“ARGH!” I roar, frustration getting the better of me as I wriggle out of my sports bra and fling it over the arm of a chair.
Relax. It isn’t like they’re going to revoke your scholarship over one missed field goal. That’s the most important thing, right?
Right.
Except…I hate feeling like I let the team down. No one will come out and say it, but I know it’s on me. They were counting on me to deliver today, and I screwed up. I may have a full set of baggage when it comes to football, but I’m no stranger to being on a team, and it grates that I didn’t give it one hundred percent today. I’m better than that.
I slip on my lace bra and white blouse, fumbling with the tiny buttons. It takes twice as long as it should to button the damn shirt in my irritated state.
Knock! Knock!
The last thing I need right now is company, but I doubt it’s for me anyway. Probably just someone looking for the coach whose office I’ve been assigned. I glance down, confirming I’m presentable, and open the door to find the last person I expect.
“Hey.” Reid’s still wearing his uniform, the jersey covered in grass and mud, a testament to the hard-fought battle. “Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing to the tiny office at my back.
“Sure.” I step aside to let him enter. Should I close the door or leave it open? Closing it would give us more privacy for whatever it is he’s come to say, but the last thing I need is to be alone with Reid. It’s been almost three weeks since our chat in the team meeting room, and I haven’t forgotten his…declaration. Still, I don’t want him to think I’m afraid to be alone with him, like I can’t control my hormones, so I leave the door cracked, giving us a modicum of privacy. “What’s up?”
“I thought maybe you could use a friend.” Reid leans against the wooden desk, arms crossed over his chest, relaxed as you please. Even with the bulky pads, his body is long and lean, a veritable powerhouse. His voice is like gravel when he finally speaks again. “That was a tough game.”
“You think?” I regret the snarky reply immediately. Just because I’m pissed at myself doesn’t mean I can take it out on Reid. That would be a bitch move. “Sorry,” I say, toying with the end of my braid so I don’t have to look him in the eye. “It’s just…I should’ve made that kick. I’ve made it a hundred times in practice, but I let myself get distracted.”
“Distracted?” His face is open and warm, and I can tell his interest is sincere, but no way in hell am I telling him about my dad’s text. I’ve already said too much—revealed too much—about myself. When I don’t answer, Reid continues. “Yeah, well, if I’d been on my game, you never would have been in that position in the first place.”
The snort is out of my mouth before I can think better of it. “What? Because you’re Austin freaking Reid? Like you’re a one-man show?”
I narrow my eyes at him until I’m sure they’re just little slits, but he doesn’t even flinch. Just gives an almost imperceptible shrug as if to say, If the shoe fits.
“Oh my God. You really believe that crap, don’t you?” I throw my head back and laugh, although in truth, it’s anything but funny. Most people would crumble under that kind of pressure. For the first time, I truly understand what it must’ve been like growing up in his father’s shadow. “Shit. That must be some burden to carry…the weight of the entire team.” I drop down into one of the chairs opposite him and give what I hope is a teasing smile. “Pro tip: I don’t need you to save me or shoulder the burden or whatever it is you think you’re doing. And neither does the rest of the team. We’re all adults here.”
He arches a brow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so?”
I nod vigorously, refusing to be distracted by that adorable, kissable dimple. “Definitely. You can’t take all the credit for our mistakes any more than you’d try to take credit for our success.”
“I’d never do that.” He sits up straighter, cheeks flushed with indignation. His dark hair falls over his left eye, giving him a dangerous edge, and despite the fact that he’s sweat stained and dirty, he’s hot as hell. Who knew the man could wear outrage so well?
“Exactly,” I say, shifting in my seat and crossing my legs. Because I’m wearing a skirt and it’s ladylike, not because I’m getting hot for him and crave the friction. And I’m definitely not thinking about what it would be like for him to bend me over the desk and do a quarterback sneak. That would just be fifty shades of wrong.
He pushes off the desk so that only inches remain between our bodies. Which is slightly awkward since now I’m face-to-face with his package. His rather large package. Heat floods my body, pooling low in my belly. God, what is wrong with me? I should not be thinking about Reid’s—
“You’re probably right.”
Crap. What was I right about?
Oh yeah. Teamwork. Shared responsibility.
“I know,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the issue at hand despite my raging hormones. “I made mistakes today and so did the defense. You don’t get to take all the blame when there’s plenty to go around. It’s like you said, we have to learn from our mistakes.” Which is exactly what I should be doing, so I stand, which turns out to be the wrong move, because now my breasts are practically skimming his chest. “Also, why am I now consoling
