Or football players.
“Seriously?” Reid shakes his head in apparent disbelief. “Everyone likes football. It’s America’s favorite pastime.”
“Pretty sure that’s baseball.”
“Debatable,” he says as Coop mutters, “Baseball is for pussies.”
Reid and I both ignore him. The rivalry between the two teams is legendary at Waverly.
“What’ll it take to convince you?” Reid asks.
“A miracle.” I smile sweetly and turn on my heel, but before I can take a step, Reid grabs my arm. A spark of awareness shoots straight to my belly, reminding me it’s been a while—seven months and twenty-three days to be exact—since a guy touched me. His grip is gentle but firm, his calloused fingers wrapped around my forearm. It’s not threatening. If anything, it reeks of desperation. Just like his absurd suggestion that I try out for the football team.
“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I’m serious.” Frustration flashes in his eyes, like it’s the first time in his life he hasn’t gotten his way, and he doesn’t know how to deal. “We need a quality kicker to save our season.”
“Trust me, I’m not your girl.” I twist out of his grip, breaking the unwanted connection.
“How can you be so sure?”
I smirk. “Oh, let me count the reasons.” I hold up my fingers and begin ticking them off as I go. “I’m a soccer player. Your last kicker is bedridden.” I pause, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “And let’s be honest, you’ve probably had one too many concussions if you think this is a good idea.”
Coop snorts, pressing his fist to his mouth to stifle a laugh. It doesn’t work. A smile tugs at the corner of my own lips, and I give myself silent props for hilarity.
Reid ignores his teammate, eyes locked on me. The smile is back in place, even broader than before, this time accompanied by a tiny dimple in his chin. A dimple that, were it not attached to a football player, would totally be my kryptonite.
Talk about a waste of a perfectly good dimple.
“I watched you kick. It’s not that different,” Reid says. “If you can kick a long ball, you can learn to kick a field goal. And while our previous kicker may be laid up, that’s because of an asinine dare, not the game.”
I roll my eyes. “Shocker. A bunch of irresponsible football players getting wasted and doing dumb shit? I can hardly believe it.”
“Hey, I never actually said we were wasted.” Reid throws his hands up defensively, like he’s worried I might quote him to the paper. “Besides, I told him not to take the dare.”
“He obviously didn’t value your opinion much if he ignored it,” I point out, earning another laugh from Coop.
“I like her,” he says, elbowing an annoyed-looking Reid. “She’s going to fit right in.”
Like hell. “This has been fun and all, but I have to get to work. Good luck with your search.”
“Didn’t you just come from work?” Coop asks, brows furrowed. “We heard—” He swallows the rest of the sentence, a sheepish grin on his face.
My cheeks heat, and I do my best to stuff the embarrassment down deep. So what if they heard Coach dressing me down for being late?
“Yes, well, my soccer scholarship is only a partial.” A sigh escapes before I can stop it. I’m bone-tired and the fall semester hasn’t even started yet. I straighten my spine and slam the door on that line of thinking. Carter women don’t do self-pity. I’ve got three years under my belt. I can do one more. I give Reid an icy glare, because,arrogant quarterback. “Those of us who live below the football gods actually have to work. And now you’ve made me late.”
This time, he doesn’t try to stop me when I turn to go.
“Spellman had to withdraw this semester, which means he won’t be playing ball this year. He had a full-ride.” Reid’s words are quiet, but there’s no mistaking the emphasis he places on the wordhad. “It’s too late to recruit a placekicker. The football program has scholarship money available.”
I freeze midstride. A full-ride?
“Remind me, Coop. What’s the going rate on a football scholarship?”
“Thirty-six grand. Give or take.”
No, it’s ridiculous. No one is going to give a woman a football scholarship at a D1 school. Not one who’s never played a day in her life. And certainly not one who despises the sport.
“If you had a full-ride, you could quit working and focus on the game,” Reid says, sounding every bit like a snake in the garden as I turn to face him.
