Claiming Carter

by Jennifer Bonds

  Thanks for the vote of confidence, dude.

  “You’ve got this,” he says as I slide past him. “No wind. Get it up quick!”

  I give him a curt nod and jog onto the field. The stadium noise begins to die down as I walk off my steps and line my body up with the upright.

  Thirty-nine yards.

  Just thirty-nine yards and I can haul ass back to the sideline and lose myself in the anonymity of the team. Piece of cake.

  The ball is snapped, but it’s short. James has to reach for it and loses his footing.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Panic beats a staccato rhythm through my veins as he struggles to plant the ball. There’s no time. Laces out or not, I’ve got to move if we want to have any shot of making this thing. I take one short step, followed by two longer ones and swing my foot, the cleat connecting with a loud thwump as the ball takes flight. I watch it sail through the air, not daring to breathe. It’s leaning right, but I didn’t totally shank it. There’s a chance… Yes!

  Tie game. I punch my fist in the air as the refs raise their arms to signal a field goal. The crowd goes nuts, the screaming and stomping so loud it’s a wonder the ancient stadium doesn’t come crashing down around us.

  I jog over to James and praise his solid recovery. The guy’s got crazy fast hands and he totally saved my ass out there. No way I could’ve salvaged that ball if our positions were reversed. He blushes a bit, but I can tell he’s pleased with the compliment.

  When I return to the sideline, I’m met with high fives, fist bumps, and a few slaps on the ass, which I interpret to mean good work. I grab a drink of water and settle in to watch some more football. Ohio’s three and out deep in their own territory. I do a mental happy dance when they’re forced to punt and before I know it, Reid’s back on the field.

  The game goes on like this for a while, neither side scoring, but both delivering a lot of blows. I see more blood, sweat, and grass stains than usual with neither team yielding ground. The clock’s running out. Only two minutes to go when Waverly gets the ball back and now I’m hovering on the sideline with the rest of the team, hoping, praying, cheering for Reid and the offense to find the end zone.

  Reid completes a pass to Coop for a first down but he’s tackled almost immediately. They run the ball on the next play, followed by another pass. Then it’s first and goal and I’m biting my damn nails as the play clock runs down.

  Ohio’s defense rallies and they crush our offense.

  Same result on second and goal.

  Reid passes on the next play, but Coop is tackled short of the goal line. It’s forth and inches now with only seconds to go and I swear I’m going to crawl out of my skin. The stadium has once again reached fever pitch. I don’t know how Reid could possibly call a play over this kind of noise.

  Not that it matters. Everyone knows it’s going to be a running play.

  And it is. Ohio defense piles up on the center, but Reid tucks the ball under his arm and punches it through to score the game-winning touchdown.

  Up until this point, it’s been the crowd going wild, but when Reid puts up six points, the team goes crazy on the sideline. The clock’s run out and the extra point isn’t required, so the team rushes the field. Someone grabs my arm, sweeping me up in the frenzy. The team gathers near the end zone, congratulating Reid and celebrating a much needed victory over one of our conference rivals.

  I find myself floating through the sea of bodies, exchanging celebratory hugs and fist bumps with my teammates and coaches. The thrill of victory is like a drug, working its way through my system with enough endorphins to guarantee I won’t be sleeping tonight. I could never tell Becca, but the rush is even better than winning a soccer game.

  I reach the center of the crowd and find myself face-to-face with Reid. His helmet is tucked under his right arm, locked in place by the glistening muscles that helped deliver the game-winning touchdown. His sweat-dampened hair sticks to his forehead, but his eyes shine with victory and when he gives me that cocky grin of his, I swear no man has ever been sexier.

  Not Chris Hemsworth. Not Ross Butler. Not Cole Sprouse.

  Which I definitely should not be thinking.

  Our eyes meet and it’s as if the crowd and the noise fall away. For an instant it’s just me and Reid. And judging by the look on his face, he’s thinking about that victory dance. Desire curls low in my gut, and I’m not sure whether to hug him or… Well, none of those other options would be acceptable, so I just give him a nod and tell him good game, because, hey, I’m super awkward like that and climbing your teammate like a tree tends to be frowned upon. Even if he’s made it clear he’d welcome the experience.

  Besides, the night is young. Still plenty of time for victory dances and bad decisions.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Austin

  I’m flying high after the win over Ohio, the rush of victory pumping through my veins as we wade into the Wildcat’s Den. It’s one of the hottest bars in town and with a homecoming victory to celebrate, the place is at max capacity. Not like the bouncer would turn us away though since we’re basically the guests of honor. The celebration’s in full swing when we arrive and I follow Coop as he weaves his way through the swell of bodies, sweaty flesh pressing in on us from all sides as we snake past the dance floor. Several people slap me on the back and there’s a Wildcats chant picking up momentum, but I don’t stop.

  The bar is crowded as fuck and I don’t want to lose my roommates.

  We won a big game today. The team’s killing it, and I’m more confident than ever we’re poised for a championship run, despite the week six loss. We just have to keep the wheels on the wagon.

  No distractions.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. It’s been blowing up all night with offers to party. I’ve ignored most of them, only responding to messages from close friends and family. Should’ve put the damn thing on silent. Tonight’s about the team and I want to hang with the guys.

  And Carter.

  Shit. I know I should be thinking of Carter as one of the guys, especially given the whole no-distractions thing, but come on. After that kiss? Impossible.

  We find a high-top table in the back and order a round of beers. The server tells us they’re on the house, thanks for a job well done. When she shows up a few minutes later with a round of shots, we aren’t about to turn them away. The thing is, it would be a dick move to decline them, so I smile and say thanks, making a mental note to call and thank the owner personally next week.

  We’re on our second round of beers when the server, who’s been flirting nonstop with Coop, asks why Carter isn’t with us. Great fucking question. I drain my glass and slam it down on the table harder than necessary. She better not be bailing. She promised she’d be here, and I thought— Holy. Shit.

  Is that Carter? My dick comes to attention, and I do a double take.

  Carter sidles up to the table, tugging at the hem of a black skirt that was clearly made for someone six—hell, maybe eight—inches shorter. She’s wearing a slinky red tank top, and her dark hair’s been straightened so it falls over her bare shoulders in a silky curtain. Her lips are painted the same shade of red as her shirt, and her eyes are rimmed with a smoky shadow. But it’s the shoes that do me in. They’re black, strappy, and sky-high. It doesn’t take much effort to imagine those heels digging into my ass as I bury myself between Carter’s thighs.

  “Looking good, Carter,” Coop says, giving her an appreciative once-over.

  “Thanks.” Carter flashes an uncertain smile and tugs at her skirt again. “My roommate’s handiwork.”

  “Never would’ve guessed.”

  “Liar.” Carter laughs as he pours her a beer, forgetting about the über-short hemline for a minute. “But I appreciate the effort.”

  Coop visibly inflates, and for some reason it annoys the shit out of me. I grit my teeth and smile, feeling like an asshole for not complimenting
Carter myself. Too late now. I’ll just sound like a pandering douche.

  Parker turns to Carter and drapes an arm across her shoulders as she slides onto the stool next to him. “It’s about time you joined us for post-game libations. I was starting to get a complex.”

  “I doubt that.” Carter rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her beer. Her tongue darts out to lick the foam from the corner of her lips, and I’m reminded of the white-hot passion that simmers just below the surface.

  “Trust me, Parker could stand to get a complex,” Vaughn says, lifting his chin in greeting. “You’d be doing us all a favor.”

  Carter throws her head back and laughs, that sexy, throaty laugh that makes my cock swell in anticipation.

  Parker flips him the bird and raises his glass. “To Carter, for sending those Ohio pricks home with their tails between their legs.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Vaughn agrees, raising his own glass.

  I follow suit, frustration stirring in my gut. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m totally off my game. It should be me drawing that sexy sound from Carter. Me toasting her amazing fucking leg. And not just because I’m the team captain. There’s something between us and I can’t ignore it any more than I could ignore a pass rush at the line of scrimmage.

  We talk about football for a while and a steady stream of our teammates trickle past. Everyone’s feeling bullish about the upcoming game against Wisconsin, and by the time the server brings a fourth round of drinks, rubbing up against Coop with all the subtlety of bulldozer, it’s clear he’s done shooting the shit.

  “Time to break up this sausage fest—no offense,” he says, turning to Carter with a flirtatious grin.

  She shakes her head and throws up a hand. “None taken.”

  And just like that, Coop disappears into the writhing crowd on the dancefloor.

  No sooner has he vacated his seat than a guy wearing Greek letters slides into it. I’ve seen him around on Greek Row. I don’t know his name, but I know he’s got too much product in his hair, an arrogant grin I’d like to wipe off his face, and a reputation for being a player.

  I don’t like the way he’s looking at Carter.

  “Hey,” he says, directing the greeting to her like the rest of us are invisible. He’s got balls, I’ll give him that much. “You’re Kennedy, right? I think we had a class together last spring.”

  Bullshit. If this guy’s an engineering major, I’ll eat my helmet.

  Kennedy scrunches her brow like she’s trying to place him. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

  Probably because it’s a lame-ass pickup line.

  “Landon,” he says, flashing that shit-eating grin again.

  “That seat’s taken,” I say, taking a lazy sip of my beer and leveling him with my eyes. “Landon.”

  He puffs out his chest like those Greek letters mean shit. “Looked empty to me.”

  “Honest mistake,” Parker says with a shrug. He shifts in his seat, crowding the newcomer with his massive body. “But you should probably move along before our buddy comes back. He gets a little short-tempered when he’s been drinking.”

  Total lie. The only thing Coop gets when he’s been drinking is horny.

  Landon’s gaze slides from Parker to me. “No worries, man. I just wanted to catch up with Kennedy. I’ll see you around.” He abandons the chair and gives her a curt nod before returning to his friends a few tables over. They break out in raucous laughter, slapping him on the back and throwing bottle caps at him, probably assuming Carter shot him down.

  “What the hell was that?” Carter demands, glaring at me. She’s pissed. And I get it—sort of—but no way was I letting that douchebag get within a mile of her.

  “Just looking out for you.” Parker drums his fingers on the table. “We’re good teammates like that.”

  Carter rolls her eyes. “I didn’t see you pulling that shit on Coop.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s Coop,” I say, hating how it sounds like a double standard. Difference is, Coop plays it straight with his hookups and there’s no chance of him getting hurt. “Besides, I wouldn’t let my sister near that guy.”

  Her eyes widen. “You have a sister?”

  “No, but if I did—”

  “You’re all being ridiculous.” Carter throws up her hands. “He probably just wanted to ask me to dance.”

  Yeah, right. The horizontal mambo. “You can thank me later. The guy’s a douchebag.”

  She smiles sweetly, and I know I’m about to get a dose of sexy-as-hell sarcasm. “And what do you call chasing off the only guy with the nerve to come over and talk to me?”

  Before I can come up with a witty reply, Vaughn cuts in. “I’m pretty sure Landon’s dating a Tri-Delt. Better not to get mixed up with a guy like that. I doubt he knows the meaning of the word ‘respect.’”

  “Exactly.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair, admiring the flush in Carter’s cheeks. I’ve never enjoyed getting under a woman’s skin as much as I enjoy getting under hers.

  “Well, this has been fun.” Parker stands and drains his glass. “But I gotta see about a girl.” He slips into the crowd, leaving Vaughn and I alone at the table with Carter.

  “Do you dance?” Carter asks, careful to direct the question to Vaughn. She’s been doing that all night. Avoiding my gaze. Not talking to me directly if she can help it.

  It’s driving me fucking crazy.

  “Nah.” Vaughn gives a casual shrug, his face unreadable. “Not really my thing, but don’t let that stop you. I’ll probably cut out soon anyway.”

  Carter snorts. “I’m sitting at a table with two big-ass dudes—who’ve already chased off my only prospect like a bunch of overprotective cockblockers—so I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

  She cuts her eyes at me when she says cockblockers because apparently I’m doing a shit job hiding my intentions. Doesn’t matter. She’s just given me an opening. If I know anything about Carter, she won’t back down from a challenge.

  “You wanna dance? I’ll dance with you,” I say, throwing down the gauntlet.

  She freezes, probably hoping like hell she misheard.

  “I’m a pretty good dancer.” I flash her a cocky grin like this is the best idea I’ve had all day. And let’s be honest, it kind of is. “Ask Vaughn.”

  She looks at him warily, realizing too late she’s backed herself into a corner. There was no scenario where I wasn’t going to call her bluff. She’ll have to put up or shut up.

  “He’s a regular twinkle toes,” Vaughn deadpans. He lifts his beer and empties the glass in one long chug. “Might as well. I’m heading out anyway.”

  “So soon?” Carter asks, panic flashing in her eyes.

  “Got a paper to write tomorrow.” Vaughn climbs to his feet and slaps a few bills down on the table. “See y’all at practice.”

  When Vaughn’s gone, I fix my gaze on Carter. “What do you say? You up for it?”

  She huffs and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Just try not to step on my toes.”

  Kennedy

  Why did I say I wanted to dance? And why did I let Becca talk me into this stupid tank top? The back plunges nearly to the waistband of my skirt, leaving a long column of skin exposed. I can feel Reid’s eyes on my bare flesh as he guides me to a dark corner of the dance floor, hand pressed gently to my lower back. Warmth radiates from his body and I want nothing more than to feel his fingers skimming down my spine so I can soak up their heat.

  Which makes no sense, because, hello, it’s Reid.

  Totally. Off. Limits.

  Dammit. This was a terrible idea. I never should’ve brought up dancing. Of course Reid called my bluff. And now I’m stuck with him for at least one song. No way I’m backing down. Because of the stunt he pulled with the frat dude, not because I actually need to feel his body pressed to mine.

  Obviously.

  The opening chords of “Pour
Some Sugar on Me” blast through the sound system, and I throw my arms up and do a little shimmy. Becca’s tiny skirt rides up on my hips, revealing even more of my thighs than before. I should pull the skirt back down—it’s getting downright scandalous—but when I glance over my shoulder at Reid, he’s staring at my legs like they might be the death of him.

  Good. Serves you right for being a controlling ass!

  Encouraged by Reid’s reaction, I do the shimmy again and sway to the music, tossing my hair over my shoulder like I’ve seen Becca do a million times before. I start to move in time with the beat, keeping my back to Reid as I sway my hips seductively, inviting him closer. If we’re going to continue this battle of wills, you can bet your ass I’m playing to win.

  Apparently, so is Reid.

  The song’s half over before his restraint cracks. He steps up behind me, matching the lazy rhythm of my hips as he molds his body to mine. I stiffen instinctively at the closeness, but relax after a beat, melding my back to his chest. His cock is flush against my ass, and I give another slow sweep of my hips, enjoying the feel of his hard length against my backside.

  This is wrong on about twelve freaking levels, but in the dark with the happy glow of alcohol buzzing through my system, it feels right. Why shouldn’t I dance with Reid? It doesn’t mean anything, and he did scare the frat guy off.

  Not that I was into him, but still.

  I raise my arms over my head, letting the beat of the music drive my movements as the heavy bass reverberates through my body. I’ve always loved dancing, that feel of letting go of everything and connecting with something bigger than yourself. The hem of my tank inches skyward, exposing the flesh beneath. Before I can cover it up, Reid skims calloused fingers over the curve of my hip, leaving a trail of scorched skin and unfettered desire in his wake.

  I’m so screwed.

  We lose ourselves in the beat of the music, sweaty bodies saying everything our mouths can’t or shouldn’t. As one song bleeds into another, our limbs moving in harmony, I forget about all the reasons this is a bad idea.