[18+] ENEMIES TO LOVERS SPORTS ROMANCE
She can't stand the school's golden boy, but when fate keeps throwing them together, their rivalry starts to look a lot like chemistry-and suddenly they're not playing the game they thought they were.
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Hannah
Eventually, I broke away from Sarah and her friends, offering goodbyes and promises to speak again, growing ever aware of how long I'd been gone.
I slipped back into the crowd, immediately swallowed by the press of bodies and the swirl of heat, perfume, and beer. A couple of swinging drinks and flailing elbows forced me to weave and dodge as I made my way toward the far side of the room, scanning for Tristan and his group.
It didn't take long to spot them — they were impossible to miss. They'd taken over an entire section near the back wall, right beside the dartboards. Multiple tables had been shoved together, extra chairs dragged in, and still it looked like they were running out of space. Girls hovered around the edges, some perched on laps, others loitering close enough to be part of the laughter and noise that pulsed out from their circle like a heartbeat.
And Tristan — he was at the center of it, head thrown back in laughter, that familiar grin stretching wide across his face. His forearms rested casually on the table as he listened to something his friend said.
I stood frozen for a moment, not even sure what I was feeling. All I knew was I couldn't bring myself to walk over just yet. Not when I was this disoriented.
I needed a drink.
Before I could think twice, I pivoted and headed straight for the bar. It was just as crowded, and I had to wait a few minutes before I could be served. Finally, the bartender, Vance, made his way over to my side, helping the person next to me first.
"Hey, what can I get for you?" He placed both hands flat on the counter beneath him and leaned closer with a wide, close-mouthed smile.
Um... "Mojito, please."
"On the way." He went to make my drink.
I looked down to get some money, digging through my pockets until I found some bills. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy sidle up next to me. His shirt told me he belonged to a frat — if the terrible hairstyle didn't already tip me off. Ignoring him, I handed the money over to Vance as he poured the colorful mixture into a glass. He added the finishing touches and slid the glass over to me. I reached for it, but another hand grabbed it before I could. It belonged to the guy next to me.
"Excuse me, that's mine." I frowned, turning to face the unwanted company.
"I'm aware, but I'll only give it back to you if you give me your phone number." He smirked, trying to be charming as he held my drink high above us.
His teeth were too white against his tan face. Up close, I could see the razor burn and patches of unshaven hair scattered on his weak jaw. And then my senses were assaulted by the smell of cheap beer and rancid sweaty armpits. I recoiled in disgust, quickly stepping back in a futile attempt to escape the odor.
