Pushing the thought aside, I press the metal button and lower my lips to the stream of icy cold water, doing my best not to dribble on the front of my shirt like a spaz.
As I’m drinking—okay, fine, guzzling—a pair of preppy deck shoes stroll into my peripheral vision, lingering just to the left of the fountain.
Um, hello, personal space?
I release the button for the water flow and straighten my spine, pulling myself up to my full height, where I find myself face-to-face with Reid.
Should’ve known. He’s not one to give up easily.
“Do you stalk all your teammates or is this a special privilege reserved just for me?” I ask, planting my hand on my hip and cocking it to the side for maximum impact.
Total waste of effort, because as it turns out, his gaze is locked on my mouth.
Oh hell. Do I have water dribbling down my chin? I lick my lips, praying I don’t have water on the front of my tank top. Kind of hard to be badass when you’ve got water dribbles on your shirt, you know?
Reid swallows, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, before his hooded eyes meet mine. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” I turn and head for the stacks, hoping to ditch Reid. The only thing I need right now is space, and it’s clear he isn’t going to give it to me. He’s right on my heels, easily matching my long stride. I hook a left, turning into the stacks like I totally know where I’m going (spoiler alert: I don’t).
I steal a quick glance at the shelves and realize I don’t even know what section we’re in. The library has three floors, plus a basement, and houses five-point-four million books, so yeah, I feel sorry for the poor sucker who has to do the reshelving, but mostly I feel sorry for my directionally challenged self at the moment.
“You can’t outrun me,” Reid says, his words tinged with laughter.
Crap. He’s right. It’s a dead end.
I slow my pace and stop in front of a random shelf, studying it with purpose, like I’ve arrived at my intended destination.
Reid stops a breath away—literally—using his giant body to crowd me in the narrow space. With towering bookshelves pressing in on either side, he’s effectively blocked my escape with his broad shoulders. And judging by the shit-eating grin on his face, he knows it.
From my periphery, I can see him glancing around, taking in our surroundings like he’s never seen the inside of a library before. My pulse quickens. Or maybe he’s casing the place to see if there will be any witnesses to whatever it is he has planned.
“Are you really looking for a book or are you just trying to avoid me?” he asks, the words a husky whisper as they skate across my cheek.
“Book, obviously,” I lie, keeping my attention fixed on the shelf before me. I’ve always been a shitty liar. It’s ridiculous to cling to this pointless charade, but my stupid pride refuses to admit defeat.
After all, if Harry Potter can take down Lord Voldemort, surely I can best Austin Reid.
“Really? What book?” He inches closer, the fresh, spicy scent of his cologne tickling my nose. “I’ll help you look.”
“No thanks.” When I turn to meet his gaze, our mouths are dangerously close. Nope, nope, nope. I snap my attention back to the bookshelf. “I’ve got this.”
“I’ll bet.” His voice is a low rumble as he reaches around me, fingers skimming across my bicep, and pulls a book from the shelf. A shiver races up my spine, and I can’t bring myself to look at him as he scans the cover. “What’s a mechanical engineering major need with a bunch of psychobabble bullshit?” he asks, holding up a psych book with a picture of an abstract brain on the cover. The smirk on his face says I’m totally busted.
Pulse racing, I wipe my palms on my thighs, certain it’s annoyance making my heart beat double time and not Reid’s dimple. “Well, what do you know?” I snatch the book out of his hand and clutch it to my chest like a golden ticket. “Just the one I was looking for.”
“Uh-huh,” he deadpans, shifting his weight and crossing his arms over his chest. “Look, I’m serious. We need to talk about your role on the team.”
Clearly he’s not going to let this go, so I decide to roll with it. Might as well get it over with, whatever it is. “What about my role on the team?”
“As team captain, it’s my job to make sure the team gels and plays like a cohesive unit.” He pauses, blue eyes scanning my face for understanding. “That works best when everyone pulls together. It’s good for morale and winning games.”
I tilt my head, completely lost. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say, but I’m not some delicate flower you have to worry about crushing. Just give it to me straight, okay?”
It’ll be less painful for both of us.
“You’re a wild card.” He heaves a monumental sigh and plants his hands on his hips. “It’s messing with team morale. The guys don’t know you and therefore don’t trust you.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand and plows forward.
“Look, I get it. Kickers do their own thing at practice, but it wouldn’t kill you to act like part of the team once in a while. There are some pretty good guys back there,” he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the reading room.
“Really?” I challenge, indignation fanning a fiery ball of outrage in my belly. “Because I hear the talk. I know what football players are like.”
He quirks a brow. “Do you?”
“Oh, come on.” I blow a loose strand of hair out of my face. “Langley thinks I’m going to make Waverly the laughingstock of the conference.”
“Fuck Langley.” He doesn’t miss a beat and the passion behind his words catches me off guard. His swift
