Rusk University: All Lined Up Part 18

"You just . . . you're . . . Oh my G.o.d, man. You better be wearing a rubber. I'm picturing your mangled body if you ever knock her up and the big dude finds out."

"Shut up." I cut my hand across my throat in a warning gesture. There's no one near us at the moment, but I'm paranoid. Dallas's rule strictly forbids me from telling anyone. I've already botched that up and don't need someone else accidentally stumbling on to the knowledge. "We're not . . . I'm not banging her, as you put it. We're just seeing how things go."

At least, I'm pretty sure that's what we're doing. We texted back and forth over the weekend, and she didn't seem like she'd changed her mind, but she said she had church with her dad on Sunday and some dance thing on Monday and work on Tuesday. A small part of me is worried that she's blowing me off. Okay, a big part.

"Seeing how it goes with the coach's daughter . . . "

"You're going to take a dumbbell to your b.a.l.l.s if you say that out loud one more time."

He knocks on the back of the metal chair he's straddling like it's armor, and I'm moving forward to rip him off the chair when he holds his hands up.

"Relax, man. I won't say a word. But you know"-he coughs instead of saying Coach's name-"won't be the only person you have to worry about. There's Abrams, too. The guy's an a.s.shole, but no one talks about an ex as much as he does unless part of him still wants her."

"I don't give a f.u.c.k what Abrams wants. He's not getting anywhere near her, whether we work out or not."

Ryan nods, and after I do my last dead lift, growling a little more than is probably necessary to get me through it, he mercifully changes the subject.

"Speaking of Abrams. Dude is finally figuring out how not to s.h.i.t the bed every other play."

I stretch my neck from side to side, and then roll out my shoulders. "I know. I don't know what it is, but he's kicked it into another gear."

"Maybe he felt you breathing down the back of his neck."

"Maybe."

Ryan checks his watch. "I gotta get to cla.s.s, but let's get lunch before you come back here this afternoon. What's the closest cafeteria to your cla.s.s?"

"Schaefer," I say, and my stomach flips. That's Dallas's dorm.

"All right. I'll meet you there. Try not to injure any pedestrians in your frustrated state."

The only person I'm really in the mood to hurt is myself. If I didn't have to get to Spanish, I'd stay and punish myself for another couple hours. I have a feeling I'm going to have to do more than my usual run to clear my head this afternoon.

Chapter 19.

Carson It quickly becomes clear that I should have just stayed in bed today when my Spanish professor lays my failing test on my desk just before the end of cla.s.s. I shove it in my bag and make a beeline for the door.

It stays there, taunting me through my next two cla.s.ses. Those taunts merge with all my thoughts about Dallas, and Ryan might actually be right about me posing a risk to strangers.

I don't say a single word when we meet up outside Schaefer for lunch, and he must sense my mood because he doesn't say anything either. I don't let myself think about Dallas's dorm somewhere in the floors up above me as I stalk down the stairs to the cafeteria in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

I grab my tray and for today only I forget about eating healthy and what will give my body the best energy. I grab anything that looks good to me, and I've filled two plates by the time I'm done.

I see Stella first. She's laughing loudly, drawing attention in a way she seems to relish. Dallas has her back to me, and she's sitting straight in her chair because I know she'd never slump. All the same, she's very still and has her head down like she wants eyes to just pa.s.s right over her.

Mine don't. They never could.

Which is why I don't realize that Stella has spotted us until she steps directly into my line of sight.

She steps up beside me under the pretense of refilling her drink.

"You do realize that if you hurt her, I'll castrate you long before her dad gets to you . . . right?"

I punch my cup against the ice dispenser a little too hard to be casual.

"I'm not going to hurt her."

"You forget I saw you that first night, all over her. She's not like that, if that's why you're in it. She's sweet and innocent." Her voice falters on that last word, and she looks like she wishes she could take it back. "She's not a hookup is what I'm saying. So if that's what you're after, get it somewhere else."

"Do you really think I would risk my spot on the team just to hook up with her?"

She shrugs. "You wouldn't be the first stupid one to try."

My anger is too close to the surface today, and her words mixed with the thought of Dallas's relationship rules make me so irate, I actually crack the plastic cafeteria gla.s.s I'm holding.

Soda pours out over my hand, and I curse, rushing to dump it out in the machine grates.

Ryan's quiet mutter of "Incoming" is the only warning I get before Dallas is there beside us, drink in hand.

"You idiots do realize you're holding up the line, right?"

I don't look at her as I grab another gla.s.s and start to fill it up.

Stella leaves to head back to their table, and Dallas moves in closer to me.

"What's up with you?" she asks.

"Nothing. I'm just having a f.u.c.king terrible day."

I turn to go, and she grabs my elbow. She lets it go almost as fast, and if I weren't so aware of her, I could have convinced myself that I imagined it.

"Sit with us," she says.

I glance around the cafeteria briefly.

"What happened to not hanging out in public?"

"Sit beside Stella. No one will think anything of it."

I don't want to f.u.c.king sit by Stella, but I'm not stupid enough to pa.s.s up time with Dallas if I can get it.

Stella's expression when I sit down beside her is the icing on the cake.

Ryan sits his tray down next to Dallas, but with one look at my face, he slides it down one spot and sits with one chair between them.

I wouldn't have made him do that, but I like him all the more because of it.

"This is Ryan," I say.

Dallas's face is carefully blank. "I didn't realize you had anyone with you."

"It's okay," Ryan whispers. "My lips are sealed."

When Dallas's mouth falls open, and her green eyes catch mine, all that extra admiration for Ryan flies out the window.

"I didn't tell him. He just kind of-"

"He didn't," Ryan says. "I'm just an intuitive genius. Probably going to get recruited by the CIA any day now."

Stella snorts a laugh next to me, and at Dallas's glare, she says, "What? I can't laugh?"

"This isn't funny!" Dallas's tortured expression almost makes me wish I'd never sat down.

Stella is unperturbed. "You're the one who brought him over here. If you're that paranoid about gossip, there's an easy solution. I don't know how you thought it was going to play out."

I can't tell whether she's more distressed by my presence here or Ryan's, considering her rules.

"I wasn't thinking! He just-"

She looks at me, and I really wish I'd never sat down. I want to spend time with her, not be the object of pity that I currently am.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

She arches an eyebrow in a challenge because she knows I'm lying. I arch one back because I don't think our agreement of honesty extends to this weird four-way conversation where both Ryan and Stella are watching us with barely concealed expressions of interest. Besides, the conversation I want to have is unlikely to be something she wants to have in public.

Her eyes soften, and I think she gets it.

"Ugh. Dallas, just take him up to our room already and make out or something. These soulful, searching looks are going to give me hives."

I would not want to be on the receiving end of Dallas's glare, but Stella must be used to it.

"I have a solution!" Ryan says. "You guys don't want to be seen in public together in case someone gets the wrong idea. Or really, the right idea, but you don't want them to know it's the right idea."

Stella leans her elbows on the table. "Get to the point, 007."

"Go out with me," he says.

Stella looks at Dallas, but when Ryan keeps his eyes on her she says, "Wait . . . me?"

"Yeah. If we're dating, then Carson and Dallas can just tag along with us, pressure-free."

"One problem there, bud. I don't date."

"Not yet. I could be the one to sweep you off your feet."

Her snort of laughter could have taken any guy to his knees, but not Ryan. He just continues grinning, completely unfazed.

"It's a good idea," he says.

She laughs even harder, and I think there might actually be tears in her eyes when she finally settles down.

"Yeah, well, listen." She turns to Dallas. "I have to get to cla.s.s. Sorry I can't continue to be your buffer." She slips her purse over her shoulder, and before she picks up her tray, she leans across the table toward Ryan. "If you want to ask me out, you're going to have to man up and do it for real."

As she walks away, he calls out, "I thought you don't date."

"I thought you were going to sweep me off my feet."

Dallas stays picking at her food for a minute longer, then she says abruptly, "I need to go, too." I sigh, and she adds, "I'll text you."

I don't let myself watch her leave because that would just be the torture cherry on top of an already s.h.i.tty day.

When Dallas said she'd text me, I didn't think she meant immediately.

Third floor. Room 43. Take the stairs.

I take one look at the two plates of food that I barely touched, then switch my gaze to Ryan. He waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah. I'll finish my lunch alone."

"I forgive you for all your b.a.s.t.a.r.d moments."

"Good. Means I get to rack up some more."

I'm in such a hurry to leave that I almost forget my tray.

"Don't forget, you're working with Speedy and Blocks in an hour!"

Almost forgot about that, too. I roll my eyes because he's been trying to make those nicknames for Torres and Brookes stick for weeks now, and he just can't accept that it's not happening. "I'll be there."

I'm glad he's not there to see how quickly I take the stairs to the third floor, otherwise he might start calling me Speedy.

I try not to look too impatient as I knock on the door to Dallas's dorm room.

She opens the door just a crack at first, then when she sees it's me, she opens it wide.

"I'm sorry about downstairs. Now tell me what's wrong. Did something happen with-"

As soon as she closes the door, I push her against it and crash my mouth to hers. Her fingers thread through my hair, gripping it tight, and we're on the same page in seconds.

These are no soft kisses.

We touch lips and tongue and teeth. When she pulls on my hair and moans, I take that as my permission to be a little rough. I lift her up by the hips, and she wraps her impossibly long legs around me, squeezing me between them. I slide my hands around to cup her backside, and she arches out from the door. Her hands leave my hair to wrap around my shoulders, fingertips kneading and pushing at my muscles in a way that releases all the stressful tension and replaces it with the want barreling down my spine.