Page 4

FOUR

BECCA

“You,” I gasp.

Eli’s eyes bulge and he stumbles back a step. “Becca. How… What…” His hand runs through those honey-blond locks, so similar to his sister’s. I hope he thinks of her every time his stupid ass looks in the mirror.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “In Florida? I mean…in Coach Andrews’s office?”

I snort, both at his audacity to question me and at his posh, decidedly un-southern accent. “What am I doin’ here? What are you doin’ here?”

“I work here.”

Nausea punches my gut. Coach Andrews walks from behind me, slapping Eli on the shoulder with a gigantic smile on his face. The sick feeling grows, my breakfast teasing my throat.

Fuck my life.

“Becca, you know Eli? Our team’s been needing someone like him for a long time,” Coach Andrews preens. I swing my gaze over just in time to see Eli wince at his words.

My sharp tongue lashes out before I can stop it. “Oh, really? Might wanna hold on tight there, Coach. Eli has a nasty habit of runnin’ from the people who need him most.”

Eli tenses, his eyes narrowing as they darken to a stormy blue.

Coach clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “Right. Well…how do you two know each other?”

“She’s my little sister’s best friend,” Eli provides.

I scoff, crossing my arms. “Surprised you remember her.”

Coach’s brows raise. “You guys are from the same town? I never would have guessed.”

My thoughts exactly, Coach. I cock my head, fingers tapping my hip. “Yeah, Eli. What happened to that nice southern drawl you used to beat my eardrums with?”

Eli shrugs, a painful smile gracing his face as he speaks through his teeth. “Time away from home makes you lose the dialect, I guess. I haven’t really thought about it.”

I purse my lips as I watch him lie out of his ass. No chance in hell his accent just up and disappeared. I’m sure it’s buried underneath the thousands of other lies he tells himself so he can sleep at night.

Coach claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Hell, this actually works out well. Since you’re already acquainted, I’ll have her report to you for basic training.”

Eli snaps his attention to him, the line between his eyes creasing. “Basic training?”

“Becca’s our new student manager, and in order to keep that title”—he narrows his eyes at me—“she needs to learn the love of the game.”

I force a grin, trying to hide the straight-up disgust that’s creeping through my insides when I think of having to spend hours with Eli. “I’m lovin’ it more every second, Coach.”

Eli chuckles, and I glare at him. “What’s so funny about that?”

He rubs his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “You might want to find a different girl, Coach. Becca here has quite the reputation back home. She might love things too much, if you know what I mean.”

Heat scorches my cheeks. I imagine junk-punching him then watching him writhe beneath me in pain. The thought makes me smile.

Coach chortles. “Come on now, Eli, keep it classy. I don’t give a shit about anyone’s personal life as long as it stays off the court and out of my locker room.” He points at me. “You got Monday morning classes?”

“Not until ten thirty.”

“Be here Monday at eight, then, and we’ll get you started.”

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek, and move to leave.

Eli turns to watch me as I walk by, and when I’m sure Coach can’t see, I spin around to face him and throw my middle fingers up, waving them in the air.

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me blankly.

Walking home, my thoughts race. I don’t know the best way to process what the hell just happened. One thing’s for sure: I plan on having a stern talking-to with Sabrina about her “universe” bullshit because this is not what I signed up for. I can’t believe Eli is at FCU. As a coach.

Oh my God, does that make him my boss?

I’m sick to my stomach and a bit pissed off at Lee. What the hell is she thinking not telling me something like this? She didn’t think to prepare me that her brother, who I’ve hated for the majority of my life, is at the same damn school as me?

Maybe she didn’t know?

By the time I hit my apartment complex, my hair is sticking to my neck and has doubled in size from the humidity. I plop down on the front steps, throwing it up in a messy bun, and rip my phone from my pocket, forcefully pressing send when I reach Lee’s name.

She doesn’t pick up. Typical.

I send her a text instead.

Me:

You gots some ’splainin to do!

Lee has a bad habit of avoiding confrontation, so I don’t expect a response. I sit for a few more seconds, reflecting on my morning. The positives? At least I got a job. And for every ounce of asshole residing in Eli’s cold, dead heart, there’s double that of good genes. He’s a fine specimen to look at if there ever was one.

I just wish I didn’t have to look at him.

* * *

It’s Friday night and I’m on the prowl. After a grueling first week of classes, Sabrina and I meet up with some friends and grace the downtown bars with our presence. I could really use a nice guy to dick me down and relieve the stress from the past week, so I’m a shot of tequila in and a perusal away from picking my flavor of the night.

Our group is huddled around a table in the corner, and everyone’s lost in conversation except for me.

Standing up, I run my hands over my black bodycon dress. It’s tight, and with its plunging neckline, it does amazing things for my tits. I motion to Sabrina that I’m heading to the bar, but she’s deep in some philosophical conversation about women’s rights and barely acknowledges me.

Fortunately, the place isn’t too packed. Un fortunately, the bartender is ignoring me. I slink down on a stool and rest my chin in my hands, waiting to get some service.

“Odd to be sitting at a bar without a drink, don’t you think?”

I spin toward the voice, my eyes landing on a broad chest before I snap them up to meet the face of a green-eyed devil. I assess the beauty before me. He’s tall and fit. Tousled, dark hair and a black button-down that does nothing to hide his muscles but highlights his bronzy white skin. A tingle runs through me, and I smile.

Damn, he’s fine.

“Odd you would think that’s a clever pickup line.” I twist a strand of hair around my finger.

The right side of his mouth lifts, showcasing a perfect dimple. “Yeah, well…my wingman’s supposed to be here to smooth out my edges, but I think he may be standing me up.”

“How awful,” I deadpan.

“Yeah. It’s a shame.”

“For you,” I say.

“For both of us,” he corrects.

“Is that right?”

“It is. You see, he’s a bit of a dick. An attractive dick, but a dick nonetheless. If he were here, you’d realize just how charming I actually am in comparison.”

I lick my lips, leaning toward him. “Maybe I like dicks.”

He steps closer, resting an arm on the bar. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

The bartender finally makes her way over, interrupting our moment. I order a shot of tequila and a glass of water, my mystery man slapping a twenty on the bar before I have a chance to pay.

I grin, running my finger around the rim of the shot glass. “What’s your name, charmer?”

“Connor. And you, my sweet southern belle?”

I tsk. “I may be southern, sugar, but I’m not sweet.”

His eyes spark. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

My legs clench together as I picture his head between them, his tongue diving into my folds to find the only sweet spot on me.

“Hey, man. Sorry I’m late.” A hand grips Connor’s shoulder and my heart stalls in my chest.

Elliot Carson.

If God exists, he hates me.

Connor smiles, turning to Eli. “Hey, I was just talking about you.”

Sharp blue eyes lock on to mine, widening a fraction as they glide up and down my body. “Becca.”

“Fuckface.” I raise my shot, tilting it toward him before slamming it back, the burn distracting me from the heat of his gaze.

“You two know each other?” Connor points between us.

I roll my eyes, wiping the corner of my mouth and standing up. “I’m tired of answerin’ this question. I take it this is your wingman?”

Connor’s brow quirks. “That depends. Do I still need one?”

“I doubt he’d help your chances.”

Eli is leaning against the bar, eyes volleying between us. “I definitely would not help your chances, Connor. You’re not fucking Rebecca.”

“Dude.” Connor groans, turning toward him.

“Excuse me?” I push past Connor and step into Eli’s space. He straightens, and I have to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “He’ll fuck me six ways from Sunday if I want him to, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. God, when did you turn into such a prick?”

Eli’s perfect jaw tics. “I’d imagine it was around the time you turned into a raging bitch.”

“ Dude ,” Connor hisses again.

Anger bubbles in my veins as I huff out a laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. I only see one bitch here, Eli, and it ain’t me.”

Eli straightens, his chest pressing into me, clean laundry and cinnamon assaulting my senses. “You wanna try me, Becca? Keep fuckin’ pushin’.”

There’s that accent.

My heart bangs against my chest so hard it vibrates my entire body.

It’s only when Connor grips my shoulders, pulling me back, that I realize how close Eli and I were standing, how harsh my breaths are coming.

“Okay, firecracker. Let’s calm down,” Connor says, rubbing my shoulders. “And for the record, Eli, you are the worst wingman ever.”

If he’s trying to lighten the mood, it doesn’t work. I can’t even look at him now without thinking of Eli. I shrug out of Connor’s grip and turn around, storming to my table. Dragging a chair out, I slam myself in it, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m upset Eli’s here and I’m pissed he just ruined a sure thing for me. Cockblocker.

Sabrina tilts her head, narrowing her eyes.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” And I don’t. Not to her, at least. But if Lee would call me back instead of playing her favorite game of avoidance, that’d be great. I dig my phone out of my purse and fire off a text.

Me:

I swear to all that’s holy, Lee, if you don’t call me by tomorrow I will fly back home and tell the entire town about the time in fifth grade you pissed your pants because Ms. Johnson wouldn’t let you use the bathroom. THE. WHOLE. TOWN.

I throw my cell down and glance at the bar. Connor’s already moved on to greener pastures, a girl pressed in between his and Eli’s sides.

But Eli’s not paying attention to that.

No, his eyes are busy boring a hole into me. I glare back and now we’re locked in this weird stare-off that I refuse to lose. Right when I’m about to scream from how infuriating he is just by existing , he smirks and looks away.

Asshole.