“Kyle Stanton …”
“You can leave it at ‘Kyle’ whenever you say my name.” He laughed, rolling off me. “Adding my last name makes it a bit too formal, and I’m not really into historical romance.”
Standing to his feet, he bent down and grabbed my wrists, helping me up amidst a round of roaring applause. The crowd was literally applauding his assault on me, as if he’d done something heroic.
“Why aren’t the campus police arresting you right now?” I asked.
“Because you were seconds away from walking into the fail pit and jinxing our entire season,” he said, pointing to the superstitious grey area that’d been blocked off since Pitt’s only loss to Louisville during our sophomore year.
No one ever stepped in that spot. Ever.
My eyes widened as I looked over at it. “It’s usually on the right side.”
“It still is.” He raised his eyebrow. “Were you that distracted by me that you couldn’t tell directions?”
“I wasn’t even looking at you.” I crossed my arms. “You can’t possibly think that I was giving you any attention.”
“Maybe I thought you were finally going to stare back at me for a change this season,” he said. “I stare at you on the sidelines all the time.”
“That’s … a waste.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say. “I was on my way to get some water.”
“Yo, Berman!” He shouted, keeping his eyes on mine.
“Yes?” A young guy in a blue baseball cap rushed over with a bag. “Need another snack?”
“Not right now. Can you give my favorite cheerleader of all time a bottled water from your bag, please?”
The young guy nodded and handed me a perfectly chilled bottle. “Here you are, Miss.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He rushed away to help someone else.
Kyle moved closer and lowered his voice. “Since I just saved you from being a pariah on campus for the rest of the year, how do you want to thank me?”
Getting an up-close view of his face again, I got lost in the way his defined lips looked, lost in the way his abs—
Wake the hell up, Court.
“I’ll thank you by saying, Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I think you can do better than that.”
“No, I really can’t.”
“Would you like some suggestions?”
I stared at him blankly as that sexy smile spread across his face again. From right here, I could honestly see why most girls dropped their panties at the sight of him and let him have his way.
I could also see that engaging in this conversation for another second wouldn’t lead to anything worthwhile, so I turned around and walked away.
Returning to my space in the cheer zone, I downed the water before joining in on the one part that I loved about every event: A yelled version of “Sweet Caroline.”
“See? That’s what I mean.” Coach Tina whispered into my ear once the song ended. “If Kyle Stanton had tackled me with his rock-hard body, in front of everyone, he would be walking me out of here and into his bedroom.”
I rolled my eyes and faced her. “You do know that he goes through girls on this campus like it’s his full-time job, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” She nodded. “But I also know that you’re a cheerleader. Your pussy is magical. Trust me on that.”
I trust that I should’ve quit the team last season …
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
Hours later
“Please behave this weekend, gentlemen!” The offensive coordinator stood in front of me, looking right into my eyes, the moment the bonfire ended. “There’s no game until next Saturday, but we don’t need any unnecessary distractions as we embark on this historic season, do we?”
“Sir, no, sir!” The entire team responded to him.
Well, everyone except me because I didn’t believe in making promises that I couldn’t keep. That, and I didn’t consider sex “unnecessary” in the slightest.
“I said, we don’t need any unnecessary distractions as we embark on this historic season, do we?” He repeated, keeping his eyes on mine.
“I heard you the first time.” I smiled. “Why does it feel like you’re only talking to me, though?”
“Because I am, Kyle.” He crossed his arms. “I fucking am. Don’t you dare throw that off-campus bonfire this year.”
“Bonfire?” I shrugged. “We just had the official bonfire tonight.”
“You know what the hell he’s talking about, Kyle!” Coach Whitten, the head coach and the guy who I’d come to regard as a father, called out from across the room. “Go home and watch some game film tonight. No parties.”
“That’s what I was planning to do, Coach,” I said, stepping closer to Grayson. “Ask the well-behaved Mr. Connors.”
Grayson shot me a “You’re so full of shit” look, but he took my side.
“It’s true, Coach Whitten,” he said. “Kyle will be with me tonight.”
“Well, in that case, the entire coaching staff can sleep easy.” Coach blew his whistle. “Everyone is free to go until tomorrow afternoon’s practice.”