“You think?” I regret the snarky reply immediately. Just because I’m pissed at myself doesn’t mean I can take it out on Reid. That would be a bitch move. “Sorry,” I say, toying with the end of my braid so I don’t have to look him in the eye. “It’s just…I should’ve made that kick. I’ve made it a hundred times in practice, but I let myself get distracted.”
“Distracted?” His face is open and warm, and I can tell his interest is sincere, but no way in hell am I telling him about my dad’s text. I’ve already said too much—revealed too much—about myself. When I don’t answer, Reid continues. “Yeah, well, if I’d been on my game, you never would have been in that position in the first place.”
The snort is out of my mouth before I can think better of it. “What? Because you’re Austin freaking Reid? Like you’re a one-man show?”
I narrow my eyes at him until I’m sure they’re just little slits, but he doesn’t even flinch. Just gives an almost imperceptible shrug as if to say, If the shoe fits.
“Oh my God. You really believe that crap, don’t you?” I throw my head back and laugh, although in truth, it’s anything but funny. Most people would crumble under that kind of pressure. For the first time, I truly understand what it must’ve been like growing up in his father’s shadow. “Shit. That must be some burden to carry…the weight of the entire team.” I drop down into one of the chairs opposite him and give what I hope is a teasing smile. “Pro tip: I don’t need you to save me or shoulder the burden or whatever it is you think you’re doing. And neither does the rest of the team. We’re all adults here.”
He arches a brow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so?”
I nod vigorously, refusing to be distracted by that adorable, kissable dimple. “Definitely. You can’t take all the credit for our mistakes any more than you’d try to take credit for our success.”
“I’d never do that.” He sits up straighter, cheeks flushed with indignation. His dark hair falls over his left eye, giving him a dangerous edge, and despite the fact that he’s sweat stained and dirty, he’s hot as hell. Who knew the man could wear outrage so well?
“Exactly,” I say, shifting in my seat and crossing my legs. Because I’m wearing a skirt and it’s ladylike, not because I’m getting hot for him and crave the friction. And I’m definitely not thinking about what it would be like for him to bend me over the desk and do a quarterback sneak. That would just be fifty shades of wrong.
He pushes off the desk so that only inches remain between our bodies. Which is slightly awkward since now I’m face-to-face with his package. His rather large package. Heat floods my body, pooling low in my belly. God, what is wrong with me? I should not be thinking about Reid’s—
“You’re probably right.”
Crap. What was I right about?
Oh yeah. Teamwork. Shared responsibility.
“I know,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the issue at hand despite my raging hormones. “I made mistakes today and so did the defense. You don’t get to take all the blame when there’s plenty to go around. It’s like you said, we have to learn from our mistakes.” Which is exactly what I should be doing, so I stand, which turns out to be the wrong move, because now my breasts are practically skimming his chest. “Also, why am I now consoling you? I thought you were here to cheer me up?”
Humor sparks in his eyes. “I’d be happy to cheer you up. Just say the word.”
Nopenopenope. I’ve got to put a stop to this, whatever this is. We’re too close, the chemistry between us a dangerous, unwieldy thing with a mind of its own.
“You should probably go shower. The bus will be leaving soon.”
“I’ll go, but first you have to make me a promise.” His voice is like a caress, soft and gentle, as his hot breath skates across my cheek. He’s got me and he knows it, judging by the self-satisfied smirk on his face. I’ll agree to anything just to get rid of him and put some space between us. “Join the team for the homecoming activities next weekend. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Chapter Twelve
Austin
The homecoming parade is a total circus. In all my years at Waverly, I can’t remember the crowds ever being so large. Or rowdy. They say there are six degrees of separation between all Wildcat fans and today it seems like they all turned out, determined to cheer us to victory over Ohio tomorrow. It’ll be a tough game. Especially with the week six loss hanging over the team like a dark fucking cloud.
Doesn’t help that the press has been brutal. They’re already speculating about the impact of the loss on my draft stock because, like I told Carter, that shit’s on me. Every mistake I made has been analyzed six ways from Sunday as the talking heads look for weaknesses in my game.
I suck in a sharp breath, the cool air whistling between my teeth. Doesn’t matter. If we run the table from here on out, we’ve still got a shot at the championship game.
We just need to stay focused and take it one game at a time.
Despite the pressure, it’s impossible not to get swept up in the excitement of the parade. There’s music, dancing, and more open containers than the police can possibly confiscate. I steal a glance at Carter, mainly to reassure myself she’s having a good time. I did promise, after all, and I’m a man of my word. She’s laughing at something Coop said and even though I know there’s nothing between them, the sting of jealousy is sharp. She looks great today and a guy would have to be blind not to appreciate it.
Since she’s distracted, I take the opportunity to look my fill. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and she’s wearing makeup. It’s not dramatic enough to change her girl-next-door look, but it sure as hell complements it, her face glowing under the old-fashioned streetlights. Like the rest of the team, she’s wearing jeans and her jersey. But unlike the rest of us, her jeans hug the soft curve of her ass and her tits bounce gently with each step.
I’ve never been one to share my jersey, but a lot of guys on the team swear there’s nothing sexier than a woman wearing their numbers. They’ve got it all wrong. Looking at Carter, I’m certain there’s nothing sexier than a woman wearing her own numbers. I can easily picture her prancing around my bedroom in that jersey and nothing else, her golden legs leading straight to the end zone.
My cock twitches at the thought.
Get a grip, Reid. Much more of this and you’ll be walking the parade route with the mother of all hard-ons.
Not exactly the kind of press I need heading into the big game.
Ohio’s playing well and they’re currently leading us in the rankings, but I don’t put much stock in those numbers. We’re just breaking into our conference schedule and if we play well, we’ll improve our position. Just like I’ve improved my position with Carter, although not half as much as I’d like.
Hell, I should just be glad she’s walking the parade route with me and my roommates where I can keep an eye out for her. Not that it should be any great surprise. I don’t get the feeling she’s particularly close to the guys on Special Teams, and let’s be honest, none of them are willing to put in the work. It took a hell of a lot of persistence on my part to get her to hang with the team this week, but it was worth it.
Especially when Carter won a pink unicorn at the carnival and gave it to Coop, because only a guy who preens as much as he does could appreciate such a beautiful creature. The guys ate that shit up and the unicorn has sort of become the unofficial mascot of the week. It’s taken longer than I would’ve liked, but Carter’s finally finding her place on the team. The guys are starting to trust her and vice versa. Not that I’m patting myself on the back or anything. It’s part of my job as captain to ensure the team gels.
Sure, there’s a little voice in the back of my mind that says my interest in Carter exceeds my obligations as team captain, but I ignore the fucker.
Carter turns from Coop and catches me staring. She lifts a brow but says nothing, just continues waving to the fans that line College Ave. There’s a flush in her
cheeks that could be from exertion, but I prefer to think it’s proof she’s as hot for me as I am for her. Carter’s doing her damnedest to pretend that kiss didn’t happen, but I’ve never shied away from a challenge and I’m not about to give up on the heat between us.
After all, what Coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“Having fun?” I ask, waving to a group of pint-size fans.
She bites her lower lip and my balls tighten. Does she do that shit on purpose, just to torture me? Probably. “Who doesn’t like a parade?” she asks, giving me a cheeky smile and completely dodging the question.
I snort. “Would it be so hard for you to admit I was right?”
“Just doing my part to keep that ginormous ego of yours in check.”
“Whatever. Nobody’s got a bigger ego than DeLaurentis and I don’t see you busting his ba—chops.” I nudge her with my elbow. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone you had actual fun with the football team.”
She wipes her brow. “Phew! For a minute there, I was worried about my reputation.”
“You know, if I’d known you were going to be such a smart-ass, I might not have asked you to try out.”
“Liar. You totally would’ve asked. You were desperate. I could smell it on you like cheap cologne.” There’s a wicked gleam in her eye and it’s sexy as hell. Most of the women I hook up with will say and do anything to make me happy. They wouldn’t dream of giving me the kind of lip Carter does, but it’s one of the things that sets her apart. I fucking love it.
“Are you sure that wasn’t Coop?” I ask, feigning confusion. “He wears more body spray than a teenage boy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my cologne,” Coop says, slinging an arm around Carter’s shoulders. Why the fuck is he always touching her? It’s like he can’t keep his paws to himself lately. “I’ve never gotten a single complaint from the female population.” He pauses and winks at Carter. “Of course, it could be due to the fact that I give such good orgasms they’re usually left speechless.”
“You’re such a pig.” Carter rolls her eyes and shrugs off his touch.
“You say pig, I say generous lover.” Coop shrugs. “Potayto, potahto.”
“Incoming,” I say, thankful for the interruption. If Coop lays it on any thicker, I’m going to lose my lunch. Or knock out my best friend.
Coop peels off as two little girls in Waverly jerseys approach, pens in hand. “Can we have your autograph?” they ask in unison.
“Sure.” I stop and reach for one of the pens. “What’re your names?”
The girl snatches her hand back. “Not you. Kennedy.” She swivels from me to Carter, a look of pure adoration on her face. Well, fuck me. Maybe Carter was right about my ego. “It’s so cool that you’re playing football with the boys. I want to play football next year too! Just like you.”
Carter’s eyes widen, as if it never occurred to her that someone might take inspiration from her story or ask for her autograph. “Oh, okay. Um, who should I make it out to?” she asks, accepting the pen the girl offers.
“Beth, please.”
“And Maggie. Is it true you used to play soccer?” Maggie asks, hope shining in her eyes. “I play soccer too!”
“That’s awesome,” Kennedy says, scrawling her name on the team photo. “What position?”
“I’m a striker.” She points to Beth, the girl who checked my ego. “My sister’s a goalie.”
“Two vital positions that require speed and strength.” Carter smiles and hands the pen and signed picture back. “Both good skills for a kicker.”
“Thanks!” The girls squeal, each grasping a corner of the photo. “This is so cool. Wait until I tell my friends at school I met you.”
“She’s a great kicker. We’re really lucky to have her on the team,” I say, figuring Carter might need an assist wrapping this up since it seems like her first time signing autographs. “And I’ll bet if you keep practicing, you can be just as good as her and play for Waverly one day.”
“Totally!” Carter agrees, giving the girls a small wave as they race back to the curb where their parents wait.
We rejoin the team, now bringing up the rear of the procession. “Does that happen to you often?” Carter asks, keeping her gaze fixed ahead.
“Often enough.” I shrug, trying to match her casual demeanor. “Pretty cool, huh?”
She wrinkles her nose. “What? Getting my ego stroked?”
“No, inspiring the next generation.” I wave to a group of fans doing the Waverly cheer as we pass by. “I remember the first time I met Peyton Manning. Damn near pissed myself, I was so excited.”
She does a double take. “You were a Peyton Manning fanboy?”
“Hell, yeah. Still am,” I say, ignoring the half-hearted fanboy dig. “The guy’s a legend. Meeting your idol can be a real motivator. To those little girls, you’re a hero, someone who’s breaking down barriers and showing them anything is possible.”
Carter stops, a thoughtful look replacing her prior distaste. “I’d rather inspire them with my brain than my ability to kick a ball.” She harrumphs, her bottom lip jutting out like an invitation. One my own lips would greedily accept if it weren’t for the horde of onlookers. The urge to take her in my arms and suck that bottom lip until she’s begging for more nearly obliterates all rational thought. “Girls are always shortchanged when it comes to STEM.”
“Who says you can’t do both?” I stuff my hands in my pockets. It doesn’t eliminate my desire to touch her, but it damn sure makes it impossible to act on the impulse. An impulse that’s getting harder to resist each day. “Change the narrative.”
“It’s not that simple. Not with all the hoopla surrounding my role on the team.”
“Nothing worth having comes easy.” I don’t need to look her in the eye to know she gets my meaning. The air around us hums with electricity that has nothing to do with the crowds and everything to do with the pull between us. Maybe we aren’t relationship goals, but fuck, doesn’t she want to sweat this thing out between the sheets as badly as I do?
Carter clears her throat. “Your poker face is shit, you know that, right?”
I turn to look at her, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead, smile frozen in place. “I’m confident enough that I don’t mind showing my hand.” Carter can deny it until my balls turn blue and shrivel off, but the way she kissed me? I know she feels the spark between us, even if she thinks acting on it’s a bad idea. Hell, I can’t disagree, but I’m a risk taker by nature and I’m not about to let the knowledge hold me back. “I’ve learned to take pleasure in the game. To appreciate the slow burn of a well-executed play. Because that constant ache of desire? It makes the victory dance that much sweeter.”
Kennedy
Holy shit. This homecoming game is no joke. The stadium’s packed, and I’m pretty sure the announcer said it’s a record crowd, but it’s nearly impossible to hear anything over the roar of the fans. It’s one of Waverly’s famous whiteout games and the stadium is awash in, well, white. I don’t think there’s an Ohio fan to be found, and the band is bringing down the house with something peppy and upbeat as the offense drives down the field.
Reid’s on his game and the O-line is playing well, but we’re down by three and it’s starting to look like this thing might go down to the wire. My stomach churns with nervous energy and there’s a real possibility I might hurl. I can’t stop thinking about the week six game and the forty-six-yard field goal I missed.
That cannot happen today. It would put Waverly’s shot at the national title in jeopardy, but even more importantly, I’d probably be tarred and feathered by the fans before I could escape the stadium. I have zero interest in killing the homecoming spirit that’s taken over the entire town. Hell, Wildcat Nation.
So, yeah. I’m only half watching the game as I practice kicking into the net. My leg is loose and my form is good. Conditions are optimal. What more could I ask for?
Be
sides a gimme?
Pfft. No such thing as a gimme in football. Even a twenty yarder can be blocked.
I steal a glance at the scoreboard. Reid’s third and long. If he doesn’t convert on this drive, Jackson will be calling for me. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, doing my best to push out the noise of the crowd. Turns out, it’s impossible.
I give up and turn my attention to the field just in time to see Reid get sacked at the twenty-two.
“Carter! You’re up!” Jackson bellows, adjusting the visor on his hat, a sure sign he’s sweating this kick. He always fidgets when he’s nervous.
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.
Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1) Page 13
