Page 1 of You Owe Me

CHAPTER ONE

Rumor has it she tamed the campus devil.

Maverick

I check my watch for the third time in the last sixty seconds. One hundred thirty-two BPM. Elevated, but manageable. It’s probably the mocktail I drank. The one Ainsley offered, and I immediately shot down. I’d rather lick a subway pole, but she batted her lashes and called me a “fun sponge,” and I caved. Apparently, long lashes and peer pressure is all it takes to turn me into a fucking chump.

“James!” I bark across the field. “Remember, the point of the game is toactuallykick the ball.”

She walks up to home plate with these ridiculously frayed shorts that highlight her long, bronze legs, courtesy of our Panama City summer vacation.

“Remember who sleeps naked, Lexington.” Her ponytail sways as she steps up to home plate, flashing me a deadly smirk. There’s fire in her eyes that promises retribution. “Spoiler alert: it’s not your teammates.”

She’s getting her ass spanked when we get home.

She knows better than to announce shit like that for everyone to hear.

I glance over at Rowan, watching for any reaction that might get him killed. He and Sebastian better not be having fantasies of my girl naked.

“Ainsley,” I warn, taking a step off first base, ignoring Sebastian’s laughter.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he slurs like a drunk wedding DJ, “now batting: Ainsley James, who is responsible for at least two of Maverick Lexington’s premature gray hairs!”

And he’s only three beers in.

“I don’t have gray hair,” I mutter, fixing him with the stare that makes freshmen fold like bad poker hands.

But on Ainsley, it just ignites that fucking look that dares me to play this game with her.

She narrows her eyes, and her lips twist into a wild grin. “You will after I’m done with you, love.”

Rowan groans from the pitcher’s mound. “Can we please play the damn game? Some of us have shit to do that doesn’t involve your foreplay.”

“It’s not foreplay,” Ainsley and I say in sync.

Fucking hell.

“Right,” Eliza deadpans from behind home plate. “And I’m not getting wet just by watching you two.”

This time, we all groan.

I swear, Eliza joined these games just to annoy the shit out of me. When Ainsley said her lab partner was a detail-oriented overachiever, I thought she’d be the kind of person to mellow James out. Turns out, she’s a chaos enabler with a disgusting sense of humor.

I drag my eyes back to the game, forcing myself to stop watching the way Ainsley’s hips sway as she readies to kick the ball.

Rowan lines up the pitch, rolling the red rubber ball down the dirt like he’s bored with our collective existence. It bounces once—lazy and unimpressive.

Ainsley, on the other hand?

Not lazy. Not unimpressive.

Her expression tightens, all that wild-ass energy funneling into one goal.

Her foot connects.

And fuck me.

The ball rockets through the air, soaring in a flawless arc straight toward me, or more accurately, toward my face.

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