Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University 1)

It can’t be.

B watches me intently. As much as I want to deny it, I just can’t seem to form the words. A slow cat-that-ate-the-canary smile grows on his face. “Thought so.”

I get up, rake my fingers through my hair, stretch out my back.

“Rea! Where are you going?” Dallas shouts from somewhere behind me.

My feet carry me away before I even know how to answer.

Alice

“Jersey,” I hear while I’m in line to pay for my turkey sandwich.

I’m starving. Having both crutches tucked under one arm and the food tray in the other is a gamble. Considering the hole in my gut, however, it’s one I’m willing to take.

Reagan walks up to me wearing a lopsided grin, the plate tectonics of his face shifting to render him even more tediously handsome. All over the cafeteria, heads lift. Gazes sharpen. It’s a given that wherever Reagan Reynolds goes so do eyeballs. Case in point, most of the people in this joint are watching us. Which makes my skin crawl.

There’s a good reason I live behind the camera: I’m a natural-born observer. All my instincts rebel at the notion of being on the receiving end of any attention and this is a lot of attention.

“Well if it isn’t the Reagan Reynolds.”

The flash in his eyes has an involuntary smile sneaking up on me. There’s something innately smile-inducing about Reagan. Gorgeous face not included.

He takes inventory of my situation––the tray I’m holding, the crutches––and frowns. Then, ever the gentleman, he reaches out for my food tray and practically knocks me to the ground in the process.

The crutches clatter loudly. I wobble, on the verge of face-planting. But right before that can happen, a muscular arm wraps around my waist and saves me.

“Is someone paying you to maim me? Or are you really this sloppy out of the water?” While the people in line behind me graciously pick up my crutches and hand them to me, he pulls me closer. A smirk already in place.

“Trust me, I’ve got rhythm where it counts,” he murmurs quietly for my ears only. His eyes move over my face and pause on my lips.

He’s an unapologetic flirt, that’s for sure. “You did not just say that.”

“I think I did––”

“What a cheeseball you turned out to be.”

On a deep inhale, I catch a whiff of him. The subtle scent of laundry detergent, a trace of chlorine, and a hint of eau de stud muffin. I waste no time sucking in more of it.

He pulls away, helps me find my balance on the crutches, and gently lets go. I feel strangely bereft without the hard, steady presence of his body anchoring me down. This friends-only thing sucks.

And to add insult to injury I haven’t been on a date in forever. And when I say been on a date, I mean I haven’t had sex since senior year in high school. That’s embarrassing! But I won’t apologize for being choosy about my sexual partners. The sizzle hardly ever happens to me and I need sizzle to sleep with someone. Otherwise, what’s the point? I’ll satisfy my own needs.

Problem is, I’m currently experiencing sizzle with the wrong person. One that’s not interested in anything sizzle related with me. Like I said, this friends-only thing sucks.

“Mind if I eat with you? I have an hour before my next class.”

I peek around his shoulder, and through the glass-paned wall that overlooks the quad, I spot his teammates still out there.

Every single one of them is tall, tan, armed with a thousand-watt smile and the confidence to flaunt it. It’s not fair. And a hazard to the general public. Traveling in a pack of guys that smoking hot should be criminalized. People could injure themselves rubbernecking to stare.

The reckless blond, Dallas, catches sight of us and alarm bells ring. It’s only a matter of time before they all migrate over here and if one likes to fly under the radar like I do it’s enough to make one want to run.

“Aren’t your friends waiting for you?” Fingers crossed he gets the hint that I don’t want to be around when they do.

He follows my gaze over his shoulder and pauses at the sight of his friends. When his attention returns to me, he’s wearing a teasing smile. “They know how to feed themselves. Come on, let’s grab a table and I’ll get our food.”

Without waiting for a reply, he escorts me to an empty one and leaves. Ten minutes later he’s placing a tray in front of me with the same turkey sandwich, Terra chips, and bottle of water I was about to buy before he crashed into me.

“Did you find a new job yet?” he says as he bites into the first of his turkey sandwich. There’s two of them on his tray. Plus a large bag of chips, yogurt, and an apple. Can one human actually consume this much food? I’m about to find out.