Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1)

squirt a cool stream of water into my mouth, knowing it’ll be piss warm in an hour, and return the nearly empty bottle.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Lady Wildcat shooting you down, would it?” The question sounds innocent enough, but the shit-eating grin on his face tells me he knows exactly what’s driving my foul mood.
“She’ll be here,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “She needs the scholarship.”
I don’t bother to point out that we need her just as much as she needs us. Because if I have to watch the freshman front-runner—Jones? James? I can never remember the kid’s name—shank another field goal, I’m going to slam my head into a locker. The kid’s got potential, and he’ll be good—maybe even great—with time.
Unfortunately, time’s a luxury we don’t have.
Our home opener is in three weeks. We need a pressure player now. And Carter’s a pressure player. I read up on her last night, and I’m more convinced than ever that she’s exactly what this team needs.
“You did everything you could,” Coop says, clapping me on the shoulder. “We’ll find a way.”
“We always do.” I give him a fist bump and return to the line of scrimmage, slipping my helmet on as Coach yells at us to run a few plays.
Time to work.
I take a couple snaps, giving the guys a chance to practice running their routes as I warm up my arm. Most of these guys, even the ones who didn’t see much action last year, could run the playbook blindfolded. Seeing the team run plays like a well-oiled machine improves my mood, and I’m pumped when Coach Collins calls for The Gauntlet.
The guys line up in two rows, creating a narrow path parallel to the sideline. Coach instructs a couple of defensive tackles to get in the middle and the O-line gathers at the mouth of the human gauntlet, preparing for their individual runs.
Coop goes first, tucking the ball under his arm and barreling down the shoot. Wyant, a junior who’s built like a Mack truck, moves to block the run, but Coop spins at the last minute and blows by without too much trouble before juking past Bates. I smirk. They’ll have to be faster than that to have any hope of stripping the ball.
I watch with pride as a few more of my guys destroy The Gauntlet. By the time it’s my turn to make the run, the team is worked into a frenzy, shouting and shoving and taking bets on whether I’ll make it past the two thick tackles. I flash the cocky grin they expect from their captain and grip the ball, holding it tight to my right side as I plant my left foot and wait for the piercing shriek of the whistle.
Coach Collins lets it rip and I shoot forward, knowing my speed and height will be an advantage. Wyant charges and I drop my shoulder, like I’m prepared to go right through him. Wouldn’t be the first time.
He goes low, diving for my feet. I jump over him, clearing the first hurdle easily enough. Bates is more experienced and will be harder to fake out. He’s holding his position at the end of the tunnel and the guys are cheering him on, encouraging him to put me on my ass.
Not gonna happen.
I take two short steps and turn up the heat, deciding to rush him at full speed. He’s a big mofo, but we’re evenly matched and I like my odds. The cheering dies down and I glance to my left—rookie mistake—to see Carter through a break in the line of players.
Bates takes advantage of the distraction and plows his shoulder into my midsection, driving me right through the line and onto my ass. There’s a chorus of “Dayyyummm!” and “Oh shit!” but I barely hear them.
She came.
I heave a sigh of relief as Bates leans down and offers me a meaty paw. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet with little effort.
“Sorry, bro.”
“Don’t sweat it. I lost my focus.” Understatement. I didn’t even put up a fight and he knows it. “Nice tackle. Next time it won’t be so easy,” I say, pointing the ball—which is still clutched in my right hand—at him.
“I’m counting on it.” Bates gives me a devious grin and there’s no doubt he’s going to be rehashing his victory for days.
Worth it. Carter’s here, and she’s going to try out.
“Get your damn head in the game before Bates takes it off!” Coach barks, arms crossed over his chest. “We can’t afford another injury because you’ve got your head up your ass, Reid!”
“Yes, sir.”
The Gauntlet continues and I jog to the sideline, where Carter stands awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. I can feel the stares of the guys on my back. They’re far from subtle as they hoot and holler, speculation running rampant.
To be fair, it’s not often we have women show up at practice and when they do? Well, they usually fall into one of three categories: water girl, jersey chaser, or athletic trainer.
Carter sure as shit doesn’t look like a jersey chaser with navy athletic shorts and her dark hair falling over her shoulder in a tightly woven braid. Total wishful thinking on the part of the guys, hoping she’s searching for a hookup. And judging by the look on her face, she’s not exactly flattered. Her lips are pressed into a flat line and there’s a little wrinkle in her brow like she’s thinking of bolting.
Okay. Not getting off on the right foot. I turn and glare at my teammates, giving them the universal gesture for knock it the fuck off.
I join Carter on the sideline and strip off my helmet, tucking it under my arm. “You changed your mind.”
She keeps her gaze leveled at the field, refusing to meet my eye as she toys with the end of her braid. “Believe me, I’m as surprised as you are.”
Oh, it’s