The Scars of Anatomy

1. UNKNOWN

The sharp blow of coach's whistle rings through the air, signaling the end of practice. It takes me only two seconds to claw off the T-shirt that's clinging to my body, drenched in sweat. Of course coach would put me on shirts the hottest day of the year.

Running off to the sidelines of the football field, I instantly find my water bottle and take a few swigs, dumping the rest of the water over my head and letting it run down my trained body to try to cool down.

"Good job today, Bronx," coach says as he walks by, clapping a hand over the top of my back, right over my tattoo.

Splayed across my back in black ink, shoulder blade to shoulder blade, is the word UNKNOWN in big, bold letters. While Miller is the name stitched into the back of my jersey, I feel like it's not my real last name. That it doesn't fit.

My mother got knocked up when she was a teen and doesn't know who my father is. She was either too high or drunk to recall who she hooked up with at some random party so I have no clue who my father is, leaving me to settle for her last name and wonder about this whole other unknown variable of my life. It's not that I expect my biological father to be a standup guy, given my mother's track record, but it would have been nice to know.

"Damn, man. Adrianna really did a number on you," I hear my best friend and roommate, Chase, laugh.

He comes running up next to me on the sidelines, bending down to grab his water bottle, guzzling it down. Out of breath, he grabs a towel to wipe the sweat running down his face and body. Lucky bastard got to be on skins today.

"Did she break off all her nails?" he asks with humor, amusement dancing in his eyes as he rubs the towel over his sweaty light blonde hair.

I furrow my brows, momentarily confused, until I realize he's talking about my back. That would explain why it stings so bad, all the sweat seeping into the cuts from her nails digging into my back last night.

I can't help the smug smile that tugs at my lips. "Maybe," I quip back.

He lets out a booming laugh, wrapping the towel around the back of his neck. "It's not even the first day of classes and you two are already going at each other like that?" He shakes his head, an incredulous grin on his face as he gestures to my marked up back. "It's going to be a long semester for you, man. Maybe she'll actually lock you down before graduation," he teases.

"She wishes."

If there's one thing everyone on this campus knows, it's that Bronx Miller doesn't date. Ever. I don't even take girls back to my own room so they don't get any ideas—or stay. I go to their place or wherever is convenient, we have some fun, and then I leave. When the deed is done, it's just that. Done.

Some girls are reoccurrences, especially Adrianna. But that doesn't mean anything other than that they're a fun time. Adrianna doesn't seem to comprehend that, though.

Adrianna has been after me since freshman year when we met at an opening weekend party. A raven haired, emerald green eyed beauty with a curvy body that could rock any man's world, and as captain of the dance team, it's no wonder why she's at the very top of the food chain at this school. It's also no wonder why she's my most frequent reoccurrence, either. Adrianna is the hottest girl on campus and she knows it.

As head of the dance team and the school's quarterback, we would make the perfect cliché college couple. If people didn't know any better about my reputation, they would think Adrianna and I were a couple because of how much time we spend together. Again, she's just my most frequent reoccurrence. Nothing more.

Adrianna has always wanted more from me, though. She's always wanted to put an exclusive label on us and feed into the cliché fantasy of the quarterback dating the captain of the dance team. From the beginning, I told her I wanted no strings attached. I'm not looking for anything serious. These are my golden years, and I plan to have all the fun I can before the NFL calls my name.