Page 10 of Red Card (Prescott University #1)

I’m realizing it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in anything besides sweats or rugby shorts. The denim hugs his muscled thighs like a second skin, molded perfectly around his sculpted quads.

Jesus, thighs are so hot.

Something you become hyperaware of when you’re constantly around guys lifting other grown-ass men clean off their feet.

Cillian’s thighs are massive. Powerful. And he’s got this slutty little tattoo on his upper thigh that I couldn’t help but notice one day at practice. Not that I was looking… his shorts are just short an—

Never mind.

“And what exactly is that?”

He chuckles roughly, raising a brow. “Frat boy.”

“Sorry, can you repeat that? I’m a little in shock that you’re capable of having an actual conversation.

What do you know, miracles do happen,” I retort with a smile of my own as I set my drink on the bench next to me and run my hands up and down my arms to warm myself up.

“And for your information, that was… a disaster. No need to rub it in.”

“The bloke was wearing a yellow polo and board shorts, so I don’t quite think you’re missing much. Alas, very questionable taste, I see.”

I open my mouth, then slam it shut because what a dick. And also… kind of true. Those board shorts were atrocious.

Cillian smirks.

“Yes, well, you’ve probably seen what the guys around here think of me.

I’ve got to take what I can get,” I finally respond, annoyed that he even witnessed that entire exchange go down.

What’s he doing out here anyway? The last time I saw him he was inside with his fans draped all over him.

“What happened? You got bored with your fan club and decided you needed some fresh air?”

Another silent shrug, but the slight curve of his lips remains.

“Don’t worry, they’ll all show up at your games to cheer you on. Everyone at Prescott can’t wait to see our new bad boy in action.”

“Mmm, that sounds a bit like jealousy. Are you jealous, St. James?”

I scoff and a small puff of air slips past my lips. “Of what? Your ability to collect women like you do rugby medals? Not particularly.”

For a second he’s quiet, thick silence hanging in the air between us, and I wish I knew why my pulse was beginning to pound.

“You know, since you’re apparently God’s gift to women and can do so much better, please go find one of those girls, right now, and prove how easy it is for you.”

He lifts his water bottle to his lips and takes a pull before shrugging. “Fine. Pick one.”

I lift a brow and cock my head.

“Point her out. I bet you I can come back with her number in”—he glances down at the watch on his wrist before pulling his gaze back to mine and smirking—“two minutes.”

Two minutes?

Seems like an incredibly short amount of time, but then again, the damage I could do in two minutes is nothing short of impressive.

Honestly, after seeing him inside with those girls earlier I have little doubt that he could probably get multiple girls’ numbers in that time, but now I want to call him on his bluff.

Just to see if he folds.

“Okay. Perfect. Her,” I say as I point into the living room window at a tall girl with long, curly auburn hair.

I picked the first person I saw, but he just smiles, one that reaches his eyes causing them to crinkle at the sides, and stands from the bench.

“You going to time it, or should I?”

I nod, pulling my phone out of the pocket of my joggers. “Yep. Go get ’em, big guy.”

He rolls his eyes before taking off toward the front door unhurriedly, more like a leisurely stroll. Okay, so selectively mute, grumpy butthole also has an overly inflated ego. Totally surprising.

Not.

I watch through the window as he strides into the house and walks directly over to the girl. He leans in, murmuring something in her ear, and her eyes widen slightly before she nods and then dips her head to his ear, whispering something in return.

A second later, he pulls out his phone and she quickly types something in it before he turns and walks away without another word.

My God, he didn’t even smile at her. He just… did that broody, smoldering thing he does with his eyes, and she basically threw it at him.

When I glance down at my phone there’s still thirty seconds left on the timer, and I have to admit, I’m impressed… slightly.

A little.

“See?” he says when he walks back up the gazebo steps toward me. He turns his phone and shows me the screen with a number and the name Larissa. “Do I get bonus points since she offered to let me fuck her in the bathroom?”

“Smooth. Tell me, how did you manage that when you’re such a dickhead?”

He shrugs, pocketing his phone and taking his seat again. His expression is bored as he gazes at me, his eyes dark and stormy in the dim light of the gazebo. “They don’t have to like me for me to make them come, St. James.”

I can feel my cheeks heat at the crudeness of his words, but I shake my head, rolling my eyes with a dry laugh. “Whatever. You win. You get a trophy. God, I just don’t understand how it’s so effortless for you.”

He grunts a response but otherwise remains silent.

Perfect, we’re back to grunting as communication. Just the way I like it.

I wish I could flirt, and be sexy, and confident to guys like this. Any guy really. I wish I could walk up to a guy that I thought was attractive and have a conversation without making a fool of myself… or worse, immediately being friend-zoned.

Tonight was the prime example. So much for taking Fitz’s advice.

Wait…

The idea that pops into my slightly tipsy brain is ludicrous at best. But also…

could actually work? It’s literally what I said to Fitz the other night, and I was just joking then.

Sort of. But, I mean, what if? The best players have a coach.

Maybe Cillian could… teach me. This is probably the alcohol talking but whatever.

He seriously just walked into that party and the girl nearly launched herself into his arms. He’s clearly good at this, even though it pains me to admit it.

Who better than him?

“So what if you… you know taught me how to flirt? Like that?” When he huffs, shaking his head and running a hand through his dark hair, I continue, “No seriously. You saw for yourself how it went tonight. Every time I even attempt to talk to a guy I either bro out and am immediately friend-zoned, or I attempt to flirt and end up making myself look like an awkward, fumbling idiot. I’m just permanently one of the guys.

Nobody ever sees me as just Rory. They see me as Coach St. James’s daughter or the girl who knows more sports statistics than your average sports player .

You could help me, and I could… help you. In return.”

Yep, definitely the alcohol. I would never normally blurt out something so… vulnerable, so embarrassing. But after what happened inside and the fact that it was nearly a repeat of the other night, with the addition of the two extremely strong drinks I’ve had, my give a fuck is not present.

His brows shoot up. “Yeah? What could you possibly help me with, St. James?”

My throat bobs. “I could… I could help you out with the guys. Get them to stop being so stupid and trying to ice you out. Help you really be a part of the team.”

“What, with more team bonding? Yeah, no thanks, I’m good.”

“I’m serious!” I groan, then continue before he can decline again.

“This sounds stupid, I get it, but I’m just…

so damn tired of feeling like this. And you know that Fitz is my best friend.

I could talk to him and the rest of the guys.

You also know they trust me and listen to my opinion.

I’ll put in a good word. Get them to give you a chance.

In exchange, you teach me how to get out of the friend zone and how to flirt. How to be sexy. How to talk to guys.”

“Some things can’t be taught,” he mutters gruffly, leaning back against the bench, sculpted arms crossing over his broad chest.

“I’m a great student. Four-point-oh GPA.

Come on, Cillian, what exactly do you have to lose?

” I ask. This is possibly the most idiotic, insane thing I’ve ever done, but truthfully, what do either of us have to lose?

If anything, we both have something to gain here, and I am a newfound woman of opportunity.

It’s not like I could ask one of my girlfriends to teach me how to flirt.

Because, oh right, I have none . Fitz and Wren are really my only friends and just having that conversation with Fitz the other night was enough to solidify that this is not something that he can help with, nor do I want him to.

Obviously, I would never go to the guys on the team because I’d quite literally rather die than embarrass myself that way.

I would die a slow, extremely painful death before asking any one of them to help me find a guy to hook up with.

Cillian stares at me intently, an expression I can’t quite read on his face before he eventually shakes his head. “Sorry but I’m not that guy.” He rises from the bench and starts walking down the stairs.

“Wait, you’re going to just… leave?”

Turning, he looks back over his shoulder. “Yep. Cheers, St. James. Might want to head in before you catch a cold.”

I don’t bother to stop the groan that tumbles past my lips as I lean backward against the gazebo fence and drop my head onto the chipped wood once he’s gone.

Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any more humiliating.