As usual, I ended up at least seventh in line for coffee at the Union on my way to Dr. Dair’s class on Wednesday. That meant I flew into Creston Hall and down the aisle with about thirty seconds to spare before my nemesis instructor glanced up from his notes to start class. I’d barely set my cup in the cupholder on my seat and said hello to Axel when a now familiar clean, masculine scent wafted over me. I squeezed my eyes closed then opened one to have Axel confirm with a smile and a nod what my nose had already told me.
Callahan O’Reilly was sitting next to me in class—again.
“Is this going to be a thing with you?” I hissed as I pulled my notebook from my backpack, pulled the side table up, and clamped it in place on my seat.
“Good morning to you too, Island Girl.” He leaned forward to address Axel sotto voce, “Guess her coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, huh?”
Axel, the traitor, grinned back at him. “Nah, she’s always like this.”
Giving my best friend a tooth-rotting saccharine grin, I said, “Would you like to trade seats?”
He leaned in close and whispered, “He’s not into me.”
Gritting my teeth against acknowledging his implication, I directed my attention to the professor. For once Dair was engaged in a conversation with the premed student and his partner in the front row rather than directing his displeasure at the three of us for not giving him our undivided attention.
Beside me, Callahan “casually” crossed his left ankle over his right knee so his thigh rested along mine. The contact sent waves of heat rolling over my skin even through the two layers of clothing separating us. From the corner of my eye, I watched a grin ghost over his features, and I wanted to smack him. The only way to put some space between us would be for me to lower my writing table back into its resting spot, but previous experience had already taught me how uncomfortable taking notes on my knee would be. With his sexy long legs, Callahan was apparently more comfortable without the desk, judging by the relaxed way he sat.
When I squirmed in my seat to put some air between us, he settled down further in his chair. Now not only were our thighs touching, but also our shoulders and upper arms. Subtly, I pushed against him, hinting he should stay in his seat without overflowing onto mine. Instead of taking the hint, he whispered, “Island Girl, I’m sitting as close as I can with all this hardware on our seats.”
“You. Are. Incorrigible,” I said through gritted teeth.
Dr. Dair launched into the day’s lecture, and I did my absolute best to pay attention. But the side of Callahan’s body pressed along mine took my thoughts to places they had no business going. Heat flashed over me as I pictured our naked skin pressed together side by side in my narrow dorm bed, and I had to cross my legs. The move brought marginal relief from where our thighs touched—except Hotshot noticed and angled his head so I could see his arched brow.
I shook my head and attempted to redirect my attention to our professor. The problem was, crossing my legs drew my mind to my suddenly needy clit and the damp state of my panties, and oh boy, was I ever in trouble. Why in the ever-lovin’ hell was I responding to Callahan Football Player O’Reilly in this way?
My eyes strayed to his hands where he took notes on his iPad. His hands were works of art with their wide palms and long, tapered fingers. Hands that could wrap themselves completely over my hips and hold me close. I’d always been a sucker for beautifully proportioned hands, and now I was wondering what Callahan’s would feel like on my body. I glanced back to my notebook where I was not taking notes and hissed in a disgusted breath. Get a grip, Jamaica. He’s not even your type.
Axel lightly bumped my other shoulder, drawing my attention to his notes. Hastily, I copied his scribbles. He met my smile of gratitude with a wicked gleam in his eyes, and now I wanted to smack both of the men flanking me. But at least my friend’s interruption dragged my mind back to class, and for the most part, I managed to take adequate notes for the rest of the hour. It was only at the end when Dr. Dair shot me a quizzical look that I realized I hadn’t asked a single question.
On the sidewalk outside Creston, the knowing smile on Axel’s face told me we’d be having quite the discussion when we met later in the afternoon for our standing coffee date. For now, he leaned in, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “Good job.” At my silent, narrow-eyed question, he nodded in Hotshot’s direction, and I gifted him with the mother of all eye rolls. Laughing, he said, “See ya later.” With a wave, he added, “Bye, Callahan,” and left me there alone with the wolf.
Without my permission, Callahan fell into step with me as I hurried off for my next class. “We’re on for a planning session tomorrow night, right, Island Girl?” he asked. With his long-legged stride, he had no trouble keeping up as I attempted to speed-walk away from him. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Library or Union?”
“Yes, I can meet you at the library tomorrow night. Usual time.” I needed space from his too-sexy-for-my-own-good person. Couldn’t the guy take a hint?
“That was an interesting class today, yeah? I had no idea how big a role Romanticism played in the Industrial Revolution.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, showing off how relaxed he was in keeping up with my pace that was now almost a jog, his long legs eating up the sidewalk beside me as though he were out for a leisurely stroll.
Giving in, I slowed down. “Why have you decided to sit by me in class?”
He shrugged. “Seems like a good idea, what with us being project partners and all.”
I glared at him. “Axel doesn’t sit with his partner.”
“The premed guy sits with his.” He smirked.
“You are a giant pain in the ass, you know that?”
Bumping playfully into me, he smiled. “You like me anyway though.”
It wasn’t enough that he was gorgeous, athletic, and smart. Oh no. He also had a smile that melted my insides like chocolate. Damn it.
Our arrival outside the lecture hall for my next class preempted me having to respond to his question. “This is my stop.”
The twinkle in his arresting blue eyes said he knew he was right about me liking him.
Gah!
Like clockwork the fangirls arrived, inadvertently saving me from more awkwardness or worse: having to admit he was right.
“Hi, Callahan!”
“Callahan, hi!”
So original. The poor freshmen needed a lesson in flirting. Even I could do it better than they did.
“You don’t have to go straight to film, do you?” This came from Tory Miller as she sidled up beside Hotshot and tried to link her arm with his. He chose that moment to reach up and readjust his ball cap.
“See you tomorrow, Jamaica.” Something resigned in his tone stopped my snarky observation about his entourage.
With a nod, I turned and walked toward my building. I didn’t intend to look back, but when I did, I saw him shrug out of Tory’s hold as he said something with a half-smile to the two freshmen, then he jogged off in the direction of the gym.
Maybe I was wrong about him encouraging the girls who couldn’t seem to leave him alone….
As I left the sweet shop for my study session with Callahan, my phone chimed in a text.
Hotshot: I reserved us a study room on the third floor.
Me: Why?
Hotshot: My roommates are studying at the library tonight.
Me: So?
Hotshot: We want to make progress on this project, yeah?
Me: We don’t need a private room for that.
Hotshot: Two words: jersey chasers.
I huffed out a laugh. Then a picture of Tory Miller hanging all over Callahan invaded my thoughts, and something like jealousy clenched my middle. WTF? She could have him. He was a player, not a person I had any interest in. Another picture interrupted—a picture of Hotshot’s thigh pressed to mine and the sensations that had coursed through my body for an entire hour of class.
Fine. He had my attention too. But I was above all that ridiculousness.
Even after my dad disappeared from our lives for good about five years ago, my mom still pined for him. I didn’t need to do a Google search on one John Blackwood to know his stories that had kept my mom hanging on for over twenty years were pure bullshit. The fact that he missed more birthdays than made them, never spent a single holiday with us, and promised to help me with college then ghosted us a year before I graduated high school told me everything I needed to know about him. Players could play a sport or drive an over-the-road truck, but either way, trusting a man with your heart meant trusting him with your future. If Mom’s experience had taught me anything, it was to stay clear of players.
Loud whispering and giggles snagged my attention as I made my way to the stairs leading to the third floor. Sure enough, there sat several members of the Wildcats football team with their dedicated fans. The big guy, Finn, shot Tory a teasing smile, and she batted her lashes in way that made me think she’d practiced in front of a mirror. Gag.
Guess Hotshot was right. If we wanted to make progress on our project, we had to meet somewhere the fan club couldn’t just happen by.
Keeping my head down so as not to draw attention that might lead them to catch onto another football player lurking somewhere else in the library, I made my way to the third floor. The door to the room Callahan had reserved stood open, and I stepped inside to find him already hard at work. He was marking something on his iPad and adding to a list on a notebook beside it. The smile on his face when he glanced up flashed fire through me—a heat so intense I’m sure my skin flushed from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet.
“Hey, Island Girl.” He sniffed at the air. “Mmm, you smell like chocolate and strawberries. Were you making candy tonight? Did you bring any with you?” The hopefulness in his tone gave me a guilt complex.
By the time I finished a shift, I was sick of candy and sweet things. It never occurred to me to bring a treat for him.
Clearing my throat, I set my pack down and took the chair across the table from him. “Sorry. I didn’t think athletes indulged in sweets.”
He stood and walked over to close the door. “You’d be surprised.” The naughtiness in his voice reminded me of my earlier personal pep talk to keep my guard up where a certain football player was concerned.
“Why did you close the door?” I asked when he sat back down.
The intimacy of being alone with the hottest man I’d ever met, especially with my new resolve not to respond to him, left me nervous about being in a closed room with him.
“Kinda defeats the point of avoiding the jersey chasers if they take a tour of the library and discover us here.”
I shrugged. “I guess.” Pulling my notebooks from my backpack, I said, “Do you honestly believe they’d go on a tour of the library looking for you?”
“Depends on if Tory gets Finn to slip.” At my raised brow, he clarified. “My roommates and I rode over from our apartment together. If she finds out I’m in the library, she and her buddies will come looking for me.” The sigh that escaped him explained more than his words could about what he thought of the prospect, and I relaxed.
Within a few minutes, he brought me up to speed on the list he’d been composing when I walked in. Every time I wanted to write him off as a jock or a player or someone I could blow off, he surprised me with his insightfulness and intelligence. As we worked together, it dawned on me I might be the true beneficiary of our pairing and not the other way around. I peeked at him through my lashes as he bent his head over his iPad, his brow furrowed in thought.
It seemed we’d barely started working when I pulled out my laptop to look up some info on nineteenth-century manners and saw that an hour had passed. We bounced ideas off each other, laughed at antiquated notions of proper behavior we discovered, and made as much progress in this one session than we had in the past two combined. Guess working without distractions—like giggly freshmen girls—helped.
“Fannie Price’s observations in the parlor when she first arrives at Mansfield Park kinda remind me of the way Dair responds to you in class,” Callahan said as he pointed out a passage in the text.
“You’ve already finished Mansfield Park?”
“Long bus rides, remember.” His brow drifted up. “What’s the deal with you and Dair anyway?”
I shrugged. “I ask too many questions. It irritates him.” Dropping my eyes to my notes, I added, “It irritates some of my other professors too, but they aren’t as obvious about it. Probably because I’ve only taken one class from them.” I hazarded a glance at him. “This is my third class with Dr. Dair.”
“You ask smart questions. They help everyone.” A sly grin crossed his features. “Except you didn’t ask any questions yesterday in class. Weird.”
Heat flared along my thigh like a phantom touch of his body against mine, and I shifted in my chair, crossing my legs like I’d done in class.
“He was more explanatory than usual, so I didn’t have questions.”
“That’s what you’re going with, huh?” Mischief sparkled in his eyes.
I readjusted in my chair and tried to ignore how hot it had become beneath my hoodie.
“We can make a point about his rudeness that will grab his attention without making an obvious slam if we discuss Sir Thomas Bertram’s treatment of Fanny versus her constant decency.” He slid his chair around the table to sit right beside me. “We can use these passages here.” He pointed out a couple I’d marked with sticky notes in my paperback. “What do you think?”
That was the trouble. When he sat this close to me, I couldn’t think.
He slid his chair closer. “You smell so good. You always smell good, like spring flowers and something musky.”
The barely-there brush of his nose along my neck sent shivers through me, and I waited, paralyzed, for what he’d do next.
Without touching me, he caged me in, one arm resting along the back of my chair and the other on the table in front of me.
“What—?” I swallowed and tried again. “What are you doing?” It came out as a croak.
“Mmm.” His lips hovered a mere breath over mine. “I think I’m going to kiss you.”
But he didn’t. He was waiting for something.
“Now?” I wasn’t sure he heard the breath of sound I made.
“Yes.”
Soft lips brushed over mine with the lightness of fairy wings. When he pulled back, ending the contact, I couldn’t help myself. I chased him, pressing my lips to his. After a beat, his fingers plunged into my hair as he added delicious pressure to the kiss. He licked along the seam of my lips, daring me to open for him. When I gave him what he asked for, electric heat exploded through my veins, short-circuiting all my thoughts except for the one that screamed, Closer. You need to be closer.
The next thing I knew, I was in his lap—or rather, I was straddling it. My fingers plowed through his hair, knocking his ball cap to the floor. I held his head as we vied to see who could plunder whose mouth more thoroughly.
His hands had found their way to my ass where he smoothed and squeezed my flesh over my jeans, encouraging my center closer to his. To my shock, the moans and whimpers that broke through the sounds of my heartbeat thundering in my ears were coming from my throat as I explored the entirety of Callahan’s tongue with my own.
Lined up as we were, I couldn’t stay still. The friction of his hard-on pressed to my center was a siren call I couldn’t resist as I rubbed up and down over him. In the back of my mind, I had a fear of setting our jeans on fire with my movements, but his mouth tasted delicious, like caramel coffee and something dark and male. All I wanted to do was melt all over his hard body.
A jiggling of the doorknob and a loud, insistent pounding on the door jerked me out of Callahan O’Reilly-induced lust.
“Hey! You were supposed to be out of this room ten minutes ago,” an annoyed male voice shouted through the door.
“Sorry, dude. We’ll be done in a minute.” Callahan’s voice was surprisingly calm considering the wild desire blazing in his gorgeous sea-blue eyes and the pronounced bulge in his jeans wedged against my crotch.
In a blink I scrambled off his lap. Standing beside the table on decidedly unsteady legs, I started shoving books, pens, and notebooks into my backpack.
“Um, that—” I gulped in a breath. “That never, uh, that shouldn’t have happened,” I stammered. What was wrong with me? Words were my world. I never stumbled over them.
“Correction, Island Girl. That was always going to happen.” He didn’t even bother to hide it as he adjusted himself behind the fly of his jeans. The wolfish grin on his face as he deliberately repacked his books and iPad into his backpack did nothing for my peace of mind.
Touching my hair, I discovered he’d dislodged my messy bun. Scanning the floor around the table, I located my scrunchie behind my chair and hastily set my hair back into some semblance of order.
Letting out a low chuckle, he said, “Sorry, sweetheart, but no matter what you do, you can’t hide what we’ve been doing.” He ran the pad of his thumb over my lower lip, setting off a new throbbing in my core. “These plump, rosy lips give us away.”
I batted his hand away. “Would you stop, please? This is mortifying enough.”
Hoisting my heavy backpack by the strap, I shrugged it over my shoulders as I stepped over to the door. An expectant glance over my shoulder revealed a wholly unrepentant Callahan O’Reilly on my heels. I sucked in a breath, let it out, and turned the handle on the door he must have locked when he’d closed it earlier.
Across the hallway, a tall, lanky guy leaned against the wall, his shoulders and the sole of his left foot resting flush against it, the picture of nonchalance as he scrolled through his phone. When the door opened, he flicked his eyes up from his screen, and a smirk tipped up one corner of his mouth.
“Well, fuck, O’Reilly. It doesn’t take a genius to know what you were ‘studying’ in there. Do I need disinfectant when I go in?”
Indignation warred with embarrassment, but right as I opened my mouth to set the guy straight, Callahan reached out to shake his hand in some kind of secret bro code—palms, thumbs, one-armed-hug, fist-bump—thing. “Nah, Enriquè. You’re safe.” He laughed. “How’s the team looking?”
“Good as yours.” A grin split the guy’s—Enriquè’s—face. “Maybe we’ll celebrate two conference championships this year.” His striking green eyes danced in his dark brown face.
“That would be sweet.” Callahan fist-bumped him again. “Come over to the house after the game on Saturday. No doubt we’ll be celebrating.”
Casually, he threw his arm over my shoulder and led me down the hallway toward the stairs. I shrugged from beneath his arm and stomped ahead of him.
“That was rude. You didn’t even introduce us,” I tossed over my shoulder as I trotted down the stairs.
“I’ll introduce you on Saturday at the party—if Enriquè has a date. If he comes stag, I’m locking you away from him.”
I stopped dead still on the second-floor landing, and he bumped into me. Without turning around, I gritted out, “You aren’t the boss of who I date. Also, I don’t do frat parties, Hotshot,” before I jogged the rest of the way down to the ground floor.
When he fell into step beside me on my way out of the library, I shot him a warning side-eye. I crossed the street in front of the building on my way back to the dorms, and he remained beside me, his ambling steps keeping up with my speed-walking in the most infuriating way. As I traversed the campus, at last I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Walking you home.” There was a “duh” in there somewhere, I was certain, but when I glanced at him, a grin turned up the side of his mouth.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Yeah, I do.” Though the half-grin remained on his face, there was steel in his voice.
“You expect to get your way.” It wasn’t a question.
“Pretty much.”
A growl escaped me, and he chuckled. The sound of his mirth left an odd sensation in my chest, and for a minute the autumn air didn’t feel quite so crisp.
“Are you going to the game on Saturday, see what I do besides be an awesome class partner?”
“You only read the assigned book once. How is that awesome?” It was a stupid argument, having more to do with my study methods than his contributions to our project. Grudgingly, I admitted to myself he had some pretty great ideas and insights—especially after basically skimming the material.
“Island Girl, you need to learn to work smarter, not longer. Give yourself more time for fun.” He bumped my shoulder with his. “Like going to the game on Saturday.”
“Hate to burst your bubble, Hotshot, but I can’t imagine a more unproductive way of spending a Saturday afternoon than watching big men in helmets bash into each other.”
He slammed his hand over his chest and pretended to stagger. “Damn, that’s harsh, woman. You’ve wounded me, slashed my chest wide open with a dull knife.” He staggered ahead of me and walked backward, his eyes dancing even as he faked dying.
His antics twitched half a smile out of me.
Damn it.