After practice we all meet up at the quad near the cafeteria.
“What are you smiling at?” Dallas says, sitting next to me on the stone bench. Across the way, my eyes find Jersey girl the instant she makes it up the steps.
“Nothing,” I answer absently, incapable of peeling my eyes off of her.
I was a wreck Saturday night, the lowest I’ve been in a long time and she was…well…amazing. A surprise, a comfort, everything I needed.
On crutches, she slowly makes her way to the cafeteria entrance and pauses to take in the view. From this vantage point, the scenery looks unreal, worthy of a screen saver, and I grew up here. I wonder what she’s thinking.
“That’s the chick you ran over?”
Glancing sideways, I catch Dall’s eyes all over her. He runs a hand through his wild hair and smirks, causing an uncomfortable twist of my gut.
“Almost ran over.”
“Not much of a rack but her ass and legs are a ten. Now I know why you mobilized the entire team to get her info.”
Head shaking, I’m quick to correct him. “It’s not like that.”
Most days I already feel like Atlas carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Between keeping up my grades, getting into medical school, and leading this team to another national title, there’s no room for anything else. Most of all for a girlfriend. And this is definitely the type of girl that requires commitment and promises I don’t have it in me to give. Despite what she said the other night.
“You guys grab food yet?” Cole asks, walking up with Brock, a couple of the younger guys, Warner, Shane, and Quinn.
“Waiting for your lazy ass,” Dallas tells Cole.
“We’re all a little spent from your bullshit. You happy about being benched this weekend?”
Dallas shrugs. Though it doesn’t hide his thoughts. Or the way his amusement dims. Typical Dallas. He’d rather cut his arm off than admit he’s upset.
His attention returns to Alice. “You didn’t tell us she’s hot, Rea. I’d do her.”
I knew it was too much to ask that he drop it. “Keep your voice down, dickhead.” All the guys turn to stare at her and a feeling of hyper-awareness creeps up my neck. “And you’d do anyone,” I point out the obvious.
“Erroneous,” Dallas fires back, pretending to be offended. “Erroneous fucking assumption. Did I do that UCLA Kappa chick that was all over me last year? No, I did not.”
“Only because Calvert warned you she’d gone fatal attraction on him,” Brock rebuts.
“This one definitely kicks it old school which means she’s off-limits to you savages. Mitts. Off––you feel me?” I warn and mean it. The thought of any of these guys touching Bailey makes my blood curdle.
“What about you, Rea?” Dallas chimes in. “She off-limits to you too?”
I shrug, not giving him the satisfaction. “I’m not in the market for a girlfriend.” And that’s the absolute truth. No matter how cute she is when she laughs and that she gets all my movie references. This year is about some well-earned fun, and a girlfriend doesn’t belong anywhere near that equation.
“I kick it old school.” Brock’s deep voice slices into the conversation like a hot knife into butter. Every head on the team swivels in the big guy’s direction. To call him quiet is a serious understatement. So when he does speak, people tend to pay attention. “Does that mean she’s not off-limits to me?”
“Ho-ly shit. Could this be the angel sent from heaven to finally steal your cherry, B?” Dallas stands on the bench with a hand over his heart. “Because if you’ve got your sweet feelings set on her, who am I to stand in the way of a brother entering into manhood.”
Brock’s mouth tilts in a wry smile. That’s all the reaction Dallas’s ball busting gets. Brock’s one of those rare individuals who’s immune to other people’s opinions. “Fucking doesn’t make me a man, bro. If that were the case, you’d be ten times the man you are.”
“Oooo…Dayum…Dallie, he murdered your ass,” the chorus shouts, one over the other.
Grinning, Dallas opens his arms wide and advances on Brock. “I hate it when we fight, sugar bear. Let’s kiss and make up.” Brock pushes him off as Dallas attempts to throw his arms around his neck.
“I’ll give ya a kiss, Dallie.” Quinn leans back in his seat on the bench, arms crossed. He’s wearing the same sly look I’ve seen on him when he’s baiting an opposing team’s player. This usually precedes one, or more of us, getting thrown out of the pool for a foul.
“Smith––” I shake my head. “Give it a rest, man,” I beg before it goes any further. I swear he loves to get under D’s skin.
Dallas flips him off and returns a similar smirk. “Fuck you, Quinn, you fucking slut. If I was bent, you wouldn’t be my type.”
Quinn snickers. It’s common knowledge that he burned through the West Hollywood scene as soon as he stepped foot in Southern California––something he openly brags about.
And since Quinn literally fought his way out of the slums of Liverpool, having his nose broken three times and losing a spleen before his fourteenth birthday because it “didn’t feel right” to hide his sexuality, he now does whatever the hell he wants, with whomever he wants, whenever he wants. And don’t get in his way, or pay the consequences in blood.
He’s also ranked best goalie in the league so none of us give a single shit what he does in his spare time. Or how many.
“Pot, meet kettle, wanker,” is his quick response to that.
While that goes on, Brock’s attention returns to me as if to say, well? A flare of heat shoots up my neck. Shit. Am I attracted to her? She’s got curves in all the right places. That heart-shaped ass would make a man a nice soft place to land. I’d have to be gay not to notice. But is it more than that?
It can’t be.
B watches me intently. As much as I want to deny it, I just can’t seem to form the words. A slow cat-that-ate-the-canary smile grows on his face. “Thought so.”
I get up, rake my fingers through my hair, stretch out my back.
“Rea! Where are you going?” Dallas shouts from somewhere behind me.
My feet carry me away before I even know how to answer.
Alice
“Jersey,” I hear while I’m in line to pay for my turkey sandwich.
I’m starving. Having both crutches tucked under one arm and the food tray in the other is a gamble. Considering the hole in my gut, however, it’s one I’m willing to take.
Reagan walks up to me wearing a lopsided grin, the plate tectonics of his face shifting to render him even more tediously handsome. All over the cafeteria, heads lift. Gazes sharpen. It’s a given that wherever Reagan Reynolds goes so do eyeballs. Case in point, most of the people in this joint are watching us. Which makes my skin crawl.
There’s a good reason I live behind the camera: I’m a natural-born observer. All my instincts rebel at the notion of being on the receiving end of any attention and this is a lot of attention.
“Well if it isn’t the Reagan Reynolds.”
The flash in his eyes has an involuntary smile sneaking up on me. There’s something innately smile-inducing about Reagan. Gorgeous face not included.
He takes inventory of my situation––the tray I’m holding, the crutches––and frowns. Then, ever the gentleman, he reaches out for my food tray and practically knocks me to the ground in the process.
The crutches clatter loudly. I wobble, on the verge of face-planting. But right before that can happen, a muscular arm wraps around my waist and saves me.
“Is someone paying you to maim me? Or are you really this sloppy out of the water?” While the people in line behind me graciously pick up my crutches and hand them to me, he pulls me closer. A smirk already in place.
“Trust me, I’ve got rhythm where it counts,” he murmurs quietly for my ears only. His eyes move over my face and pause on my lips.
He’s an unapologetic flirt, that’s for sure. “You did not just say that.”
“I think I did––”
“What a cheeseball you turned out to be.”
On a deep inhale, I catch a whiff of him. The subtle scent of laundry detergent, a trace of chlorine, and a hint of eau de stud muffin. I waste no time sucking in more of it.
He pulls away, helps me find my balance on the crutches, and gently lets go. I feel strangely bereft without the hard, steady presence of his body anchoring me down. This friends-only thing sucks.
And to add insult to injury I haven’t been on a date in forever. And when I say been on a date, I mean I haven’t had sex since senior year in high school. That’s embarrassing! But I won’t apologize for being choosy about my sexual partners. The sizzle hardly ever happens to me and I need sizzle to sleep with someone. Otherwise, what’s the point? I’ll satisfy my own needs.
Problem is, I’m currently experiencing sizzle with the wrong person. One that’s not interested in anything sizzle related with me. Like I said, this friends-only thing sucks.
“Mind if I eat with you? I have an hour before my next class.”
I peek around his shoulder, and through the glass-paned wall that overlooks the quad, I spot his teammates still out there.
Every single one of them is tall, tan, armed with a thousand-watt smile and the confidence to flaunt it. It’s not fair. And a hazard to the general public. Traveling in a pack of guys that smoking hot should be criminalized. People could injure themselves rubbernecking to stare.
The reckless blond, Dallas, catches sight of us and alarm bells ring. It’s only a matter of time before they all migrate over here and if one likes to fly under the radar like I do it’s enough to make one want to run.
“Aren’t your friends waiting for you?” Fingers crossed he gets the hint that I don’t want to be around when they do.
He follows my gaze over his shoulder and pauses at the sight of his friends. When his attention returns to me, he’s wearing a teasing smile. “They know how to feed themselves. Come on, let’s grab a table and I’ll get our food.”