One Good Play
Meredith St. James
Copyright © 2018 by Meredith St. James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Carter
2. Wren
3. Carter
4. Wren
5. Wren
6. Carter
7. Wren
8. Wren
9. Carter
10. Wren
11. Carter
12. Wren
13. Carter
14. Wren
15. Carter
16. Wren
17. Wren
18. Carter
19. Carter
20. Wren
21. Carter
22. Carter
23. Wren (flashback)
24. Carter
25. Wren (flashback)
26. Wren
27. Carter
28. Carter
Epilogue
Upcoming Releases
1
Carter
I could never get used to seeing a front lawn littered with half-empty beer cans and sorority girl vomit. I dodged a group of giggling coeds on the walkway leading up to the front door.
"Carter Scott is very hot!" one of them shouted out in a singsongy voice that grated on my nerves.
It was the same stupid chant the cheerleaders had started the first time I took the field freshman year. All I'd wanted was to be taken seriously on the football field. It was the one place where no one could force me to sit through yet another painfully drawn out conversation. People were always so freaking chatty. All people except for me, it seemed. That stupid cutesy chant had somehow made me seem more approachable. That was enough to make it officially the worst thing that had ever happened to me.
As the girls dissolved into a fit of giggles, I jogged up the front steps in a hurry to get away from them. There had been a brief moment before I'd gotten to college that I'd thought I might be tempted by drunk jersey chasers. It turned out, those types of girls were even worse chatterboxes than the rest of them.
"Carter!" someone shouted for me. I kept my head down, trying in vain to be noticed as little as possible.
The house was packed wall-to-wall with people. Still, red cups and bottles of liquor outnumbered the number of people. The heavy drinking probably explained the deafening noise level. The party had been in full swing for at least two hours, and it looked like plenty of people had already drank their weight in booze.
It was move-in weekend, which meant everyone was out to see what sort of fresh meat was joining the ranks. It was an unofficial college tradition that I always looked forward to skipping.
"I didn't think you'd be here," a female voice yelled too close to my ear. I had to fight not to wipe at the spot where her spit had landed on my cheek.
Why did so many women have to act like such fucking vultures?
I turned to face the woman, Mel, I was pretty sure her name was. I would have rather outright ignored her, but I figured she'd just try following me around the party if I did. It was hard not to laugh in her face when I took a good look at her. She had her tits strapped up practically to her chin, and she seemed to think that would somehow make her more alluring.
"Just answering the bat-signal," I drawled out.
She stared at me with eyes devoid of recognition. I should have known better than to make even such a basic pop-culture reference. During my unfortunate run-ins with her, it had become increasingly clear over the years that there wasn't much going on for her between the ears. How she'd made it into college—or why she'd bothered to go—was a complete mystery.
"My little sister called and asked for a ride," I clarified.
Mel's face puckered up with disdain. "Oh."
Already her eyes were drifting elsewhere for a new victim. It was a cool trick I'd learned in high school. Any mention of a young sister was like an anti-aphrodisiac. Mel's eyes lit up as something new apparently caught her fickle attention.
"Talk soon," Mel chirped before sprinting across the room towards one of the starting members of the basketball team. The poor guy didn't stand a chance.
Better him than me.
I did my best to fade into the crowd. It wasn't easy since I was taller than almost everyone except the basketball guys, and with more muscle, too. It seemed like every few steps someone was trying to stop me. I knew it made me look like an ass, but I brushed past them all. It was no secret on campus that I had a reputation for being standoffish. Aside from my teammates, I did my best not to socialize any more than was necessary.
After several minutes of fighting my way through the inside of the party, I hadn't gotten any closer to tracking down Rose. I decided to check outside. I could only hope I wasn't going to run into her hanging with stoners or rolling around with some guy. I'd sent her a text when I'd gotten there but a quick check of my phone showed still no reply.
If anyone other than my sister had called, I would have blown them off. I was not the kind of guy that showed up to parties. I barely liked being stuck in a room with one other person, much less stuck in a house with dozens of them. I'd promise Rose, though, that she could always rely on me if she needed something. I just hadn't expected her to cash in so soon.
The back deck groaned as I stepped out onto it. I clenched my teeth and just hoped that I wouldn't fall through a soft spot.
"Hey." Travis Olson stepped out from the shadows
Grudgingly, I noticed his body weight didn't seem to be affecting the deck the way mine was. My parents would have had a field day with that one. They liked to tease me about being heavy-footed. It had more to do with my socialization skills than anything physical, but they still would have hopped right on that joke.
Travis was a sophomore quarterback. I hadn't made much of an effort to get to know him—I didn't with most people. What I did know was that he was good on the field. He needed to work on his focus, but he had far more natural skill than I did. The only reason he was still in the lineup behind me was that I worked harder, plain and simple.
"Have you seen my sister around?"
He didn't look too bothered by my lack of greeting. "Nah. And I've been out here a while." The whole team had met her at breakfast, so he would have known if he had seen her.
I was trying to sort through whether I was obligated to ask him why he was outside alone. My eyes caught on some movement out in the yard. It wasn't well-lit out there, but I could see a chick with a half-circle of people surrounding her.
Her long red hair distracted me for a minute, but then my eyes strayed to what she was doing. Fucking juggling. I was pretty sure the last time I'd seen someone juggle I'd been a kid at the circus.
Travis, noticing my interest, asked, "Do you know her?"
I shook my head.
The woman's head moved animatedly as if she was talking nonstop while she juggled. I couldn't actually hear her from that distance away. I took a few tentative steps off the porch. Travis followed me. I was barely paying attention to him.
Two guys hanging on the outskirts of the woman's audience were whispering. I started to get a bad feeling when one of them held up their beer can. Sure enough, within seconds the guy was launching it into the mix of things the woman was juggling. Beer sprayed across several of the onlookers as it spun in the air.
"What an asshole," Travis said under his breath.
I was already storming across the grass towards the group. I made it over just in time for the woman to take a decent sized step backward, bumping
into me. She barely spared me a glance. The beer can—and all the things she'd been juggling—fell to the ground.
"Not cool," she said in a low, raspy voice that shot straight to my groin.
The guy who'd tossed the can towards her had the nerve to look offended. I rose to my full height, staring him down from over the woman's head. He and his buddy disappeared real quick after that.
The onlookers started to disperse, grumbling about the beer that'd been spilled on them. My muscles were still tense. I wanted the woman to turn towards me, but Travis was quick to steal my thunder. He popped up right in her face, sandwiching her between the two of us.
I took a partial step to the side to put a polite distance between her backside and my half-mast cock. If hearing her talk was enough to inspire that kind of reaction, I was worried what might happen if she actually turned around so I could get a good look at her.
"Do you have an official fan club? And if so, where do I sign up?"
I wanted her to dismiss his stupid chattering. It irked me when instead, she tilted her head and thought about it. The motion sent her hair cascading to one side, revealing her slender neck to me. It wasn't doing the tightness in my pants any favors.
"I like to think of it as more of a cult than a fan club, really. How do you feel about Kool-Aid?"
"I like the red kind." His voice raised an octave at the end like he wasn't sure about his answer. He hadn't understood her off-color joke.
"Really? Because I was actually thinking purple."
I couldn't help the snort that escaped me. She was funny. It wasn't every day that a woman made an outdated cult joke in casual conversation. Otherwise, maybe I would have been inclined to talk to more of them.
Gray irises set in cat shaped eyes sparkled with amusement as she fully turned to me. Her smile fell an inch when she caught sight of me, but she was quick to plaster it back on.
My brief imagination hadn't done her justice. She was almost painfully attractive. I still wanted to wrap my hands up in her long, red curls, but now I also saw half a dozen other parts of her that I was eager to explore. She was curvy in the places that counted, but slender everywhere else.
The party had just gotten a whole hell of a lot more interesting.
"Well, if it isn't the infamous Carter Scott." She batted her eyelashes at me in a way that came across more sarcastic than flirty.
Her words sent a churning feeling through my gut. I knew there were a slew of rumors that got passed around about me, most of which were less than flattering. I didn't talk much, and that didn't really help endear people to me. They made up for it by wildly exaggerating about everything I did.
"I should go." With a gracefulness that seemed out of place at a frat party, she excused herself and stepped around me.
Dumbstruck, I watched her go. Beside me, Travis stared after her, too.
"Don't even think about it," I warned.
The last thing I wanted was to be drooling after the same girl as the second-string quarterback I'd been tasked with mentoring. Especially considering how much more easygoing and personable the guy was than me.
Travis gave me a dubious look. "I don't want to fuck her, I want to be her. How do you think she learned to juggle like that?"
If I'd been anyone else, I might have given him shit about basically saying he wanted to be a woman. But, I wasn't the kind of guy that exchanged barbs with other guys. I clapped Travis awkwardly on the shoulder and told him I'd see him later.
As I made my way back into the house, I caught a bit of luck. I overheard someone else calling the redhead Wren, which let me put a name with the face. Unfortunately, Wren happened to be garnering even more attention inside than she'd had outside. In particular, she seemed to be a natural target for male attention. It really fucking irked me.
It wasn't that often that another person caught my attention. I wasn't much of a talker, and that didn't make me many friends. The girls that did chase me were always more interested in the novelty of the silent-type quarterback than in actually getting to know me. Wren had caught my eye, but there was no way in hell I was going to push my way into her circle of suitors. At that rate, the only way I'd get time alone with her was if I dragged her out caveman style. That would really do wonders for my reputation.
"Big brother!"
With what was quite possibly the worst timing ever, Rose popped up in my face. I tried to look over her head for Wren, but that split second of distraction had let the redhead get lost in the crowd.
"How much have you had to drink?" I asked, turning my attention back to my sister and the red cups she was double-fisting.
Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. "I was just trying to keep up with my roommate." Her voice wobbled like she might burst into tears. At eighteen, Rose definitely hadn't mastered the art of drinking yet.
"Your roommate's a big drinker?"
"I've never seen anything like it." Her eyes shown with admiration. "She isn't even tipsy, and she's had at least twice as many drinks as me."
Her words made my lips turn down. "I'm not sure I like you rooming with a big partier.
"That's the thing—she didn't even want to come. I had to beg her to come out with me."
"Where is this mystery girl, then?"
I looked around under the guise of looking for the roommate. Stupid, considering I had no idea what the other girl looked like. In reality, I was taking the opportunity to seek out Wren again.
It took me a second to realize Rose hadn't answered. I knew something wasn't right because she was always talkative enough to make up for the fact that I wasn't. We'd been quite the pair growing up. I looked back at the spot she'd been standing in, but she wasn't there. Probably hiding from me so that I couldn't make her leave before she was ready.
Ordinarily, I would have been in a hurry to get out of there. For once, my usual focus had been broken by a pretty redhead with an odd talent and an interesting sense of humor. She had caught my attention, and that wasn't something that happened every day.
I ventured further into the house, dreading every step as I dodged a number of wandering hands. I knew my teammates thrived under that kind of attention, but I found myself just annoyed by the distractions.
It was a relief, then, when I caught a flash of red hair. That was short-lived when I saw who she was standing with.
The lanky frat brother was openly admiring her tits as she talked animatedly about something. The guy was considered some sort of fraternity big shot, which was laughable at best. It was no secret around campus that his reputation with women was shit.
Watching the two of them interact pained me. I could see that Wren was doing all the talking. Usually, I had a difficult time holding up my end of a conversation, but at least it wasn't because I was too busy staring at the other person's body.
It was completely out of character for me, but I wanted Wren's attention back on me. She'd only acknowledged me briefly in the backyard, and my instant attraction to her had paralyzed me. I wouldn't let her catch me off guard like that again.
2
Wren
What the hell was this guy's name?
I liked to think of it as a special talent of mine that I could make friends anywhere I went. People could surprise you sometimes if you gave them a chance. Frat Bro, though—as I'd affectionately taken to calling him in my head—was a true exercise in patience. He was objectively good looking, but he was easily the least interesting person I'd ever met.
I'd really thought I could regale him with a story about Germany's Oktoberfest. It was my go-to story for all the guys like Frat Bro who made it a point to hold their fancy foreign beers with the label facing out. I needn't have bothered. Frat Bro was content to stand there staring down my shirt regardless of whether I was talking. Also, I had a feeling he wouldn't have been able to even point Germany out on a map.
My mind flickered back to Carter Scott. In person, he was even better looking than his pictures. I'd never dreamed that would hav
e been possible. It was the muscles you noticed first. They rippled all over his body, making him impossible to overlook. His shaggy—almost bordering on unkempt—haircut, clear blue eyes, and easy smile only made him that much more appealing.
I'd been tempted to jump him on the spot. Only pure willpower had managed to stop me.
Carter had been haunting me in my dorm room. It wasn't his fault, but his boisterous sister had apparently never taken a picture alone in her life. We had one of those suite-style dorms, and photos of her with her brother had popped up all over our living room.
It seemed like everywhere I looked—there was Carter Scott. Now there was a name I needed to forget.
I forced my attention back to the conversation—or lack thereof—at hand. I threw my voice into an exaggerated valley girl accent and asked, "So, like, what's your major?"
Frat Bro's eyes actually met mine for the first time since he'd cornered me. Clearly, he couldn't be bothered to care about anything I had to talk about, but he sure lit up when I asked him about himself. Go figure.
"Sports Administration." He said it with the same amount of pride as you would expect from someone who was attending medical school.
"A lot of athletes are in that, right?"
"Definitely, yeah."
"So, do you play a sport, too, or...?" I let my question trail off because I genuinely couldn't imagine the lanky dude actually playing competitive sports.
"Not me, no."
"Did you play in high school or something?" The guy was seriously perplexing—and not in an interesting kind of way.
One Good Play Page 1
