I find myself floating through the sea of bodies, exchanging celebratory hugs and fist bumps with my teammates and coaches. The thrill of victory is like a drug, working its way through my system with enough endorphins to guarantee I won’t be sleeping tonight. I could never tell Becca, but the rush is even better than winning a soccer game.
I reach the center of the crowd and find myself face-to-face with Reid. His helmet is tucked under his right arm, locked in place by the glistening muscles that helped deliver the game-winning touchdown. His sweat-dampened hair sticks to his forehead, but his eyes shine with victory and when he gives me that cocky grin of his, I swear no man has ever been sexier.
Not Chris Hemsworth. Not Ross Butler. Not Cole Sprouse.
Which I definitely should not be thinking.
Our eyes meet and it’s as if the crowd and the noise fall away. For an instant it’s just me and Reid. And judging by the look on his face, he’s thinking about that victory dance. Desire curls low in my gut, and I’m not sure whether to hug him or… Well, none of those other options would be acceptable, so I just give him a nod and tell him good game, because, hey, I’m super awkward like that and climbing your teammate like a tree tends to be frowned upon. Even if he’s made it clear he’d welcome the experience.
Besides, the night is young. Still plenty of time for victory dances and bad decisions.
Chapter Thirteen
Austin
I’m flying high after the win over Ohio, the rush of victory pumping through my veins as we wade into the Wildcat’s Den. It’s one of the hottest bars in town and with a homecoming victory to celebrate, the place is at max capacity. Not like the bouncer would turn us away though since we’re basically the guests of honor. The celebration’s in full swing when we arrive and I follow Coop as he weaves his way through the swell of bodies, sweaty flesh pressing in on us from all sides as we snake past the dance floor. Several people slap me on the back and there’s a Wildcats chant picking up momentum, but I don’t stop.
The bar is crowded as fuck and I don’t want to lose my roommates.
We won a big game today. The team’s killing it, and I’m more confident than ever we’re poised for a championship run, despite the week six loss. We just have to keep the wheels on the wagon.
No distractions.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. It’s been blowing up all night with offers to party. I’ve ignored most of them, only responding to messages from close friends and family. Should’ve put the damn thing on silent. Tonight’s about the team and I want to hang with the guys.
And Carter.
Shit. I know I should be thinking of Carter as one of the guys, especially given the whole no-distractions thing, but come on. After that kiss? Impossible.
We find a high-top table in the back and order a round of beers. The server tells us they’re on the house, thanks for a job well done. When she shows up a few minutes later with a round of shots, we aren’t about to turn them away. The thing is, it would be a dick move to decline them, so I smile and say thanks, making a mental note to call and thank the owner personally next week.
We’re on our second round of beers when the server, who’s been flirting nonstop with Coop, asks why Carter isn’t with us. Great fucking question. I drain my glass and slam it down on the table harder than necessary. She better not be bailing. She promised she’d be here, and I thought— Holy. Shit.
Is that Carter? My dick comes to attention, and I do a double take.
Carter sidles up to the table, tugging at the hem of a black skirt that was clearly made for someone six—hell, maybe eight—inches shorter. She’s wearing a slinky red tank top, and her dark hair’s been straightened so it falls over her bare shoulders in a silky curtain. Her lips are painted the same shade of red as her shirt, and her eyes are rimmed with a smoky shadow. But it’s the shoes that do me in. They’re black, strappy, and sky-high. It doesn’t take much effort to imagine those heels digging into my ass as I bury myself between Carter’s thighs.
“Looking good, Carter,” Coop says, giving her an appreciative once-over.
“Thanks.” Carter flashes an uncertain smile and tugs at her skirt again. “My roommate’s handiwork.”
“Never would’ve guessed.”
“Liar.” Carter laughs as he pours her a beer, forgetting about the über-short hemline for a minute. “But I appreciate the effort.”
Coop visibly inflates, and for some reason it annoys the shit out of me. I grit my teeth and smile, feeling like an asshole for not complimenting Carter myself. Too late now. I’ll just sound like a pandering douche.
Parker turns to Carter and drapes an arm across her shoulders as she slides onto the stool next to him. “It’s about time you joined us for post-game libations. I was starting to get a complex.”
“I doubt that.” Carter rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her beer. Her tongue darts out to lick the foam from the corner of her lips, and I’m reminded of the white-hot passion that simmers just below the surface.
“Trust me, Parker could stand to get a complex,” Vaughn says, lifting his chin in greeting. “You’d be doing us all a favor.”
Carter throws her head back and laughs, that sexy, throaty laugh that makes my cock swell in anticipation.
Parker flips him the bird and raises his glass. “To Carter, for sending those Ohio pricks home with their tails between their legs.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Vaughn agrees, raising his own glass.
I follow suit, frustration stirring in my gut. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m totally off my game. It should
