“So, we saved you a seat, as promised.” I gesture to the table where my roommates are doing a piss-poor job of pretending they aren’t watching us. They aren’t the only ones. Several heads jerk away when I turn, and I know half the damn team is watching. The thing is, they’re curious about Carter. She hasn’t exactly made an effort to fit in, and after today’s little stunt in the locker room, most of the guys view her as a wild card.
Not exactly ideal heading into our first game.
Carter’s gaze sweeps the room and settles on an empty table that’s about as far away from my own as she can get. Nice. “I’ve got a lot of reading to do,” she says, tugging the strap of her backpack. “I think I’ll just go sit over there where it’s quiet.”
I can’t exactly fault her logic, but fortunately, her stomach growls at that exact moment. Most women I know would be mortified, but Carter appears unfazed. Still, it’s an opening and I’m not about to let an opportunity pass.
“Come on.” I nod toward the back corner. “We’ve got snacks, but Vaughn’s likely to devour them if we don’t get over there.”
She bites her lower lip, seeming to debate the offer, before finally shaking her head and relenting, her dark eyes wary. “Thanks, I missed dinner,” she says, falling in step with me. Her elbow brushes mine and a jolt of awareness slides up my arm before settling low in my gut.
The guys scoot down and make room for Carter, giving her the seat directly across from me. We settle back in as she unpacks her bag, hefting a textbook that must be three inches thick onto the table.
“Holy shit! You carry that thing around with you? It must weigh like twelve pounds,” Coop says, a look of disbelief on his face. Then he reaches out and squeezes her bicep. “These scrawny things must be stronger than they look.” He flashes her a mischievous grin that’s helped him score in more ways than one. “You know, I could show you a few good exercises to—”
“My arms are fine,” Carter protests, swatting his hand away. She’s not wrong. Her toned arms are golden brown from the summer sun and there’s nothing scrawny about them. “And if you touch me again,” she says, giving him a saccharine smile, “I might accidentally drop that book on your foot.”
I’m pretty sure she’s serious, but Coop just laughs and shakes his head.
“Now that I’d like to see.” Vaughn grins at Carter and extends his giant paw. She shakes it, looking only slightly intimidated by our token mountain man. “I’m Vaughn, by the way. Nice to finally meet you.”
“Same,” she says, although her stilted reply lacks the sincerity of Vaughn’s words.
“And that troublemaker over there is DJ Parker,” I say, nodding at the last of my roommates.
“S’up?” Parker lifts his chin in greeting.
“Hey,” Carter replies, grabbing a bag of trail mix from the pile of booty and tearing it open. She pops a handful in her mouth and chews ravenously. Two ounces of nuts does not a dinner make, so I toss another bag her way. It lands on her textbook, and Vaughn leans in for a closer look.
“Mechanical engineering, huh?” Vaughn studies her with new appreciation. “Tough major.”
“Damn, girl. You must be a brain,” Parker chimes in. “Me? I’ll take the soft subjects every day of the week.”
Yeah, right. Parker may be studying communications, but he’s no slouch. The guy’s super smart and could easily handle a more rigorous major, but it would be a waste of time since he’s hoping to work in sports broadcasting where he can put his charm to good use.
Carter shrugs, pretending it’s no big deal despite the telltale blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not so bad. I’ve always enjoyed STEM classes.”
“STEM?” Vaughn asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.
“Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math.” Carter opens her book not so subtly. It’s clear she’s done with the interview portion of the evening, but the guys aren’t letting up. I consider intervening but decide to keep my mouth shut. Getting to know one another on a personal level is an important part of team bonding and Carter could sure as shit use some friends on the team.
Besides, the guys are on their best behavior.
Parker grabs one of her notebooks—clearly not worried about the threat of a twelve-pound textbook—and holds it up for inspection. “So what’s the deal with your name anyway? Kennedy Carter? Your parents hoping to raise the first female president or what?”
Carter shifts in her seat, not meeting his gaze. Parker’s teasing is harmless, totally in good fun. Anyone who knows him would see that, but the thing is, Carter doesn’t know Parker. She doesn’t know any of us beyond her preconceived notions, which I’m pretty sure she’d sum up as douchebag football players.
As much as that attitude irritates the shit out of me, Carter’s part of the team. I owe her the same support I’d give any of the guys.
“Knock it off, Parker.” I grab the notebook and hand it back to Carter. “Some of us actually need to study and you’re disturbing the peace.” I glance over his shoulder and lift my chin, indicating a particularly pissed-off looking guy who’s glaring at us over the top of a physics book.
“You know what?” Carter says, scooping up her books and pressing them to her chest. “I’m going to grab another table. It was really nice meeting you,” she says, looking from Vaughn to Parker, “but I really work better on my own. I guess I’ll…see you at practice.”
Well, fuck me.
Kennedy
I settle my things at a new table on the far end of the reading room and haul ass for the stacks. I don’t actually need anything other than a break from the intense stares and endless questions of my teammates. Having all those guys looking at me, constantly probing?
It’s uncomfortable as hell. Even if a few of them do seem kind of nice. And, okay, funny.
Whatever. It’s probably just a front.
After all, I know exactly what kind of guys they are, and I’m not going to make the same mistake as my mother.
Hard. Pass.
I’ve suffered enough heartbreak and disappointment at the hands of ballplayers to last a lifetime, thank you very much. Like the time my father promised to take me to the zoo for my seventh birthday and never showed. Or the time he bailed on the fifth-grade father-daughter dance because he got tickets to a playoff game. Oh, and then there was the time he showed up drunk to my high school graduation with some bimbo I’d never even met in tow.
At least by then, I was old enough to understand I wasn’t the problem.
So, yeah, the last thing I need in my life is more ballplayers.
Shaking off the depressing thoughts of my deadbeat father, I wander past the stacks and head for the water fountain, glancing up at the clock as I pass by. I’ll get a drink and then head back to my table. Only fifty-four minutes to go.
Easy peasy.
Except this is only day one. Which means I have to face another fifty-nine study halls with these guys. I suppress a groan. No way am I going to get through twelve weeks of study halls without more awkward encounters like the one tonight.
Shit. Maybe I can get a private room at the academic center. That’s a thing, right?
I stop at the fountain and twist my hair before tossing it over my shoulder and bending to get a drink. Ugh. Why are water fountains so low to the ground? I know I’m tall, but come on, I feel like my ass is on display for the whole library to see. Should’ve worn baggy-ass sweatpants.
Pushing the thought aside, I press the metal button and lower my lips to the stream of icy cold water, doing my best not to dribble on the front of my shirt like a spaz.
As I’m drinking—okay, fine, guzzling—a pair of preppy deck shoes stroll into my peripheral vision, lingering just to the left of the fountain.
Um, hello, personal space?
I release the button for the water flow and straighten my spine, pulling myself up to my full height, where I find myself face-to-face with Reid.
Should’ve known. He’s not one to
give up easily.
“Do you stalk all your teammates or is this a special privilege reserved just for me?” I ask, planting my hand on my hip and cocking it to the side for maximum impact.
Total waste of effort, because as it turns out, his gaze is locked on my mouth.
Oh hell. Do I have water dribbling down my chin? I lick my lips, praying I don’t have water on the front of my tank top. Kind of hard to be badass when you’ve got water dribbles on your shirt, you know?
Reid swallows, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, before his hooded eyes meet mine. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” I turn and head for the stacks, hoping to ditch Reid. The only thing I need right now is space, and it’s clear he isn’t going to give it to me. He’s right on my heels, easily matching my long stride. I hook a left, turning into the stacks like I totally know where I’m going (spoiler alert: I don’t).
I steal a quick glance at the shelves and realize I don’t even know what section we’re in. The library has three floors, plus a basement, and houses five-point-four million books, so yeah, I feel sorry for the poor sucker who has to do the reshelving, but mostly I feel sorry for my directionally challenged self at the moment.
“You can’t outrun me,” Reid says, his words tinged with laughter.
Crap. He’s right. It’s a dead end.
I slow my pace and stop in front of a random shelf, studying it with purpose, like I’ve arrived at my intended destination.
Reid stops a breath away—literally—using his giant body to crowd me in the narrow space. With towering bookshelves pressing in on either side, he’s effectively blocked my escape with his broad shoulders. And judging by the shit-eating grin on his face, he knows it.
From my periphery, I can see him glancing around, taking in our surroundings like he’s never seen the inside of a library before. My pulse quickens. Or maybe he’s casing the place to see if there will be any witnesses to whatever it is he has planned.
“Are you really looking for a book or are you just trying to avoid me?” he asks, the words a husky whisper as they skate across my cheek.
“Book, obviously,” I lie, keeping my attention fixed on the shelf before me. I’ve always been a shitty liar. It’s ridiculous to cling to this pointless charade, but my stupid pride refuses to admit defeat.
After all, if Harry Potter can take down Lord Voldemort, surely I can best Austin Reid.
“Really? What book?” He inches closer, the fresh, spicy scent of his cologne tickling my nose. “I’ll help you look.”
“No thanks.” When I turn to meet his gaze, our mouths are dangerously close. Nope, nope, nope. I snap my attention back to the bookshelf. “I’ve got this.”
“I’ll bet.” His voice is a low rumble as he reaches around me, fingers skimming across my bicep, and pulls a book from the shelf. A shiver races up my spine, and I can’t bring myself to look at him as he scans the cover. “What’s a mechanical engineering major need with a bunch of psychobabble bullshit?” he asks, holding up a psych book with a picture of an abstract brain on the cover. The smirk on his face says I’m totally busted.
Pulse racing, I wipe my palms on my thighs, certain it’s annoyance making my heart beat double time and not Reid’s dimple. “Well, what do you know?” I snatch the book out of his hand and clutch it to my chest like a golden ticket. “Just the one I was looking for.”
“Uh-huh,” he deadpans, shifting his weight and crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, I’m serious. We need to talk about your role on the team.”
Clearly he’s not going to let this go, so I decide to roll with it. Might as well get it over with, whatever it is. “What about my role on the team?”
“As team captain, it’s my job to make sure the team gels and plays like a cohesive unit.” He pauses, blue eyes scanning my face for understanding. “That works best when everyone pulls together. It’s good for morale and winning games.”
I tilt my head, completely lost. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say, but I’m not some delicate flower you have to worry about crushing. Just give it to me straight, okay?”
It’ll be less painful for both of us.
“You’re a wild card.” He heaves a monumental sigh and plants his hands on his hips. “It’s messing with team morale. The guys don’t know you and therefore don’t trust you.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand and plows forward.
“Look, I get it. Kickers do their own thing at practice, but it wouldn’t kill you to act like part of the team once in a while. There are some pretty good guys back there,” he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the reading room.
“Really?” I challenge, indignation fanning a fiery ball of outrage in my belly. “Because I hear the talk. I know what football players are like.”
He quirks a brow. “Do you?”
“Oh, come on.” I blow a loose strand of hair out of my face. “Langley thinks I’m going to make Waverly the laughingstock of the conference.”
“Fuck Langley.” He doesn’t miss a beat and the passion behind his words catches me off guard. His swift agreement takes some of the wind out of my sail, because most of the guys have been more welcoming than Langley. “He’s an asshole.”
“I know.”
“So prove him wrong.” He rakes a frustrated hand through his hair, destroying the artfully messy spike. “Most of the guys on the team want to have your back, but you’re not making it easy. These guys have been playing ball their whole lives and for some, it’s the last time they’ll ever play. The last time they’ll have a shot at a national title. So maybe you could act like you give a damn.”
That fiery ball of outrage in my belly expands. It’s practically a full-scale inferno now. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t give a damn,” I say, poking him in the chest and doing my best to ignore the fact that the wall of muscle doesn’t so much as budge. “Hell, I bailed on a sport I love for one I hate.”
“What do you have against football?” he asks, curiosity lighting his eyes. Or maybe it’s disbelief, because how could anyone not love football, right?
“That’s irrelevant.” I lift my chin and cross my arms over my chest. We are so not going there.
He narrows his eyes, suspicious. “You’re so sure you know what we’re like. Have you ever even spent any time with a ballplayer?”
I flinch. The accusation stings, reminding me of my father, whose absence taught me everything I need to know about football players. “What do you want from me?” I ask, throwing my hands up. “I’m learning a new technique, and I’m here busting my ass every day.”
“Are you? Because it seems like you’ve got one foot out the door.” He pauses and rubs the back of his neck, suddenly Mr. Fidget. Serves the self-important ass right. His voice is soft when he continues. “I stuck my neck out for you. The least you could do is try to fit in with the team.”
His words catch me off guard, hitting me like a sucker punch to the gut. He didn’t stick his neck out for me. He did it for himself. For his shot at a national title and parties and women and draft picks and whatever the hell else it is football players actually give two fucks about.
Not for me.
Laughter bubbles up from the pit of my stomach, and for once I don’t even care if I’m breaking library rules by being loud. “Let’s be honest, you were dead in the water without me. We both know it. So instead of bitching about my team spirit—or lack thereof—perhaps you could say thank you.” I arch a brow for good measure, because, honestly, who the hell does he think he is?
“Okay, that might’ve come out wrong—”
“You think?” I snort and flip my hair over my shoulder, channeling my inner Veronica Lodge.
“Don’t get me wrong, we’re thankful to have you on the team—I’m thankful to have you on the team—but that’s awful big talk for someone who hasn’t proven herself yet.”
“Seriously?” I knit my brows together and purse my
lips. What the hell does he think I’ve been doing at practice for the last two weeks? “Because Coach Jackson is thrilled with my progress. In fact, he told me today I’m starting on Saturday.”
If he’s surprised by the news, he doesn’t show it. “See me after your first game,” he says, eyes blazing, chest heaving. “All those soccer games you played? They’re nothing compared to the bright lights and screaming crowds of D1 football. You ever have one hundred thousand fans screaming your name, counting on you to bring home the win? It’s pressure like you couldn’t imagine, so trust me when I say, you’ll want the team at your back.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks away.
I watch his retreat, his words echoing in my head.
Pressure, indeed.
Chapter Six
Austin
I knock on Coach’s door, a feeling of unease twisting my gut. It’s not exactly unusual for him to call me in after practice, and there’s no way he could know about the blowup between Carter and me, but…
“Come on in, son,” he says, waving me into the office. As usual, his face gives nothing away except the fact that he’s spent too much time in the sun. I slide into the chair opposite his desk, casually draping my hands over the front of the armrests, and hope like hell this isn’t going to be a repeat of the Spellman conversation. “How’re things going with Carter?”
“Fine.” Aside from the fact that I can’t stop thinking about the way she bites her plump lower lip. Or how bad I wanted to kiss her senseless when she was spewing righteous indignation between the stacks.
Talk about hot and bothered. Just the memory makes me shift in my seat.
“She fitting in okay with the rest of the team?” Coach tosses his pen on the desk and leans back in his chair to study me.
“As well as can be expected,” I hedge, avoiding an outright lie. In truth, the woman is infuriating as hell, a fact that’s making me feel like a complete failure as captain, something I refuse to accept.
Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1) Page 6
