Playing for Keeps
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Amber Kuhlman
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26.5K
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61
Kate has built her life around staying careful, steady, and far away from anything that could break her again. Seth Tate, the town’s star quarterback, is the exact opposite—reckless, intense, and carrying a past that refuses to stay buried. When their worlds collide, neither of them is prepared for how quickly attraction turns into something deeper. But love between them is never simple. Old wounds, emotional walls, and pressures from the world around them keep pulling them apart just as they start to feel close. Kate wants to protect her heart, Seth wants to prove he’s worth the risk, and both must decide if what they feel is strong enough to survive everything working against them.
Chapter 1
SETH
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, trying not to move while the blonde draped across my arm breathed softly into my shoulder. My hand tingled from the weight of her head, and my shoulder had gone completely numb, but she didn’t so much as twitch when I shifted.
Outside my apartment window, the soccer team was already on the field for practice. Their coach’s whistle cut through the morning air—sharp, frustrated.
Not surprising. The soccer team sucked.
It was one of those early September mornings that pretended to be picturesque: fallen leaves crunching underfoot, the faint bite of frost in the air. The leaves outside had already turned that hideous burnt orange shade I hated.
Autumn was just the doorway to winter, and winter was my sworn enemy. Well…winter and onions. Mushrooms too. But that wasn’t the point.
The blonde finally stirred. I glanced down just in time to see her blink awake, stretch, and smile at me. I forced a polite smile back, even though all I wanted was to get up, shower, and meet my team on the field.
If I let her linger, she’d assume last night meant something. It didn’t. In college, girls hunted for relationships like it was a sport. Me? I had football. I didn’t need anything else.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked.
I shrugged. Neither of us had slept much last night. She curled the sheet around herself and ran her hand slowly down my chest, trying to entice round two.
Normally, I would’ve been all over that. But with practice looming, I wasn’t in the mood—an extremely rare event, considering I was always in the mood unless football was involved.
“Listen,” I said.
My tone must’ve given me away, because she froze and pulled her hand back. Her eyes narrowed. She knew exactly where this was going.
“Last night was fun,” I told her, offering a strained smile. “But I’ve got things to do today.”
I might as well have kicked her out naked while laughing based on the look she gave me.
“Yeah. Okay.” She yanked the sheet out from under me, clearly done with the conversation. I averted my eyes out of courtesy—or maybe impatience—while she dressed. Once she had her jeans and tank top on, I stood to walk her to the door. I didn’t bother putting on clothes. Not for a thirty-second escort.
“I had fun last night,” I said casually, leaning against the doorframe so it didn’t look like I was rushing her out.
She nodded stiffly.
I searched my brain for her name. Brandi? Brittany? Bernice?
“Amanda,” she said flatly. “My name’s Amanda.”
“I know.” I pulled her into a quick hug—the kind that didn’t invite interpretation—and stepped back. She hesitated, lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but then she sighed.
“Bye, Seth.”
“See ya.”
I shut the door before watching her leave. Then I locked it—automatically. Last year, a girl got so pissed at being kicked out that she broke into my apartment while I was showering and trashed the place. She even left her panties on my bed as some sort of psychotic calling card. I still hadn’t thrown them away. Not because they meant anything, but because I was too lazy to get rid of them. The memory of her tantrum was enough incentive to keep the deadbolt in use.
I headed to the bathroom and cranked the shower on hot. One perk of being the starting quarterback: my own campus apartment. Clothes optional. Not that a roommate would’ve stopped me.
The water hit me like a warm embrace, loosening muscles and washing off the night. I’d missed this place—my tiny haven for the last three years. Summers were spent at my parents’ house outside Denver in Eagle River.
Calling it a “home” was generous. My dad, a former gunslinger quarterback himself, had blown out his shoulder senior year and never got over it. Now he coached high school ball and made bitterness an art form.
My mom, a retired kindergarten teacher, had become his full-time caretaker, though she pretended she didn’t mind. She never said much about anything. She never really had.
They were the reason I avoided relationships like the plague. Being trapped in a miserable marriage for the sake of obligation? Hard pass. I’d rather be alone forever.
Three months of living under my father’s rules, lectures, and constant disappointment was enough to put anyone in therapy. My mom was halfway there already.
School was my escape, my breath of fresh air. After graduation, I planned to get as far from Denver as humanly possible.
I tipped my face up to the spray, letting steam fill the room as my mind drifted to the start of the football season. My senior year. My last shot to prove myself before the real world came crashing in.
Whatever happened this season would shape the rest of my life. And as the water pounded over me, I told myself I was ready. Or at least, I thought I was.
