What Austin and I have isn’t about empathy or shared experiences. I don’t need—or want—to get in his head. No, the only brain I need to pick is my new partner’s.
Enzo and I spend the rest of the study hall reviewing my design, and when I meet Austin in the parking lot an hour later, I’m not thinking about my dad or the design competition. The only thing on my mind is pleasure, something I know Austin can deliver.
31
AUSTIN
The minuteI step foot inside the football house, I know I’ve fucked up. Pizza boxes and empty beer cans litter the living room, covering every flat surface. There are a couple dozen guys, including Johnson and Smith, shouting at the TV where Bama is giving Ole Miss a beating they won’t soon forget. The music’s so fuckin’ loud, it’s a wonder the neighbors haven’t called campus police…yet.
That’s not even the worst of it. One of the freshman recruits is puking his guts out in a trash can, and there are a half-dozen jersey chasers in various stages of undress, which probably means there’s some kind of strip game going on. I scrub a hand over my face and try not to think about what’s going on in the rest of the house.
I’m probably better off not knowing.
My temper flares, a hot flush streaking up the back of my neck. I’m not sure who I’m more pissed at, Johnson or myself.
“What the fuck?” I shout, slamming the front door. God forbid someone roll past and get a look at this shit show. It’s a bye week and Coach asked me to show a few high school recruits around campus, which I agreed to do, despite being dead-ass tired and up to my eyeballs in…everything. Not like I could say no. I’m the team captain and it’s my duty to host potential talent.
Besides, it’s important to give these kids face time with the team and a taste of life on campus. It can make a real difference when it comes time to sign their letters of intent. Which is why I met them at eight and took them on a tour of the football facilities, the stadium, and the best parts of campus. We even went to lunch at the Diner, so they could check out the social scene downtown.
My mistake? Leaving the recruits with Johnson for a few hours while I met with my study group. Two fucking hours. He was supposed to take them for dinner at the dining hall and get ice cream, not get them wasted.
I should’ve skipped study group. The thing is, I’ve got a paper due for career management next week, and I needed the extra help. I didn’t do great on the midterm, and I need an A on my paper to offset it.
“Relax, we’re just watching the game,” Johnson says, lifting a beer can toward the TV. He’s slouched in a recliner, and Kendall’s sitting on his lap. Neither of them is wearing a shirt. “It’s not like we took them to the End Zone.”
The local strip club. Thank Christ for that. “They’re underage, asshole.” I point at the kid who just puked in the trash can. “Do you have any idea what happens if we get a UAD during a recruitment visit?”
Johnson gives me a blank stare. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s wasted or if he really doesn’t understand what a big fucking risk this is to the program. To our shot at a national title.
To our futures.
I cross the room in a few easy strides and shut off the TV and the music. “Party’s over.”
There’s a collective groan, and the puker heaves into the trash can again.
I close my eyes and count to ten, ready to be done with this day. The whole place is starting to smell sour, a putrid mix of sweat, beer, and vomit. If this is the kind of shit they can get into in just a few hours, I don’t want to think about what might have happened if I’d been gone any longer. “If you don’t live here, get dressed and get out.”
Several of the guests file out. I hope like hell they won’t be lighting up social media with pics of our drunken recruits. Kendall stops on her way to the door, brushing her fingertips down my bicep the way a kid might stroke a favorite pet. If she notices my muscles tense at the unwanted contact, she ignores it.
“I never took you for a buzzkill, Reid.”
I ignore the cheap shot—Kendall’s the least of my problems—because there are fucking baseball players in the house. Talk about courting trouble. There’s no love lost between the two teams, so what the hell are they doing here?
Kendall tracks my gaze and flashes a thousand-watt smile. Mystery solved.
I grit my teeth. “Never took you for the kind to stir shit up.”
“You haven’t been returning my calls.” She shrugs. “I got bored.”
Un-fucking-believable.
“What a bunch of pussies,” McCoy says, slinging his arm around Kendall’s shoulders. His buddies laugh, and I curl my fists so I don’t do anything stupid. “Told you we should’ve gone downtown to the watch the game.”
The shortstop snorts and takes a pull on his beer. “Wha’d’ya expect? They’ve got a girl on the team.” He pauses and looks me dead in the eye. “She’s kind of hot though. I’d fuck her.”
This asshole thinks he can come up in our house and talk shit?
Fuck. That.
