I check the time. This chick’s almost fifteen minutes late. Coach would have my ass for that kind of tardiness.
“Sorry.” The brunette straightens her spine and grabs her left foot, pulling it back so it’s nearly touching her perfectly round ass. “I came straight from work.”
“You know the deal.” The coach blows her whistle and gestures to one of the other players before turning back to the late arrival, a hint of warning in her tone. “Don’t let it happen again.”
The brunette doesn’t respond, but my curiosity is piqued. What kind of deal do they have that allows a Division I athlete to work during the season? That would never fly in the football program. Coach Collins has a zero distractions policy.
Hell, it’s a wonder he hasn’t made Coop quit Sig Chi.
We watch the practice in relative silence, studying the players to see who has the strongest leg and best accuracy. The goalie’s got a canon, but even I’m not delusional enough to believe we have a shot at recruiting her. She’s probably on scholarship.
“Pull up the roster.” Like the football program, the soccer team will have headshots, bios, and stats for each player posted online. Makes it easier for jersey chasers, reporters, and scouts to do their thing. And now it’ll make it easier for us to poach too.
Coop pulls out his phone and begins typing furiously on the screen as the women scrimmage. “Well, if we don’t find a kicker, at least I’ll have some new material for the spank bank.”
“You’re a real charmer, you know that?”
“Nah, I’m just a leg man.” He looks up and points to the field without an ounce of shame. “And I’d have to be blind not to appreciate those beauties.”
It’s hard to fault his logic. Besides, for all his bluster, Coop’s a straight shooter when it comes to hookups. Like me, he prefers women who have a healthy appetite for sex and who aren’t looking for commitment.
No time when you’re chasing a national title.
When I return my attention to the field, the less than punctual brunette is squaring up behind the ball. She takes three steps forward and plants her left foot. Then she draws her right leg back and kicks the ball, her foot connecting with a softthwump. I watch, not daring to breathe, as the ball sails forty yards down the field. It lands directly in front of her teammate, who springs into action, dribbling toward the net.
I elbow Coop, keeping my gaze locked on the field. “Did you see that?”
“No, because I’m fucking blind.”
“Who is she?” I ask, ignoring the sarcasm.
Coop glances down at his phone, scrolling through the roster. When he finds her headshot, he holds up the phone. “Kennedy Carter.”
Carter, huh? Up close, I realize she’s got a lot more going on than just the legs. She’s got this whole girl-next-door thing, with warm brown eyes, a wide smile that showsallthe teeth, and a few blonde highlights that complement her olive complexion.
Not my usual type, but I’m kind of digging the natural look.
“That’s our girl.” I stand and stretch my legs, determination coursing through my veins. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
2
KENNEDY
Sweat tricklesdown my forehead and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Central Pennsylvania humidity is a bitch, and it’s so hot I swear my boob sweat has boob sweat.
Despite the heat wave, Coach isn’t cutting us any slack.
Or maybe it’s just me. You know, since I was late.
Again.
“You want a ride back?” my roommate, Becca, asks, looking fresh as a daisy.
Shit. Apparently Coachwasriding me extra hard. I vow to be on time tomorrow. My body can’t handle another workout like today.
“Thanks, but I’ll catch the Loop.” I check my watch, confirming the next bus is due in twenty minutes. “I’ve got a tutoring session on campus tonight.” My last of the summer session, thank God.
“Have fun with that.” Becca scrunches her nose, a not so subtle reminder that I need to haul ass if I’m going to squeeze in a quick shower. Because, you know, underclassmen generally prefer it when their tutors don’t smell like eau de student athlete. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”
