It’s uncomfortable as hell. Even if a few of them do seem kind of nice. And, okay, funny.
Whatever. It’s probably just a front.
After all, I know exactly what kind of guys they are, and I’m not going to make the same mistake as my mother.
Hard. Pass.
I’ve suffered enough heartbreak and disappointment at the hands of ballplayers to last a lifetime, thank you very much. Like the time my father promised to take me to the zoo for my seventh birthday and never showed. Or the time he bailed on the fifth-grade father-daughter dance because he got tickets to a playoff game. Oh, and then there was the time he showed up drunk to my high school graduation with some bimbo I’d never even met in tow.
At least by then, I was old enough to understand I wasn’t the problem.
So, yeah, the last thing I need in my life is more ballplayers.
Shaking off the depressing thoughts of my deadbeat father, I wander past the stacks and head for the water fountain, glancing up at the clock as I pass by. I’ll get a drink and then head back to my table. Only fifty-four minutes to go.
Easy peasy.
Except this is only day one. Which means I have to face another fifty-nine study halls with these guys. I suppress a groan. No way am I going to get through twelve weeks of study halls without more awkward encounters like the one tonight.
Shit. Maybe I can get a private room at the academic center. That’s a thing, right?
I stop at the fountain and twist my hair before tossing it over my shoulder and bending to get a drink. Ugh. Why are water fountains so low to the ground? I know I’m tall, but come on, I feel like my ass is on display for the whole library to see. Should’ve worn baggy-ass sweatpants.
Pushing the thought aside, I press the metal button and lower my lips to the stream of icy cold water, doing my best not to dribble on the front of my shirt like a spaz.
As I’m drinking—okay, fine, guzzling—a pair of preppy deck shoes stroll into my peripheral vision, lingering just to the left of the fountain.
Um, hello, personal space?
I release the button for the water flow and straighten my spine, pulling myself up to my full height, where I find myself face-to-face with Reid.
Should’ve known. He’s not one to give up easily.
“Do you stalk all your teammates or is this a special privilege reserved just for me?” I ask, planting my hand on my hip and cocking it to the side for maximum impact.
Total waste of effort, because as it turns out, his gaze is locked on my mouth.
Oh hell. Do I have water dribbling down my chin? I lick my lips, praying I don’t have water on the front of my tank top. Kind of hard to be badass when you’ve got water dribbles on your shirt, you know?
Reid swallows, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, before his hooded eyes meet mine. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” I turn and head for the stacks, hoping to ditch Reid. The only thing I need right now is space, and it’s clear he isn’t going to give it to me. He’s right on my heels, easily matching my long stride. I hook a left, turning into the stacks like I totally know where I’m going (spoiler alert: I don’t).
I steal a quick glance at the shelves and realize I don’t even know what section we’re in. The library has three floors, plus a basement, and houses five-point-four million books, so yeah, I feel sorry for the poor sucker who has to do the reshelving, but mostly I feel sorry for my directionally challenged self at the moment.
“You can’t outrun me,” Reid says, his words tinged with laughter.
Crap. He’s right. It’s a dead end.
I slow my pace and stop in front of a random shelf, studying it with purpose, like I’ve arrived at my intended destination.
Reid stops a breath away—literally—using his giant body to crowd me in the narrow space. With towering bookshelves pressing in on either side, he’s effectively blocked my escape with his broad shoulders. And judging by the shit-eating grin on his face, he knows it.
From my periphery, I can see him glancing around, taking in our surroundings like he’s never seen the inside of a library before. My pulse quickens. Or maybe he’s casing the place to see if there will be any witnesses to whatever it is he has planned.
“Are you really looking for a book or are you just trying to avoid me?” he asks, the words a husky whisper as they skate across my cheek.
“Book, obviously,” I lie, keeping my attention fixed on the shelf before me. I’ve always been a shitty liar. It’s ridiculous to cling to this pointless charade, but my stupid pride refuses to admit defeat.
