1

Cleo

The Delicious KYU Property

The very last place in the world I wanted to be in was Oklahoma.

I belonged at Marrs University, Texas. The same college my mom went to, the same one my grandfather attended. Growing up, there wasn't a room in the house without the dark blue banners, and season tickets for the Romans were considered part of the household budget.

Marrs University would always mean everything to me. And as a proud member of the football team's public relations department, all I wanted to do was plant my butt in the training center and revel in my summer internship.

Instead, I was shipped off to Kennedy Young University - KYU, our biggest rival, right smack in the middle of Oklahoma.

Just fabulous.

"And do you do white drizzle mochas?" I asked the barista at the only coffee shop on campus, straightening my blazer.

The fresh crackle of ground coffee filled the air, the warm scent wiped away my irritation. If I ever needed an IV, a cold brew drip would've done just fine.

With the head coach's black card, I needed seven coffees and my own white drizzle mocha. It was part of my grand master plan to survive the day of interviews.

Oh—sorry— no . Unofficial conversations to build foundations toward lasting relationships with KYU football players.

Basically, we were scouting potential transfers but we couldn't openly call it that.

The barista frowned. "White drizzle? Like a white chocolate drizzle?"

I nodded vigorously, counting down the seconds in my head.

How long did I realistically have before my absence was noted? With the head intern position now vacant, I had to prove myself. No matter what, I had to show how I was absolutely priceless to the team and—

The bell over the door jingled, and I glanced back as the barista rang up my order.

Towering in the archway at six-foot-four was Miles Locke. Arguably the best player at KYU. I'd done everything to get him in our temporary War Room and was told in no uncertain terms that Miles Locke was completely off-limits. Nobody got to touch Miles. He was KYU property.

The photos don't do him justice.

"Ma'am?"

I snapped back to the counter, face burning. Was that a blush? I didn't blush. I was a representative of Marrs University. Blushing was not on today's schedule.

"The name for the order?"

"Marrs," I offered. "Marrs University."

While the baristas passed one black coffee after another to the counter, I snuck another look at the top KYU player, now in line, the one scouted by everyone and anyone. It was my job to know his stats, and I rattled them off in my head, the same as all the other players we'd talked with throughout the day. Stats weren't the only thing about him though.

Dirty blonde hair, slicked back from a workout or a shower, and layers and layers of muscle, I stole as many tiny looks as I could. His arms alone would've made me do a double take at a grocery store. The kind of delicious facial hair that had to feel good rubbing between your legs.

Absolutely not.

As a representative of Marrs University, I prided myself on keeping everything neat and put together. Thinking those kinds of thoughts about a KYU player wasn't smart, wasn't ideal, and wasn't possible . Nope. Not possible.

But, I could steal just one more look…

"What the fuck was that?"

The commotion had me glancing at the door and my stomach dropped. I'd been so focused on rolling Miles through my dirty thoughts, I completely spaced the other KYU football player.

Thomas Sullender, the last interview, just ten minutes ago.

I blinked. "I'm sorry? I didn't—"

"What the fuck do you get from coming at me like that?" Sullender's face was beet red. Pure anger twisted his features.

The coffees were ready and I hurried to grab them, putting myself together in the process. My mom taught me an important lesson about clients. You never let them see your cards. And you never let them see how much you want to see theirs.

With a slow breath, I nodded. "We appreciate you taking the time. Coach Lawson wants to thank you personally—"

"That's bullshit."

I schooled my face, not letting it betray the fact that he was completely correct. "If you were unsatisfied with today's proceedings, I'm sure we could reschedule—"

"No, it's you that I have the problem with." Sullender leered over me.

It'd been almost three years working with the Romans and I was so used to snapping my fingers at everybody to fall in line, I'd completely forgotten that the football players were often twice as big as me. For the first time in a long time, I realized how small I was up against the athletes.

Next to Sullender, I never felt smaller.

Don't show your cards.

"I apologize—"

"Why did you bring up the practice throw?"

A barista pushed off my last drink and I hurried to stack them in a tray. No one offered anything. Not help, not a distraction, nothing. Which meant…the questions I'd brought up in Sullender's interview were valid about how well he could work with others.

Spoiler alert—he can't.

My family joked that we had a gift to read people. I knew I'd been right to push it.

"We think it's best to showcase all the players—"

"No, you brought that up. Nobody even mentioned it!"

I set my jaw. Nobody mentioned it and it was my job to remind the coaches about things they hadn't considered yet.

"Again," I repeated. "I'm sorry—"

"Oh, yeah, I bet you are."

Striding towards the door, I tried to exit. "I'm sure we could reschedule."

"Just for you to fuck up my time again?"

"Sullender," a new voice entered our one-sided sparring match.

Now, that's a voice.

With one word, the voice laid down the law, requiring the football player's attention instead of asking for it.

It certainly held mine.

Miles Locke.

Pulling out the headphones I hadn't noticed before, Miles rested a hand on Sullender's shoulder, just to be shrugged off. Nothing crossed Miles's face though, and he kept a cool watch over the two of us.

Finally, the distraction I'd been looking for.

I hovered close to the door, waiting for Sullender to step aside.

"What's going on?" Miles asked.

"None of your business, Locke," Sullender snapped.

"That's now how we talk around ladies." An amused smile played on Miles's lips and his eyes met mine.

Swoon .

The rasp in his voice. The husky notes had me pinching my fingers between the slots of the coffee tray, trying to pay attention to the conversation.

No! Focus!

The furious football player was a more pressing matter than his devilishly attractive teammate.

Miles gave me another once-over, his eyes straying down my pencil skirt, down the nylon tights, and the three-inch heels that at least gave me some height with the football players. With a wolfish grin, he motioned his smoothie towards me. "And this is absolutely a lady."

Swoon times ten .

"She's no fucking lady, she just fucked my chance—"

I set my jaw. "Once again, I apologize—"

"You don't need to apologize," Miles said and turned back to Sullender. "Whatever she did, I'm sure she didn't mess it up as badly as you fucked it up yourself."

"Shut the hell up, Locke."

"Let's take this outside."

"Gladly."

I moved toward the door but Sullender stopped me again.

"You're not getting away that easily."

He could say that but it didn't mean anything. In the small amount of space, I weaseled my way through the door and hurried out. Not fast enough apparently. A hand grabbed my elbow and I lurched back.

"No!" I swallowed back a curse and heaved the trays, balanced precariously in my hands. Eight coffees. None of them could drop. I didn't have time to get new ones.

"I need to go," I insisted.

"Sullender, let go of her!"

"You listen to me—"

The coffee!

I sucked in a breath. "No, no, no —"

My white drizzle mocha teetered to the side, tilting back and forth for a moment before sliding off the side. My hopes, my dreams, and my ambitions of staying awake long enough were dashed to the ground.

"Sullender, let go of her. Now! "

The hand released my blazer and I stumbled as Miles wrestled with Sullender to the shocked looks of students all around us. This couldn't be a regular occurrence of KYU, not with all the phones propped up, gleefully recording. My instincts were telling me to get out of there. I was a PR intern, I wasn't supposed to create the disasters.

Sullender tried to grab Miles by his side and wheel him around.

"Look out!" I shouted. "He's trying to sweep—!"

Miles smashed his smoothie against the back of Sullender's head and chunky purple liquid juice flew everywhere .

A public relations nightmare.

Thomas flew to the dirt, stunned, and Miles didn't hesitate. He strode over and steadied my arm, taking the trays away from me to stack properly again.

"Are you okay?" He brushed down my arm, searching my face for an answer. "Tell me you're okay."

"I—I'm fine—"

"Let me buy you another coffee."

Stunned, I took a deep breath. "You don't have to."

"I want to."

He wants to buy me a coffee.

I banished the thought as soon as it popped up. Maybe it was the delicious cologne that he had on. Maybe it was the way my knees felt just a little weaker around him. Either way, I couldn't trust myself around Miles Locke. And while I appreciated the gesture, I really couldn't get caught up in a video with football players brawling outside of a coffee shop.

"Thank you," I told him, pulling the black coffees from him. "Seriously, I appreciate it. Thank you. But I have to go."

"I'm Miles—"

"Thanks, again." With a spin, I made a beeline to the KYU training center. Back to finish my day of listless interviews to figure out the one or two football players we wanted to make offers to.