Which means it’s from Kennedy herself. Something that’s been on her mind. It tells me a whole hell of a lot. That I haven’t been hit in the head with too many footballs. That if I play my cards right, in thirty minutes, she’ll be on her back in nothing but red lace and pink lipstick. Melting ice under my hands. Making her whole body flush with warmth. Ramping up the heat until she’s sweating beneath me. Until the fire consumes her and she’s moaning with my dick inside her, probably more than she ever did with the asshole that—
The asshole that dumped her. The one Stone said she’s in a funk over.
I take another drink to rid the sour taste in my throat. Inch forward on the edge of my seat. Under the table, our legs collide. Her limbs stiffen against mine, and slowly, on purpose, I wedge my knee between hers.
“Is that what you want, princess?” I ask in a low voice. “Someone to help you get over Keeland?”
I’ve had girls ask me before. Who have wanted to get back at their exes by jumping into bed with me. All I’ve turned down. I don’t get involved with relationships, including smack dab in the middle of fucked up ones.
But with Kennedy…
I sneak a glance at that wayward button.
She notices. Gives me an incredulous roll of her eyes and buttons it.
…I’m open to making an exception.
“No,” she whispers. Glances away, though she’s usually perfectly capable of maintaining eye contact with me. Not many others can say the same.
“Then what is it? Have to pry into my sex life because Keeland wouldn’t know how to find your clit even if it came with detailed directions?”
Her lip curls. I’ve struck a nerve. It’s one thing I’m good at.
“Those were warm up questions,” she suddenly announces. “There’s one question fans are dying to know.”
“Hit me.”
She hits. With a brick.
“How did it feel when you watched Levi screwing Meegan in that video?”
My scowl snaps to her matching one. I hadn’t told anyone but Hart about watching it. He wouldn’t spill that shit to anyone, since he wants to move on from it, too.
Her eyes glitter with frost. Ice so cold it burns if you get too close. Burns until you can’t feel anything inside you.
She guessed it herself. Confirmed by my reaction.
I push my beer to the side. Stand up. Brace myself on the table as I tower over her. Lean close so my mouth brushes her ear when I ask her, “About as good as it would feel to remove that stick up your ass.”
Without warning, she stands, too. Grabs my beer. And upends it right over my fucking head.
10
Kennedy
The voice comes clearly through my headphones. “A body like mine doesn’t take breaks…I give all of me. I go long…”
I pause the recording. Start it from the top. For the fifth time. I’ve almost memorized the words.
Spencer goes long. Spencer goes hard. Spencer doesn’t stop until the other team is finished.
Transcribing this interview shouldn’t be so distracting.
But I have to do it.
When I turned in the rest of the football team’s interviews last week, I’d had to fess up to Brook. The only one left unfinished is Spencer Armstrong’s. She hadn’t been surprised—apparently, Spencer was stubborn for last year’s Leap section, too—so she’d set a new deadline. For this Friday.
I ignore the date in the corner of my computer screen. The one showing it’s Thursday.
Had I once again pushed off talking to Spencer? Yes. Do I have a sufficient reason for it? Absolutely. Is that reason only that he’s a massive jerk? Correct on all three counts.
He’d interrupted my date a week and a half ago with the photography student. Nevermind that when Spencer had inserted himself into our booth, photography guy had been in the middle of propositioning me for an impromptu boudoir shoot. I could have handled a brush off myself, except Spencer got there first.
Then he’d stuck around to harass me with outrageously crude questions.
He deserved a beer to the face.
I debated making up his answers to the Leopard Leap questions. Surely, anything I can write will be better than whatever comes out of his mouth. But my journalistic integrity won’t allow me. I gave the rest of the team time to come up with answers. Morris, my very first interview, had provided a well thought out response to why local support is critical for the team’s success (Natalie had been in the background of that recording, loudly booing him). Levi, who I’d expected to start off with jokes, shared a heartwarming explanation of how it had felt to stand on the sidelines, pretending to be the team’s spotted leopard mascot as he dealt with a suspension for half the season.
Spencer’s part of the team. As much as he hates the column or won’t contribute answers that don’t contain vaguely sexual undertones, he deserves to be fairly represented.
So I restart the recording for the sixth time, checking to make sure no one watches in case my face turns red.
Students dawdle about the library. Some complete homework between classes, others drift from table to table, socializing with people they know. Not wanting to work in the newspaper room, with Brook breathing down my neck about getting the rest of Spencer’s interview, I’d headed for the open study area on the library’s main floor. After waving to Grayson at the front desk, where he works between tutoring appointments, I opted for a carrel desk at the back of the room where I won’t be disturbed.
Except by the gruff tone in my ear, talking about vigorous exercise.
His voice lulls me into distracted thoughts. Precarious memories of his hooded gaze in my kitchen, handsomely relaxed from slumber. His scowl at Kellermann’s, when it had dipped for a moment to my unbuttoned cardigan, flaring with interest. Asking me if he’s loud or quiet when he—when he—
It’s loud. So loud I hear it now, over the sound
