I rake a hand through my hair, but it does little to relieve the frustration pulsing through my skull. I owe him an explanation. Hell, I owe the whole team an explanation, but I can start here, with my friend and roommate. I force myself to look him in the eye.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you when you mentioned asking Carter out. Nothing was going on then, but…I guess I was hoping.” No need to mention we’re not actually dating.
Parker stares at me for what feels like an eternity and it takes all my self-control not to fidget, but I’ve got years of practice being stared down by savage mofos, so I wait him out.
Finally, he raises his fist and I knock it. “It’s all good. I’m talking to a freaky little gymnast.”
Thank Christ. I need my roommates to have my back, because I’ve definitely got some explaining to do, especially if the larger news outlets pick up the story. Which they will.
Kennedy and I are both media darlings, albeit for different reasons. Dammit. The last thing I need is a bunch of reporters speculating about my personal life. It’s exactly what I didn’t want, what Coach didn’t want. Hell, what Kennedy didn’t want.
Kennedy.
She’s going to be pissed. I need to talk to her. She should hear about this from me, not on social media. I pull out my phone and check the time. It’s late and we’ve got an early flight tomorrow for the Indy game. Odds are, she’s home.
“Look, I need to talk to Carter. You’re sure we’re straight?”
“Go take care of your girl,” Parker says, clapping me on the shoulder. “And good luck. She’s not gonna be happy about the article.”
Understatement of the century. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t cut off my nuts.
Kennedy
“What are you doing here?” Not my best greeting, but I’m pretty sure Austin and I don’t have plans, and Becca will be home any minute. I expect him to laugh or give me some witty retort, but his mouth remains set in a firm line.
“I take it you haven’t seen the Collegian?” he asks, holding up a folded newspaper.
“Who has time?” Because, let’s be honest, if I’ve got spare time, I’m totally reading smutty romance, not snarky op-eds and sports stats. “What’s up? Another puff piece on the novelty of a female kicker?”
You’d think they’d be over it by now, but not so much.
“Can I come in? It’s probably better to discuss this in private.” His tone is unusually serious and it’s kind of starting to freak me out. Just what exactly is in that paper? I’ve been playing well and haven’t missed a field goal since week five. The critics should be eating their hats and singing my praises.
I sigh and step back, swinging the door wide so he can slip past. His bicep brushes my shoulder, and I get a whiff of his cologne. It’s fresh, spicy, and speaks directly to my ovaries.
So not the time.
“So? What is it?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Not if Austin’s here.
His shoulders tense almost imperceptibly as he unfolds the paper and hands it to me. “Don’t freak out.”
I read the headline. Waverly’s Newest Couple? Then I read it again, forcing myself to take in the picture below.
Austin. Me. Kissing.
Fuckity-fuck-fuck.
My stomach bottoms out and my hands begin to shake, the paper rattling noisily. This can’t be happening. “Don’t. Freak. Out?”
The words sound shrill and borderline hysterical to my own ears. I can only imagine how I sound to Austin.
He steps forward like he’s going to wrap me in his arms. I take a step back. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place. I skim the article and the ridiculous speculation that Austin and I are Waverly’s newest power couple. Like that’s a real thing. This is a college campus, for fuck’s sake, not Hollywood.
The last line of the article catches my eye and I read it aloud, infusing my words with all the snark the author intended. “Sorry, ladies. Looks like Waverly’s sexy QB is off the market.” I pause and roll my eyes for good measure. “For now.”
Austin says nothing.
“This is bullshit. Who even writes this kind of trash?” I throw the paper on the couch and rub my temples. “We were so careful.”
“Apparently not.” I swear to God there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Never said it was.” True, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitching. “Look, this isn’t great press for me either, but I wanted you to hear about it from me. I didn’t know anything about this, Kennedy.”
I believe him. He wouldn’t have wanted this any more than I do. He’s got his own press headaches to deal with and they’re far bigger than mine, if I’m being honest. The media’s breathing down his throat. He doesn’t talk about it, but I can see the pressure weighing on him as the hype grows each week. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like by the time we get to the championship game. Or the draft. The worst part is, it’ll never end. Once he’s drafted, his life will become one big spotlight, everything he says and does analyzed by the media and gossip rags.
But Austin will handle it well. He’s not the kind of guy who gets into trouble. He’s one of the good ones.
He rubs the back of his neck. “What’s done is done, so we need to figure out how we’re going to handle it.”
“What’s there to handle?” I ask, belly churning with nausea. I’ve totally screwed up and for what, a few good—okay, great—orgasms? “Coach is going to cut me and pull my scholarship. He told me as much when I joined the team.”
“What?” Austin asks, shock plain on his face. “He said that to you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why do you think I wanted to keep this thing between us a secret?”
He rakes a hand through his hair as if debating his response. “Coach was bluffing. He’s not going to rescind your scholarship. I won’t let that happen.”
I raise a brow. He might be captain, but I doubt he has that kind of pull.
“I’ve only seen him do it once and it was drug related. Besides, it’s too far into the season for him to pull your scholarship without a damn good reason. He might bench us though.” He pauses, a fleeting look of uncertainty on his face. “We need to be on the same page.”
Baxter comes trotting out of Becca’s room and launches himself at Austin. He scoops the dog up in his arms and begins petting him. How the hell can I be mad at him when he looks so damn cute cuddling that ball of fur?
Besides, this isn’t his fault. We’re equally responsible. We both knew the risks.
“What do you suggest?” I ask, surprised at myself for deferring to him. Then again, his family probably has more experience with this sort of thing than mine.
Mom.
She’s going to kill me.
If she finds out.
“We should—”
The front door opens and Becca storms in, a look of fierce determination on her face and a copy of The Collegian clutched in her hand.
She slams the door and wheels on us, her eyes flitting from Austin to me. “I knew it!” she squeals, brandishing the paper. “I knew there was something going on with you two.” She frowns, the wind momentarily taken out of her sails. Austin arches a brow, but Becca barrels on before either of us can speak, eyes wide with disbelief. “I can’t believe you were holding out on me.”
“That article is bullshit,” I say, searching for the words to placate her. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Beg to differ.” A wide grin spreads over her face as she holds up the paper again. A hot flush creeps up the back of my neck as I realize just how many people have probably seen the picture of me locked in Austin’s embrace, his tongue halfway down my throat. How stupid could we be, thinking we were safe in the stacks? There’s always someone watching. “I mean, it’s not front page, but it’s still news. News you should have told your best fri
end.” She pauses long enough to harrumph. “I can’t believe I had to learn about it in The Collegian. It’s all anyone’s talking about on campus and on social media.” She frowns. “Sorry, bae. Some of the comments are pretty harsh. But just ignore the trolls. I’ve got your back.” She sucks in a breath, eyes going wide. “Oh, this is just like a romance novel. You remember that book where the football player—”
“Becca?” I shoot a meaningful glance at Austin, who much to my annoyance looks like he’s about to bust a gut. I suspect his grip on Baxter is the only thing preventing him from losing it. “Can we not right now?”
She glances at Austin and rolls her eyes. “Fine. But we’re talking about this later. In detail.”
Now it’s my turn to groan. Because when Becca says detail, what she really means is excruciating, play-by-play detail. The kind that will leave me blushing like a virgin on prom night. “Fine. Do you mind giving us a minute?”
Satisfied she’s going to get the dirty deets later, she prances back to her room. Austin sits Baxter on the floor and he chases after her, leaving us alone in the living room.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” I rub my temples again, knowing it won’t eliminate the pressure building between my temples.
Austin’s eyes narrow and when he speaks, his tone is sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “Because the worst thing that could possibly happen to you is being associated with me?”
He actually sounds hurt and I realize how careless my words came across.
“That’s not what I meant.” I move closer and rest my hand on his bicep, giving it what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just that I hate the idea of people speculating about us.” I bite my lip as the reality of my situation hits home. “And I promised my mom I wouldn’t get involved with a football player. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to her.”
Because she will find out, eventually. It would be naive to assume otherwise. She’ll hear about it soon enough, either from a news outlet or some well-intentioned friend on social media.
“You think this is any better for me?” Austin asks, frustration lacing his words. His eyes, which are normally clear and bright, rage like coastal storm waters. “I broke my own damn rules and lied about it to the team. How can they trust a captain that lied to them?”
Guilt strikes anew, devouring me like a lion does its prey. He’s not the only one who lied to the team. A few months ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but now? The sharp sting of regret pierces my chest. Not regret for being with Austin—I can’t bring myself to regret the hours I’ve spent wrapped in his arms or the pleasure he’s given me—just for lying about it.
I made a promise to my mom and to the team, but it was flawed from the start. If joining the team has taught me anything, it’s that maybe not all football players are asses. Austin’s been nothing but patient and honest with me from the start. And he doesn’t deserve to have me piling on when he already feels like shit.
“This isn’t your fault,” I tell him, resting my head against his chest. His heart beats a staccato rhythm beneath his worn Wildcat’s tee. I close my eyes, soaking up his warmth and inhaling the masculine scent that’s uniquely Austin. What he doesn’t realize is that he’s his own worst critic. No one will ever be as hard on him as he is on himself. “You’re human. You’re bound to make mistakes. We all are. The guys will understand. And they’ll forgive you if you take responsibility and apologize.” I sigh. “My mom, on the other hand…”
Austin’s arms close around me, and he lowers his head so it rests on mine. The season’s drawing to a close and when it’s over, so is our arrangement. The realization hurts more than expected, so I force the thought from my mind and lose myself in his touch.
The quiet moment doesn’t last nearly long enough. My phone rings, and I know without looking that it’s my mom. Everyone else I know texts.
“I should get that.” I separate myself from Austin and smooth my shirt. Then I suck in a deep breath and square my shoulders. Better to get this over with quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I pick up the phone and swipe to accept the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Is it true?” Her voice is carefully controlled, no chipper greeting today.
“Is what true?” I don’t know why I bother with this charade. Old habits, I suppose. We both know what she’s talking about. And we both know I know.
“Kennedy.”
I bite my lip, unsure how to answer. Austin’s watching me, no doubt curious to see how I’ll handle the conversation with my mom. Worry lines his brow, and his lips are pressed flat. An uneasy giggle almost slips out, but I manage to stifle it. He’s as nervous as I am about this call. It’s kind of adorable. And it grounds me. This is my mom. She may be disappointed in me, but she still loves me. Always will.
“How did you find out?”
“I have Google alerts on you, dear. It was Joseph’s idea.” She says it almost cheerfully, like it’s perfectly natural to cyberstalk your kid. “Don’t change the subject. Is there something going on with you and this boy?”
“His name is Austin. And it’s not what it looks like.” I cringe. It’s worse. “Austin and I are—” I stop, replaying her words in my head. “Wait, who’s Joseph?”
“The gentleman I’m dating. Didn’t I tell you? I signed up for one of those online matchmaking sites now that I have more free time on my hands.”
“Uh, no. I think I’d remember that.” My mom is on a dating site? And who is this Joseph? So. Many. Questions. Like, is this why she sounds so happy when she ought to be ripping me a new one for breaking my promise?
“Now, about this Austin,” she says with less ire than I’d expect. “You know how I feel about football players, but if you’re involved with him, I want to meet him.”
Who is this person and what’s she done with my mother? “Um, it’s not really like that.”
The line is silent, and I check to make sure I haven’t dropped the call.
“Then what exactly is it like, dear?”
I turn my back on Austin, who’s watching me intently, hanging on every word. “We’re TWB.”
“TWB? Is this internet speak? You know I don’t understand that crap.”
“Teammates with benefits,” I mutter, cheeks burning. There’s a snort of laughter behind me, but I can’t bring myself to turn around. I would sooner melt into the floor at this point. My mom and I have always been open about sex, but usually my partner isn’t standing right behind me, listening.
“Kennedy Lane Carter. You know I’m a proponent of women’s sexual health, but even I have my limits.” Okay, so Mom’s not a fan of casual sex. At least, not with football players. Probably how things started with my father.
Before I can respond, Austin snatches the phone from my hand. I try to grab it back, certain my eyes must be bugging out of my head, but he holds up a finger, asking me to give him a minute.
“Your funeral,” I mutter.
“Mrs. Carter,” he says, sounding smooth, confident, and annoyingly calm. “My name is Austin Reid. I’m a senior here at Waverly, studying business administration. I also play football with Kennedy.” Way to downplay your All-American status. “I think I owe you and Kennedy an apology.” He turns to face me, gaze moving over me like a lover’s caress. “I should’ve asked your daughter out on a proper date weeks ago. She deserves more than I’ve been able to give her, and if it weren’t for her, I don’t know how I’d get through this season. I know you don’t have much reason to trust me, but I know how close you and Kennedy are, and I’d like your blessing to take her on a real date.”
He wants to go on a date?
But…Austin doesn’t do dates. He doesn’t have the time or energy. Not when he’s so close to making his dreams come true. Is this a ploy to placate my mother? The team? Coach?
A sour taste rises at the back of my throat. I’m done playing games and sneaking around. I may not be ready for our time togeth
er to end, but I’m done lying. He’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m going to fake date him to appease the news outlets or Coach or even my mom.
The Collegian article is proof of how quickly things can get out of hand.
I can’t hear my mom’s reply, but Austin’s smile is answer enough. Clearly he’s won her over with his charm. Un-freaking-believable. I get twenty-one years of lectures on douchey football players, and he’s got her wrapped around his finger in five minutes flat.
Clearly I need to meet this Joseph guy because this is not the same woman who raised me. I drop onto the arm of the couch, stewing.
They chat for a few more minutes, and I listen impatiently as Austin tells her more about himself and his upbringing. When they finally disconnect, I stare at him openmouthed.
My own mother didn’t say goodbye to me. What the hell? More importantly, what did she say to him?
“That went well,” he says, handing me the phone, cocky grin securely in place. His fingers brush mine, and it’s a small miracle I manage to ignore the flutter of excitement that races up my arm, settling in my belly.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, hopping to my feet. “Asking for my mom’s blessing to date me?”
“I meant every word of it.” He slips an arm around my waist, pulling me close so my body is flush with his. “I want to take you on a real date. Prove to you not all football players are assholes. If you’ll let me.”
“You don’t have anything to prove to me.” I’m already convinced, but he doesn’t need to know that. “And you don’t have to take me on a date to, I don’t know, make things right with everyone else. I’m a big girl. I chose this. Same as you. I can handle the fallout, whatever it may be.”
“That didn’t come out right. I’m messing this up.” He releases his grip on me and scrubs a hand over his face. His large body shifts, and I can almost see the nervous energy coursing through his limbs, forcing him into motion. “I don’t have much experience with relationships, and I’ll probably screw up a lot, but I’m asking you out because I want to. I enjoy spending time with you and talking to you, and hell, when you’re not around, all I can think about is you. You make me crazy in the best way. And I think we should go on a date. Together,” he adds, as if there could be any confusion on that point.
Claiming Carter Page 21
