College Pact Series Ebook Collection

Prologue
Lila
The pact is my idea. As soon as it pops into my mind, I recognize its merit. Perched around a café table overlooking Central Park, my three best friends and I munch on chips and salsa and sip Sangria for the last time.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
Clapping my hands together, I secure the attention of my friends. “I have the best idea. Ever.”
Emma’s face lights up like a Christmas tree, eager for whatever crazy idea I’m going to propose. But the pact is different. It’s smart and practical. Exciting yet necessary. It’s a way to embrace our senior year of college while reducing the distance between us as we all embark on solo adventures.
“We’re waiting.” Maura leans back in her chair, plucking at her tank top as the hot August air circles around us.
“This is it, our senior year. After this, we’ll be clocking long working hours, trying to climb some proverbial ladder, and spending our weekends doing laundry and meal prep.”
“You’re depressing as hell sometimes, you know that?” Maura shifts in her seat, elbowing my forearm off the table.
“I’m working up to my pitch.”
“Get to the point,” she yawns, but curiosity hums in the undercurrent of her tone.
“Senior year is supposed to be fun and wild. Carefree and epic. We’re all starting something new, with Mia heading to Rome tomorrow morning.”
Maura coughs into her hand but I ignore her. While Mia, Emma, and me are leaving campus this semester, Maura is heading back to McShain University to join her rowing team, same as she’s done for the past three years.
Emma, the friend I can count on, nods, her bangs falling into her eyes. “Li is right. We need to turn up this semester.”
“Exactly. So, I’m proposing a pact.” I pause to swallow a large gulp of sangria.
“A pact?” Mia quirks an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“We need to date hotties, the sexy kind who stop existing once we graduate. You know how it goes, guys start working, stop working out, and let their shit go.”
Emma snorts. “And have wild nights out, getting stupidly drunk with strangers. Those are always the best stories.”
“Make new friends?” Mia glances at the rest of us. Always the prima ballerina, I question if she’s ever dipped one toe out of her comfort zone.
“Fine,” Maura grumbles, “but since you’re all leaving me, I want weekly updates and photos.”
Mia grins, her chocolate brown eyes shimmering as dusk falls. “So, we’ll keep in touch.”
“All the time,” I swat a gnat away from the two pizzas our server deposited in the center of our table. “We update each other on everything going on and we swear that for this semester, we go all out: break the barriers, bend the rules, and live the hell out of our college experience. No stressing about grades and exams. No falling in love and dealing with serious relationship drama. Just wild, fun, good times. Mia, you’re going to Rome tomorrow. Travel, eat everything, make out with all the tall, dark, and handsomes. Emma, I expect nothing less than gossip and scandal and midnight liaisons in the Capitol building.”
“Done.” Emma wiggles her eyebrows, breaking off a piece of pizza crust and popping it into her mouth.
“Maura, damn girl, the past few months have sucked for you.”
A blanket of silence stretches over our table.
“What? I’m not going to sugarcoat it.” Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around Maura’s wrist and squeeze. “This semester is a fresh start. Don’t waste it. Just do you and focus on yourself, your healing. Maybe rowing will help.”
Maura’s eyes narrow, two black orbs of anger.
“Maybe it won’t.” I gentle my tone. “It’s okay if you’re done with rowing. But you need to figure that out for yourself. Do you.”
“What about you, Li?” Mia asks, releasing Maura from the hot seat.
“I’m about to go to Cali.” I flutter my eyelashes. “Screw this stupid internship program. This semester, I’m all about a hot surfer with blond hair and blue eyes. While you bitches are busting your asses, I’m going to lie on a beach all day, soak in some rays, and drink colorful beverages with tiny umbrellas.” Standing, I twirl at the edge of our table, my skirt billowing out around the tops of my thighs.
Emma smacks my ass. “Stop with the stereotypes or you won’t make any new friends. Your program isn’t even near the beach.”
“I’m dreaming, babe. And that’s my point, that’s what this semester should be about.”
“Making our dreams come true?” Maura snorts, cynicism lacing her tone.
Glancing around the table, a pause hovers between us until we all erupt in laughter, like a water balloon bursting. “Okay, fine, that part was cheesy,” I admit.
Grinning at my friends, I drink in their idiosyncrasies one last time. Over the past three years of living together, they’re closer to me than sisters. A pang of longing hits me square in the chest; how am I going to survive this semester without them?
“Okay.” Emma raises her sangria. “To adventure, hot boys, and an epic senior year.”
“To our college pact,” I add.
We raise our glasses, look each other directly in the eye as we clink our sangrias together. “Cheers!” 
September 
Chapter 1: Cade
“Hey.” Answering my cell, I lean back in my seat near gate A24.
“Yo, dude. What time do you land?” my best friend, Miers, asks.
“Around 3PM.” I toss my wallet and boarding pass into my carry on. Stretching my legs out, a soreness throbs in my right knee and I shift forward to massage the tender joint. “What’re you up to?”
“Kicking it now but we’re doing wings for dinner tonight.”
“Sweet, I’ll be there. How was practice today?”
Miers sighs and I clutch my phone tighter to my ear.
“It was okay but not great. We play Arizona U in eight days and honestly, Cade, I’m not sure if we’re ready for them. If we don’t start our season with the right momentum and morale, it’s going to suck. Mullins filled in for you today, but Coach is eager to have you back.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “It was cool of Coach to let me fly home this weekend.”
Silence hangs on the line between us and I pluck at the skin next to my right eye. “I’m fine, man,” I answer Miers’s unasked question.
He clears his throat and I imagine him removing his baseball hat and placing it back on his head the way he does when he’s uncertain. “You sure?”
“Yep.”
“How was the memorial service?”
“Nice.”
“And being home?”
“Shitty,” I admit. “He’s everywhere. Hell, my mama hasn’t even touched his room. It’s exactly as he left it the morning he shipped out for boot camp.” This weekend, I dreaded the suffocating walls of my childhood home in New Jersey, struggling to breathe against the influx of memories that center on my brother: tossing the pigskin in the backyard, washing Dad’s car in the driveway during summer. Jared’s death in Iraq last year—IED roadside explosion—was the worst day of my life.
His one-year memorial service was second.
“Sorry, dude. That shit is heavy. You know if you need anything…” Miers trails off.
“I’m good.”
“Alright, well, hit me up when you land. I’ll make sure we order extra garlic wings.”
Recognizing Miers’s offer as sympathetic, I hang my head. Dude’s not big on words but he’s old school and his actions always speak louder. “Thanks.”
“Safe travels, thirty-three.” He references my jersey number before hanging up.
Slipping my phone back into the pocket of my jeans, I scan the airport. As usual, it’s bustling with business people rocking crisp suits and rolling compact luggage, the gait of college kids slumped under backpacks, and the tear-stained faces of toddlers who skipped their naps.
But damn. Hold up.
The entire airport disappears as I zero in on her.
She’s straight-up fierce, commanding the space around her, and coloring the air with her energy. Tall and blonde, with a sexy sashay to her hips, she’s oblivious to the looks every person, male and female, toss in her direction.
Waltzing past me, she blows her hair out of her eyes, and slides her shoulder bag onto a chair a few seats away from mine. Pulling her oversized cardigan around her slim frame, she perches on the edge of her seat, her foot tapping against the ground. Cardigan girl sips her coffee, glancing around the airport until her gaze slams into mine.
Holy shit.
Her eyes are the most unique shade of cornflower blue, like cloudless summer skies somewhere in the Midwest. Not that I’ve ever been to the Midwest to know firsthand, but this girl rocks that wholesome, innocent look, like she’s traveling from some podunk Little House on the Prairie village. But that’s where the resemblance ends. She may look sweet and wholesome, but her personality screams fearless. She oozes confidence, as evidenced by her glare before she looks past me, breaking our connection.
Chuckling, I check her out. Hard. Mainly because she’s not the type of woman any red-blooded male looks away from. But also because in my last three years of playing Division I football, I don’t think a woman has ever brushed me off so casually, like flicking at a gnat buzzing around her head.
“Excuse me?” An airline representative approaches her.
She glances up, crosses one knee over the other, and smiles. “Yes?”
And Jesus, it’s a transformative experience. My brain short-circuits as I drink in her smile, my eyes tracing the curve of her full bottom lip. Her voice has a raspy pull to it, one that draws me closer in hopes of hearing it again.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you. It seems this flight is overbooked. For customers willing to wait until the next flight to Los Angeles, which departs in three hours, we are offering a free round-trip ticket to be used within one year of today’s date. Would you be willing to give up your seat on this flight and take the next flight?”
Cardigan Girl looks startled, her eyes wide. Like a creeper, I can’t tear my eyes away. She’s too damn enticing, and I hang on to the words falling from her mouth. “Sure. Is the flight anywhere in the network or only JFK-LAX?”
Beautiful, badass, and intelligent. Cardigan Girl is the damn trifecta.
“JFK-LAX.”
“Okay. That’s fine.”
The airline representative points to the desk near the gate. “My colleague will assist you at the desk. Thank you for your understanding and cooperation. And thank you for flying with us today.”
Cardigan Girl stands and stretches her arms overhead. Her cardigan is oversized, hanging to her knees, but the T-shirt underneath clings to her like a second skin, showing off her wicked curves. Shouldering her bag, she turns toward the desk.
The guy sitting next to me clears his throat and gives me a pointed look. Grinning back, I shake my head. I should feel embarrassed for checking CG out so hard. I should feel stupid for being called on it by the sixty-year-old dude next to me. But all I feel is grateful that I’m going to kick it with this girl for the next three hours.
The eagerness I felt about getting back to LA disappears. Now, catching the next flight to LA seems less like capital punishment and more like an opportunity. Possibility crackles in the air around me, spurring me into action.
Pulling out my phone, I text Miers.
Me: Flight delayed. Be back late.
“Excuse me. Miss?” I call out to the representative.
She turns and I grin, sauntering to my feet. “I couldn’t help but overhear you,” I begin, flexing my bicep for extra incentive.
The man next to me groans.
Ignoring him, I focus on charming the airline representative the same way I talk my way out of mandatory study halls, “but if you need additional customers to give up their seats, I have no problem taking the next flight.”