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He laughs under his breath, but I don’t. I try to redirect things to my business so I can get out of here and away from Cutter and his stupid woodsy cologne.
“Coach said to get with you about my media shots and the program for this year?”
Mr. James nods and holds up a finger, ducking into his office to grab a yellow envelope. He hands it to me and I pull the small card and questionnaire out to give it a quick glance.
“We’ll put together the piece based on your responses, so if you could fill it out and get it to my secretary by the end of the week that’d be great. You’ll need to set up your photoshoot too. The number’s on that card.”
I pull the card free of the paperclip and eye the number scribbled on top.
“No problem sir. And I promise to be nothing but professional.” I’m always professional, actually, but I know he and I have different definitions of that word. He means quiet and scripted—censored. For the sake of going pro, I’ll repeat the university talking points this year. But when I’m on a professional women’s team, you bet your ass I’m going to speak my mind about all the ways that Title Nine still misses the mark in making sports opportunities equal.
“Great,” he says, giving me a timid nod. I have a feeling he has his doubts that I can keep my word.
“Cutter, nice to see you. Did you need something?” Mr. James asks.
I turn to leave the two men to whatever business they have, but then Cutter says, “Nope, I came up here for Laney.”
I stop in my tracks and curl my fingers around the envelope and paper, stopping myself before I wad them up into a ball. I glance over my shoulder to find Cutter’s charming smile only a few steps behind me and Mr. James back inside his office.
“You followed me?” My eyes narrow on him.
“You ran away from me this morning,” he tosses back.
I suck in a long breath and let it simmer in my chest as I continue my way to the elevator. My legs are spent now from practice and the last thing I need to add to this day is a falling down stairs in front of him.
“Oh wait . . . are you still running?” He jogs passed me and turns to walk backward, forcing me to look him in his eyes.
“I’m not running away from you, Cutter. I had something to do. And I didn’t want to wake you.” We both know that’s a load of crap, but he doesn’t call me on it thank God.
The elevator doors open and we both step inside. It’s an odd time on campus, with all of the classes in session, so we end up in the tight space alone. Rather than enduring more of his teasing or pretending that we didn’t do what we did last night, I turn my attention to the note card in my hand. I slip the form back into the envelope but leave the card clipped to the outside then slip my phone from the side pocket of my workout shorts.
“Excuse me, but I have to set up my media photos.” I clear my throat as I punch the number into my phone and press CALL.
The first ring I hear is in my ear, but the next one comes from somewhere else. The sounds aren’t synced, the tone in my ear and the faint ding that sounds in the elevator. I turn slowly to follow the sound of the noise as Cutter pulls his phone from his pocket and answers his call.
“This is Cutter. How can I help you?” His voice is both in my face and in my ear.
“Goddamnit.” I end the call and stuff my phone back in my pocket just as the elevator door opens and my pesky roommate begins to cackle.
“This is not happening. How areyouthe person taking my photos?” I scowl at him as I step out of the elevator and double time it to my first class, which doesn’t start for an hour.
Cutter keeps up.
“I needed an art credit. And I’m actually a great photographer,” he says.
“Well I don’t need a mug shot. So if it’s all the same, I’d like to request someone else.”
“Hey.” His hand lands on my arm, so I stop in the middle of the main campus walkway and let my shoulders drop with a heavy sigh.
I lift my chin to find his waiting glare, his head cocked to one side, hands in his pockets as he gives his shoulders a quick raise.
“Look, this is part of my grade. And I’m not screwing with you. Well, I mean?—”
I swat at him and he laughs me off, taking a step back.
“Okay, okay. Seriously, Laney. I’m pretty good at this. When is your last class today?”
My chest tightens. I don’t want to do this, but at the same time, there’s a pulsing hunger inside my body that is pushing me to give in. More time doing things other than sitting in our shared room and fighting against our physical attraction isn’t a bad thing either.
