Page 18 of Eight Count Heat
The corner of her mouth twitches upward. "Choosing classes based on academic rigor, I see."
"Hey, some of us have to balance intellect with our stunning good looks and athletic prowess." I pat my chest dramatically. "It's a burden."
This time she actually smiles, small but genuine. "Must be exhausting."
"You have no idea."
I study her while she unpacks her notebook. Without her cox hat and the stern expression she wears on the water, she looks younger. There's a softness to her features that she tries to hide. Delicate cheekbones, a small nose with a light scatter of freckles across the bridge, and lips that seem perpetually on the verge of smirking. Her lashes are long and dark against her skin, which has the warm glow of someone who spends their life on the water.
But there's nothing soft about the way she carries herself. Her shoulders stay squared, her movements precise and controlled. Always alert, like she's navigating dangerous currents.
"How are you settling in?" I ask as she arranges her pens in order of color. Type A organization. Just like Gray.
"Fine." Her standard answer for everything.
"Liar."
She looks up, startled.
"I heard Kinsley and her minions cornered you this morning," I explain. "That's not 'fine' by any definition."
Reese's guard visibly goes back up. "It was nothing."
"Kinsley Adams is never nothing. She's been extra territorial since Gray broke things off."
"Their relationship status isn't—"
"Relevant to your ability to steer a boat," I finish for her. "Yeah, so I’ve heard. But knowing the social dynamics here might help you avoid some headaches."
She taps her pen against her notebook. "Speaking from experience?"
"You could say that." I shrug, deliberately casual. "Dated Olivia Perkins, the redhead in Kinsley's crew, freshman year. Bad idea."
"Shocking."
"I know, right? Who could possibly find all this charm resistible?" I gesture to myself with a grin.
Professor Winters shuffles in before Reese can respond, and class begins. I spend most of the lecture doodling in my notebook and sneaking glances at our coxswain. She takes meticulous notes, her handwriting small and neat, completely absorbed in the discussion of narrative structure and pacing.
When class ends, I catch her checking her watch. "Heading to practice?" I ask, gathering my things.
"After I drop my books at my dorm."
"Where are you housed?"
"Westover Hall."
I raise my eyebrows. "Fancy."
"My parents insisted." There's a slight edge to her voice.
"I'm parked in South Lot. I can drive you. It's on the way to the boathouse."
She hesitates, and I can practically see her weighing her options.
"No ulterior motives," I add, raising my hands. "Just team bonding. Promise."
"You always this nice to the new recruits, Hollis?"
