My temper flares. Typical. Just when I was starting to think he wasn’t a complete ass—he did break my fall, after all—he goes and proves me wrong. “Yeah, I don’t think having them ogle my breasts is the golden ticket to team bonding.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, I know it’s hypocritical, because hello, I just checked him out. But honestly? I doubt these guys care. According to the gossip mill, they’re dropping their pants for women all over campus. Me? Not so much. I can count my hookups on one hand.
“Jesus, Carter. Give me some credit. I meant for pregame meetings and halftime and shit.” His eyes darken with…disappointment? What the hell? How was I supposed to know it was a serious offer? He sidesteps me and struts halfway down the aisle before turning and calling over his shoulder. “See you at study hall. I’ll save you a seat.”
9
AUSTIN
I rollinto study hall with my backpack slung over my shoulder and a smoothie in my hand. I’m running late because I had to swing by the nutrition bar and grab snacks for my roommates. I’ve learned the hard way if they aren’t eating, they’re talking, and I can’t get shit done. I feel like a goddamn babysitter, bribing them to sit still and behave for two hours, but whatever.
I’ve got a shit ton of reading to do for my career management class, which I wouldn’t be taking if it weren’t required. I don’t want to fall behind, even if the class is a joke. Like some prof is going to be able to help me figure out how to manage my career in the NFL.
Un-fucking-likely.
That’s what sports management firms are for. Hell, I’ve already got a dozen trying to woo me into signing once my NCAA eligibility expires, despite the fact it’s a foregone conclusion I’ll sign with my dad’s agent.
The library’s second-floor reading room is mostly empty, a first day perk that won’t last, but it makes spotting the guys easy enough. Not that they’d be hard to spot even if the room were packed. They’re big, loud, and completely at odds with the old-school space that probably hasn’t been updated in decades. Mahogany bookshelves line the walls, broken up only by the half-dozen floor-to-ceiling windows that allow the last light of day to filter through. Row after row of heavy oak tables fill the room, each surrounded by neatly arranged chairs with wide backs and seats that are as uncomfortable as hell.
Still, it’s nice to get out of the academic center—where the underclassmen are required to sign in for study hall—once in a while.
Parker notices me at the door and waves. “Saved you a seat!” he calls, deep voice carrying across the open space.
The thing about the reading room? It’s supposed to be a silent space. So even though the room is mostly occupied with football players, there are a few studious types shooting the O-line pissed-off glares as they toss a foam football back and forth over the green table lamps.
Assholes.
I’d tell them as much, but there’s no point. For every pissed-off stare, there’s one filled with adoration or lust, which means they’ll keep the antics up all night and I won’t get shit done. I shake my head and weave through the long tables, making my way to the back corner where my roommates are camped out, books spread across the table to create the illusion of studying.
Parker slides his shit over and makes room for me. I take the seat at the end and unzip my bag, dumping my haul onto the table. Protein bars, single-serve nuts, cereal, and a bunch of other crap spills out on the table, sending the guys into a frenzy as they grab for snacks.
“Vaughn’s mama ain’t got nothing on you.” Parker grabs a protein bar and shoots Vaughn a toothy grin.
Vaughn, whose mom still sends care packages despite the fact that her son is now a senior, flips him the bird and tears open a tube of trail mix, pouring the entire contents into his mouth.
“Yeah, well, I actually need to get some work done. I figured this was the best way to keep you assholes quiet.” I pull a couple of notebooks and texts from my bag and drop them on the table before opening the side pocket to search for a highlighter and pen. “You can show your gratitude by keeping the volume to a minimum.”
“Dude, it’s day one,” Coop says, rolling his eyes like I’m the diva here. “Chill out.”
Ignoring him, I crack open my career management text and begin reading, highlighting passages that seem likely to pop up on an exam, because unlike Coop, academics don’t come easy to me. I have to bust my ass to make grades. Waverly’s got a long tradition of academic achievement among student athletes and as team captain, I’m expected to set a good example, which means I have to make the Dean’s List.
I’m halfway through my reading assignment when Coop nudges me in the shoulder. “What?” I ask without looking up.
“Carter’s here,” he stage-whispers, leaning close. “Figured you’d want do your captain thing and roll out the welcome wagon. Unless of course you’d like me to do the honors?”
He’s jerking me around. I know it, and still I rise to the challenge, shoving my chair away from the table. “On it,” I say, because no, I don’t fucking want Coop anywhere near her, a feeling I refuse to consider beyond my role as captain.
Carter’s hovering near the door, chewing her bottom lip as if she can’t decide whether she should sit down or make a run for it. Her dark hair tumbles over her slender shoulders in loose waves, and she looks more relaxed than usual, despite the indecision written all over her face. I catch her eye and nod as I make my way across the room, smiling at a couple of jersey chasers—Leslie and Gemma—who wave as I pass their table. They’re regulars at the football house, but who am I to judge? They’re cool as hell and I’m a fan of no-strings sex myself.
I may not be the most evolved guy on the planet, but I can sure as hell appreciate a woman who’s not afraid to take what she wants, society’s double standards be damned. Besides, if anyone’s being used, it’s the players. Women lose their shit for the muscles we work so damn hard to carve and there are plenty of chicks on campus who just want to bag ’n’ brag.
“Fans of yours?” Carter asks, rolling her eyes.
“More like acquaintances.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and immediately regret the words. I know what it sounds like despite the fact that I’ve never hooked up with either of them.
Carter presses her lips into a flat line, and I can practically hear her calling me a pig in her head. “So.”
“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.
