Page 13 of Red Card (Prescott University #1)

Rory

Rory: Hi, it’s Rory.

Cillian: Figured as much.

Rory: Why? It could have been someone else. If I remember correctly, you collect phone numbers like they’re trading cards.

Cillian: Not much of a texter.

Rory: This is me shocked

Rory: Also completely unsurprising since you’re so averse to talking to people. Makes sense that you’d hate texting too

Rory: I think you just hate people in general but also fair

Rory: Anyway, when should our first lesson be?

Cillian: Don’t make this weird.

Rory: You’re no fun.

Cillian: Now?

Rory: Like… right now? Tonight?

Cillian: I’ll pick you up in an hour. Send me the address.

Rory: Cillian, seriously? What about the plan… this is not a plan!

Cillian: Cheers

I drop my phone onto my stomach as I stare up at the stark white ceiling above me, my heart battering wildly in my chest.

Holy shit. Is this actually happening right now?

I can’t believe one slightly drunken ramble turned into this… I can’t believe he actually took me up on it.

It just kind of came pouring out of me after the run-in with board shorts guy, and I just couldn’t help myself. I’d been holding all that in for so long that I word vomited to the first person who doesn’t know me as Rory, one of the bros.

But that’s where Cillian is different. He’s not one of the guys I’ve spent my entire college career around, that I’ve basically grown up with. He’s not someone I consider a brother. He doesn’t know me at all, which makes him unbiased.

Sure, this agreement is mutually beneficial. We both have skin in the game.

Except there are two things I didn’t consider in this entire proposition.

One… Cillian’s going to teach me how to do all of it and I am actually attracted to him because, I mean let’s be real, how could I not be? He looks like a model. A broody, grumpy, hate-the-world-and-everyone-in-it model, and now that makes me feel nervous.

He’s going to see me make a complete ass out of myself, undoubtedly.

And two, I haven’t figured out exactly how I’m going to hold up my end of the bargain. How I’m going to get the guys to let him in, to trust him. They trust me , but I’ve got to come up with a plan to convince them to trust Cillian. At least enough so they can sync on the pitch.

Sitting up from my bed, I toss my phone beside me onto the mattress.

First things first: Figuring out what to wear tonight.

Because I have zero fashion sense and absolutely no idea how to dress for any occasion, it takes entirely too long to decide on something, and I end up pulling everything I own out of my closet and throwing it into a pile in the middle of my bedroom floor.

And still I end up in my favorite old sweatshirt that has the faded words PRESCOTT RUGBY across the chest. The fabric is soft and worn, and it’s my favorite piece of comfort clothing.

I put on a pair of black wide-legged yoga pants and realize that deciding what to wear is exhausting, and I am completely over it.

I stare into the mirror at my reflection, trying to figure out where I would even begin if I wanted to put on makeup, or do something with my hair aside from putting it into my signature pony or wearing it loose around my face.

I don’t even own makeup except for a few tubes of mascara that are probably well past the expiration date. Makeup does expire, I think?

I’m honestly just… hopeless at most things that deal with being a girl. I never had much interest in makeup and fashion, and since I was raised by just my dad, it’s not something that he ever really knew anything about either.

So, I just brush my hair and toss it up in a high ponytail, and that is that.

Exactly an hour later, Cillian sends me a text.

Cillian: I’m outside. Bring a jacket.

Cillian: And a beanie, if you have one.

My brow furrows as I read the message. Ooookay.

I head to the front door, grab my keys from the bar counter along with my jacket and a beanie, then walk outside.

I realize the moment that I see him parked in front of my apartment exactly why he told me to bring it.

Because of course the tattooed British bad boy drives a freaking motorcycle .

In New England.

In the dead of winter .

This is the most cliché thing I’ve ever seen and honestly, I’m not even the least bit surprised.

“You would ,” I say as I come to a stop in front of him, my lips curved into a smirk.

He’s leaning casually against the seat of the sleek black bike, his arms crossed over his chest, that smoldering, broody expression a permanent fixture on his face.

He looks every bit the bad boy that his reputation paints him to be.

He’s wearing a dark gray hoodie beneath a thick black jacket with worn, faded jeans that hug his thick, muscular thighs.

Of course I notice the thighs.

He gives me a flat look. “I would, what?”

“You would drive a motorcycle. Fits the whole bad boy vibe you’ve got going on. Actually, where’s the leather jacket?” I grin as I tug the beanie onto my head, over the tips of my ears.

He extends a helmet my way. It’s midnight black with a dark glass visor. “Put this on.”

“Where’s yours?” I respond, taking it from him. I’ve never been on a bike before, but I’ve always wanted to. Yes, I too have fallen victim to the thirst traps on social media of hot bikers and immediately added this to my bucket list. Very high up.

Cillian jerks his head in a nod toward the helmet in my hands. “You’re holding it.”

“What? I’m not taking yours. You need one too, Cill—” I’m cut off mid-sentence as he tugs it from my grip and steps forward, sliding it onto my head in one quick, effortless yet gentle motion.

“You’re wearing the bloody helmet, Rory. Now get on the damn bike.” His voice is smooth like velvet as he speaks, each syllable rolling off his tongue with precision.

Okay, that’s stupidly… attractive. Why am I turned on by this right now?

This growly, alpha energy.

I can feel the heat of his body as it brushes along mine, causing my nipples to tighten.

Oh God, am I falling… victim to the bad boy vibe? Is that what’s going on here? Like this isn’t already weird enough, I’m realizing just how attracted I actually am to him.

Perfect. Let’s complicate this a bit more why don’t we?

I blink rapidly, my brain short-circuiting for a moment before I clear my throat, nodding. “Okay, fine. But not because you told me to. Only because I’ve always wanted to ride one of these.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he pulls the hood up on his head and gets on the bike. “Use me for balance and swing your leg over.”

I follow his instructions, placing my palm along his shoulder as I hoist my leg over and straddle the seat.

He looks back at me, twisting then grabbing my hands and sliding them around his waist until they’re clasped in the front. I can feel the hard muscles of his abs beneath my hands, and I swallow roughly. There must be at least a dozen of them.

“Hold on just like this, and don’t let go. Lean with me when we turn.” He squeezes his fingers around mine to drive his point home.

I nod, suddenly feeling nervous. He flips the visor down before turning back and starting the bike.

The engine roars to life, vibrating beneath us as he grips the handlebars.

“Tighter,” he says loudly over the sound of the engine, bringing his hand to the top of mine and squeezing again.

I tighten my hold around his waist, my fingers fisting into the front of his hoodie and with one last nod, he pulls off the curb onto the street.

My thighs squeeze around his waist as he accelerates and my heart thunders.

At first, I’m too focused on holding on to Cillian, making sure that I don’t end up on the pavement, to take in my surroundings.

But when I feel his hand on top of mine, there’s something oddly reassuring about it and makes it easier to relax.

I watch campus fly by, the lights glowing little specks as we speed down the highway, and even though I’m wearing a thick sweatshirt, jacket, and beanie, the wind seeps through the fabric, chilling me to the bone.

Still, it’s the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever experienced. It feels like freedom, like I’m flying. Part of me wants to throw my arms out and close my eyes, pretending that I am even if it’s just for the briefest moment.

But I stay firmly wrapped around Cillian. Before I know it, we’re on the outskirts of town, where everything’s a bit less crowded and quieter, pulling into the parking lot of a small bar. Cillian parks in the front, cutting off the engine and sliding off the bike effortlessly.

“Wow,” I breathe once he pulls the helmet off. “That was actually the most terrifying and incredible moment of my life.”

I’m not prepared for the deep chuckle that fills the air between us, and it makes my stomach flip. It’s… nice.

He sets the helmet on the seat, and then offers me his hand, helping me off the bike. “First few times are always like that.”

There’s a slight curve of his full lips and it almost feels like he’s speaking about something else, but I’m not entirely sure so I just nod.

We head to the front of the bar, and as we walk through the entrance I feel Cillian’s hand pressing against the small of my back, guiding me through the door.

It’s the faintest, barest brush of this palm, but for some reason it makes my heart race and my pulse thrum.

Get it together, Rory.

My God.

I’m being ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

Cillian slides into the booth across from me once we’ve grabbed our drinks and he shrugs out of his jacket, leaving him in his gray hoodie.

“So…” I say between sips of my Cherry Coke, “what’s the plan? How should we do this? Where do you think we should start?”

“Never given anyone flirting lessons before so I don’t exactly have one, St. James,” he says as he watches me toy with the black straw in my drink, moving it around the cup. “I only caught some of what happened the other night, so I guess we start by me seeing you in action. Fully.”

This is what I was dreading. Obviously, I knew that he was going to witness me embarrassing myself yet again—it’s inevitable when he’s the one teaching me how to fix it—but it doesn’t make it any easier to prepare for.

“It’s going to be painful. Extremely painful. I’m warning you. Last time was only the tip of the iceberg, I fear,” I say after another quick sip. “Now that I’m thinking about it, we should probably just skip this stage altogether and get right to the good stuff. You know, the teaching part.”

His brow lifts as his pupil’s flare. “You want my help?”

“Obviously, yes, I want your help, Romeo.” I roll my eyes.

“Then I need to see you in action. I can’t fix something when I don’t even know what’s supposedly broken. All I know is what you’ve told me, and that might not even be the issue.”

Okay… well when he says it that way, that’s fair.

I huff out a breath and nod, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back in the seat. “Okay, but don’t laugh at me. What do I need to do?”

“Go sit at the bar, order a drink.” He gestures toward the long bar that sits in the middle of the room.

It’s fairly dead for a weekend, surprisingly, and there are a few empty seats.

“Smile, be approachable. Let the lads come to you. And I’m going to sit here and observe.

” Cillian shrugs, as if any of those things are so simple and easy.

Maybe for him, but not for me. Never for me.

I’m the queen of fumbling.

What does approachable even mean?

“The chances of someone coming up to me are very slim, Cillian.”

His brow furrows, and he shakes his head. “Why? You’re a hot college girl. Someone’s going to talk to you. Go on. Stop wasting time.”

Wait, Cillian thinks… I’m hot ? A guy like him, thinks I’m hot? Well, that was unexpected, but okay.

Using his words as encouragement, I nod and exhale a shaky breath, releasing my shoulders while I work on internally hyping myself up.

I got this. I can do it.

When this is over I’m going to be the most confident, smooth, badass bitch ever and it will all be worth it. Every embarrassing moment.

Once I’m seated at the end of the bar, and I’ve ordered a double shot of vodka and Red Bull, my nerves are going haywire, a flurry of energy dancing in my stomach.

It’s one thing to make a fool of myself flirting with a random guy at a random bar when I’m alone, but an entirely different thing to know that someone’s going to be watching as I do.

It makes me even more anxious about the task Cillian’s assigned me. Like there’s more pressure on me knowing that I’m going to be judged on this.

I’m already thinking about the disastrous outcome, and nothing’s even happened yet. Something that I tend to do when I get nervous.

The bartender slides my drink across the bar to me, and I smile, thanking him. And then, I wait.

And wait.

And… wait more.

Sneaking glances at Cillian every few minutes because I can practically feel the weight of his stare on me.

God, this is mortifying.

I told him that no one is just going to randomly come up and talk to me because that’s just how th—

“Hey.” A smooth, velvety deep voice comes from beside me, and I’m so lost in thought that it startles me, causing me to nearly knock my drink over.

I turn toward the voice and see a tall guy with dark hair, a short mustache, and a lazy, boyish grin wearing a hockey jersey.

He’s… cute.

Which sends my stomach in a flip and my heart battering against my rib cage.

Okay, this is it. I can do this. This is exactly what is supposed to be happening, I remind myself. Exactly why Cillian sent me over here.

My gaze darts to where he’s sitting in the booth, catching his eyes. He nods as he lifts a brow.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I’m just going to keep gaslighting myself into believing it.