Hail Mary (BSU Football Book 2)

eye contact with him for an uncomfortably long time.
He finally gets restless and saunters to my table. He doesn’t sit down. “Are you stalking me?”
“Is my pursuing you in an obsessive manner upsetting?”
His gaze darts from my eyes to my lips, my hair and not so subtly to my breasts before making the trip back up. “Yes.”
I close my textbook and fold my arms on the table, leaning into them and tilting my head to look up at his six-foot-something height. “Do you want me to stop?”
“We had this conversation yesterday,” he growls.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Coach warned me to stay away from you.”
I bet he did, controlling prick. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does what he’s told.”
His eyes narrow. “How old are you?”
“How old do you want me to be?”
“Don’t fuck with me,” he says under his breath. “You told Ro you just graduated. But you were in the bar the night we—”
“I have a fake ID.” I smile seductively at the thrill of seeing flickering dread behind his eyes. “I’m nineteen. Don’t tell me you actually care.”
He runs a hand through his hair and scratches at his jaw, dusted in a day’s worth of beard growth. I have an urge to rub up against it and feel the burn against my skin. Lick from his throat to his lips—
“Stop looking at me like that.”
I uncross my legs under the table, feeling restless and hot. “Like what?”
“Stay away from me.”
Do I detect a quiver of unease in his voice?
“I’m serious, kitten.”
Kitten? Meow.
“Promise me.”
When I don’t answer he turns and storms out of the coffee shop.
I’ve got him right where I want him. The bad news for him? I never do what I’m told.

Chapter Six


Spider
Our team drags ass to the showers after a killer training session. Emery’s obviously getting to her dad in ways that don’t include me because he was in a foul fucking mood. Practice went two hours over, and half the team ended up puking on the sideline.
The hot water is heaven on my fatigued muscles, and I plan to eat my weight in carbs as soon as the nausea wears off.
Carey stands at the spigot next to mine. “Rowan told me you ran into Emery at Bean Madness.”
I drop my chin to my chest allowing the water pressure to pound against my neck.
“You need to leave her alone, man. If coach finds out—”
“I know.” I’m fucking trying. Everywhere I look I see her. Between classes, in the commons, I swear she’s following me. “I’m trying.”
“What do you mean you’re trying? Just do it.”
If it were only that easy.
I wish I’d never met Emery Brawley. I wish the night she approached me in the bar, wearing that conservative black dress, that I’d have brushed her off as a basic, uptight bitch. I wish I never saw the flicker of danger in her eyes, never tasted the rebel that lives beneath her librarian exterior. I wish like hell I could erase the memory of the filthy things she whispered in my ear while I pounded her into her floral bed sheets.
But I can’t.
She’s bad for me—an immoral indulgence wrapped in Sunday school teacher’s clothes. Her neurotic personality intrigues me. Am I too far gone, fallen so far that there’s no going back? Am I drunk on her deviancy that she’s tattooed on my insides now?
I finish with the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. Once at my locker I use my towel to dry my hair when a tension fills the room with muttered what the fucks. I turn around and my gaze snags on the source of the disruption.
Emery strolls through the room filled with a couple dozen naked men as if she’s leisurely browsing through Target.
“Whoa, sweetheart,” Kaipo says, stepping in front of her in nothing but a white towel. His enormous body blocks her path; she takes a moment to openly appreciate his physique. “You can’t be in here.”
She tips up her chin defiantly. “Says who?”
“Says common sense. It’s the men’s locker room. Or did you not see the sign on the door.” He’s teasing her.
I don’t like it.
“Oh, I saw it. I just don’t care.”
He stares at her for a silent moment before his booming laughter echoes through the concrete space. “All right then, honey.” He steps aside with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “Come on in. If testicles make you squeamish, I’d keep your eyes high.”
“I appreciate the warning.” She sits on the bench in the middle of the room, all of us watching her with our towels held to our dicks. She takes a slow look around the space, not hiding her appreciation for the athletic bodies that surround her. Her gaze snags on mine and lingers until she eventually blinks away. “I don’t suppose any of you fine looking gentlemen would be interested in a date, would you?”
At least a dozen men pipe up with some variation of “Yes, fucking, please.” Some of them step closer to talk to her, clearly unaware she’s Coach Brawley’s daughter. My other roommate, Loren, holds his hand out to her. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of jeans open at the fly. She takes his hand and smiles hungrily up at him. He pulls her to her feet and with his free hand reaches out and touches her hair.
“Hands off.” The menacing tone in my voice surprises even me.
Loren aims a worried glance at me, removes his hands from her, and takes a step back. “Sorry, Spider.”
I ignore the punk, grab her by her elbow and drag her away from the group of drooling men into a sports medicine room with no windows. I slam the door, lock it, push her against the wall and cup her throat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
She’s breathing heavy, her pulse rapid-fire against my palm, and a soft purr hums in her throat. “Getting your attention.”
I shove up into her space, pinning her to the wall with my