled, orderly world unhinges. As the pranks and paybacks escalate, Arian and Ryder’s rivalry takes a passionate turn. And once Arian glimpses beneath the all-star-athlete exterior Ryder projects, she realizes he’s far more than just a jock.
As their relationship intensifies, outside forces feel the threat. Outrunning their pasts doesn’t mean history won’t repeat itself, but Ryder can’t let that happen. He’s just one Championship game away from breaking the mold. Only one moment, one choice, might change everything.
Told from both Arian's and Ryder's POV. New Adult Contemporary Romance intended for readers 17 years of age and older.
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My head pulses in sync to the beat vibrating the walls, sound whooshing in and out of my ears, as my anger mounts. There’s no reeling it in. I’m grabbing Ari around her trim waist and pulling her away before she can protest.
“Hey! I’m sick of you manhandling me,” she snaps. “Like some freaking caveman. Would you prefer to drag me off by my hair?” She smacks at my shoulder.
She means it as an insult, but I’m thinking that idea sounds pretty damn good right about now. Anchoring my hands to my hips, I survey the small room. Most of the guys’ attention is on the stage, where Carly is still dancing, and the others are waiting their turn for private dances.
“Are we done?”
Ari’s annoyed voice draws my focus back on her. Arms crossed over her chest, pressing her silver bikini top upward, her glittering breasts pushed over the triangles. What the fuck happened to all her modest layers?
I shake my head. “Far from it,” I say to her. “Get your clothes.”
“The hell I am,” she mutters, then starts to walk off, but I catch her arm. “I came here for Vee. And I’m going to dance.”
“What are you trying to prove?”
Her eyes hold mine, then she steps into my personal space. A mischievous glint lights her eyes as she presses her body against mine. I suck in a quick breath at the feel of her hands on my chest, roaming down, as she swivels her hips against me. Fucking hell.
Hollers rise around us, the guys cheering Ari on.
“I came here to dance, Ryder,” she says again. “And I’m not asking for your permission. I’m not asking for anyone’s permission.”
Tension thrums through my body. A shout sounds out about me finally “getting some,” and I snap. Just like that first night, I swoop down and haul Ari into my arms, but this time, I grab her around her back and legs. Not wanting the guys to stare at her bikini-clad ass.
The whistles and shouts grow louder as I cart Ari off to a secluded section far in the corner, enclosed by curtains running ceiling-to-floor. Then I set her on her high-heels. “Dance all you want,” I say. She sends me a slitted glare that could flay me, but I only shrug. “When you’re sober tomorrow, you’ll thank me.”
From an early age, Trisha Wolfe dreamed up fantasy worlds and characters and was accused of talking to herself. Today, she lives in South Carolina with her family and writes full time, using her fantasy worlds as an excuse to continue talking to herself.
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