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“You need anything else?” He glances over at me and I try to smile, but I can tell it comes out mangled. “You have all the textbooks you need for your classes?”
“Well, yeah. Class started last week.” He says it like,duh.
“I had a guy who just bought his Intro to Psychology textbook a few minutes ago.” I shrug and start heading for the counter, so I can ring him up.
“That guy sounds like a bonehead,” he says, amusement lacing his tone.
I can’t help but smile, noticing how Knox keeps up, walking beside me, towering over me. He’s well over six feet. Even broader than I thought, standing this close. Yet he moves with almost an easy elegance, which is…weird.
Weirdly attractive.
I go behind the counter, Leon nowhere in sight, leaving me alone with Knox. He doesn’t say anything. Just hands over the calculator and I ring it up for him, rattling off the total while he checks his phone. He taps out a quick message and sends it before paying for his purchase.
No words are spoken. No eye contact is made until I offer him a sugary sweet thank you as I hand over the bag.
He takes it from me, his gaze finding mine once more, a barely-there smile on his lips when he says, “You’re welcome.”
Then he’s gone.
An irritated huff leaves me and Leon mysteriously reappears, a curious expression on his face.
“What did superstar Maguire want?”
“He bought a calculator for too much money and then said ‘you’re welcome’ when, like an idiot, I said ‘thank you.’” I shake my head, annoyed. “Why would he do that? Does he actually think he’s God’s gift to women?”
“Yes, he does,” Leon deadpans, making me laugh. “He probably thought you said thank you, like you’re grateful to be in his presence.”
“Most likely.” I glance at the double doors, remembering the flare of interest in Knox’s gaze before it disappeared. Like it was never there in the first place.
I read him wrong. Not that I’m interested.
Athletes—football players in particular—aren’t my thing.
TWO
KNOX
Practice islong over and I’m throwing on fresh clothes after taking a quick shower when our head coach makes his way over to my locker.
“Maguire, a word?”
I’m about to answer when he turns and walks away, fully expecting me to follow after him.
The locker room goes quiet, everyone sharing curious looks as I shove the rest of my stuff in my backpack before slamming my locker door shut. I make my way to his office, where he left the door open for me, then requests I close it when I’m about to walk inside.
I do as he asks, settling into the chair across from him, trying to ignore the way my stomach churns with nerves. Doesn’t help that Coach Mattson just stares at me, his gaze steady. Intense. Like he wants to freak me out.
Well, he’s doing a damn good job of it.
“Looking good out there today.”
That’s all he says.
“Thank you.”
“How’s the knee?”
Hurts like a bitch, but I don’t want to admit it. “Fine.”
