SWINGING STRIKE: Cessna U Wildcats Book One

by Readnour, Kimberly

  Well, that backfired.

  I should go after her, but I think I’ll let her cool down first. In the meantime, I need to find a way to clean up the mess I created by first apologizing to Kelly.

  Chapter Nine

  CARA

  “I don’t know what I have to do to keep guys from flirting with me.” I cross my arms over my chest, still reeling over Braxton’s blatant display of douche-ism. The sigh Lexie releases only fuels my anger. Somehow, she’s failing to see my point. “I barely wear makeup, I’ve adjusted my entire wardrobe to the least sexy thing I could wear, and I act bitchy. What more can I do to keep guys like him away? Or are all guys dickheads?”

  Lexie laughs. Laughs. My private sanctuary is collapsing around me, and she finds it humorous. I lean my head against the headrest and huff as she parks the car in front of my dorm.

  “Most people wouldn’t think of that as a problem.”

  “Yeah, well, I used to like the attention before I became a magnet for douche canoes.”

  “Braxton’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad?” The squeak in my voice only fuels her laughter. I let out a frustrated growl. “He’s the worst.”

  “Oh, come on. You spent the entire evening with him. At some point, you had to be having fun.”

  Truth is, I did have fun clear up until we got interrupted. It felt good to let go and relax. Ever since transferring here, I’ve been strung tight, trying hard not to mess up. I hate admitting it, but I laughed more with Braxton tonight than I have the entire time living on the West Coast. Even though I suspect he let me win the pool games—which is odd considering his competitive nature—I still enjoyed myself.

  “Playing pool was fun,” I admit. “But then he proved my point that all jocks enjoy their harem of girls.”

  “I don’t know. I think he likes you.”

  “Uh-huh, sure.”

  “I’m serious. He texted Garret and told him to stay away.” Lexie turns to face me. “I’ve been hanging with these guys since freshman year. I’ve never seen Braxton act like that. I’m telling you he wants you.”

  “Mmm, he wants me all right. Wants to sleep with me.”

  Her lips press together, and I swear, she’s trying not to smile. “I’m sure he does. Despite the fact that you keep hiding what God gave you, you’re still hotter than hell. And whether he realizes it or not, he likes you.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive home because I think you’re tipsier than you realize.”

  “All I drank was water.”

  “Or snuck in a vodka tonic under the ruse of water.”

  Her laugh fills the cabin. “You just don’t want to admit it. Did he ever mention playing baseball?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm, that’s even more interesting.”

  “Stop it! It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m sure he wants to sleep with me, but if he was interested in more, then he wouldn’t have flirted with little Miss Pixie right in front of me. I refuse to travel that road.”

  “I may not know all the details, but I want to throat punch that asshole Drake for hurting you in the first place.”

  “Thanks, but it was partially my fault. I let him use me.” But never again. I refuse to have a relationship built solely around sex. I just wish this humming in my body would fizzle. Every time I think of Braxton’s rock-hard body pressing against mine, the want between my legs heightens.

  “That’s weird Braxton flirted with someone in front of you, though. I’m not sure why he did that. It’s not like him, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad you came out.”

  “Even though we didn’t hang with each other much.”

  Her expression softens. “It was fun anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  I slip out of her car and make my way back into the dorm. By the time I’m showered and lying on my bed with nothing but an oversized T-shirt, the last thing I want to think about is blazing blue eyes peering back at me. But I can’t unsee the way he slid his gaze across my body or the desire flickering behind his stare. My nipples harden beneath the cotton material as the ache between my legs begs for relief. It’s been so long since I let anyone touch me. I’m long overdue.

  The hem of my shirt slides up as I shift my hips to ease some of this tension, but the rush of cool air spanking my bare pussy fuels my want. My desire. This ache isn’t going away without help. I brush my fingertips along the exposed skin on my abdomen. I try not to picture Braxton’s long deft fingers caressing my skin, spreading my thighs farther. He’s the last person I want to be thinking about, but I can still feel the heat from his touch when his hands landed on my waist. The boy’s nothing but trouble. A player. But that information doesn’t stop my body from wanting him. It doesn’t stop my imagination from picturing his fingers replacing mine, inching their way lower, making their way to…

  Ping.

  I still when the text message alert snaps me back to reality. I wait for my breathing to even before checking what Lexie needs. I’d ignore her, but I want to make sure she got home safely. When I grab my cell, it’s not Lexie who texted.

  Braxton: I had fun.

  Had fun? With who, me or the girl he flirted with? The one who laid herself out on a silver platter for him to feast on. Did he take her home and now feels compelled to brag about it to me?

  Cara: Don’t text me unless it’s class-related.

  My message doesn’t warrant a response, but I bite my lip and stare at the phone anyway. A few beats tick by without a reply, and I think my meaning must’ve sunk in. That should make me happy, but his non-response bothers me instead. I go to place my phone down but pause when three dots appear.

  Braxton: But I did have fun.

  He still isn’t clear on what part he enjoyed.

  Cara: I’m glad you enjoyed her. Although not much time passed, so maybe the rumors are true, speedy?

  This time, the three dots appear immediately.

  Braxton: No! I had fun with YOU! And there’s nothing wrong with my stamina.

  A giggle escapes at those words. I think back to the first time I saw him sitting in the restaurant and witnessed his frustration as he thumb-punched the message. I imagine him angrily tapping away like he did that night. For some strange reason, that makes me feel better. But not completely. I still want to know if he hooked up with her, but I don’t dare ask. Sometimes the truth is better left to the unknown. If the girl had her way, they would’ve hooked up in the bathroom prior to him leaving. My stomach rolls at that thought.

  Cara: That’s a shame. Maybe she’ll be more fun next time.

  Too bad sarcasm doesn’t show through text because I’m laying it on extra thick.

  Braxton: I’m sure she’s a lot of fun, but I wouldn’t know. I would never know. She isn’t who I want.

  I drop the phone and take a calming breath, willing the fire that erupted between my legs to disperse. He’s only playing me. That’s what he does. He fills pretty girls’ heads with slick, sexy words stuffed full of confidence. He doesn’t actually want me. Only my body.

  Cara: It isn’t my concern who you hook up with.

  Braxton: I didn’t hook up with anyone. I’m home in bed like a good boy. I can prove it.

  Desire races through my veins at the thought of Braxton sprawled on his mattress. I chastise myself for creating the mental image. The last thing I need to do is fantasize anything about this guy, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Especially when my phone pings the next text, and a naked Braxton Smith lights my screen. Okay, he’s not completely naked. I think. Truth is, I can’t tell because the picture cuts off right where his happy trail leads to...well, that happy place. Holy shit, the guy is ripped. Every inner muscle clenches with approval, sealing the fate that I’m officially fucked.

  Braxton: You can use this picture as your screen saver, assign it to my contact, or stare at it while you’re jillin’ off.

  Cara: Jillin’ off?

  Braxton: Yeah, you know...buffin’ the muf
fin, rub one off. Basically, touch yourself.

  Cara: I know what it means.

  I just can’t believe you wrote it.

  Braxton: I’d prefer you’d do the latter while I watch but whatever. It’s your choice.

  The arrogance of this man is just… Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I’m so going to stare at this until every detail is seared into memory.

  Cara: Trash file it is then.

  Braxton: LOL. Sure. I know you’re gawking at me right now. I’m too irresistible.

  Cara: More like arrogant.

  Braxton: I am sorry. That’s why I’m making it up to you.

  Cara: By texting a selfie?

  Braxton: I want you turned on by me, not turned off.

  Cara: Leave me alone.

  Braxton: Abs…olutely. For now. Sweet dreams, Pole Girl.

  Unbelievable. After flirting with another woman in front of me, he thinks an apology, a cute pun, and a naked selfie will woo me over. Does he actually think I’ll still be interested in him?

  Wait, still?

  No, not still. I was never interested. The warmth swirling through my veins has nothing to do with hardened pecs and defined abs. Or the genuine smiles that manifests when he thinks I’m not looking.

  I rest my hand on my quivering stomach and dig my heels into the mattress. The bed, warm from my presence, seems lonely and cold, and I hate that, no matter what I tell myself, how much I deny or try to convince myself otherwise, a part of me is attracted to him. This infuriatingly beautiful guy has me tied up in knots. One minute, I want to slap him for his cocky assurance, and the next, I want to run my hands along that beautiful torso, nestle against the hard chest, and snuggle inside those bulging biceps. When he held me against him, a sense of protectiveness settled over me. One that wasn’t overbearing and way more intimate than what I had ever felt before. I don’t understand how I can hate someone and lust after them in the same breath.

  Heat curls down my spine as my breasts grow heavy. They strain against my shirt, aching to be touched. With one more stolen glance, I study those blue eyes peering back at me and groan in frustration. The guy’s built. There’s no denying that. As much as I’d like to lick along each ridge and work my way down until his cock rests fully in my mouth, I know I can’t. Fantasy is all I can have. All I’ll allow.

  The phone slips from my hand as I succumb to the temptation. Like earlier, I imagine his touch on my flesh inching lower, his rough fingers sliding my shirt over my breasts, and his mouth instead of my fingers tweaking my nipple causing my lower muscles to tighten with want.

  I push my past abhorrence aside and give my body the gratification it so desperately seeks. I no longer care that he’s the type of guy I’ve sworn off. All that matters is the pleasure I picture him giving. My breath is heady, and the closer I bring myself to the edge, the more my body aches for his cock to replace the two fingers pumping inside me. The mattress dips lower as my heels press deeper. I’m so close. Just a few more rubs. A few more pumps. I explode into a million sexually frustrating fragments, and it’s his image, his smile, I see as I come down from the high.

  Facing him tomorrow isn’t going to be easy.

  Chapter Ten

  CARA

  Are Freshman Athletes at a Disadvantage over Upperclassman?

  Rumor has it, the freshman athletes are demanding a new residence hall. Grumblings can be heard over campus due to the clear disadvantage of being forced to reside in Margaret Locke Hall.

  A common complaint among every campus-dwelling resident is the smell.

  One disgruntled freshman even went as far as saying it stinks so bad the building should be burned to the ground.

  I don’t know, wildcats. Do we need a new hall or are there enough essence candles to freshen the air?

  Till next rumor.

  Mel G.

  Rumor Has It, CU’s newest gossip column.

  It’s too early in the morning for this shit.

  “But the information was wrong. We know the truth. I would think printing a retraction would be the ethical thing to do.” My heart races, but the gray eyes staring at me through half-rimmed, oval-shaped glasses hold as much luster as this worn, laminated cherry-finish desk. I’m clearly not getting through to this man. Apparently, Alan doesn’t live by the same moral code. My words unfazed him. He’s like the unscrupulous villain in a cartoon and bored by our conversation.

  “That particular piece got tons of hits. In fact, it’s still getting hits. I don’t care if it’s wrong or not, people are reading it.” A corner of his mouth lifts into a sneer. “It had the effect I was going after. A retraction would kill the buzz.”

  My annoyance flares. This reply makes no sense. There are no monetary gains from the distribution of the paper. The communications department funds the paper from the few advertisers. They won’t pull their ads from a simple retraction. Wouldn’t printing false stories give them just cause?

  “I don’t feel comfortable leaving it after finding out the truth—”

  “Stop right there.” He tugs at the collar of his wrinkled T-shirt and then pushes his glasses up his long, pointy nose. “It looks like I’ll have to spell it out for you. Your column is considered a gossip column. It isn’t considered Pulitzer Prize–winning journalism. Your piece is titled ‘Rumor Has It’ for a reason. It’s rumors. That’s how we can get by with it.”

  I give him a frosty glare. “But it’s not the truth.”

  “People don’t care about the truth. They want to be told what they want to hear. That’s why this article is fun.”

  “Fun?” I practically shriek. “Do I look like I’m a fun girl?”

  His lips quirk, and I immediately regret asking that question. “I’m not at liberty to answer.”

  I don’t blame the guy for copping out. Any inappropriate word coming out of his mouth will have me reaching across the desk and choking him. This guy is beyond reasonable. “That sounded a little different in my head. But I didn’t join the newspaper to write gossip columns. I’m studying to become a veterinarian, not the next gossip girl.”

  He shrugs. His mousy-brown hair bobs at his movement. “Sorry, but this is the best I can do. I’m doing this as a favor to your adviser, considering it’s for a grade and all.”

  I toss my hands up in the air and mentally curse toward the ceiling. Talking to him is pointless. He won’t budge. It’s like he has a personal vendetta against Braxton. The whole point of me being here is stupid, and I’m beginning to regret my minor. Or at least listening to my adviser and agreeing to this newspaper gig.

  I’m lucky to have caught Alan before the staff arrives. I can’t chance anyone seeing me, but all this strategic planning will be for nothing if he doesn’t comply. I’ve never felt so damn guilty but conflicted at the same time. On one hand, how much harm can this one little article bring to the king of campus studs? I’m sure his popularity will trump my silly words. On the other hand, what he’s accused of simply isn’t true.

  “Look, Alan, I’ll continue the weekly articles, but you need to let me set things straight.”

  “How about this.” He lays his clasped hands on his desk. “You stay away from anything too personal from now on, and we’ll just forget about this whole incident. Take next week’s article, for example. The complaints the freshman have about the decades-old building will start some controversy. We’ll keep the buzz going.”

  My mouth falls slack. That doesn’t solve Braxton’s situation at all. And what does Alan mean by creating controversy? Damn it, I knew putting in the part about burning the building down would be over the top. “How does that help—”

  “Alan!” A deep, familiar voice carries from the newsroom.

  My eyes widen as my mind registers Braxton’s here…now. He was supposed to talk to Alan yesterday. That’s why I specifically waited until this morning. The dormitory article forgotten, I shoot Alan a “what the hell am I going to do” look, and the bastard offers nothing but a blank stare.

>   He’s the worst person ever.

  I scan his office for somewhere to hide but come up short. The partitions are made of glass, so ducking out of his office is a definite no-go.

  Footsteps pound against the floor, each heavy step closer to revealing my cover. “Where am I going to hide?” Alan doesn’t respond, but I don’t have time to deal with him. I glance back through the glass walls and heave a half-relieved sigh. Braxton hasn’t reached the hallway yet. I’m safe for a minute.

  “Alan,” Braxton shouts out again, his tone threatening, the sound closer.

  My heart pounds as Alan directs his gaze back to me. For the first time, I see emotion displayed in his dull eyes. Lo and behold, it’s fear. I’d laugh if it wasn’t my ass on the line. I spring out of the chair and dash around his desk. Good Lord, I can’t believe I’m getting ready to do this. Alan startles and shuffles back a few feet as I duck beneath his desk.

  “What are you doing?” A high-pitched screech replaces his usual cocky tone. I glance up and take in his bulging eyes.

  “Just go with it. I can’t be seen,” I hiss.

  The jerk scoots his chair closer, forcing me to crouch between his legs. Sweat starts pooling in not so desirable places. Good grief, I hope I don’t get caught in this compromising position.

  “I need a word.” The threatening tone to Braxton’s voice makes me tremble. I almost feel sorry for Alan because I would hate to be on the receiving end of Braxton’s verbal lashing.

  “Mr. Smith, what can I do for you this afternoon?”

  “Cut the shit, Alan. You know why I’m here. Who’s Mel G.?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, barely breathing. Please don’t tell him, I silently beg.

  “I’m sorry, but our reporters are protected. I can’t give you that information.”

  “Reporters?” Braxton scoffs. I want to be somewhat offended, but he’s exactly right. What I’m doing is far out of reach for reporting. And whether I want to admit it, his story fell in my lap. “I don’t think making up stories and putting them in print is considered reporting. You’re printing nothing but ‘fake news.’”