7

Ryan

Benefit All Parties Involved

I'd walked through our training facilities thousands of times. You could've asked me where the exits were, what doors needed an extra shove, or what conference rooms Adam hid inside when one of his girls came calling. I could've answered all of it. I knew the place like the back of my hand.

But there was something different with Kassie. I couldn't put my finger on it, but every shadow on the wall, every minor stain, made me grimace.

"Hm." Kassie craned her neck to get a better view of the enormous banners in the front lobby. "See that's more accurate than the bobblehead."

"Uh-huh."

My mind drifted off toward other things. The next couple of months would be…something. I'd been so focused on practices, training, and gameplays, I couldn't picture the kind of schedule Cleo would draw up.

I glanced down at Kassie again, with her hands shoved in her pockets. And her jeans, with something scribbled on the back pocket. The curve of her ass…

The nice ass of a feisty art student.

No. Back to business.

To get to Cleo's War Room, our public relations office, it took a tense elevator ride. Kassie made sure I knew how reluctant she was. And when we walked to the door, she didn't move from the hallway. The art girl gave me a hard look.

"So…what is this?"

I wasn't the one to explain it.

"Sit down," I said, striding over to the chairs.

"I want to know what this is."

"Are you going to sit down?" I held the back of the chair for her and offered a smile. "Or are you going to eye-fuck me hard again?"

Kassie's suspicious glance vanished. She held up a finger, thought better of it, and put it back.

"Yeah, I heard." I chuckled. "Are you going to sit down?"

In one fell swoop, I found the perfect way to stop the arguments. Kassie took a seat without another word. Her dark hair cascaded over my fingers while I pushed her chair in.

I pulled away, but my fingers twitched on their own accord.

What is this?

Adam had a point. I'd been staying away from girls since Coach Lawson took over and straightened us into shape. There wasn't time for bleacher bunnies. The last time I got laid was…shit, December? Was it really that long ago?

I flexed my hand at my side and tried to walk over to my chair, like any of this was normal. Like I couldn't hear the blood pounding in my ears.

Cleo's War Room was two parts wall and two parts uninterrupted glass. One side showed our outdoor training field, and the other side showed the hallway. A hallway that was usually empty when I called in.

But, in the middle of the school day, a stream of cheerleaders and football players breezed in between classes—all my people.

All my people gawking at the two of us as they walked down the hallway.

Goddammit.

It started off slow—and I didn't move fast enough. Heads swung over, mouths fell open, eyebrows shot up. And it wasn't like Kassie blended in. Her ripped jeans and dangling pencil earrings stood out amongst the jerseys. Anybody would've clocked her as somebody who didn't belong here. And besides that, I never brought girls around.

Everybody noticed.

In between two dumbfounded cheerleaders and King, with his eyebrows shot to his hairline, June almost dropped her bag when she spotted what caused the commotion. She pointed at Kassie and mouthed three words. " Is that her? "

Very subtle.

"What…?" Kassie glanced up, and a laugh escaped her. "What's going on?"

" What the hell? " Adam's voice barely carried through the glass.

We were trapped zoo animals, and the linebacker was the annoying little kid, chucking peanuts through the bars. On some level, he had to know I was going to make him pay for this. We'd be running laps for hours. But Adam didn't care. He completely stopped the hallway's flow of traffic, gaping at us.

" Hey! " He banged on the glass. "You found her! Look at you! "

Kassie lifted her eyebrow at me. "Her?"

"That's enough," I growled.

I strode over to the door before Adam could make his entrance, which wasn't fucking happening. The handle jiggled, and I had to shove it down to keep it from opening.

"In Cleo's office?" Adam's muffled voice slipped through the crack of the door. "You sick puppy!"

I'd known my friends for years. I'd gladly take a bullet for them. But for the first time in my life, I felt something else. It was a new feeling that crept up at the back of my neck. A sick feeling. It left me wanting to give half-explanations to Kassie to cover up their actions.

I was embarrassed. Their entire charade embarrassed me. I'd never even been close to that before and Adam had mortified all of us enough to write books, the fucking pranks had me ripping my hair out. But— goddamn .

Couldn't they calm down and relax for two minutes?

In front of her?

"Did he say…?" Kassie asked, mystified. "How do they know me?"

Because I hadn't focused on anything but Kassandra Ragar for an entire week. Because she was the first woman I'd ever brought into our sanctuary, the training center. Because she'd morphed into a running joke in our small group chats, outside of the whole team. Half of the guys were convinced she wasn't real, that I'd just paid a girl to get some publicity with.

I cursed under my breath, pushing against the door.

The door thumped into place and I flipped the lock. Through the small window, my teammate's face fell as I snapped the miniature blinds down.

Jackass.

"Oh, good! You're here!" Cleo rushed in through the other door, her arms full of folders. She started pressing buttons on a phone with the ends of her pink nails. It was the same old routine, but Kassie threw me a confused glance as I took the chair next to her. Cleo nodded to the phone. "Thank you so much for hopping on."

The public relations major wheeled another chair over and started listing off dozens of names I'd heard before.

They were the regulars to call during emergencies—Coach Lawson, probably sitting back at his desk, offense coaches, defense coaches, the assistant coaches, assistants of the assistant coaches, assistants of the assistants of the assistant coaches. University leaders, the university vice president, the university president—if she didn't have a ribbon to cut—and a handful of high-donating alums who specifically dropped six to seven figures to buy themselves into our meetings.

Pressing one of the buttons on the table, an enormous screen made a low whirring sound as the projector sprung to life. The War Room had gotten an upgrade from Cleo's fiancé. Light flashed against the screen and there was the current bane of my existence.

That damn photo.

Kassie snorted and it took her a moment to realize everyone else was silent. "Oh…yeah—I've seen it." She shot a glance at me. " That's how your team knows me."

Sure. We could go with that.

"All publicity is good publicity—yes— but , this is not publicity," Cleo started, waving down at the camera on her laptop. "This is…we're going to nip this in the bud. Make sure it's in our favor."

"It's a photo?" Kassie raised an eyebrow.

"A photo that's been shared millions of times." Cleo shuffled out a few folders and set them carefully in front of us in a color-coordinated line. "We used to be a good university for football. Hell, we were a great one. Our last coach came in, fucked us up, and we spent five years in the trenches." Cleo shook her head. "Coach Lawson is supposed to be the new blood and Ryan here is supposed to be the new face . And the new face cannot be a joke ."

I shifted back in my chair. Cleo was right and recognizing that was the first step towards fixing the problem.

"He's not a joke," Kassie interjected. I stopped to look down at her, but she ducked away. "I mean, he's an asshole. I'll call a spade, a spade. But he's not a joke. This isn't something to freak out about."

I didn't understand the problem either, but a grin threatened to make an appearance.

Kassie doesn't think I'm a joke.

The arguments didn't change anything. Cleo clicked a button on her computer again. "What we have here is one PR-created relationship that'll benefit all parties involved."