Reluctant Hero (TREX Rookies Book 1)

by Allie K. Adams

He lifts a playful eyebrow as his gaze rests on me, and then he chuckles, deep and low. Heat whispers across my skin at the sound. His laugh just gets better and better. How does that even happen? And why do I find him so arousing?

  “That’s not even… I didn’t mean… Ah, never mind.” He grins a ridiculously adorable, lopsided grin. I immediately don’t trust him. Am I being punked? He gives off the ultimate of insecurity vibes, yet his smile has the power to melt a girl from the inside out. “I, uh… I’m not very good at, well…this.”

  “That explains the stuttering.”

  He gives me a slow and steady once over, that hard gaze licking at my skin and driving up my heart rate. Nothing makes sense with him. Only players are this direct with their body language. Aside from the lack of eye contact, this guy has all the actions of a complete tool. Yet his words tell an entirely different story. I want to know why.

  Damn it! No, I don’t. I don’t go for nerds. Period. Yet when the king of the nerds hits on me, I’m ready to bear his children. I grab my martini and bring it to my lips.

  “Can I buy you a cherry?”

  I snort into my drink. “Excuse me?”

  He colors even darker. “Oh, shit. I mean I want to cater to your sweet tooth.”

  “Strike two, Romeo.”

  He drops his shoulders and blows out a breath. “I just want to be your friend.”

  Wrong answer. Too bad. He had such potential. I set my drink on the bar and give him my best “are you shitting me” look. “Never tell a girl you only want to be her friend or you’ll never get her number.”

  “Really?”

  “Really really.”

  “So, can I have your number?”

  This guy is something else. And clearly clueless. “No. Time for you to move on.” I turn to face Britt and mouth, “Is he still there?”

  She nods and I groan. Then she pulls out all the stops and pushes her brow up into that cute little look she gets whenever she wants me to do something for her. Knowing we’ll never get through our second drink in peace if I don’t do something to send Mr. Steely Eyes away, I swing back around and force a smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Harold. My friends call me HP, as in Harry Potter, since I’m a wizard at computers.”

  Wow. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any weirder. “Now it’s time for you to head back to Hogwarts, HP.”

  “But you looked at me.” The way he drops his gaze as he talks to me bothers me. He doesn’t even stare at my boobs. He just keeps staring at the floor.

  I should have never smiled at him. “I was looking for someone…”

  “Else,” he finishes and flinches as if I physically slapped him. “I get that a lot.”

  Way to make me feel like shit, HP. I don’t want to come across as too much of a bitch, so I smile as I deliver my going away speech. “You’re not really my type. I’m sure you understand.”

  He rubs the back of his neck and for some reason, I find the gesture kind of cute. “Sure, I understand.”

  Snickering catches my attention. I glance across the bar to see the Delta dicks sitting at the table HP escaped from, all laughing as he crashes and burns. He turns an even darker shade of red as his shoulders slump.

  “Why are you with a bunch of Deltas?”

  “Because I’m a Delta.”

  For the second time, I snort into my drink. “Are you shitting me? You’re a Delta?”

  “I’m trying to be.”

  “Rush week was like six months ago.”

  He shrugs and recites something they’ve clearly drilled into his brain. “Until I prove myself a Delta, they still treat me like a pledge.”

  It clicks. And it pisses me off. “Did they put you up to this?”

  “No. Yes. No. I mean…” He shakes his head and turns away. “Look, forget I even came over here. Clearly you’re a class above me.”

  “Hold up, shit dick.”

  He stiffens and slowly tosses me a glance over his shoulder. “What’d you just call me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “What, exactly, is a shit dick?” He faces me.

  “What exactly is a class above you?” I counter.

  “Look at you.” He shakes his head and adds in a quiet voice, “And look at me.”

  “H—” I can’t bring myself to call him HP. My laptop is an HP. A person is not. “What’s your full name?”

  “Harold. I already told you.”

  “No, your full name.” I say it slow and he sets his jaw, clearly pissed. Too damn bad. Answer my question right the first time and I wouldn’t have to keep repeating myself. When he doesn’t say anything, I snap. “Do you have a last name?”

  “Ryan,” he answers through clenched teeth.

  “Ryan,” I repeat with a smile. He relaxes and even smiles back. I have to admit, I really like that cute, lopsided grin. “That’s much better than HP.”

  His eyes dance as he studies me. I’m breathless and don’t dare turn away. I like the heat that look generates, causing my toes to curl. If he can pull that kind of reaction out of me with nothing more than a hot look, I’d love to know what power he’d have over me if he actually touched me. “Anything else you’d like to change on me before I go?”

  I chew on the inside of my lip as I try to come up with something witty. “How about your attitude?” Granted he’s not the one sporting the ‘tude, but I’m on a roll.

  Uh oh. The muscle in his jaw ticks and he’s back to being pissed. “Enjoy your night.” He spins around and marches off. I’m oddly bruised by his sudden dismissal. I’m stunned into silence for what could be the first time in my life. He passes the table and deflates as one of the jock assholes says something to him. The rest laugh. Poor Ryan slumps even lower and turns toward the door as the group of guys laugh louder.

  That does it. I throw back my drink and set the empty glass on the bar. The timing is perfect. I’ve got a nice buzz going thanks to the lack of food in my stomach and no filter from my brain to my mouth when I drink.

  As I stand, Britt grabs my arm. “Where are you going?” She then bounces her attention to the group of guys about to have their nuts handed to them. “Oh, no. Don’t do it, Em. There’s three of them.”

  “Hardly seems fair, right?” I straighten my jeans and adjust my boobs to make sure they’re front-and-center, then head over to the group of dicks.

  They’re about to find out what happens when they piss off a redhead.

  4

  [Ryan]

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I pace outside the bar as I contemplate whether to go back in or cut my losses and go home. I came alone and fully expect I’ll leave alone. I’m used to it. I slide my glasses up after my profuse sweating results in a slip-n-slide down the bridge of my nose.

  Why didn’t I trust my gut? I knew meeting Brad and his shadows at the bar would wind up biting me in the ass. He may be the president of my frat house, but he’s no friend. He’s hated me since being forced to accept me into the house. I did everything right during rush and still he refused to let me in—until my father called the university. Next thing I know, I’m a Delta and moved into one of the single bedroom modular housing units clustered behind the house. BU built them when the houses weren’t big enough to hold the explosion of students after the economy bombed. They’re reserved for seniors, but that didn’t stop dear old Dad from pulling a few strings.

  I sigh and shake my head. What the hell was I thinking coming here tonight? It’s a Thursday. I have to work early, have pretty much no money since I’m a starving college student, and know better than to think Brad wants to hang with me. He wants to make fun of me, to push me far enough to either do something to get kicked out of the house or finally get fed up enough to leave. Neither is going to happen. Not only would I have to move out of my mod, I’d also be disowned by my father, grandfather, and brother. They all graduated Delta and threatened me with death and dismemberment if I do anything to screw up the legacy.
<
br />   If I earn a spot inside the Delta house instead of tossed into the backyard, my dad will stop riding my ass. My brother may even pat me on the back when I come home for spring break. I hate how their approval matters to me, but it does. They’re family. It just does.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m miserable being a Delta. At pretending to be something I’m not. Deltas are jocks. Lady’s men. The life of every party. I’m not any of those things, but that didn’t stop my father from shoving being a Delta down my throat. I’ve been at BU for almost three years, two of them as a probationary Delta.

  “Being a Delta is all that matters,” he told me before I left for college. He takes every opportunity to remind me of that. What I want doesn’t matter. My goals aren’t important. Being a Delta is the only thing he cares about. Got to love family and their priorities, no matter how skewed.

  My thoughts land on the pretty redhead inside the bar. Those glimmering hazel-green eyes mesmerized me to the point I couldn’t think straight when I talked to her. Her hair caught the sparse lighting just right, giving her a delicious glow. Her smile is something songs are written about. I had her in a few classes last year and again this year, and even tried to talk to her once, but failed miserably and never tried again.

  Until tonight. I sucked just as bad tonight as I did a year ago. Why can’t I talk to women? It pisses me off, which doesn’t help my situation. A person’s IQ drops, on average, thirty points when they’re angry. Emotions overwhelm rationality thanks to the tunnel vision in the amygdala impairing the prefrontal cortex’s job.

  Of course I’d justify something like this with numbers, with science. Like that makes a shit bit of difference when I crash and burn at record speed.

  Back to Emma. Yes, I know her name. She doesn’t know I do, so, until she gives it to me, I’ll keep that knowledge to myself. I’ve had classes with her for the two years since she arrived. I’m rounding out my junior year. One more year and I’m free. Free of having to sit through classes I care nothing about. Free of living under my father’s thumb. Free to finally live the life I want instead of the one chosen for me.

  At least I get to see Emma every day. This year I only have chem with her, but I see her every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. I work in one of the college’s computer labs, which is also where her first class is held three days a week.

  It sucks she doesn’t know I exist, but I get it. Not many people know who I am unless they need help on a computer issue. She’s come to the front desk several times to get her password reset. Each and every time, I hide in the break room and wait until she leaves. I’m such a coward.

  Maybe I should just go home. I’ve embarrassed myself enough tonight. I take a step away from the building just as a woman with straight, dark hair and cobalt eyes steps out of the shadows, into the single light above the door. I stumble back in surprise.

  “You should go back in.”

  “Who are you?” I ask, shocked she appeared out of nowhere.

  She shoves her hands into the pockets of her vest and smiles. “Someone trying to help you out.”

  “I don’t even know you.” I swallow tightly. “And you don’t know me.”

  “Sure, I do. You’re Harold Bartholomew Francis Ryan. Twenty-three. The youngest son of tycoon Stuart Ryan—a major benefactor of Bainbridge University as well as several other universities. Could have his entire college career paid for if he just followed in Daddy’s footsteps, instead took two years off to live on his own and save enough money to pay for college himself.” She inches toward me, forcing me back a step. “The name is Bailey McKoy. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  She doesn’t even know me, so my guard is immediately up. “Finally?”

  “We’ve been watching you.”

  I glance around, expecting to see people actually watching me. My neck hairs stand on end. Is she here to kidnap me and demand a ransom from my dad? Not that he’d pay it. He can stand me about as much as I can stand him. “Who’s we?”

  Handing me a card, she says, “An explanation best kept for somewhere a little more private. For now, get back in there. Talk to her.”

  My heart hits the roof of my mouth. It comes out an octave high as I ask, “Talk to who?”

  “Emma isn’t as tough as she likes to make herself sound.” She steps back, partially concealing her face in the shadows. “She could use a friend. She could use more than a friend.”

  Just then Emma’s friend steps outside. She spots me and sighs. “You’d better get in there. She’s going after your Delta brothers.”

  “She?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. Get in there and help her.”

  I stiffen as I swing my gaze inside the door Emma’s friend is holding open. There’s that crazy redhead, waltzing over to Brad and his shadows. What does she think she’s doing? “I’ll be right there.”

  Her friend nods and closes the door behind her. I read the card in my hand and ask as I look up, “What’s TREX?”

  There’s no one there. How’d this woman—Bailey McKoy, whoever she is—disappear like that? I step into the shadows, like that’s going to help me see. “Hello?”

  I don’t expect a response and don’t get one. With a shake of my head, I dismiss the meeting and stuff the card into my back pocket. Time to find out what one exceptionally crazy redhead is up to.

  I’m still shaking my head as I head inside.

  {Emma}

  I take my time swaying my hips and making sure every one of them watch me glide over. This would have so much more effect on them if I had on one of my cute, hug-my-ass little dresses instead of my skinny jeans and guaranteed-to-go-home-alone high-cut top. At least I let Britt talk me into the fuck me pumps before we went out. I need them right now. They add four inches to my height.

  I don’t slow my seductive walk until I stop in front of the table full of Delta dicks. Folding my arms under my breasts to force them out even more, I wait until all three of them stop staring at my boobs long enough to look me in the eye. If I had on one of my low-cut tops to really show off the girls, I’d feel a hell of a lot sexier. The one with the blazing blue eyes and short, dark hair takes his time tracing my frame with his hungry gaze before finally joining the rest of us. I’ve stared at him as he’s walked across the quad. Hell, every female and even several males have noticed him. He’s the head of the Delta house and absurdly gorgeous.

  “Hey, guys.” I bat my eyelashes.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He gives me a wink. I try not to vomit in my mouth. Ten minutes ago I would have let him stick his tongue down my throat. Maybe even let him take me back to his house for hookup sex. He’s definitely one-night stand material—if he weren’t such a douche for making fun of poor Ryan.

  I really shouldn’t care. It’s not my fight. But we’re all BU Nighthawks and I’m channeling my inner hawk. Men like these guys need to be brought down a peg or ten. “Whose idea was it to send him over?”

  Blue Eyes grins wide. “Mine. But, now that I see you up close, I think you’re more my style, not HP’s.”

  “Is that so?” I tap into my husky, sexy voice. Or at least I think it’s my husky, sexy voice. I just hope it doesn’t sound like I smoke two packs a day.

  “Oh, yeah. I have a thing for redheads. What say you and I get a private little booth for two and get to know each other better? Bring your pretty friend over there. I’m sure my friends wouldn’t mind keeping her company.”

  Oh, please. I stop myself from rolling my eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Brad.”

  Bad sign. Guys named Brad are historically and categorically giant douchebags.

  “Well, Brad. I can’t even begin to tell you what I think about getting a private little booth with you.”

  His smile falters as he contemplates the meaning behind my statement. “Is that a yes?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “No, that isn’t a yes? Or no, you don’t want to?”

  I frown. “Is English yo
ur second language?”

  He loses his smile as the other two laugh. He then transforms into the Delta dick he is and attacks. “Listen, sweetheart. I actually had my eye on your friend there. That’s why I sent HP as my wingman to get you out of the way. You’ve got that can’t touch this vibe. There’s no need to pull the bitch card. You’re not even that hot.”

  Ouch. Way to make me feel good about myself, Brad. Judging by the way he’s watching me, waiting for me to react, he knows exactly how to hit a girl’s weakness. I so want to take off one of my shoes and stab him in the eye with the heel but refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got under my skin. Instead, I plaster on a mask of disinterest. “What does one have to do with the other?”

  “The hotter you are, the bigger the bitch. Deltas grant allowances based on the hotness scale. If you’re under a five, you aren’t even allowed in the house. You, sweetheart, barely qualify. That’s why I’m surprised you’re such a bitch.”

  I hate that my stomach flips over the fact I still qualify as a Delta groupie. Only the hottest girls are invited to the Delta’s epic parties. If I take this much further, Brad and his frat brothers will make sure I’m banned for life. Not only are their parties reserved for Greeks, they also have to be upper class Greeks unless invited by a Delta. As a sophomore and not living on Greek Row, I don’t qualify as either. I debate stopping now before it’s too late. Not that I have a chance to get into a Delta party. Still, I’d like to keep my options open.

  But then my stupid silver tongue engages before my brain can stop it. “You don’t think I’m hot enough to get with a Delta?”

  “Don’t hate the player, baby. Hate the game.” He shrugs and lifts his hands. His buddies snicker.

  I fight dropping my jaw at his arrogance and struggle to find something to say that won’t make me sound like a complete moron. “How about you do me a favor?”

  “Depends. Does it involve us taking off our clothes? If your titties look that good without a bra, I’ll bump you up a point.”

  Titties? What is this guy, ten? God, what a fucktard. “The next time you see Ryan, tell him he walked away from what could have been the best night of his life.” I then adjust my titties and pucker up to blow him a kiss.