“There was an incident,” I say, trying to keep the edge from my voice.
“Oh?” She looks up—and interested—for the first time. “Do tell.”
I study her carefully, searching her dark eyes for any sign she might have been the one behind the prank. After all, as she so quickly pointed out, she was the only one who showed up on time today. Kind of convenient, isn’t it? And while most of the guys have been cool with Carter’s presence on the team, there are a few, like Langley, who still need to be brought into line. Couldn’t exactly blame her if she was looking for a little payback, although I’d rather put on a Buckeyes jersey and stroll across campus than admit it out loud.
“Come on, spill,” she prods with a grin, her full lips tilting up at the corners.
Damn, she has a nice smile. Too bad those lips are dedicated to the forces of evil. I could think of better ways to put that mouth to use than all the snark she’s been dishing. Much better ways.
Shit. I sound like Coop.
I sigh and rub the back of my neck, feeling like an asshole. “Someone put itching powder in the guys’ jockstraps,” I say, going on the offensive. The last thing I should be thinking about is Carter’s lips. Coach would have my ass. Besides, I’ve got a national title to win, which would be a helluva lot easier if my teammates weren’t in the locker room scratching their balls. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Carter snort-laughs. “Priceless.” She tosses her braid over her shoulder and climbs to her feet. She’s not quite tall enough to look me directly in the eye, but she comes closer than most girls, which is kind of hot. Some of the guys on the team are into short girls—spinners, they call them—but I’m a leg guy all day long. “I wish I could take credit, but sadly, the thought never even crossed my mind.” She smirks. “But I’d love to meet the evil genius behind the prank, because she’s clearly awesome.”
“You think it’s a chick?” I ask, raking a hand through my hair.
“Chick? Really, Reid.” Carter wrinkles her nose. “Do better.”
I lift my brow. So, what, now chick is derogatory? It’s like, the equivalent of dude or something. I stare at her, but she doesn’t budge, just meets my defiant gaze with one of her own. Like two twelve-year-olds in a staring contest. Fine. Whatever. “You think it’s a woman?” I say, caving, because I’m truly curious.
“Totally.” She nods her head, the thrill of victory shining in her eyes. “You know what they say, hit ’em where it hurts.”
Kennedy
It’s day one of senior year and my schedule is bananas. I was late for my first class and after spending hours reviewing syllabi, I’m seriously questioning my sanity. In a moment of blind ambition, I signed up for eighteen credits of upper level mechanical engineering classes—a necessary evil if I want to graduate in May—which coupled with football is…insane.
Seriously. No one in their right mind would willingly sign up for this schedule. Which totally explains why most of the guys on the team take the minimum credit hours during the season. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury.
Not if I want to graduate on time and start paying down my mammoth student loan debt.
So, yeah, fall semester is already kicking my ass and it’s only day one. First class, then football. Special Teams doesn’t always join the main practice, but when we do, I swear Reid spends half the time scrutinizing me, no doubt judging my progress and wondering if he made a mistake.
Well, he can suck it. I’ve been busting my ass to perfect my technique and with Coach Jackson’s help I’m currently seventy-thirty on the long-range kicks, which is better than the freshmen, and I haven’t even perfected my technique yet. Bonus: my accuracy skyrockets to ninety-three percent inside the thirty-five, which is the best on the team.
Still, Reid’s lingering gaze is a distraction I can live without.
Thankfully, practice is over, and I’ve got the visiting team locker room to myself. It’s just as nice as the home team locker room, with the same pristine white lockers, industrial blue carpet and overwhelming scent of disinfectant, but it’s kind of lonely—I swear to God there’s an echo every time I so much as pee—and for the first time, I miss the women on the soccer team.
Miss having Becca by my side after a tough practice. Miss the singing and dancing and ridiculous victory celebrations reserved for wins over conference rivals. I glance around the empty locker room, heart sinking. I didn’t realize how much I valued the camaraderie on the soccer team. It’s unlikely I’ll be participating in any locker room celebrations this year, but you know what they say about hindsight.
It’s a bitch.
Not that I’m complaining, exactly. Because, hello, full-ride scholarship. And Coach Collins was decent enough to assign me a locker in the home team locker room as well, but it’s mostly a token gesture for inclusivity and game days since getting naked with a bunch of football players is against my personal code of conduct.
