“Do you think I give a shit whether or not you’ve had coffee or that I woke you up?”Fuck. My coffee.In my haste and anger, I had completely forgotten about the flat white I had ordered and paid for, which was now undoubtedly cold.
He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the doorframe. “Look, the article was nothing but fun, a little harmless humor to start the year off before the stress begins. If I remember correctly, you were a girl who wouldn’t have given a shit about what other people think.”
“I don’t.”
He lifted a brow. “Let me buy you a cup of tea as an apology.” Holding up his hand, palm facing me in an upright salute, he said, “I promise to never publish another piece without your permission first. Deal?”
My eyes narrowed, not humored by his act. “Why would I agree to that?”
“For one, if you’re so worried about other people talking, being seen with me will give them something else to attach your name to.”
I choked. That was his solution. “No fucking thank you. I’m not interested in being involved in a campus scandal.”
“It’s just a drink, Splash,” he said, making it sound like a dare.
I lifted my chin, lips pressing into a thin line. “You say that, but your tone suggests something more. And in case your pea-size brain has already forgotten, I have a boyfriend.”
Sterling took a step forward, his frame just outside the door now. “And I don’t care.”
Whoa. Why did I suddenly feel like that girl in the movies who went into the scary house alone while running away from a serial killer, only for the serial killer to be waiting inside for her? Various degrees of warning bells chimed inside my head. I resisted the compulsion to take a retreating step, refusing to let him think he could intimidate me. “Back off,” I warned, firming and deepening my voice. For one damn second, I wanted him to take me seriously.
He disappointed me. Again. “I’ll wear you down. I always do.”
“You might want to get out your phone and record this. I’m giving you a quote for your next piece on me. Never going to fucking happen. I would sooner kiss a dozen poisonous frogs than be seen anywhere with you.” Feeling pretty fucking good about myself, I whirled and tramped down the stairs.
His laughter followed me to the pathway leading to the sidewalk. I stalked off, giving him an image to remember as my middle finger went up in the air.
Put that in your paper.
CHAPTERSEVEN
MADS
Four o’clock rolled around, and I’d just finished my final class for the week. Sometime between storming away from Sterling’s house and taking notes in my English lit class, I decided I had to talk with Micah.
If I hurried, I could catch him after practice. He had only three weeks until their first football game. Practices would be grueling until then, not that he complained. And once he finished running through their drills for the night, Grayson and Fynn would be here, not leaving me a lot of time to squeeze in the kind of conversation we needed to have.
I didn’t want to ruin the mood or the weekend before it had a chance to begin, but a nagging voice in my head told me I shouldn’t put this off any longer. I could continue to dodge Sterling’s advances if he insisted on not taking no for an answer, but Micah deserved to know that I was in no way encouraging him.
Dropping my laptop off at my door, I made a quick bathroom run and touched up my makeup. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror Kenna kept in the corner. The jeans were good but the top… could use an upgrade. Something a little less practical and a bit more flirtatious. There was nothing wrong with distracting him with the goods while I explained that a guy I once hooked up with went to school here. I was sure Micah had already guessed, but it would be better if he heard it from me.
Tucking a loose curl behind my ear, I locked our door and headed outside. The hot August air smacked into me, and I thought about ducking back inside for another few minutes of air conditioning. The weather had been yo-yoing between the idyllic temp of seventy-five and being able to fry an egg on the blacktop. Today the bottoms of my flip-flops were melting, and a dip in the fountain sounded like bliss right now.
I counted down the hours until the sun retired for the day, offering some relief from this sweltering heat. My heart went out to the guys who spent the hottest part of the day out on the field in uniform, running, tackling, and basically sweating their balls off.
When I got to the practice field, most of the players were gone, just a few staff stragglers gathering equipment and herding the lingerers into the locker room. I walked around the perimeter of the field to the athletic building, hoping to catch him before he left the locker room, if he hadn’t already.
I paced up and down the treelined pathway, wringing and twisting my fingers together as I thought about how I would start this conversation. It wasn’t something I could just blurt out. There needed to be a lead-up, and that was where I got stuck.
As I walked past the wooden bench for the twentieth time, I lifted my head at a group of guys piling out of the locker room. I scanned their faces, looking for Micah. Disappointment trickled into my belly, only asserting the restlessness within me.
The dozen or so guys paraded around me, chuckling and talking among themselves. It was only natural that I turned my head when someone called the name of a player. “Yo, Rivera.”
I cringed before my eyes connected with the owner of the voice.
Are you shitting me?
Sterling held his hand up in the air farther down the walkway, coming straight toward the group.