The following day I was half actual stalker, half stalking Tate with a camera because it was my job.

Tate was in the lead by six strokes when he finally reached the eighteenth hole and scored a birdie, effectively winning the tournament.

He hadn't looked at me once.

And I couldn't do anything but look at him. And follow him. And take a million pictures of him—each one more torturous than the last. I had photos of him putting, driving, chipping, laughing at his teammate, choosing a club from his bag. All while looking like the perfect male specimen.

He was getting further and further away from me after each new hole we walked to. He stood at the furthest point away from me that he could. Somehow knowing exactly where I was without ever setting his eyes on me.

The raw emotions that were pulling every chamber of my heart in opposite directions were painful.

He was going to run again as soon as the tournament was over. I could feel it.

So that was how I found myself with my sweaty hand on the cold metal handle of their locker room when everyone was finished.

I mustered confidence, not knowing what I was about to walk into—an empty locker room, a bunch of naked guys, the entire team—and pulled open the heavy door.

When I emerged from the L-shaped hallway, I spotted Tate with his back to me, stuffing his clothes into a gym bag in front of his locker. Three guys stood a few yards from him laughing in a circle.

I caught the eye of one of them. All three guys looked at me, registered who I was, then two looked at Tate's back. Except Louis the Sweetheart.

"Hey, Devin," Louis said with a silly smile as his dark curls brushed over his eyebrows in a cute innocent freshman way. "Crashing the boy's locker room looking for me?"

I laughed. Tate froze. Louis got hit in the shoulder before I could respond.

"What?" Louis said, angrily.

One of the three motioned to the door on the other end, and the other quickly pulled a shirt on before all three were out the door—with Louis being dragged behind in protest.

"I'll wait for you, Devin!" he called as the door swung shut.

Tate resumed packing his bag without turning around.

I hadn't even prepared or practiced what I was going to say. I didn't know what to say. My mind had been a jumbled mess for the past twenty-four hours trying to see myself as an outsider to my and Tate's friendship, trying to piece together every look or touch or word, trying to figure out how Tate really felt. Trying to figure out if I really was the biggest bitch in the world.

"Congrats on the win," was what I went with first.

He turned to me, and my stomach hurtled.

"Thanks," he mumbled like he couldn't give two shits.

"Tate, what's happening?" Every word was about to burst from my mouth.

He cocked his head ever so slightly. Both of his eyes went a little dark, but he just continued staring at me.

"Seth told me why he hates me."

I caught the surprise in the twitch of Tate's eyebrows. "Seth doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. Don't believe anything he says."

"Then tell me what's actually going on."

Tate turned back to his locker and pulled out a pair of tennis shoes. He proceeded to change his shoes in silence.

"Something is different, Tate. I know you feel it. I feel it. Are you mad at me for taking you for granted?"

"No, Devin."

"I was stupid. As usual. I let my stupid rules get in the way of you. You have always been there for me, made me happy—loved me." The word kind of tumbled out. I cringed. I wasn't trying to bring up love. "I made a mistake. It shouldn't have been a no-golfers rule. It should have been a no-jackasses rule. But you're back, and I see things differently. I feel things differently. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel unwanted. That I treated you like that. I want you," I whispered.

Tate finished putting on his shoes and stood stone faced. "I can't make you happy."

"What were we doing at the beach then? In the library? What were we doing yesterday?"

He scowled then turned it into a soft sigh. "I lost sight of that for a minute."

"What's going to happen next year? We're going to lose each other anyway. I never realized it before, but we were always going to lose each other. I would even compromise just to have more of you for a few months, Tate, even if you don't want a serious relationship."

Anger was starting to creep into my tone. He was holding things too close to his chest. He always used to talk to me if I gave him enough time. I stepped in close to him.

"Talk to me," I said, even angrier. "You leave me without a word? And then you come back like you didn't do anything. Like that whole year didn't matter. You said things. I know you don't remember, but—"

"I remember."

I faltered. "What?"

"I remember what I said."

"You were lying when you acted like you didn't? You looked at me like you couldn't be happier that we both weren't naked."

Had I read everything wrong? Every word out of his mouth was contradictory. I couldn't keep up with the whiplash.

"I didn't remember for a split second," he laughed morbidly. His voice was low and scratchy. "It would have been a sick joke the universe was playing on me to know I finally had you, and I couldn't even remember it."

"You want me, you don't want me! I can't keep up!" I yelled. Softly yelled. "You seemed to think very low of Matt for not knowing if he wanted me. Seems like you really don't know either."

Tate's chest deflated like I'd knocked the wind out of him. He had a look of rage in one eye and lust in the other. He took two steps into me, making me back up into the wall of the L-shaped hallway behind me, before he surrounded me.

Every plane of his body was a centimeter from mine as he angled down toward me, from our faces to our shoulders to our hips to our knees down to our feet, which were somehow laced without touching.

His eyes bore holes into mine as I tried to gasp for air.

"Don't compare me to that asshole. I know exactly what I fucking want," he said softly. I could feel his breath cascading over my lips.

Heat pooled in my abdomen, drawing my hips into his. I tipped my chin up to inch closer to his lips and whispered, "Then show me what you want."

You'd think that would make any guy who actually wanted to kiss you, kiss you.

But not Tate.

He was hyper-focused, concentrating super hard on doing everything but that.

His hand started on the outside of my thigh as it pushed the outside of my skirt up to my hip. Tate's thumb pressed into my hip bone as his fingers sank into my ass.

"You think I don't think about having your body pressed against mine every damn second I have to stare at it covered in pink?"

My heart teetered on the edge of bursting from the amount of blood flooding it. I tried to breathe his lips closer.

Tate let my skirt drop as he slipped his fingers under the hem of my shirt and fanned his entire hand across my stomach.

"You think I don't think about brushing my lips over every inch of your skin so I can see goosebumps across it that were raised by me?"

I licked my lips at the thought of his on my body. His hand came out from underneath my shirt and roamed to my neck, where he wrapped his fingers around it and found my galloping pulse with his thumb.

"You think I don't think about sinking my teeth into your neck and running my tongue over your pulse that I can see and feel when I get too close to you?"

The hand resting by his side took my hand with his as he flattened them against the wall above my head. He intertwined his fingers hard through mine. With his other hand, he grazed around my neck, twisting my hair through his fingers and into his palm. He pulled gently to raise my lips a millimeter to his.

"You think I don't think about having your blonde curls laying across my chest after hearing you scream my name all night?"

I was panting, but I couldn't move my head to reach his lips. He was gripping the hair at my scalp tight, holding me in place.

"I may have the world's best self-restraint, but Devin, you are a goddamn match against it."

His fingers loosened just the tiniest bit, allowing me enough freedom to crash my lips into his without thinking.

It wasn't a nice kiss. It was forceful and demanding and sexy and inhibited. Our lips parted and his tongue met mine with a ferocity that sent a rush down to my belly button. I felt starved and ravenous as his body pressed hard against mine and he pulled me up with his arm and wedged me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around him tight, linking my ankles behind his back like I'd never let him go.

Fuck, this was almost feral.

His hand was roaming my body, squeezing my boobs over my shirt then slipping underneath. Any ounce of self-restraint he had had melted away as he ground against me.

He was so focused on my body, reading every move I made with his intense stare, and then matching it. He was learning it like a sport. Studying it like a golf course—every dip, every angle. He'd know it better than his own body in a blink of an eye. The thought of how I could have never realized just how good this would be made me moan his name under my breath.

He bit the bottom of my jaw as I tried to move my hips, trying to rub against him in a desperate need for more friction, but he had me pinned. He wasn't going to let me go until he'd won this round.

A deep animalistic sound that I'd never heard before emanated from the back of his throat when he found the pulse in my neck with his tongue. He sucked the skin over it into his mouth, taking it between his teeth.

I gasped at the spark that ignited my vein, sending fire coursing through my body.

Tate felt it. "Shit, I'm not going to be able to stop," he breathed against my neck.

"I don't want you to," I said in a husky voice, wondering if my words were coherent.

Tate replied with a satisfied groan as he rocked his hips into me. He pushed us off the wall, carrying me to the far wall as he nipped at my bottom lip, and fell back against the couch that I never even noticed.

Finally. I arched my hips, grinding into his lap. Lightning struck between my legs. Tate's hands were holding me firm against him where my thighs met my hips as he moaned into my mouth.

A door slammed behind me, and someone cleared their throat, sucking up the thick air around us like a vacuum.

We broke apart distressfully, and the room turned ice cold, even with the fire burning in Tate's eyes that was singeing mine.

"Thacker, keep it to your own room. This isn't a frat house," a deep unfamiliar voice said.

My cheeks burned a deep crimson red. My pulse surprisingly slowing despite being caught in that position.

Tate's eyes never left my face as they traced it in a circle and lingered on my lips.

"Yes, sir," Tate replied, matching his baritone. Even as he said it, his grip tightened around my hips and pushed me down against his erection, ripping one last wave of pleasure through me.

"My office. Now," the voice said firmly. His coach I assumed.

"Yes, sir." Tate sat up and planted one slow agonizing kiss against my lips. His tongue ran over my bottom lip in a final effort to taste me.

"That can't happen again," he said with a deep pained rasp I didn't recognize.

Then he stood, placing me back on my feet, and disappeared through a door before I could catch my breath to respond that that absolutely had to happen again.