Claiming Carter (Waverly Wildcats Book 1) Page 2

  I roll my eyes. “Shocker. A bunch of irresponsible football players getting wasted and doing dumb shit? I can hardly believe it.”

  “Hey, I never actually said we were wasted.” Reid throws his hands up defensively, like he’s worried I might quote him to the paper. “Besides, I told him not to take the dare.”

  “He obviously didn’t value your opinion much if he ignored it,” I point out, earning another laugh from Coop.

  “I like her,” he says, elbowing an annoyed-looking Reid. “She’s going to fit right in.”

  Like hell. “This has been fun and all, but I have to get to work. Good luck with your search.”

  “Didn’t you just come from work?” Coop asks, brows furrowed. “We heard—” He swallows the rest of the sentence, a sheepish grin on his face.

  My cheeks heat, and I do my best to stuff the embarrassment down deep. So what if they heard Coach dressing me down for being late?

  “Yes, well, my soccer scholarship is only a partial.” A sigh escapes before I can stop it. I’m bone-tired and the fall semester hasn’t even started yet. I straighten my spine and slam the door on that line of thinking. Carter women don’t do self-pity. I’ve got three years under my belt. I can do one more. I give Reid an icy glare, because, arrogant quarterback. “Those of us who live below the football gods actually have to work. And now you’ve made me late.”

  This time, he doesn’t try to stop me when I turn to go.

  “Spellman had to withdraw this semester, which means he won’t be playing ball this year. He had a full-ride.” Reid’s words are quiet, but there’s no mistaking the emphasis he places on the word had. “It’s too late to recruit a placekicker. The football program has scholarship money available.”

  I freeze midstride. A full-ride?

  “Remind me, Coop. What’s the going rate on a football scholarship?”

  “Thirty-six grand. Give or take.”

  No, it’s ridiculous. No one is going to give a woman a football scholarship at a D1 school. Not one who’s never played a day in her life. And certainly not one who despises the sport.

  “If you had a full-ride, you could quit working and focus on the game,” Reid says, sounding every bit like a snake in the garden as I turn to face him.

  Manipulative ass.

  I chew my lower lip, mulling over his words. We may have different priorities, but he’s right about one thing. If I had a full-ride, I could quit working—and put more focus on my academics.

  “You make the team, they’ll probably make one of those inspirational TV movies about you,” Coop quips, although I suspect he’s only half joking about the enormity of what they’re suggesting.

  The thought is sobering. This is a big freaking deal. It’s also utterly ridiculous. “Last I checked, the team captain doesn’t have the authority to make player selections or award scholarships.”

  Reid shrugs. “True. But if you come out to camp tomorrow, Coach Collins will give you a shot.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Under all that bluster, he’s a big old teddy bear.”

  Somehow, I doubt it. The man is regularly in the news for his sideline antics and is as likely to be seen throwing a clipboard as yelling at the refs.

  “What do you say?” Reid asks, a hopeful note in his voice.

  What can I say? As ridiculous as it sounds, a full-ride is what I’ve always wanted, but they’re few and far between. I could’ve gotten one at a lesser school, but soccer isn’t my endgame. I need to be somewhere with a strong engineering program and that’s Waverly, even if it means Mom and I both have to work our asses off to make ends meet.

  But a full-ride? Now? That would mean less work study. And it would ease Mom’s burden. She wouldn’t have to take so much overtime and God knows I’d do anything to lighten her load.

  The real problem is that even if this batshit-crazy idea works, I’ll have to give up soccer. There’s no way I can do both, and I can’t screw the team by quitting.

  “Not interested.” I adjust my bag and steel my resolve. I can’t afford to risk my soccer scholarship for a pipe dream. Besides, me hanging with a bunch of swaggering football players? Never going to happen.

  Reid’s face falls for an instant, but the cocky quarterback smirk is back in place before I can blink. “Why don’t you sleep on it, Carter?” He nudges Coop and they turn to go. They make it a whole three steps—yes, I counted—before Reid looks back at me over his shoulder, a challenge burning in his eyes. “Camp starts at eight tomorrow. You can meet us on the practice fields when you change your mind.”

  The arrogant bastard actually says when. Not if, when.

  “Spoiler alert, Reid. I won’t change my mind.” I plant my hands on my hips, determined to get the message through his thick skull. “I’d rather streak across campus naked than play ball with you.”

  Chapter Two

  Austin

  The day’s shaping up to be another scorcher and I’m already sweating through my pads thirty minutes into practice. Coach is putting us through the wringer with speed drills, and I’m not the only one dripping sweat. Coop’s looking good, and I give silent thanks that at least my top receiver’s got his head in the game, because the O-line looks like shit.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were out partying last night.

  “Come on, Jones! Get your balls wet!” I yell at the sophomore running back who’s going to see real action for the first time this year. He picks up the pace, and I clap my approval.

  Coop approaches and I lift my helmet, letting it rest on the crown of my head so I can get a little fresh air. Sweat runs down the back of my neck, but I don’t bother wiping it away. Plenty more where that came from.

  “What’s got your shorts in a twist?” Coop asks, offering me a water bottle.

  “Coach’s been riding my ass all morning.” I 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 like that?

  “Practice started at eight. You’re late.” I smirk, remembering her parting shot last night. “Streaking across campus naked?”

  She arches a brow, her dark eyes flashing with annoyance—which is kind of hot—as she turns to face me with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m here now.”

  “Indeed.” I turn back to the field and cup a hand to my mouth. “Hey, Coach! There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

  When Coach finally makes his way to the sideline, I’ve decided the direct approach is best. No sense beating around the bush, not when hard and fast is more my speed.

  “Coach, this is Kennedy Carter. She’d like to try out for the team.” To Collins’s credit, his jaw only falls half-open. “As a placekicker, sir.”

  Carter’s eyes are bugging out, and I can see the moment she realizes Coach had no idea she was coming. Like I was going to put my neck on the line with zero guarantee she’d show?

  Not fucking likely.

  “Is this a joke, Reid?” Coach looks from me to Carter and back again, his face growing red. “I am not—”

  “It’s no joke, sir.” I glance at Carter, giving her a reassuring smile. I’d hate to see her take off now. Once Coach sees what she can do, he’ll be singing a different tune. Coach and I? We speak the same language: football. “She’s been playing soccer since she was five. She’s got a strong leg.”

  Coach says nothing, just studies her face as if he can read her intentions and level of commitment. Hell, maybe he can. The guy’s been doing this for ages.

  Thankfully, Carter keeps her mouth shut. Coach isn’t big on sass. He’ll pump the brakes on the whole damn thing if she starts spouting off now.

  Finally, he steps back and looks her over from head to toe. Carter stands tall, chin lifted, shoulders back, unwavering in the face of his physical assessment.

  “You ever kick a football before?” Coach asks, narrowing his eyes. I can’t fault the guy for being skeptical. I’m not the only one under pressure to deliver a national title and this isn’t some campy feel-good movie where success is guaranteed.

  It’ll take blood, sweat, and a bucket of tears to claim the honor.

  “No, but I’m a quick study and what I lack in experience I’ll more than make up in determination.” Again with the unflinching confidence as she meets his gaze.

  “Sir, she can kick a ball.” I don’t mention that she’s probably got a better leg than both freshman combined. I doubt he’d appreciate my assessment, even if it’s spot-on.

  “Walk-on tryouts don’t start until after camp,” he says, rubbing his chin.

  “I know it’s unusual, but I thought it best given the circumstances.” I don’t dare mention Spellman’s name. No need to remind him of my role in that mess with a whole day of practice ahead. Not when he’s already busting my balls.

  Coach grunts. “Let me talk to Coach Jackson. Wait here.”

  Carter says nothing but looks at me expectantly. “Jackson is the Special Teams coordinator. He’ll be the one coaching you.”

  She nods, but says nothing, her gaze drifting back to the field where the team is running agility drills with the defensive coordinator. She looks wary as hell, and I can’t help but wonder why.

  It’s not like she’s got anything to lose.

  Kennedy

  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. It’s crazy. No, it’s crazy as fuck. Doesn’t help that my stomach’s twisted up tighter than a Philly pretzel. Stupid nerves. Or maybe it’s guilt. Kind of hard to tell the difference right now. Between Reid’s intense stare (which is bordering on stalkeriffic) and Coach Collins grunting my way as he talks to a bald dude rocking fluorescent green kicks (which totally clash with his blue and white Wildcat gear), I can hardly think straight.

  The only thing I know for sure? This is the last place I want to be.

  “Nervous?” Reid asks, that stupid smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “Hardly.” I cross my arms and shift my weight, wishing the coaches would just make up their damn minds because I’m starting to feel like a show pony.

  “Liar.” He leans close, his hot, spearminty breath whispering across my cheek. “I can see it in your eyes, Carter.”

  I lift my chin. Austin Reid will not get the best of me.

  “If we’re going to be teammates,” he says, giving my arm a playful shove, “you need to lighten up.”

  “That’s a big if,” I mutter, gaze locked on the field, determined not
to yield another goddamn inch to the obnoxious BMOC.

  “Naw,” he says, his voice taking on an “aww, shucks” quality. “It’s practically a done deal. Look at Jackson. He’s all but drooling over your leg.”

  I snort. Hardly looks like a sure thing from where I’m standing. Maybe the universe is going to spare me the humiliation of this experience and send me packing.

  Reid spins and steps in front of me, blocking my view of the field and forcing me to meet his eyes. We’re so close I can see the tiny white lines that streak across his blue irises like an electrical storm. “So what changed your mind?”

  What the hell? We just met like five seconds ago. Does he really think I’m going to open up and share all my personal shit? “Dude. You have serious boundary issues.”

  He laughs and adjusts the white headband that’s completely failing its mission to absorb the sweat dripping from his hair. It’s kind of sexy, but I’d die before admitting it aloud. “It’s not a trick question, Carter. You don’t have to get all defensive.”

  I shrug, striving for indifference.

  Like hell I’m going to admit the only reason I’m here is because my mom’s working seventy hours a week and it’s still not enough to make ends meet with my tuition bills. Or that her POS car—which is eight parts rust, two parts steel—is back in the shop.

  Hell, she sounded like she was about to drop when I called to check in last night. She’d never admit it, but I could hear it in her voice. She’s exhausted.

  And probably working herself to death.

  For me.

  So, yeah, I didn’t exactly have a choice when it came to showing up this morning. If I have any chance of landing a full scholarship, no matter how long the shot, I have to take it. Even if it means screwing over the soccer team.

  Guilt rears its ugly head and I swallow it back down, throat burning. I have to do this for my mom. She’s all I’ve got.