How’s that for laughingstock, asshole?
Feeling smug—and, okay, a little bitchy—I turn toward the trainer’s office.
“It’s about time you joined us, Carter,” Coop booms, sauntering up in a pair of mesh shorts with the Waverly logo on the leg. His shaggy hair is damp from the shower, but at least he’s got pants on. He leans in close and whispers, “I figured it would take you until at least October to work up the nerve.”
“And I figured it would take you until at least October to remember my name given the parade of women trailing you around campus.” I flash him my brightest smile. “I guess we were both wrong.”
To my surprise, he throws his head back and laughs. It’s a deep, rich sound, like it’s coming straight from the pit of his belly. “You slay me, Carter. If I were the settling-down type, I’d totally let you be my wifey.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes and grudgingly return his fist bump. Nothing sticks to this guy, but I have to admit he’s growing on me. Kind of like that little spot of mold in the shower I just can’t get rid of. “I’m here to see the trainer, not provide the entertainment.”
“Don’t let me hold you up.” He throws his palms up in surrender, an expression of innocence transforming his face from wicked rogue to choirboy. “Get your shit taken care of. We need you in top form on Saturday.”
Holy crap. Did Cooper DeLaurentis just compliment me? I watch in dismay as he retreats to his locker. And here I thought the guy didn’t take anything seriously.
I weave my way through the locker room, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead. Little good it does, because when I turn the corner, I crash boobs first into the solid, slippery chest of Austin Reid. I stumble back and my stupid feet get tangled in the strap of a half-zipped duffel bag, sending me careening toward the floor. Reid leaps forward, quick as lightning, and grabs my shoulders, slowing my descent and preventing me from falling flat on my ass.
Just like a real-life Captain America.
I look up, mortification burning my cheeks, and do a full-body scan. My mouth is drier than the Sahara, and I doubt I could form a proper sentence if I wanted to.
Damn. The guy really does have muscles for days, and I can see them all because he’s practically naked.
Not that I’m looking—much.
“You okay?” He gives my shoulder a squeeze, the sinewy muscles of his biceps flexing in the process. Water drips from his hair and I watch, entranced, as a droplet slides over his well-defined pecs and down the front of his washboard abs, the V-cut pointing directly to the danger zone. The tiny droplet disappears into the white terry-cloth towel wrapped around his waist, snapping my brain back to reality.
“Huh?” I ask, pulse thundering through my veins.
“Are you okay?” he repeats, speaking more slowly this time.
“I’m fine,” I say, making no move to get up off the floor, although I really should. People are starting to stare. Reid’s grip on my shoulders is gentle, and my flesh burns through my Waverly tee as if his calloused fingers were infused with fire.
Danger! Danger!
What am I thinking? Reid’s a football player. And a QB to boot. Okay, no need to panic. So he’s hot. There’s no rule that says I can’t appreciate a guy who’s got ripped muscles and a great—okay, godly—physique.
He may look like Adonis, but no harm done.
Shit. That’s probably what my mom told herself back in the day. Is this how things started between her and my father? An innocent touch here. A fiery kiss there. Not that I’m thinking of kissing Reid. Just speaking hypothetically, of course.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Reid narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?” He reaches for my chin like he’s going to inspect me for a concussion. I bat his hand away, finally finding my voice.
“I’m fine. Other than my pride.” I glance at his towel, which has slipped dangerously low on his hips, damn near giving me a full frontal in his crouched position. “Why don’t you take care of that,” I say, waving a hand toward his crotch, “before you flash the whole locker room.”
Reid smirks, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to reveal his dimple. “Trust me, it’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”
“Yes, well, I have no interest in seeing it.” I climb to my feet and smooth the front of my T-shirt. Reid stands and gives me a once-over, so I return the favor.
Big mistake. Huge, actually, because I can’t help but notice the bulge behind his towel. No baby peen for Reid. The guy’s packing, which probably explains the way he swaggers around campus like he’s God’s gift.
I jerk my gaze back to his face, ignoring the way my belly flips at the thought of his…package. If he notices my stare, he says nothing. I offer a silent prayer, thanking sweet baby Jesus himself Reid can’t hear my thoughts.
“No need to be embarrassed,” he says, casually draping a hand over the spot where his towel is tied. He steps closer, getting all up in my personal space before continuing in a husky voice, “You know, you can join us in the team locker room any time you want.”
I snort, something I would never do in front of a guy I was actually attracted to—hormones notwithstanding. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Your loss.” He shrugs a shoulder, and my gaze darts to his smooth pecs, which are devoid of hair. Does he shave his chest? Probably. “It would really help you get better integrated with the rest of the team.”
