Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1)

wide, arms dangling loosely at their sides. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’ve had coaching on how to look unthreatening.
Or as unthreatening as possible, given they look like a Captain America-Thor matched set.
Mmm. Chris Hemsworth.
“This won’t take long.” Reid flashes a disarming smile. One that has surely relieved a few (hundred) Waverly women of their underwear. Figures. Austin Reid is even better looking in person than in The Collegian. The grainy black-and-white photos in the student paper don’t do him justice. The guy’s a beast, towering over my five-foot-ten frame by a good six inches. With muscles for days and electric-blue eyes that dance with barely contained energy, it’s no wonder women flock to him like freshmen to a rush party. I take satisfaction in the fact that his normally spiky hair is drooping in the humidity, falling over his forehead in a dark wave. After all, I’m a big ball of sweat so it only seems fair. “I’m Austin and this is Cooper.”
“You can call me Coop,” the Hemsworth doppelgänger says, extending his hand for me to shake. Judging by his size, another football player. He’s got broad shoulders, shaggy blond hair, and eyes like sea glass. And like Reid, he’s stupid hot. If you’re into meatheads. Which I’m not.
I grip my bag tighter, ignoring the proffered hand.
“We play football,” Coop says, his lopsided grin reminding me of Becca’s mischievous Labradoodle.
“And?” If the guy’s looking for someone to stroke his ego, he came to the wrong place, Labradoodle smile or no.
“We saw you play today,” Austin—Reid—says, smiling so his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’ve got a powerful leg.”
“And damn fine accuracy,” Coop adds, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.
“I’ve been playing soccer since I was five,” I blurt out, cursing myself for offering the information when I have no idea where this conversation is going. Not that it matters. Whatever they want, I’m not interested. “What’s your point?”
“Look, I understand you’re in a hurry, so I’ll cut to the chase.”
I raise a brow. Quick, this one.
“Waverly football needs a quality kicker.” Reid takes a step forward as if all that bottled-up energy is propelling him into motion.
“And?” I shift my bag, impatience getting the better of me. If I don’t hit the shower, I’m going to miss the bus. “I’m still not seeing what this has to do with me.”
“Really?” Coop smirks, looking me over from head to toe as if he’s sizing me up. “You’re a mechanical engineering major. Pretty sure you’ve got the brainpower to put two and two together.”
Before I can decide if I should be offended or flattered, Reid pins his buddy with a withering glare. “What my teammate is trying to say is that we want you to try out for the football team.”
This time I actually laugh out loud, making no attempt to stifle my hysterical giggles even as tears leak down my cheeks. Because, come on, it’s ridiculous. Me? On the football team? They can’t be serious.
When I finally catch my breath, I realize they aren’t laughing.
Maybe they’re high. “Have you been smoking?” I ask, because, no filter.
They look at each other and then back at me. “Smoking?”
“You know, weed? Pot? Or whatever the cool kids are calling it these days.” I check their pupils. Huh, surprisingly clear.
“I’m serious,” Reid says, planting his hands on his hips, expression unreadable.
“Besides, we don’t smoke during the season,” Coop chimes in like he’s immensely proud of this show of restraint. “Gotta keep our reflexes tight.”
Fucking ballers.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” I say, looking pointedly around the field, “I’m already on a team. Besides, I don’t even like football.”
Or football players.
“Seriously?” Reid shakes his head in apparent disbelief. “Everyone likes football. It’s America’s favorite pastime.”
“Pretty sure that’s baseball.”
“Debatable,” he says as Coop mutters, “Baseball is for pussies.”
Reid and I both ignore him. The rivalry between the two teams is legendary at Waverly.
“What’ll it take to convince you?” Reid asks.
“A miracle.” I smile sweetly and turn on my heel, but before I can take a step, Reid grabs my arm. A spark of awareness shoots straight to my belly, reminding me it’s been a while—seven months and twenty-three days to be exact—since a guy touched me. His grip is gentle but firm, his calloused fingers wrapped around my forearm. It’s not threatening. If anything, it reeks of desperation. Just like his absurd suggestion that I try out for the football team.
“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I’m serious.” Frustration flashes in his eyes, like it’s the first time in his life he hasn’t gotten his way, and he doesn’t know how to deal. “We need a quality kicker to save our season.”
“Trust me, I’m not your girl.” I twist out of his grip, breaking the unwanted connection.
“How can you be so sure?”
I smirk. “Oh, let me count the reasons.” I hold up my fingers and begin ticking them off as I go. “I’m a soccer player. Your last kicker is bedridden.” I pause, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “And let’s be honest, you’ve probably had one too many concussions if you think this is a good idea.”
Coop snorts, pressing his fist to his mouth to stifle a laugh. It doesn’t work. A smile tugs at the corner of my own lips, and I give myself silent props for hilarity.
Reid ignores his teammate, eyes locked on me. The smile is back in place, even broader than before, this time accompanied by a tiny dimple in his chin. A dimple that, were it not attached to a football player, would totally be my kryptonite.
Talk about a waste of a perfectly good dimple.
“I watched you kick. It’s not that different,” Reid says. “If you can kick a long ball, you can learn to kick a field goal. And while our previous kicker may be laid up, that’s because of an asinine dare, not the game.”
I roll my eyes. “Shocker. A bunch of irresponsible football players getting wasted and doing dumb shit? I