Swagger

by Liz Lincoln

  Swagger is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2018 by Liz Lincoln

  Excerpt from On the Line by Liz Lincoln copyright © 2018 by Liz Lincoln

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780525619833

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: margo_black/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v5.3.2

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Liz Lincoln

  About the Author

  Excerpt from On the Line

  Chapter 1

  Oh no, oh no, oh no. No no no nononononoooooo.

  Panic bubbled up the back of Bree Novak’s throat. Her graphs couldn’t be gone. She’d just spent the past six hours cleaning the data and configuring the damn things.

  She smacked the side of her laptop. “I hate you, you stupid antique.” Her ancient work computer was glitchy as hell, but of course she’d been in a rush this morning and left her own computer at home.

  Frustrated tears burned the backs of her eyes and clogged her throat. Along with it, the ever-present anxiety pressed on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  She was not going to have a panic attack in the middle of the coffee shop. She couldn’t afford to. She still had to go back to the science building and survive her office hours, then she could go home and re-create six hours of work from the comfort of her couch. No big deal.

  “Fuck you,” she hissed at the blank spreadsheet glaring at her. She slammed the machine shut and shoved it into her bag. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she rose from the table and grabbed her travel mug.

  As she hurried for the door, she pulled out her phone to text to her best friend. Reina had a Midas touch with computers; maybe she could make the data reappear as magically as it had disappeared. As Bree’s right thumb flew over the touch screen, she barely paid attention to the people around her.

  Until she ran into a wall.

  A wall that stepped back with an oof. A wall that jabbed her in the forehead and kicked her leg. What the hell?

  Before she could make sense of things, something hooked her ankle, pulling her foot out from under her. She fell to the ground, bumping the wall on her way down. A startled “Oh!” flew out of her mouth as she landed with a bounce against something that had a surprising amount of give.

  She lifted her head to find herself looking into the warmest, darkest eyes she’d ever seen. A shiver ran down her spine, while warmth flooded her system.

  As her mind raced to catch up, she could only stare at the face of the beautiful black man she’d landed on.

  Landed on.

  Oh shit. She was in the middle of a coffee shop sprawled on top of an incredibly sexy man. She couldn’t see anything past his face, but his smile was wide and friendlier than she deserved considering she’d plowed him over. The body beneath hers was solid, hard in all the best ways. The hand on her back was big and warm, and sent tingles all over her body.

  She should be mortified by the situation. She would be in a second, when everything clicked in her brain. But for the moment, she wanted to keep looking at this man, at the dark eyes she could get lost in. Hide a second longer in the tiny shelter her long dark hair created by falling around their faces.

  He removed his hand from her back and fingered a strand of her hair. “You have blue in your hair.” His voice was rich and smooth.

  And familiar.

  She pulled back to get a better look at his entire face. It took a moment to sink in; his bald head threw her off. She still thought of him with the signature dreadlocks he’d shaved off for charity a few months ago. But when her brain caught up and she recognized the man spread out beneath her, her body went cold and stiff. A new sort of panic sizzled over her nerves. She was hallucinating; that was the only explanation. She’d cracked from the stress.

  There was no way in hell that Marcus James, star tight end for the Milwaukee Dragons and the hottest player on the team, was in the campus coffee shop, his big body pressed intimately against hers. This guy had to be a different breathtakingly gorgeous man.

  “I’m so—” she managed to squeeze out as she scrambled backward, off and away from him. Her voice sounded like a mouse that’d sucked helium. She swallowed hard and tried again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “No worries.” He sat up and wiped at a spot of coffee on his red athletic shirt. A shirt that hugged the very tight muscles underneath. Damn, the man was ripped.

  He must be a Marcus James sound-and look-alike. Any other possibility was too surreal. Or maybe her entire day was a bizarre dream. At least then she wouldn’t have lost all her work. God, the tedium of going over all those data points a second time was disheartening.

  Who was she kidding? It was Marcus James. And she’d just tackled him to the ground like she was the opposing team’s linebacker and he’d just caught the ball.

  She shook off the mortifying thought and scurried to her feet. The side of her ankle stung where he’d clearly not kicked her but stumbled and hit her with his crutches. The ones he was using to lever himself off the ground. One of them bowed under his weight.

  Oh hell, could this get any more embarrassing? He was recovering from surgery and she’d run into him hard enough to knock him to the ground, no easy feat considering he weighed upwards of 250 pounds—yes, she knew—and spill her coffee on him.

  She forced herself to stay focused on him and not look at the small crowd she could feel staring at them. She would be downright mortified if she thought about the people who’d just witnessed her humiliation. Of all the ways to actually meet her favorite player, of course she did it by shoving him to the ground when he was already injured.

  Scrambling to hold the door for him, she said, “Is your knee OK? Really, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He followed her into the afternoon sunshine. “My knee’s fine. Really.” His eyes shone with good humor as they fell into step together.

  Marcus James, her celebrity crush, was walking down the sidewalk next to her, chatting. She needed some smelling salts so she wouldn’t faint.

  Bree tried not to stare, but she couldn’t stop herself from shooting sideways glances at him. His crutches looked like little more than twigs under his powerful arms. He’d torn his right ACL a few weeks ago during the Dragons’ final preseason game, landing him on injured reserve for the entire season. Bree had been seriously bummed when she read that news, but figured it was better if her favorite player was out, since she needed all her focus this semester to be on finishing her doctoral dissertation. She was scheduled to graduate in December.

  Marcus turned to
look at her, and when their eyes met, a sizzle of awareness ran over her skin. The right side of his mouth curled up just a little. Did he feel it too?

  Yeah, an NFL star was attracted to her. OK. Much more likely she was cracking under the pressure of finishing her dissertation and the embarrassment of being distracted enough to knock him over.

  “So, um…” Conversational genius that she was, she didn’t have anything else to say.

  “Hey, I need to find the science building.” Marcus saved her with his implied question. “And the campus map makes no sense. Any chance you can point me in the right direction?”

  Before she could answer, he stumbled, his crutches wobbling and his backpack lurching to one side. He mumbled something and stopped, adjusting his bag, then the crutches. He took two more steps, then the backpack once more threw itself to one side. Again he stumbled. Instinct had her reaching out to steady him, her hand wrapping around his thick arm. The muscles bunched and flexed as he regained his balance.

  So many muscles. So thick and hard and warm and—

  Heart thumping unevenly, Bree snatched her hand away before she started fondling him. “I’m going to the science building too. Give me your bag and I’ll show you where it is.”

  He frowned at her, his smooth forehead creasing. “My bag?”

  She felt lightheaded and her pulse was going crazy. But she ignored it, because hell, how many chances would she get to flirt with Marcus James?

  She reached for the strap of his backpack, her fingers brushing the soft nylon of his shirt and the hard shoulder beneath. Even more muscles. The sizzle was back, making her fingers tingle.

  His gaze snapped to hers, his dark eyes sparkling. Drawing her in. She wanted to touch him some more, slide her hand up his neck until she could cup the back of his head. Pull him down for—

  She was being ridiculous. He probably thought she was a weirdo fangirl. Which, OK, she was. And the attraction she felt was probably entirely one-sided.

  Pushing through the pressure in her throat, she managed to say, “It’s clearly giving you trouble. Carrying it is the least I can do after plowing you over and spilling coffee on you because I was too absorbed in my own drama.”

  Marcus’ full lips curled into a devastating smile, showing a hint of his white teeth. The dark brown skin around his eyes and mouth creased into deep lines. Those smile lines were part of what she found so sexy about the athlete.

  Where were those smelling salts?

  “All right.” He slipped off his backpack and handed it to her.

  Bree struggled not to drop it as she took it from him. Was he carrying concrete blocks?

  “Sorry, pretty sure my geology textbook is made of actual rock.” He helped her adjust her own bag and settle the backpack straps onto her shoulders. In the process, his fingertips grazed her arm. The same soft touch she’d given him a moment ago. This time the sensation was stronger, more of an electric jolt, and went all the way to her toes, with a pit stop at her stomach.

  Marcus James just touched her. With fingers so gentle she could melt.

  What even was her life?

  For a moment she never wanted to end, they stayed like that. His hand on her upper arm, their gazes tangled, the breeze tossing strands of the bright blue streak in her hair—the one he’d touched before, in the coffee shop—across her field of vision. It was a moment. A moment.

  With Marcus fucking James.

  “So.” He removed his hand, returning it to his crutch. He shifted away, ready to move on. He seemed totally unaffected by whatever just happened between them.

  Bree, not so much. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t catch her breath. And she really didn’t think she’d imagined that.

  She allowed herself a moment of watching the cords of muscle in his forearms shift, then blurted out, “Science building.” She shifted the load on her back and started off.

  It was easier if she didn’t look at him. Then she could pretend he was any regular student she was helping. She could talk to a random student. Her anxiety had specific triggers, but social situations weren’t one of them.

  Unfortunately, her dissertation was rapidly becoming a major one.

  “I’m Bree, by the way.” If they were going to gaze longingly—was that what they’d done?—he might as well know her name.

  “Marcus,” he said. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”

  This time his mouth was in a full-on smirk. Bree’s cheeks heated as he inclined his head toward her Milwaukee Dragons mug.

  Suddenly, the gold 80 on the front of her blue shirt seemed to flash neon in her peripheral vision. She’d completely forgotten she was wearing her James jersey. Dammit, now he knew she wasn’t just a casual fan, but a serious fan of him specifically. That hadn’t been a moment of mutual attraction they’d shared.

  A prickly chill ran over her skin, and she had to battle through a surge of adrenaline so she could breathe. Social situations might not be a trigger for her, but embarrassment and potential humiliation were. She needed to pick up the pace, deliver him to his geology class, and go fight with her laptop.

  “You’re a Dragons fan.” His words were a statement, not a question. Because duh.

  Bree fingered the hem of her shirt and laughed nervously. “I grew up around here, with a Division II football player dad and three athletic older brothers. It was either become a fan or get disowned.”

  An odd expression flashed across his face. “Yeah, hard to swim upstream in your own family.”

  As they turned onto the path that would take them to the physical sciences building, he changed the subject. “So what was your texting emergency?”

  A glance at his face revealed he wasn’t mocking her for being self-absorbed and running into him. He looked genuinely curious.

  Damn he was gorgeous.

  Would it be weird to ask him out? She could, but no. That would make their conversation even more awkward. And she simply didn’t have the guts.

  “Just some crap with my dissertation. I was asking a friend if she can help me get unstuck.” The pressure in her throat started up again, not enough to block her airway, but uncomfortable nonetheless. She closed her eyes for a moment and drew in a slow breath. The data itself wasn’t gone. She only had to repeat today’s work. It would all be fine.

  “Dissertation. You’re a grad student?” He paused outside the science building. The large sign above the doors reading Wells Physical Science Building and Laboratory was probably his clue they’d arrived, without her having to mention it. He used his crutch to push the button to automatically open the door.

  “Yep. Finishing my PhD in physics. Should be done in time to graduate in December.” Bree couldn’t help the touch of pride in her voice as she said it. She’d worked her ass off to get to this point, fought what her ex had wanted, what her older brothers thought she should do, what her parents expected of her. She was damn proud of getting her doctorate.

  “That’s awesome. Congratulations.” Again the sincerity in his deep voice shone through to his smile.

  Bree’s stomach felt wobbly and her skin tingled. The good kind this time. The really good kind that made her want to do something wild, like reach for his arm to pull him closer.

  He gestured for her to precede him into the building. This would be where they parted ways. Geology and chemistry occupied the wing to the left, physics and astronomy to the right.

  Maybe she should take the chance and—

  “I’m actually looking for someone in physics.” He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Dr. Lewis Bryant.”

  Now the bad kind of prickles raced over her skin. Not just her arms but up her back and down the fronts of her legs. Just hearing that name set her on edge.

  Yeah, her dissertation and everything surrounding it was quickly becoming a major anxiety trigger. She needed to figure out how to stop it.

  “He’s my advisor.” The words stuck in her throat.

  Br
ee took the paper Marcus handed her. It was a drop/add form for Introduction to Physics for Non–Science Majors. The class Bryant was making her teach to earn her stipend.

  Well shit. Marcus James was going to be her student.

  *

  —

  Marcus’ dislike of doctors’ offices predated his ACL tear, but the past two weeks had done nothing to improve his opinion of the stuffy, sterile rooms. Today it felt a bit like a sardine can, with so many large men crowded into the small place. Along with himself and Dr. Zeener, the bald, pasty-skinned orthopedic surgeon who’d done his ACL repair the previous week, there was also Dr. Freeman, a tall, skinny white guy who’d been an army medic before becoming the Dragons’ team physician. Rounding out the party was Jerry Wardowski, the tight ends coach, a preppy guy two years younger than Marcus who looked like he should be doing keg stands, but who was a damn good coach.

  And on the small desk in the corner, Dr. Zeener was currently configuring a laptop so they could videoconference with another orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Leroy James.

  Marcus’ dad.

  Marcus’ dad, who hated that his only son had “sold out” and become an athlete. It was amazing how a guy could pursue his dream, make millions of dollars in the process, donate a huge chunk of that money to charity, and still be a disappointment to his parents.

  “Leroy, can you hear me?” Dr. Zeener said, leaning close to the laptop.

  Marcus gritted his teeth to keep from snapping at Zeener that he didn’t have to get so close.

  Leroy James’ face filled the screen. “I’m here, David. Who else am I speaking with?”

  “Hi, Dad,” Marcus said from the exam table. He waved and could faintly see the movement in the small picture-in-picture box on the computer.

  “Marcus,” his dad said crisply.

  “Nice talking to you again, Dr. James. I’m Christian Freeman, your son’s team physician.”