Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Playlist
Book Club
About Jerica MacMillan
Other Titles
Rebound Therapy Sneak Peek!
False Assumptions
Players of Marycliff University Book 6
Jerica MacMillan
Copyright © 2017 by Jerica MacMillan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Chapter One
“Layla Caldwell, you’ll be working with Evan Coopman.”
Covering her face with her hands, Layla bit back the groan threatening to escape, no longer paying attention as Dr. Rankin continued to pair off the students in her Survey of Twentieth Century World Literature class for their midterm project. Evan Coopman was the last person she wanted to work with.
And what was this—junior high? Why was the professor assigning who they had to work with? Hadn’t she escaped those days when she made it to her upper-level literature classes? This was going to be a nightmare.
“Find your partner, and I’ll come around and give you the title of the book you’ll read and present to the class. This is more than a simple report. You’ll need to pull out the themes and research the cultural backdrop. Because books influence culture as much as the other way around, be sure to discuss both the impact of the culture on the story and the story’s impact on the culture after publication. Each book should be available at the library, but you are, of course, welcome to purchase it in your preferred format. Once you’ve received your assignment, you may go to the library to get started if you wish.”
The rustle of clothes and scooting of desks made Layla lift her face, brushing back her long, dark hair and glancing around at the other students finding their partners. She was confronted with sapphire blue eyes gleaming with mischief and the perpetual flirty smirk of Evan Coopman. He sauntered over. Yup, sauntered. Like he was the hottest thing around. Gag.
It didn’t help that he actually was hot. The brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen not boosted by contacts or Photoshop, dark brown hair that flopped over his forehead, high cheekbones, and a square jaw framing luscious lips that were almost always smirking or smiling, causing females in the vicinity to lose their minds. As if that weren’t enough, his body was all muscle that flexed and bulged every time he moved. All that time in the gym and on the football field obviously paid off.
She’d had classes with him before and always made sure to sit far away so he wouldn’t ask her for notes when he missed class for away games. She had no desire to be the target of all that flirtatiousness after seeing him in action. Seeing him give all his attention to one girl for a day or a week or however long until he got what he wanted and then move on to someone else.
He knew he was hot. He knew chicks couldn’t resist him once he turned on the charm. And he used it to his advantage.
She’d been the target of that kind of attention before. In high school. And she’d ended up brokenhearted and feeling like a fool in the end.
Never again.
So she had no desire to be another one of his conquests. He could just take his charm and flirty smiles and—
“Layla?” He dragged the desk next to her closer, sliding into the seat, all muscles and grace, turning the full magnitude of his smile in her direction. “I’ve seen you around, but I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Evan.” He held out his hand.
She stared at it for a second, her eyes going back to his face. “Hi.”
His smile dimmed, and he pulled his hand back to his desk, clearing his throat. He gave her a quick scan, down and up, taking her in. She shifted in her seat under his scrutiny, aware of her Old Navy jeans and clearance T-shirt from Target the same way she used to be aware of her thrift store clothes and hand-me-downs when she was in elementary and middle school. Her parents worked hard, but couldn’t afford much when she was a kid. At least now, thrift store chic was a thing. And she rocked that often enough, but she still preferred new clothes, even if she could only afford them when they were on sale.
Evan probably wore all name-brand clothes. And didn’t have to worry about sales or thrift store discount days to fill out his wardrobe. She’d seen the kind of girl he normally went after—all perfect and primped and made up, not a hair out of place. The kind of girl who wore heels to walk around campus despite the uneven brick walkways and ice and snow in the winter. Girls that were nothing like her, with her preference for functional shoes—though she did try to find cute ones—and her desire to spend more time in the woods than at a salon or the mall. Even if she could afford that kind of thing, she wouldn’t dress much differently than she did.
Sitting back in his chair, his name-brand denim clad legs spreading in that obnoxious alpha-guy way where they take up almost all the space available, he opened his mouth, but Dr. Rankin’s approach cut him off before he could speak. Thank God. It was probably going to be a lame pickup line, because she was female, after all, or a criticism of her appearance, since she’d so obviously rebuffed his handshake.
Dr. Rankin handed each of them a piece of paper. “You’ll be presenting The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende.” She gave them both a warm smile. “I’m looking forward to hearing your take on it. I hope you two can work well together.” With a nod that had her auburn bob brushing the shoulders of her jacket, Dr. Rankin turned to the next set of students to hand them their assignment.
Layla swallowed. Ugh. Why did she have to get paired up with the womanizer jock? She’d end up carrying the whole presentation. Meeting his eyes, she decided she’d take control right off. It would be easier that way. “Let’s go to the library and see if we can both get a copy. Then we can set up a time to discuss the presentation. Once I’ve read it, I’ll outline each of our parts and let you know what you’ll need to do.”
One of his eyebrows lifted and the corners of his mouth twitched, but he just nodded. “Sure. Sounds good. Let’s go.”
She didn’t know if she should be happy or irritated with his easy acquiescence. If he wasn’t a dumb jock, wouldn’t he object to being ordered around by her? But if he was, then at least he was content to let her be in charge. He must recognize that they’d get a better grade that way. Hopefully he’d be able to do what she assigned him. Maybe she could give him stuff to read aloud for the presentation and not give him any of the research responsibility. Less chance he’d screw it up and screw her over that way.
Gathering her things, she looked up to find him looming over her. His eyes moved from the area of her chest, slowly wandering to her face. She couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling even if she wanted to. Seriously? He was checking out her chest? Just proving her point. Womanizing douche used to getting whatever girl he wanted.
She stood, and he gestured toward the door. “After you.”
Sure. Of course. He probably wanted to check out her ass. She’d read somewhere that pickup artists did that for the double reason of appearing like a gentleman and having a better opportunity to check out a potential mark from behind. Seemed like a likely explanation in this case.
With a little extra sway in her step, she made her way around the desks toward the classroom door. May as well give him a show. It was the best he’d get out of her.
A low whistle sounded behind her, pulling her head back around and drawing the attention of the people she passed. Evan winked at her, his blue eyes amused, and followed.
This was going to be the worst.
Chapter Two
Evan couldn’t decide whether to be amused, irritated, or flat out pissed. The way she’d sashayed out of the classroom, that extra sway in her step obviously for his benefit, pulled him toward amusement. But the way she acted toward him the rest of the time had his irritation bubbling towards full-on anger.
He followed her across the brick center mall of campus to the library, his Marycliff Football sweatshirt not quite enough to block the early February chill. Layla glanced at him over her shoulder a few times to make sure he still followed, but he kept his distance a few feet behind her. She’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t value his company. If they didn’t need to figure out when to meet next about the project, he’d bail. Maybe he should anyway. He could catch her in class the next time.
His breath puffed in front of him as he let out a sigh. He had to get the book anyway. Might as well go to the library and get this over with. Plus, he wanted to prove her wrong about her assumption that she’d be doing all the work and that he would be just a lackey along for the ride. He got the dumb jock assumption a lot. It came with the territory. If he did well at football, then he must not be good at school, right?
Wrong.
He took advantage of the team tutors during the season because it was easy to get behind in classes, and borrowing notes was always a crapshoot. Some people took good notes that made sense. Others … not so much.
He’d always thought Layla looked like the type to take good notes. They’d had classes together twice before. He’d managed to sit next to her once. She’d caught his attention, both because of her looks—long, straight black hair, smooth, golden skin, and large, dark eyes—and because she seemed so focused in class. But the next class, she’d been surrounded by other students and never met his eyes any time he tried to catch her attention. He’d thought she must be shy.
With the way she’d treated him today, he wasn’t so sure. She didn’t seem shy. For some reason she’d decided she didn’t like him. When he’d offered her his usual smile and a handshake, she’d looked at him like he was some kind of unidentifiable slime she’d found on her shoe after exiting a public restroom.
That was new for him.
He flirted a lot. He knew it. Not all girls responded the same. Some flirted back. Some threw themselves at him. Some expressed their disinterest, but remained polite and friendly. Disgust had never happened before. It wasn’t like smiling and shaking hands was an offensive move.
Layla yanked the library door open with more force than necessary, and Evan didn’t bother hiding his grin. He was behind her, after all. She couldn’t see him. Ever the gentleman, though, he caught up to her in two quick steps and held the door for her to enter. She glanced back at him, and he let his smile grow wider.
She scowled.
He stifled the laugh that threatened to escape, turning it into a cough just in time. Christ, she was easy to needle. He made the decision to go with amusement instead of irritation or anger. It’d be fun to see how much his usual behavior pissed her off. So flirting, smiling, fun Evan was back in action. Not the full force that he used to get in a girl’s pants. Just his usual. He could always turn it up later if he felt the need.
With that being the case, he didn’t hang back like he had since leaving the classroom. She stopped at a computer station to look up The House of the Spirits in the online catalogue, glancing at him as he leaned against the counter next to her, his eyes never leaving her, his customary smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Usually it happened without thought. Today, he was extra aware of it, wanting to make sure it never faltered, but didn’t veer into creepy territory either. Flirting was definitely not the same as creeping.
She let out a frustrated sigh, hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder, and headed for the stairs without a word. Rubbing a hand over his face, Evan stifled another laugh, catching up to her at the bottom of the stairs, being sure to stay close behind her. With another quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed as she saw him right behind her. Flinging her hair over her shoulder, she caught him in the face, his nostrils filling with a citrusy scent. This time he laughed out loud. Oh, this was going to be fun.
Evan followed her through the stacks, more determined than ever to see how far he could push her. If smiling at her and walking close behind her provoked this kind of reaction, what would she do if he actually flirted? Run screaming back to Dr. Rankin demanding an assignment change? Even if she did, he somehow doubted Dr. Rankin would go for that. The woman had a reputation of being unbending, rarely granting extensions except in cases of University-sanctioned absences (which he’d taken advantage of more than once) or a documented crisis. Not getting along with your assigned partner didn’t qualify as either of those. Unless Layla got appendicitis or had a real family emergency, she was stuck with him.
She stopped in front of a shelf of books so suddenly that he couldn’t stop before running into her, catching her by the shoulders to keep her from falling. She glared at him. “What are you doing? Don’t touch me.”
He let her go, holding up his hands palms out. “Yes, ma’am. I apologize. Just trying to keep you from falling.”
She huffed. “I wouldn’t’ve been in danger of falling if you hadn’t run into me.”
“Give a guy a little warning next time before you stop, and I’ll be sure not to run into you.” He smiled.
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t follow so close behind me.”
“Right. I’ll walk next to you from now on.”
A little growl of frustration came from her throat, but she turned to the books before she could catch him grinning. While she examined the books, he took another opportunity to examine her.
He considered himself something of a connoisseur when it came to women. He’d heard one of his old teammates use the term, back before he graduated and got pussy-whipped by some chick he met at a party. Evan felt it fit him even more than it had Lance Kane. As much as he liked to sample women, he also enjoyed watching them, figuring them out.
Layla didn’t fit in the neat classifications he’d come up with for the majority of the female population on campus. He had the most experience with the jersey chasers, for obvious reasons. They kept themselves made up and primped to the max, with regular salon appointments to keep up with the hair color, nails, and waxing. Then there were the female jocks, who he came in contact with nearly as often as the jersey chasers. They were lower maintenance, which he appreciated when
he was waiting for a girl to get ready, and more aggressive in bed, which he liked when he was in the right mood as well.
There was a large subset of outdoorsy types around here. Layla almost fit that description, but not quite. She didn’t look like she’d stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalogue like he thought of those types of girls. Nor did she embody the hipster chick that dominated the English department. She had a similar wardrobe, but lacked the ironic air that went with it. And today, for example, with her fitted skinny jeans that clung to her legs and showcased her ass, and solid purple long-sleeved T-shirt with its deep V that gave just a hint of the swell of her breasts, she didn’t look like either of those. Since he’d seen her in shorts or a skirt a few times, he knew she shaved her legs, so she couldn’t be a hippie.
No, she was in a class all her own.
A book slapped into his chest, and he grabbed it reflexively.
Layla stood in front of him, brown eyes flashing. “Here. There’s only one copy. I’ll see if I can get it from the public library or buy it somewhere.”
“Uh, okay.” He pulled the book away from his chest and glanced down at it. “Is this a good translation? Wouldn’t it be easier if we got the same one? If you’re going to buy it, I can buy it too.”
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, which pushed her breasts up more, framing her cleavage above her shirt and between the sides of her open jacket. “Eyes up here, jackass.”
His eyes snapped to her face, and he had to fight the urge to turn sheepish. He hadn’t meant to check her out like that, but much better to make it seem deliberate since he was trying to push her buttons.
“What difference does it make if we get the same edition. Are you even going to read the book?”
He took a sharp turn toward anger again, but fought back toward amusement. If she wanted to assume he was a dumb jock and a horny asshole, then let her. Letting his eyes wander over her again, his eyelids heavy, he leaned against the bookshelves, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip. “I’d be open to private tutoring.”
False Assumptions (Players of Marycliff University Book 6) Page 1