Full Count (Cessna U Wildcats Book 3)

by Kimberly Readnour

  Lexie

  Freshman Year

  My feet couldn’t pound the concrete fast enough to get to Captain’s Cup, a quaint coffee shop on campus I heard some students mention. There wasn’t any reason to hurry other than having a caffé mocha with my name written on it.

  “Hey, Blondie, you dropped your phone,” a deep baritone voice boomed from behind. I, along with half a dozen other students, stopped walking and turned to match the voice with a face. I patted my right ass pocket immediately and gasped when I come away empty. Shit. When did I lose my phone? And how had I not noticed? I went to yell but stopped. The way those piercing eyes zeroed in on me, he seemed to know the phone belonged to me. He might have been in my freshman studies class, and I somehow missed him. Although looking at him, I didn’t see how that was possible.

  “I believe this phone belongs to you.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t realize it fell out.” I stared back and got lost in his strikingly beautiful features—cropped hair the color of chocolate drizzle on a caffé mocha, light brown eyes with streaks of golden flecks, and the peppering of a five o’clock shadow. Did freshman guys grow stubble like that? Maybe he was older. Whatever the case, he was simply delicious enough to devour. And tall. The closer he got, the shorter I felt. He must’ve been at least nine inches taller than my five-foot-four frame. I retrieved the phone and cleared my throat. “I’d die without my lifeline.”

  “That wouldn’t be good. We can’t let anything bad happen to you.” A slight grimace marred his features, but he quickly replaced it with a smile that made a dimple pop on his right cheek. “Where are you rushing off to?”

  “I was going to check out a café on campus.” Warmth coated my cheeks at my admission.

  “Why do you look guilty?”

  “I don’t.” Of course, he’d call me out on my embarrassment. He seemed like the type to not hold back.

  “No? You sure? Because your face is flushed and looks hella guilty. It makes me wonder what you do at the café.”

  My mouth hung open as I processed his words. He wasn’t letting this go. Who did that? “Who are you again, and why do you care?”

  His laugh was low and sultry, the sound working through every erogenous zone in my body. Holy crap, who was this guy? But then the sound stopped as if he realized he was laughing, and it wasn’t allowed for some reason.

  “I’m Garret Cartel.”

  Ah, so that was where his broad shoulders and bulging biceps came from. I recognized his name. He was the newest member of the Wildcat’s baseball team. And completely out of my league. I resumed walking.

  “Wait. You’re not telling me your name. It’s only fair.” He flanked my side, matching my pace.

  “What like an ‘I’ll show you mine, and you’ll show me yours’ type of deal?”

  “The last thing you want to do is flirt with me, Blondie.” The mumbled words were spoken as a warning but not in an arrogant way. The tone seemed dark, almost shameful, further intriguing me.

  “I wasn’t flirting. You’re not even my type.” Because big athletic guys with incredible bodies and gorgeous looks weren’t the kind I drooled over. Yeah, right.

  “That’s good. But I still don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Lexie Jenkins.”

  “Well, Lexie, why does going to the café embarrass you?”

  “You won’t let this go, will you?”

  “What? I’ve never seen anyone get embarrassed over going to a café before. Besides, they’ve always said my curiosity gets me in trouble.”

  “Fine, if you really must know, the average caffé mocha has one-hundred and eighty empty calories. All of which I don’t need.”

  His gaze dropped to my frame. I sucked in a breath as he ogled my body, his gaze lingering on my curvy ass. I wasn’t at all conscientious about my body, but the way he stared made the moment seem intimate and left me exposed. I was overthinking it. No doubt, someone of his caliber was used to beautiful, fit, and trimmed women throwing themselves at him. He wouldn’t give me a second glance. Although, he was still staring.

  “On second thought, I don’t need the drink. I’ll just head to class.”

  “What? No. I could use a coffee.” He nudged my shoulder. “Let’s check out this café. My treat. One mocha won’t hurt.”

  “Tell that to my dad,” I muttered, unable to stop my sarcasm. Garret’s body instantly stiffened. I snuck a sideways glance. His jaw set tight as if holding back what he wanted to say. A faraway look coated his gaze. It was as if he understood my underlying meaning, and it pissed him off. But that was crazy. Why would my father’s lifelong criticism make him mad? It may have taken some time to get to the position where I was good with myself, but I did. Dad’s words no longer hurt as they did in the past. “Fine, you win. I really would like one.”

  He nodded. “Good because you should do what you want. Life is too damn short. What’s your next class?”

  “Design Feature.”

  His head whipped toward me. “No kidding? That’s mine. I take it you’re studying to be an architect?”

  “That’s the plan. And you?”

  A beat passed before he answered. “The same.”

  Hmm, architecture didn’t seem to be his passion. He didn’t get as gushy as I did. “You’ve picked a rather busy major. Aren’t you leaning toward professional baseball?”

  “And how do you know I play baseball? Studying the incoming roster?”

  The same warmth flooded my cheeks. “Something like that. I’m a baseball fan, so yeah. I may have peeped at the roster a time or two.”

  “Should I be worried about filing stalker complaints?”

  “Ha-ha. We’ll see how good you are at the collegiate level.”

  “Don’t hold any punches back.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t. Anyway, it looks like we’ll be in a lot of classes together then.”

  “It sounds like it. What made you decide on architectural design?”

  “That’s rather personal, don’t you think? You haven’t even bought me a drink.” Jeez, was I flirting with this guy?

  “I’m working on it.” He gave me a sideways glance and then looked straight ahead. His shoulders tensed and features looked strained, haunted almost. “You act like your reasoning is a secret. Give me a hint, and I’ll tell you mine.”

  “Oh my God. Okay, my reasoning is more embarrassing than anything. So, my love for design was born when my dad, of all people, took me to visit the Frank Gehry’s Walt Disney Concert Hall. I still remember the building as it came into view. It was like a huge ship sailing down South Grand Avenue. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Sure. I’ve driven past there but never stopped to see it.”

  “You should go. It’s one of the top architectural buildings in L.A. The design’s magical and draws you in. Even at an early age, I wanted to figure out how the designers created those angles.” I paused and tried shaking loose the memory. It was the only good one I had with my father. “Now, tell me what inspired you.”

  “I liked Legos.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Who doesn’t? You’re a wild one there, Cartel. We should be partners.”

  He choked on his word. “What?”

  “Partners.” I cocked my head, confused he didn’t understand. “For senior design. We have the option of going in alone, but flying solo isn’t fun. It’s better with a partner, don’t you think?”

  Okay, so I tested the waters, and by his lack of a response, I failed epically. I should have known he’d never see me as being datable. But he was easy to talk to and seemed smart enough. It’d be easy to pick a partner now versus later. I pressed on. “I think we’d make a good team.”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess we’ve got a deal. This should be interesting.” We arrived at Captain’s Cup, and he held the door open for me.

  “I guess we’re going to be friends then.” I flashed him an all-white grin, which caused his lips to twitch.r />
  “To the next four years, Blondie.”

  Chapter Two

  Garret

  Current Day

  Lexie: Fun Fact. People may lose eighty percent of their muscle strength by the age of sixty-five if they don’t exercise regularly. Quit grumbling.

  Sweat stings my eyes as I grind out the last rep. Weight conditioning is a bitch. It doesn’t matter how much iron I pump over the summer. My efforts are never enough to make it through Coach Callahan’s grueling workouts. Today is no exception. I’m spent.

  I set the barbell back on its cradle and snatch the white towel from the floor as I straighten to a sitting position. Thank fuck this workout is done. I’m not going to lie. This breather is overdue. I dab my forehead while the rest of the team finishes their sets. What I should do is hurry my ass to the showers before heading to my adviser’s office, but he can wait. I have a feeling I’m not going to like his advice anyway. My reprieve comes later when I meet Lexie. I’m so going to razz her for the morning text. Who will give a shit what I look like when I’m sixty-five years old?

  “I’m thinking about bringing Miller back with me this weekend. It’s been long enough, don’t you think,” I say to Braxton, my roommate and the team’s starting second baseman. Miller being the stray dog I adopted last year. He was half-starved when Noah, my other roommate, and I found him behind our house on jock row. But we’re a couple of weeks into this school season, and it’s been enough time to judge the freshmen rookies. My roommates and I had decided to wait before bringing Miller to campus until we got a better read on the newbies. They seem cool—no potential rats—but we need to make sure. The last thing we want is to jeopardize Miller’s safety. Having him here for short visits is allowed, but we’d prefer the school administrators not find out. Before we had permission last year, they hauled him away. It all worked out in the end, but for a while, we thought we’d lost him.

  “Sounds good. I miss the guy. I know Cara is dying to see him,” Braxton says about his girlfriend.

  “Is she applying for that internship at the veterinarian’s office?”

  “Yeah, she finds out this week.”

  “Good. I hope she gets it. It’ll make applying to veterinarian school easier. Any clue on where she’ll apply?”

  “Here, of course, but also a few others, including the one back in her home state. Wherever she goes, we’ll work it out.”

  The question of which grad school she attends plays heavily on their minds. Braxton more than likely will be redrafted this year. He’s a phenomenal player and a huge reason why we’re the defending College World Series champions. I was surprised he opted to finish schooling over signing with the team.

  “Hey, Garret.”

  My attention draws to Sean, the underclassman sitting on the multiple press machine. His sweat-coated hair makes me smirk. I’m not the only one struggling today. “Yeah?”

  “You meeting us at Barton’s this weekend?”

  A few snorts echo around the room, and my senses go on high alert.

  “Nah, I’m going home.” As I do ninety-nine percent of the weekends during school.

  “What’s up with that, anyway? You’re always going home. You have a secret girlfriend you’re hiding?”

  My face blanches—his question a sucker punch to the gut. Talk about being blindsided. I’m already anxious about my adviser’s upcoming advice. I certainly don’t need this interrogation piled on top. No way am I answering that line of questioning. “Don’t think it’s any of your concern.”

  “I just never see you hooking up with anyone. Didn’t know if you solo it or what?”

  What the fuck? “Don’t worry about my sex life. I do just fine.” Soloing it. My dick has been on hiatus since I graduated high school. Right where I intend it to stay. That’s one promise I made and intended to keep—no girls.

  Not now. Not ever.

  My hands are too full as it is. Grades, baseball, and graduation are the top three priorities while my ass attends Cessna University. I already let my parents down before freshman year. I refuse to drop the ball by making any more bad decisions.

  I run the towel over my face as the thought of my parents’ sacrifices douses any ideas of sex. The upheaval of their livelihood falls on me for the sake of getting my architectural degree. The last thing I need to do is flirt with a girl and fuck everything up. Flirting is what got me into this situation.

  “Dalton,” Noah calls out to the fourth roommate in our house. “Speaking of lays, I heard Isabella bragging about you at Captain’s Cup. She said you ranked among her top five.” Noah’s admission draws a few chortles, and I’m glad to have the attention shift to him.

  “Christ. I knew screwing her was a mistake,” Dalton grumbles beneath his breath.

  Braxton tenses beside me. I was shocked when I heard Dalton had slept with Izzy. She tried snagging Braxton since freshman year and must have given up on him. But the timing of Izzy’s and Dalton’s hookup is tied to the downfall of Braxton and Cara’s relationship. Luckily, Braxton and Cara worked through their differences and made it back to each other. Braxton’s a hell of a lot better to live with when he’s happy. I won’t judge Isabella’s actions or intentions, but I won’t pass up the opportunity to rib Dalton a little. No way.

  “Don’t worry, Dalton. I’m sure her list of comparisons isn’t too long.” Dalton’s far from being a manwhore, but he sure does love the attention jocks receive. Who wouldn’t? If my circumstances were different, I’d be indulging as well. Or with one girl in particular—the girl I friend-zoned freshman year.

  “At least I get some,” Dalton quips.

  “I get plenty.” Or I used to. But I’m not going down that path here or anywhere. My past is just that—mine. As far as sex goes, it’s only my hand in the shower and me. Certain honey-rich eyes staring back at me come to mind, but I blink that image away. The last thing I want is to get a hard-on while surrounded by teammates. Besides, thinking about my best friend in that way is all kinds of wrong, but damn if she isn’t at the forefront of my mind. Guilt is the only feeling chasing it away.

  “Sure,” Sean draws out. “I’m sure you get plenty.”

  Braxton chuckles beside me, but I ignore him. “You keep wondering there, Sean. Maybe you’ll finally get some and won’t have to live vicariously through others.”

  That erupts the room into full-blown laughter. I push to my feet and head to the lockers. I don’t have time for this bullshit line of questioning. The shuffling feet behind me tells me I’m not alone, but I don’t pay them any mind. Real men don’t look back at explosions. Besides, I need to get my ass in gear.

  I arrive at my locker and swing the door open with too much force. A small box tumbles out and hits me square on the chest. I stumble backward as the box falls to the floor. As soon as I spot the culprit, I stifle a laugh. The fuckers planted a box of condoms. And not just any condoms. They went and found specially marked small pecker condoms. Clever.

  I pick the box up, shaking my head. It’s named appropriately. I’ve never seen such ridiculously small condoms in my life. I doubt they’d cover my fingers. The Post-it note on the box reads “just in case.” My gaze strays to the top shelf and right on a tube of lubricant and DVD with a bodacious babe sprawled on the cover. Ah, so, the random questions tossed my way now make sense. I have a feeling a certain captain has his hands all over this one.

  “Charming, guys.” I yank the DVD out and wave it toward the collective snickers. I can’t say much after what I pulled on Braxton last year, but this is pretty clever. “But someone left their rubbers behind.”

  “I’ve seen you in the showers. I think they’re appropriate,” our backup first baseman says. He’s a junior who’s a little sore about Dalton taking his spot. Despite Dalton’s standoffish attitude, he’s one hell of a player. Being benched for someone with more talent isn’t fun, but it’s part of the game.

  I cup my junk and give it a good shake. “You wish you were half my size.”
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br />   “Keep telling yourself that, Cartel.”

  I belt out a laugh and strip down to the buff. Standing straighter, I let my size shout in its defense. I’ve nothing to hide or be ashamed of. “Well, ladies, I’m hitting the showers.”

  And then, I’m off to hear the fate of what the adviser has to say.

  “What do you mean?” I shift in my seat and lean forward, knowing full well what my adviser is suggesting. The problem is, I don’t want to accept his advice. All I hear is how more of my time will be sucked up and taken away from my number one priority.

  “What I mean is your CV needs to shine like a baby’s bottom if you have any desire to go to graduate school.”

  I bite back a frustrated breath as sweat breaks across my forehead. My time is already stretched thin. I barely have enough time between schoolwork, practice, and senior design. I don’t know how many more hours I can spare.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I realize you’re on the baseball team, and a huge part of your scholarship is due to that reason, so quitting the team isn’t an option.”

  I scoff. “No, that’s definitely not an option.”

  He holds his hand up to stop my further scowling. “I know, but you need to join an organization that is beneficial to your degree. Playing ball is great as far as showing the balance between academia and recreation, but you need another relevant and powerful statement.”

  My jaw ticks at the adviser’s hesitation. He cocks his head and stares at me straight on. “Are you sure you want to apply to grad school?”