Right the First Time (Shafer U #1)
1. Lenni
ONE
lenni
I should have worn an underwire bra.
I glance at my watch—eleven minutes until class starts—and pick up the pace, cursing my earlier decision to wear the cute little bralette with the spaghetti straps and exactly zero support.
“None of your usual granny bras,” my best friend Jade had warned, insisting that if I wanted more than innocent flirting from Shafer University’s star quarterback, I’d better get used to bras made from lace, string, and little else. Jade doesn’t approve of my crush, but she’s so desperate for me to like a boy—any boy—that she’s set aside her own feelings about him to stoke mine. Now I sort of wish she hadn’t. I like my granny bras with their wide, padded straps and fifteen hooks. Who cares that they’re hideous? The only living thing that sees me shirtless is the withering philodendron on my nightstand. I press my notebook to my chest and cross my arms to minimize the bounce. Reeve Dalton had just better be worth it.
I’ve powered through a few rounds of flirting with Reeve in our Applied Statistics class with no idea where it might go. I’m not even clear why it began. I’d like to think the fact he started chatting me up the first time I wore a tight shirt to class is a mere coincidence, but so far, the evidence isn’t there.
A small part of me suspects he’s been using his charm and killer smile for nefarious purposes, and any day now he’ll lean over, letting his masculine scent overwhelm me, his lips brush my ear, and smoothly inquire as to whether he can cheat off me during our upcoming exam. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten that question from a guy way out of my league. But so far, Reeve’s shown no hint of an ulterior motive. And with Jade’s encouragement, I’ve decided I’m not leaving class today without an invite to one of the football team’s legendary postgame parties. Not because I like those parties; on the contrary, I’m uncomfortably aware how much I stick out in places crowded by beautiful, cool people. But an invite would mean something is actually happening between me and Reeve. And am I ready for something to happen? I don’t know yet. But I’m ready to step out of my all-work-no-play world and find out.
I’m damp with sweat by the time I reach the mathematics building, the late-summer heat combining with my jacked-up nerves to make me feel like the least sexy version of myself. I try not to imagine the frizz situation surely unfolding on top of my head. I almost trip on the stairs leading into the building. Wedge sandals to walk around campus all day? What was I—er, Jade—thinking? I haven’t worn a heel since the Freshman Formal, and now I remember why. Not only can I barely walk without my ankles threatening to snap, but even an extra two inches makes me conspicuously tall. I hate being conspicuous.
I fan myself with my notebook to dry the sweat at my temples. Walking inside offers no relief, only the smell of decades-old wood paneling baking in the Midwestern heat. As one of the oldest on Shafer University’s century-old campus, the mathematics building lacks air-conditioning and is basically a giant oven for the first month of school.
When I open the door to the sweeping lecture hall, there’s Reeve strutting his way across the room. And there’s that familiar little spark of excitement in my chest. I head for my usual seat, wishing I had the courage and social skills to walk up to him and insert myself into the conversation he just struck up with a group of people a few feet away. One of them mentions the football party on Saturday and my gut churns. Does Reeve hand out party invites like candy, or am I going to have to invite myself to this thing? Jade keeps reminding me girls don’t need invitations to parties, but it’s not about getting in. It’s about getting invited by Reeve.
From the corner of my eye, I see him glance my way, and suddenly nerves wash away my excitement completely. But I tell myself this feeling is good. For once, my nervousness isn’t about my grades or what my editor will think of my latest article or what my mom’s voice will sound like the next time she answers her phone. This is the opposite of all of that. I’m letting loose for once.
I pretend not to notice Reeve and his friend approaching, but of course I do; everyone does. I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms against my jeans, trying to be subtle. I can’t do this. Maybe today I’ll just settle for flirting. There’s plenty of time to get an invite from him.
“Hey, Red,” Reeve says as he takes the seat next to mine, leaning over me so I can practically feel his deep voice. He must have all of this practiced to perfection, the nickname and the sexy voice, and the whole thing, but I don’t care. I’m eating it up. Who even am I?
“Hi.” I try to keep my smile coy and cute, but I’m overeager, so I probably look like the Cheshire cat.
Two seats down, Reeve’s friend Cameron gives me a cursory glance before turning his attention elsewhere. Reeve and Cam are a study in beautiful contrasts. Aside from their chiseled good looks and superior football skills, I can’t imagine what the two have in common. Reeve is impossible not to notice with his loud laugh and self-assured smile and that gorgeous blond hair that’s styled differently every week. Cocky as he is, he’s not above chatting up anyone who’s willing to listen. And who on campus isn’t? Meanwhile, I barely know the sound of dark-haired Cam’s voice. He’s definitely got that silent, holier-than-thou air about him. Even his gaze is selective and intentional, like he refuses to waste time looking at anything that doesn’t interest him. He doesn’t grab your attention like Reeve does. Somehow, though, he’s harder to look away from.
Unfortunately, he’s also an asshole.
“You coming to the game this weekend?” Reeve asks.
I hesitate. Would a yes score me an invite to hang out afterward? The game’s hours away, a fact I only know from listening to the sports writers’ chatter in the school newsroom. Do girls actually drive for hours just to watch these guys? My apartment’s five minutes from our home stadium, and I’ve still never seen a game. “I don’t think so,” I say sweetly. “Schoolwork and all that.” Am I smiling too much? My teeth feel dry.
“Bet I’ll catch you at the next one,” Reeve says confidently. “Nice top, by the way.” Briefly, his gaze drops to my chest, taking in the lace bra and the deep scoop of my tank top before returning to my face.
“Thanks.” My delight is totally out of proportion with the meager compliment, but a crush is a hell of a drug—one I haven’t dared let myself taste in so long. Perfectly reasonable after what happened, I can hear my old therapist reassuring me. Maybe, but I’m tired of being perfectly reasonable. I don’t know why Reeve has suddenly decided to pay attention to me, unless he got bored of flirting with all the beautiful, stylish girls who usually swarm him, and he figured, why not try the opposite? But his lapse in judgment is the most exciting thing to happen to me since my grandparents gifted me a vintage typewriter last year.
And they call these the best years of my life.
“So, Red,” Reeve says, “party at the football house this Saturday. You should come by, bring some of your girls.”
And just like that, he drops it in my lap. I didn’t even have to work for it. I feel an unexpected wave of disappointment—I was supposed to earn that invitation. This was going to be a test of how much I actually want Reeve, and he just pulled the rug out from under me. But the feeling is fleeting. I’m off the hook.
I smile belatedly, finding my voice. “Post-game celebration, I take it?”
“You know it. Win or lose, we’re partying.” He holds my eye. “You should wear your signature color.”
I think it’s only an innocent reference to our school mascot, the Red Phantom, but my body responds to it like a compliment, radiating with pleasure.
When Professor Richards walks in the door and students settle into their seats, I let out a deep breath and face the front of the room. I got what I wanted, even if it’s far less satisfying than expected. Now I can stop pretending I know what I’m doing and focus on something I’m good at.
When class ends, Reeve nods to me. “See you Saturday.”
That’s when I spot the T-shirt at the bottom of my bag and remember my little brother. My stomach drops. Am I really going to embarrass myself in front of Reeve and his friend just to make my brother smile? I yank the shirt out. Yes, I am.
“Hey, Reeve?” I say as he’s turning away. “I know this is weird, but would you mind, um, signing an autograph?” I feel my cheeks redden as I hold up the shirt.
Reeve looks pleased and throws a quick look at Cam that’s surely full of meaning, but even if I could decipher it, I wouldn’t want to. Cam, meanwhile, just blinks at me. Much like he did freshman year—the first and last time we spoke—when his dickhead football friends spilled booze all over me. I look away and fumble in my bag for the marker I brought.
Reeve spreads the T-shirt across the desk, smoothing it expertly. “Where do you want my name? Across the chest?” He winks.
“Sure, that’s great,” I say eagerly. Then I catch his meaning. “Oh, no, actually this is for my little brother so...yeah, it’s not like that.” My cheeks are pure fire. This is even more humiliating than expected.
Reeve shrugs like he’s not sure he believes me, but he proceeds with a careful and elaborate signature across the dead center of the shirt. Then he hands the marker to his friend. “Cam?”
Cam looks at me for a brief second and then nods. “Yeah, sure.” He produces a small autograph on the shirt sleeve and hands back the marker.
I grin in spite of my embarrassment. Signatures from two of Shafer football’s very best? Gus is never going to take this shirt off. “Thanks, guys. You just made my brother’s year.”
“Anytime,” Reeve says and the two of them walk out.
I drag my eyes away from their imposing figures and gather up my things. I have one more man to talk to before I leave class.
Darren Pierce sits at the end of the third row typing on his laptop, his tight curls a little frizzier than usual, his light beard neatly trimmed as always.
As sports editor for the school newspaper, Darren is kind of my new boss. Temporarily, anyway. He glances up as I walk toward him and does an unmistakable double take through his tortoiseshell glasses. I flush, wishing the walk to the third row wasn’t so long, and tug the neckline of my top to hide the lacy edges of my bra. Damn Jade for making me think I could pull off this look. Who cares if Reeve likes it? I need Darren to take me seriously.
“How’s it going, Lenni?” he says when I reach him. “You’re all dressed up again. You know, if you’re angling to start a weekly fashion column, I’m not the one you need to impress.”
“Ha. Definitely not,” I say, pretending to find him funny. But jeez, how much of a slob do I usually come off as? I’m not wearing an evening gown and stilettos here, it’s fitted jeans and a tank top. “No, I just wanted to run a few questions by you for this volleyball article. I’m not sure I’m on the right track.”
I sit down and show him what I’ve written, feeling like a freshman reporter all over again. Sports really aren’t my thing—I usually write for the Arts and Lifestyle section—but when one of our sports reporters went on abrupt hiatus from school last week, I faked a little enthusiasm and volunteered to cover whatever the other sports writers couldn’t get to. If I don’t make editor by next year, I can say goodbye to any chance of admission to a great grad program...and any chance of saving my family from imploding.
After Darren suggests a few edits for my article, I thank him and stand up. Over by the door, Reeve has stopped to talk to two pretty girls that I’m sure have never snapped an ankle walking in heels. Cam stands silently at his side. The foursome blocks most of the exit, but of course no one complains about having to squeeze past. I’m hoping they leave before I do.
“One more thing, Lenni, while I have you here,” Darren says, standing up. He lowers his voice. “It’s not looking like Bella is coming back this semester,” he says gravely.
“Really? Is she all right?” I’m dying to know why the bright and hardworking Bella is suddenly MIA, but the editors aren’t talking and the rumors of her having a secret drug problem are just that: rumors.
“I think she’ll be okay after some time at home. But how would you feel about helping fill in the blanks a while longer? Now, don’t freak out,” he adds quickly, “we’re already working on bringing in a new reporter?—”
“Definitely!” Sure, this next month threatens to drown me in schoolwork and my part-time job at the fine arts library, but I don’t say no to anything for the paper. The more I stand out as a student journalist, the sooner I can support my family.
I glance again at Reeve’s group just beyond Darren’s shoulder. At that instant, Cam’s head turns from his friends, and his eyes shift directly to me. I want to look away because I don’t know what to make of his stare—no one ever stares at me like this—but I’m trapped in his gaze.
“You can think about it,” Darren assures me. “This is a busy time of year.”
I force myself to look at him, but I’m not seeing him at all. “No need,” I say quickly. “I’m all in.”
Darren expresses some sort of gratitude that I barely hear while I flick my gaze back to Cam. The vivid amber of his eyes blazes bright even from across the room, and the dark arches of his eyebrows betray a focus that makes me uncomfortably aware of myself. My heart, perfectly at ease an instant ago, is hammering in my throat. And then it’s over. The boys disappear through the doorway while I sit staring at the spot Cam just occupied and recovering from the intensity of his eyes.
And suddenly, I’m not thinking about Reeve at all.