“How was your ‘study session,’ Slick?” Finn asked with air quotes when I walked through our living room on my way to the kitchen.
“I got the notes.” Something of my bad mood must have come through in my tone.
“Ouch!” Finn set his game controller beside him on the couch. “She shot you down hard, huh?” He stood and followed me.
I tossed my backpack on the table on my way to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and downed half of it in one swig. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I let a belch go and didn’t feel even slightly better.
“Whoa! She really shot you down.” A smirk crossed his face as he pulled two beers from the fridge. He cracked one open and set the other on the table beside me.
Narrowing my eyes over the rim of my beer can, I glared at him as I finished it, smashed it between my palms, and tossed the empty in the recycle box by the back door. I opened the second one and took a long pull. “In the few times we’ve studied together, I’ve figured out I need to be patient with Jamaica. Things were moving along fine, then your fan club showed up—again. It’s like they have trackers on us or something. She took one look at that bunch of jersey chasers, shoved her shit in her bag, and blew out of the Union like her ass was on fire.”
“Damn.” He took a thoughtful sip of his beer. “At least you had a consolation prize.”
My eyes might have bugged out of my head. “What?”
“You had a pack of adoring female admirers to hang out with, yeah?”
Cuffing him on the back of the head, I said, “Dumbass. Where in any of what I just said did you hear I wanted to spend time with jailbait instead of with a smart, hot woman?”
The back of his neck took on a shade of red I’d seen on more than one occasion when Finn fucked up. “Did you sic those Delta Chis on me?”
“Look, Coach Ainsworth wanted to show me where I’d missed a golden opportunity to rush Prescott in the first quarter, so I left film a bit after the rest of you guys. I ran into the girls outside the gym—”
“Pure coincidence, I’m sure,” I mumbled.
“Tory was asking about you. I might have mentioned you were studying in the Union this afternoon.” He swigged some beer and shrugged his shoulders. “The way the two of you act, I thought you had something going with her.”
Shaking my head at my friend, I corrected him. “You mean the way she acts. Dude, that girl is nothing but bad news. I avoid the shit out of her and never give her a straight answer when she asks what I’m doing or hints at doing something with me.”
Confusion furrowed his brow. “Didn’t you hook up with her last year?”
I ran a hand down my face. “I might have had a few too many of these.” I held up my beer. “So when she came onto me in the hallway during a rager at the Delta Nu house, I kissed her. But even in my drunken state, I sensed something about her was off.” I shuddered. “Then Hyde or someone yelled for me, which made it easy to escape her. Only later did I find out she was a freshman—and the daughter of some big donor to the school.” I finished my second beer, crushed the can, and sent it to join the other one I’d tossed in the recycle box. “She’s entitled, related to the girl who damaged Freeman’s career, and out to bag a football player. Bad news with a capital B. I don’t want a damn thing to do with her.” Picking up my pack and heading out to my room, I called over my shoulder, “You should keep your distance too.”
After tossing my backpack onto the floor beside my desk, I shucked off my hoodie, kicked off my tennis shoes, and threw myself on my bed. Resting my head on my hands, I glared at the ceiling. Things with Jamaica had been progressing well during our study session. Her mouth said she didn’t date football players, but her body said she might make an exception for me.
The cute way she’d lost her place when I inched my chair closer to hers had made me lose my place too. The blink in the side-eye she’d sent me when her arm had touched mine as she reached for a second notebook said she’d noticed as the hairs on my arm stood at attention. The way she’d sucked in air when her thigh grazed mine as she stood up told me she sensed the heat between us every bit as much as I did. Whether she was ready to admit it or not, Jamaica Winslow was interested in me. If Finn hadn’t sicced that obnoxious bunch of jersey chasers on me, I might have had a chance to talk her into something more than a study session.
But the game was only in the first quarter. My mouth turned up in a grin. I had plenty of time on the clock to run a new play.
“Good morning, Island Girl,” I said when I sat next to Jamaica in Dair’s class on Monday. Nodding in his direction, I added, “Axel,” as I unzipped my pack and pulled out my iPad.
Dr. Dair’s standard “Settle down, you pretenses of scholarship” preempted the flare-up boiling behind Jamaica’s glare at my audacity to sit next to her in class, and I chuckled.
“This seat is never taken,” I whispered.
“My backpack sits there,” she hissed back.
I gave her my best scored-a-touchdown grin. “Not anymore.”
I think she might have growled, and I loved it. If I didn’t get to her, she wouldn’t react. Then her scent, spring flowers and musk, wafted over me, and I shifted in my seat to catch another whiff of my new favorite smell. She squirmed as she tried not to brush my arm when she raised the desktop on her chair so she could take notes in her notebook. From the corner of my eye, I caught her frown before she magicked a pen from somewhere in her curls and wrote something across the top of an empty page.
Leaning down a touch, I took a peek at her notes. She’d written the day, date, and class number across the top. When Dair launched into his lecture on Hardy’s commentary on the exploitation of the working class, she added a title.
Shooting me the stink-eye, she whispered out the side of her mouth, “Take your own notes, Hotshot.”
Lightly bumping her shoulder, I whispered, “We can compare after class.”
The professor aimed a censorious glance in our direction over the rim of his glasses, and Jamaica sat taller in her seat. As I watched the interplay between our prof and her, I had to wonder if she acted the same way in all her classes or only in Dr. Dair’s.
Curiously, Jamaica didn’t ask her usual barrage of questions, instead, keeping her inquiries to two—both of them excellent since I wanted the answers too. When she asked about Hardy’s reception among the working class who could read at the time, one of the other study pairs in class asked if Dair could hold off as the answer was part of their project. The interplay between students delighted the prof to no end judging by the half-smile he gifted both Jamaica and the premed student and his partner who sat together in the front row.
She blinked and turned to Axel whose I-don’t-have-a-clue expression coupled with a shoulder shrug said the teacher’s response was new territory. Jamaica hastily scribbled something in the margin of her notebook and highlighted it with a blue marker that materialized from the apparently endless store of writing implements hidden in her curls.
A snort escaped me. Jamaica swiveled her head in my direction so fast I feared she might have sprained her neck. “What’s so funny, Hotshot?” she hissed.
With a nod toward the front of the auditorium, I lowered my voice. “I’ll tell you after class.”
Dair was staring over the rim of his glasses again, and we both looked down at our notes. From the corner of my eye, I caught Axel showing Jamaica something he’d written on a separate page in his notebook. What was up with these two handwriting notes anyway? She emitted a tiny growl while she furiously wrote something back. I heard his chuckle while she studiously ignored both of us, lasering her focus on the droning man behind the lectern.
When the chimes signaled the end of class, both of us simultaneously reached for our bags at our feet. Our biceps and shoulders touched, wafting a fresh round of her floral scent over me. I wanted to savor that smell almost as much as I wanted to bask in the sharp intake of her breath at our unexpected contact.
Yep, I got to Jamaica Winslow.
Good to know since she never strayed far from my thoughts either.
Taking my time, I stood and stretched, knowing full well I was holding her up when she wanted to escape.
“Do you mind, Hotshot? Some of us have another class in a few minutes.”
I think she was going for snarky, but with her eyes on my abs when my hoodie and T-shirt rode up as I lifted my arms over my head, her words come out on a soft breath. Uh-huh. She was thinking of her silly rule about not dating athletes, especially football players. Grinning, I slung one strap of my backpack over my shoulder and made my way down the row.
“Where’s your next class?” I asked as she and Axel joined me in the aisle and I walked them out of the building.
“In Huffine, which means I don’t have time to stand around and chat.”
I zeroed my focus on her. Oh yeah, that rosy tinge on her cheeks gave her away.
“Cool. That’s on the way to the gym. I’ll walk with you.”
“Axel—”
“I’m meeting Drake at the Union. See you two later.” Before Axel sauntered off, he slipped me a discreet thumbs-up, and I winked.
Seconds ticked by as Jamaica watched her friend leave her to the big, bad wolf, a panicked expression marring her gorgeous features. Then she pulled in a breath, squared her shoulders, and started walking. Fast.
“You were kinda quiet in class today. Only two questions for the man. What gives?” I asked as I fell into step beside her.
“I was distracted.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, but I heard her say, “Fuck,” behind her palm.
Yeah, that was valuable info I wasn’t letting go of. “Distracted, huh?”
When she slid me a side-eye, I gave her my best smile. Her eyes saucered, and she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. Being chivalrous, of course, I caught her elbow with one hand while I slid my other arm around her waist. “Careful there, Island Girl.”
We walked another step or two with my hands on her before she deliberately slipped out of my grasp—and I let her. My nerves crackled and sparked everywhere my skin had come into contact with hers, sensations zinging straight to my cock. The hoodie I’d chosen to wear today wasn’t long enough to cover a semi, not to mention it was damned uncomfortable walking with one. Now I needed a distraction.
“What class do you have in Huffine?”
She kept her eyes on the sidewalk. “The Historic Rise of Social Media.”
“Yeah? Couldn’t you take that one over Instagram?” I laughed at my joke.
“Ha, ha,” she deadpanned. “Since I couldn’t afford a phone until I was seventeen, I wasn’t on any of the socials. Joining late meant I missed a crap ton of unnecessary drama—which I’m quite happy about—but I also didn’t fit in with people who used TikTok slang and sent funny memes on IG or shared their latest party fail on Snapchat.”
She glanced up at me, but I kept my expression neutral. If this girl was going to let me in, even a tiny bit, I didn’t want to give her any reason to clam up.
“Anyway, the class is pretty interesting. What class do you have?”
“Film.”
“In the gym?” Her wrinkled-nose expression was too cute.
“We’re playing the Hornets this weekend. We need to know their schemes so we can counter them.” A group of students stood in the middle of the sidewalk chatting, and we split to walk around them. “I told you I spend lunch watching film, remember?”
“How many hours a day do you do football, again?”
“Eight, most days.”
“And go to class and study and keep your grades up?” Her voice went up with each part of the question.
“What?” I shrugged. “It’s no different from you being an RA and holding down a part-time job and going to class and studying and keeping your grades up.” I winked at her narrowed eyes. “We both work full-time and go to school. Our jobs are different is all.” Playfully, I bumped her shoulder. “Mine’s just more fun.”
She shook her head, sending her glorious curls bouncing. “Bashing other men around in the grass sounds like a blast…not.”
“Have you ever been to a game?”
“No.” She drew the word out to about three syllables long.
“Maybe you should come watch me play before you pass judgment.”
“Saturdays are for picking up extra hours at the sweet shop and studying.”
“No, Island Girl. Saturdays are for the boys.” I shot her a hot grin and reveled in the way her nostrils flared and her pupils dilated. “Since we’re partners now, it’s incumbent upon you to attend a game and watch me play.”
“Incumbent? Really?” She couldn’t seem to stop herself from snorting a laugh.
“Hey, I go to college.” I tapped the side of my ball cap. “I know things.”
This time she smiled, and the sun on this glorious autumn afternoon shined a whole bunch brighter. We stood outside the building where she had her next class grinning at each other like a pair of loons, and I swear my heart grew a size in my chest. I’d latched onto one of her curls with an intention I wasn’t entirely sure of when the strident tones of my name called by someone I never enjoyed seeing split the air.
The smile dropped right off her face. “Sounds like your fan club has arrived. Did you give them your schedule or something?”
“For reasons beyond human understanding, the team posts our schedules on the website. Something about proving we’re student-athletes, emphasis on the first part.” I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck. “It’s a fucking invasion of privacy. Are we on for tomorrow night?”
“I have to cover for one of the other girls at the shop. I won’t be done before ten. Sorry.”
“Then I’ll see you in class, yeah?”
With a nod and a glance past my shoulder, she spun on her heel and walked away right as Tory Miller sidled up beside me and sank her claws into my bicep.