Chapter 9 – Josie
chapter
nine
Josie
I walked into Aldridge’s Sports Marketing seminar on Thursday morning, coffee in hand, notebook ready, fully prepared for a productive, emotionally uncomplicated day.
But the universe had different plans.
Waylon was sitting in the third row.
Oh hell no.
He was leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed, taking up more space than any one person had a right to, and he was wearing a white T-shirt that fit his shoulders way too well. He hadn’t seen me yet.
Or maybe he had and was pretending he hadn’t, which somehow felt worse.
The universe was against me. It was obvious. I was going to need to sage myself or something.
I picked a seat on the opposite side of the room, as far from the third row as I could get. I made a whole production out of getting my things and not looking at him.
But when I looked up, he was already looking at me, and there was nothing casual about it. My heart stuttered. And fucking flirt that he was, he licked his lips, and I felt it low in my belly.
I looked back at my notebook so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.
Girl... you have a man.
This is fine. He’s in your class. People are in classes. I would survive this. I just had to stay focused.
When I came back to myself, Professor Aldridge was talking about a content immersion partnership.
He’d obviously read too many LinkedIn thought pieces about authentic storytelling, and it showed.
“The social media campaign is the final deliverable,” he said, circling something he’d written in red.
“But the journey is the content. You will be embedded with your athlete partner for twelve weeks. You’ll document their training, their preparation, their humanity.
The best campaigns don’t sell a team. They sell a person. ”
I kept my eyes on the whiteboard.
Do not look at him. Don’t you dare.
Aldridge started reading pairings off a printed sheet. I heard other people’s names. I heard athletes I vaguely recognized. I watched the red circles on the whiteboard and told myself I was thinking about the project structure, the content calendar, and the analytics rubric listed on the syllabus.
“Josie Washington.”
I straightened.
“Waylon Johnson.”
Fuck. Dear Goddess, whatever I did to piss you off, I’m sorry.
Everyone started looking around for their partners. I kept my face neutral, but when I glanced at him, he wasn’t even trying to hide the grin.
The class wasn’t full of athletes, so the rest would get paired with volunteers from other Loveland teams.
I scowled at him. He gave me the slow smile, one corner pulling up until the damn dimple showed.
I was screwed. I dropped my gaze.
I was stuck with him for twelve weeks.
And joy of joys, Aldridge wanted us to start right now.
Waylon
The first working session was right now, and I was trying not to look like I’d won something. Someone upstairs either really liked me or wasn’t paying attention. I knew what I’d told Trace. But this was hardly my fault. Not that I wasn’t going to take full advantage.
We took a spot in the commons just outside of class. And I could tell she wasn’t thrilled.
“Flash, you don’t look happy to see me.”
She blinked those large, bottomless eyes at me. “I’m fine. Are you ready to discuss the angles you want to pursue for this? Obviously, your background, what you can do on the ice. I’ll get a camera crew to a game or two. But maybe—”
I cut her off. “Easy, Flash. How about we start small? No need to barrel right in.”
She bit her bottom lip, and fuck me, I was jealous of her teeth.
Something was definitely wrong with me.
“Is there a problem, Waylon?”
I studied her. “Not on my end. Here I thought we were friends, and you seem unhappy. Is there a reason you don’t want to be assigned to me?”
Please say no. Please say no.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I just would have liked an athlete from a different sport. I’m not a hockey fan.”
“What do you mean? You don’t love the rush, the adrenaline. The fun?”
“No — it’s fun for you. Hard bleachers, crowds, the fights. The cold. I really don’t love it.”
She didn’t love hockey. Well damn. So much for that being a point in my favor. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to point out that her douchebag boyfriend was a hockey player, because the less she thought about Marcus, the better.
“That’s a bummer, but I hear you. Since you have to come to games for this project, how about I promise to make you super comfy? Will that lift your spirits?”
Her lips twitched as she spoke. “I don’t know how you plan on doing that. But okay.”
She stood then. “We should probably test out the primary audio equipment. If you can wear this at practice, we can get some good content. Aldridge said he spoke to everyone’s coaches.”
“Yeah, I’ll try it today. But remember, you’ll need to come to a practice or two as well.”
She uncapped her pen. “I need to mic you for the rink audio during the practice. Ambient sound for the content, not just crowd noise.” She pulled the equipment case out of her bag, keeping her hands busy.
“Wireless transmitter clips to the inside of the jersey. I’ll run the pack along the hem, near the waistband. ”
All I could do was reach for the hem of my T-shirt and lift it slightly.
Fuck, she was close. That citrus smell was going to be a problem for the rest of my life.
“I need to route the cable,” she whispered. “Just hold still.”
I held still, because if I didn’t, I was going to put my hands on her hips.
She was careful, threading the thin cable so it wouldn’t touch me, and she kept her eyes on the task and not my abs, which was a pity. I wanted her eyes on me.
Then her knuckle caught the skin right at the hem, the crease where my hip bone disappeared into my sweatpants. I sucked in a breath, and that earned me a startled glance.
“Shit. Sorry. My hands are cold.”
“Not at all,” I said quietly. When she tried to pull her hand back, I placed mine over hers. “You’re all good, Flash”
She swallowed hard, and fuck if my eyes didn’t go straight to her lips.
WTF are you doing?
My brain tried to override my dick. We were in public. She wasn’t mine. My hand stayed right where it was anyway.
Her face flushed. And the semi I’d been rocking since she walked into class was now a full-blown problem against the front of my sweats. I prayed she didn’t look down.
She finished the cable, clipped the transmitter, and stepped back. All I could do was look down and pray. Fuck me.
Josie
That night, I tossed and turned. I’d been hot and bothered since class with Waylon. By the time the dream started to land, I was a mess.
Warm. His hands on my waist. His thumbs rested at the cut of my hips where they’d almost landed that afternoon, except there was no T-shirt between his skin and mine.
He was looking at me the way he’d looked at me from across the room when Aldridge read my name.
That slow look, like he was asking a question he already knew the answer to. Yes.
“You’re all good, Flash,” he said. His mouth was at my jaw, then my throat. One hand slid up my rib cage under a shirt I wasn’t wearing anymore.
I tilted my head back, and his hands moved. I could feel the warmth and the weight of him, and I could hear his rough voice saying my nickname again right against my ear, and I reached for him.
Then I woke with a start.
I was soaking.
Waylon Johnson was taking over every corner of my life, awake and asleep, and I needed it to stop.