I went with my gut, based on the openness of his face and the easy way he smiled. “Um, this is kinda random, but I’m in charge of a study group that meets at the library sometimes. Tonight’s the first meeting of the semester. Would you like to come?”
“Sure, that would be great.” He smiled broadly, a pleased expression on his face.
Isabella muttered under her breath.
“Did you say something, Isa—Nicole?” I asked.
“Nothing but yay.” She shook her hands like she was holding pom-poms.
I smirked. Inviting him was a bit reckless considering she obviously didn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe it was because I knew how hard it was to make friends when you hadn’t started here as a freshman. I knew exactly how it felt to feel alone. Mimi and Isabella were all I had.
We exchanged numbers, and he left saying he had to get to class.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Isabella flew at me. “I am going to kill you.” She yanked out her purse and began to reapply her lipstick.
I smiled. “You’ll actually have to have a conversation with someone who’s had their appendage in you.”
She pointed at me. “You, my dear, have no right talking to me about pushing guys away. We both have relationship issues so don’t be trying to fix me.”
Ugh. She was right. Whatever.
A few minutes later, Bianca walked into the restaurant with Felix by her side.
Stuck like glue, Felix’s hand was tucked in her back pocket to keep her close. She laughed up at him when he said something, and I had to admit, they looked good together, her dark to his light. A bulky guy with clipped dark hair and scruff on his jawline, he was attractive—but sweaty. “Why does he look so shiny? He practically glows with sheen.”
Isabella followed my eyes and shrugged. “Word is he works out all the time. Trying to be better than Max, I suppose.” She sent me a considering glance. “FYI: beware of Bianca. Felix is just her latest. Word is she still wants the number one quarterback. I don’t want you to get hurt, Sugartits.”
Yeah. Neither did I.
My eyes went to Bianca’s leopard-print miniskirt and frilly black shirt. She looked more like a model than a student. I gazed down at my denim shorts. I really needed to ramp up my sexiness—especially before the home game this weekend. I hadn’t been able to attend the first one this past weekend because of work, and it was making Max antsy that I wasn’t in the stands watching him play—like a good girlfriend should.
As if she knew what I was thinking, Isabella chimed in with her opinion. “You need to wear something slutty to the next game.”
“You offering to let me in your closet?” I grinned.
“I am the best.”
I laughed and tossed a French fry at her. She tried to catch it with her mouth, making me giggle harder.
Bianca swept her eyes over at us, as if our shenanigans annoyed her. A sneer curled on her face as she went from me to Isabella.
Isabella flipped her off, and I laughed.
But underneath the table, my hands tightened. Yeah. I was feeling possessive of Max, and no way was I going to let her outdo me at the game. I definitely needed to go shopping . . .
Max
“GREAT GAME LAST WEEKEND.” THE pretty, twenty-something assistant smiled up at me as she led me into the Athletic Director’s office Wednesday afternoon.
She indicated I sit in a roomy leather armchair, her eyes brushing appreciatively over my frame as I settled in. “Dr. Carmen will see you in just a minute.”
“Great.” As usual, I hid my nervousness behind a cool smile.
As soon as Coach Williams had called me this morning and asked me to meet him here, I’d gotten clammy, my nerves itching at me and making me antsy. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what the hell I’d done wrong. No one got called to the AD unless it was bad news.
I rolled my neck to relax, my gaze checking out the heavy wood furniture, dark blue velvet drapes, and expensive gold medallion wallpaper. I took in framed photos of Dr. Carmen with past players, NFL players, MLB players, and even President Obama. I grew tenser. The place reeked of money and power. It had nothing to do with football, yet it was the place where big decisions were made. This is the office that hired Coach.
The door opened and three people entered. One was Coach Williams, who sent me a stern eye—pretty much his standard I see you there, player, which he gave us at any given moment. A tough and burly fellow from Alabama, he’d been at Leland for ten years and hadn’t had a bad season—although he hadn’t had a National Championship either. In his fifties, he was completely bald and wore it like he didn’t give a shit. I respected him a lot.