Okay, now I’m offended. My eyes spring back open, but I’m staring straight into Alan’s crotch. I’m offended? Shit, more embarrassed than anything. Braxton has a point. I’m not better than any gossipy show host right now. Sitting underneath a desk, this close to my “boss’s” junk, I’m not better than anyone. Good Lord, say what you need to say and leave.
“It’s a rumor column, I doubt anyone even reads it.” Alan’s lies sound believable. He’d be able to dupe me if it wasn’t for the fact he boasted about the complete opposite. “Someone of your standard will rise above any type of gossip anyway. Don’t you agree?”
“Hardly the point.” The menace in Braxton’s voice has me shrinking into myself. Holy shit, he’s fuming. “I want to know who Mel G. is and how he got such a wild story to begin with. A guy should be able to meet his sister without having to worry about his reputation being slandered. Should I get my lawyer involved?”
Braxton has a lawyer? I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remain quiet. Alan’s a weasel. I have no idea how long he’ll hold out with a threatening lawsuit handed down. I’m nobody but a pest to him. A mere favor he took on for my adviser. Alan will cave faster than the angel food cake I tried making from scratch a couple of years ago.
“Settle down. There isn’t any reason for that. I’m sure you can appreciate the need for anonymity. I can’t disclose the identity of my reporters for their safety. This is a much different time we live in, and I wouldn’t want any harm to come her way.”
“Her?” Braxton’s voice squeaks in surprise. I raise my head and hit the underneath side of the desk. The pit of my stomach falls. I don’t move, hoping Alan can play this off. The throat punch I wanted to give Alan earlier sounds good right now. Thanks for giving him a huge hint, asshole. You just wiped out over half of the potential suspects. At least my name is kept off the staff website. The one and only request granted to me.
“What the fuck are you doing under there?”
For a moment, I think Braxton found me out, but Alan answers. “Nothing, I hit my knee. Besides, it doesn’t matter who wrote the article. What matters is the fact that it’s a simple gossip column started for fun. You should feel honored that you’re the first person highlighted. Don’t you want to set an example? If you can poke fun at yourself, it makes people relax.”
“You’re nothing but a spineless fuck. Is this some sort of revenge tactic on your part?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I think it’s best you leave before I call campus security and have them haul their star player away.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have the last say on this, and I will find out who she is.” Braxton storms out of the office and slams the door behind him so hard I’m surprised the glass doesn’t shatter. I sit on the floor shell-shocked.
“Well, that went a lot better than I expected.” Alan backs the chair away, and I crawl out, beyond embarrassed. He returns to some paperwork on his desk, trying to act nonchalant, but his shaking hands reveal a different story. Alan is as shaken as I feel. There must be bad blood between the two of them. I don’t dare ask, and I don’t say a word as I wait for Braxton to leave the floor.
Holy shit, I’m screwed if he ever finds out it was me. I do not want to face him in lab later today. Between starring in my fantasy last night and doubling down on guilt, I’m not sure I can maintain my composure around him. I do live close to Hollywood. I suppose adding acting skills to my growing list of talents wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Chapter Eleven
CARA
Thank goodness, acting isn’t a requirement to live in Los Angeles. Otherwise, the sheriff would kick my ass to the next county. This whole “trying to be indifferent” act I’m performing is failing epically, and the professor hasn’t entered the laboratory yet. I still have over an hour and a half left with Braxton.
When he settles in the seat beside me, I can barely look him in the face. Between this morning’s showdowns and last night’s fantasies, I’m a mess. When Braxton speaks, I keep my answers short and direct, but they come across clipped and bitchy. There’s a balance to be had, but I can’t seem to find it.
Or, maybe, I should tell him the truth about writing the article. Then, my guilty conscience would clear.
“You’re in a special mood today. I thought after last night you would’ve chilled.”
What the… A blush coats my cheeks at the thought of how chilled I was last night, but he wouldn’t have known that—not for sure, anyway. I turn to face the source of my anxiety. Playfulness dances across his clear blue eyes. Even under the fluorescent lighting, the color stands out in contrast to his tan skin. There’s no denying he wears California sunshine well. I want to cry; he’s so damn delicious.
And those thoughts are dangerous. Very dangerous.
“What mood would that be?” I ask despite already knowing the answer. To distract myself, I grab a few culture tubes and start lining the rack with them.
“Like someone crawled up your ass. I would’ve thought the gift I sent last night would’ve helped ease some tension.”
I pause, culture tube in hand, and whip my gaze back to him. His lips twitch, which further pisses me off. I narrow my eyes into a menacing scowl, but I fail at pulling off the look since all I draw is a chortle.
The sound is beautiful.
Soft and suppressed. It’s the kind that makes you lessen your guard. That is, if the meaning behind his words wasn’t so derogatory.
“Relax, Pole Girl. I’m only kidding. But you do seem a little testy today.” The corners of his mouth rise. “Of course, my offer from last night still stands. I could always help you with relieving some of that pressure. As a friend, I’d be honored.”
My mouth drops open as I stare at him. Correction, I glare at him. After the way our evening nosedived, I’m sure he thinks I’m the biggest prude in Los Angeles County, but I don’t care. I can’t believe I almost caved to his good looks and charm. It has to be my guilt making me weak.
I lean closer to him, and he mirrors my movement. The toxic combination of lemon and cedar consumes me as it did last night. I have to fight the temptation to nestle my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe in his musky, masculine scent. But he’s right there. Just one quick sniff, and I’ll be satisfied. He’ll never know.
“Yeah?” His question snaps me from my lust-filled thoughts. Oh, he’s good. He almost had me sniffing him for Christ’s sake. I need to be on extra guard duty around him. After an awkward beat, I find my voice and courage.
“Let me make this perfectly clear. You’re the last person I would seek for help.” The conviction in my words drops his smile. But as I sink further in the depths of his gaze, my world shifts, and I feel it—the crack in my armor splitting. He’s so damn mesmerizing. No matter how tough I claim to be, I keep finding myself drawn to him. And I don’t want to be.
“Braxton.” An unfamiliar female voice interrupts, leaving me half-relieved and half-annoyed at the same time. I lift my gaze to a splay of auburn curls. My shoulders tense as I straighten in my seat and bite back the growl wanting to escape.
What the hell is wrong with me? Isabella’s presence shouldn’t make me this edgy.
“Izzy, what are you doing here?” Braxton jerks his head back in surprise and shifts to look at her. Isn’t that cute? He has a nickname for her, too.
“My class is in this building, but I wanted to reiterate our previous conversation.” She lays a possessive hand on his biceps and flashes me a quick glance. To say it’s friendly would be an overreach. “I was serious. I’d have no problem facing Alan. If you need me to, I’ll go talk to him.”
My face pales. Shit. There is no way Alan will hold out with this girl. A few bats of her long eyelashes will have him succumbing so fast the entire college campus will know my family history. I may as well flash “come get your Dodgers’ tickets here.” God, I can’t wait until these rumors about Braxton pass. Another article comes out soon, so maybe after then.
> “I don’t know, Izzy. I don’t like you talking to him. You don’t need to place yourself in that situation. Alan wouldn’t spill, but I’m not done with him.”
My gaze lands on the hand still touching Braxton. She squeezes it gently while inhaling. Maybe there’s a past with Alan that causes her stress, and she needs Braxton’s support? I don’t know, but regardless of her situation, I hate her hands on him. At that admission, I turn my attention back to the culture tube in my hand.
“Thanks for your concern, but I’m here for you. You know he’ll tell me. All you have to do is ask.”
The culture tube slips and bounces off the countertop. Luckily, it doesn’t break. My hands fumble as I pick it up and try placing it in the rack. The commotion draws Braxton’s attention.
“Izzy, have you met Pole Girl?” Braxton motions toward me.
She turns a bone-chilling, apathetic expression toward me. “She’s a stripper?”
My mouth drops open. “See, I told you people would think that.”
Braxton laughs, but he continues to eye me while directing his words to Isabella. “Not yet, but I’m working on a private show. I certainly have the place you can practice.”
Isabella’s eyes narrow at me, and I get the distinct feeling she’s sizing me up. Just friends, my ass. He may not be into her, but she’s way into him.
“And that, my friend, will never happen,” I say with a saccharin-sweet smile.
His mouth stretches wider. “Never say never.”
“Braxton,” Isabella interrupts. Her hand slides down his arm and gives another squeeze. Then she leans into him, making sure her breasts brush against his biceps. Such a sexy, overplayed move if I’ve ever seen one, but the gesture works. His gaze draws right to her. I certainly don’t turn heads in my not-so-sexy, oversized purple T-shirt that makes me feel like Grimace.
Enough with McDonaldland references already.
“I have to get to class, but I wanted to let you know I have your back.”
Braxton’s voice softens. “Thanks, but let me work on him some more first. I’m dying to get to the bottom of this but not at your expense.”
The gratitude coating her face makes me question whether I’ve judged Braxton too harshly. He obviously isn’t as selfish as I first believed. She’d face whatever past her and Alan have to help him. He could’ve taken advantage of that and chose not to. What if I’m wrong about him? Acid churns in my stomach at her departure. God, I’m going to end up with an ulcer by the time this is done. The smart thing for me to do is tell him, but I’m sure Alan’s right. After Monday’s article, the news about Braxton will blow over.
“Hey, Cara.” Tryce passes Isabella but doesn’t pay her any attention. His focus zeros in on me. Only me.
Crap.
“Hey, Tryce.”
“It was good running into you at the cafe.”
I frown and watch him drop his backpack in the cubicle across the table. I’m not sure good would be the correct word choice. All he did was introduce himself and stare at me awkwardly. I force a smile. “Do you go there often?”
“I will now.”
Braxton stiffens beside me, and I suppress the bubble of joy that rises in my chest. “Good. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”
“You can bet on it.” He winks.
The professor picks that moment to breeze into the room and saves me from having to reply. She runs through the assignment and informs us which protein we’ll be expressing later. Braxton grabs the flasks while I gather the ingredients. The first obstacle to overcome is preparing the special media for the organisms to grow. Now, we get into the fun part of the lab. Too bad it’s marred by a guy who drives me insane.
“We should get started so the media has time to sterilize and cool before we add the kanamycin and other antibiotics,” I say.
“Agreed.” Braxton slides the safety goggles on and dons his gloves before grabbing the glass bottle and sterilized solution. My stare lingers on that strong jawline that flexes as he pours the liquid. His legs shift, and the sliding sound of his warm-up pants draws my attention to those long legs. The casual bend to his knees. His feet resting on the floor. It’s all too much as a shiver riffles through me. He has to be the sexiest lab partner of all partners. I even have proof. It’s saved on my phone under All Photos. I may or may not have hearted it so it shows up under Favorites.
I force myself to look away and pick up the flask. I need to concentrate on my current task—not think about naked torsos. Otherwise, I’m screwed.
“What is your schedule tomorrow?” I ask.
He gives me a side-eyed glance. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you? Who’s to say my offer still stands.”
“Oh my God. You’re incorrigible.” I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. This guy is something else. I don’t want to like him, but he makes it impossible to hate him. What is up with that? “Someone will have to check to see if the culture tubes remain clear. If they’re contaminated, they’ll need to be redone.”
“Sure, whatever. I think it’s your clever way of stalking me.”
“Why on earth would I want to stalk you?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “I told you I’m irresistible.”
“Please stop. I have to excel in this class.”
He laughs. “I can check on them before practice tomorrow.”
I bite my lip. This is the first time he’s slipped about playing ball in front of me. Perhaps the charade is up. “You know, on second thought, I have free time in the afternoon. I can check on them then.”
“Don’t trust me?”
No. “I forgot you’re a baseball player, so I can do it.”
He stares at me for a moment and then shakes his head. “Don’t think jocks are smart enough to check media? You wound me, Pole Girl.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Do I need to show you my unofficial transcript?” His face stays stoic as he concentrates on pouring the sterilized water. I can never tell if he’s joking or actually hurt.
“You’re taking what I said wrong. I just meant you’re busier than me. I could take care of it.”
“If you have some free time, why don’t we check it together? It is, after all, a group project.” He hands me the bottle of water.
“Be alone with you? No thank you.”
He grabs his heart. “And the hits keep coming. Why wouldn’t you want to be alone with me? We had fun last night.”
“You mean before Pixie Girl interrupted?”
“I apologized for that.”
Seriously? I place the water bottle down and pin him with a look. “Let’s get something straight. I do not want to go out with you. I will never want to go out with you. You’re certainly not my type.” Anymore.
His gaze flares with heat, but I don’t think it’s the “I’m attracted to you” kind. It’s more of the “I want to get away from you” kind. “You keep saying I want to go out with you, but I’ve never once asked. I simply suggested we could both check on it. So, you know, you can make sure I don’t fuck up.”
“You literally said you wanted a private show.”
He tsks. “See, you’re confusing fucking with dating.”
My resolve falters. Perhaps in my haste, I’ve jumped to conclusions, but does he have to prove my point that he’s nothing more than a pig? “Thanks for clearing that up. I sometimes confuse the two.”
“Why do I get the impression you’re not impressed at all with my extracurricular activities? Or is it more of disapproval? Is that it? You hate baseball players or all jocks in general?”
“Believe me, I’m the last person on earth to hate all baseball players.” Considering I like my brother and his group of friends, there’s no way I hate all of them. I only reserve this level of hatred for a particular type of player. “The guys I can’t stand are the ones who think they’re God’s gift to the female population.”
I’ve been down that road too many times.
“Good.
Then you don’t have to worry about hating me.”
“Really?” I say in a deadpan manner, but my attempt at impassiveness cuts short when Braxton leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against mine. My mouth parts as his warm breath sweep the side of my face and send tingles straight to my core. Even with his goggles on, I can see the intensity of his stare. And I don’t like what it does to me.
“Yeah, who you described isn’t me.”
“It’s not?” My heart beats so fast it almost drowns out my words. But when his gaze dips to my mouth, my heart almost stops.
“Nope.” He backs away, and I finally breathe. “After one night with me, it won’t be me who’s thinking I’m God’s gift.”
The wickedest grin crosses his face before he snatches the flasks and races over to the autoclave. I’m left sitting there with my mouth agape, and I curse my body’s reaction. But damn, if a part of me wants to find out.
“How much water did you add to your first flask?” Tryce’s question breaks the stupor Braxton placed me in. I shift my focus toward Tryce. He’s a few steps behind and sits by himself.
“Where’s your partner?”
“I don’t know. You’d think he would’ve warned me he wasn’t coming.”
Not missing the irritation in his voice, I go over to help. I grab the second flask and fill it with the appropriate solution.
“Thanks, I felt like I was slipping behind.”
“No problem. We have some downtime while the media is in the autoclave.” Warning bells sound in my head as he fills the flask without asking for the volume amount.
We continue, me doing the work of his missing partner, until a loud thump draws my attention to Braxton. His lip forms a thin tight line as he stares at the lab assignment spread out in front of him. Either he’s not understanding the instructions or he doesn’t like me helping out our classmate. My heart ticks a beat faster at the latter thought.
SWINGING STRIKE: Cessna U Wildcats Book One Page 8
