Page 11 of Eight Count Heat
"You didn't share," Reese points out. "I took them."
"And I let you," I counter, winking again.
This time, there's the barest hint of amusement in her eyes before she shutters it. Progress.
The rest of breakfast passes in comfortable team banter.
I keep trying to draw Reese out, but she deflects with careful deftness. It's frustrating. Women usually warm to me quickly. Very quickly. But she remains cool, collected, and utterly immune to what Zane calls my "tragic attempts at seduction."
When the check comes, Gray grabs it before anyone can argue. Control freak.
"Wait here," he says, stabbing his finger on the table as he looks down at Reese, "Tyler and I have Sports Psychology, too. We'll walk with you."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "I can find my way."
"I know you can," Gray says, his tone brooking no argument. "We're still walking you."
As we file out of the restaurant, I pull up alongside Reese. "He's always like that, by the way. It's not personal."
"Like what?"
"Controlling. Watchful. Like he's sizing up prey."
She glances at Gray, who's paying the bill. "I don't need protection from Gray Lockwood."
"Didn't say you did." I shrug. "Just giving you the team dynamic. Gray leads. Bo enforces. I charm. Tyler calculates. Zane unites. Jackson broods. Eli analyzes. Cameron watches."
"And where does that leave me?" she asks.
"That's what we're all trying to figure out."
Outside, the morning has warmed considerably. Students mill about campus, rushing between Friday morning classes. A group of what look like novice rowers jogs past in Sable Ridge black and gold, probably heading to the gym for their land training session. I notice how Reese tracks their movement – she'scataloging the broader program, figuring out how all the pieces fit.
"So what's your story, Callahan?" I ask quietly, dropping the flirtation. "The real one."
She looks surprised at my tone change. Good. Let her see there's more to me than dimples.
"My story is that I'm here to cox, not make friends or find dates."
"Harsh. What if I want to be friends?"
"Do you?" she challenges. "Or do you just want to figure me out because I didn't immediately fall for your routine?"
I whistle low. "Direct hit. You're good."
She shrugs. "I have brothers."
"Ah. That explains the immunity to male bullshit."
The corners of her mouth twitch upward. Another tiny victory.
"Look, Callahan," I say as we near the quad, "I know I come on strong. Force of habit. But this team? We're solid. Even Gray, ice king that he is. Give us a chance."
She studies me for a long moment. "Why do you care if I integrate? You barely know me."
It's a good question. One I'm not entirely sure how to answer.
"Team works better when everyone's connected," I say finally. "And you're good. Really good. I want to win, and you can help us do that."
