Chapter Five
Marcee felt magnanimous that evening, so she decided to give the girls the night off from any homework or team-building exercises.
Still, they were hormonal teenagers on a college campus, and she wasn’t a total idiot.
She stationed Nicole in the dorm with strict instructions to make sure no one left the floor and no one who wasn’t part of their team came up.
They may get the night off, but Marcee still had pent-up energy and a workout schedule to maintain.
“Aye-aye, captain!” Standing in the doorframe of her room with messy, tiny space buns and a nose ring, Nicole exuded alternative pixie vibes. Marcee couldn’t help but snort when she gave her a wonky salute.
“Don’t quit your day job, Giles,” she advised. She almost added “please” to the end, but that felt too pathetic.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, the military couldn’t handle me in uniform.”
“No doubt.”
Five minutes later, she was stretched out and starting a steady pace across the campus. It was her favorite time of the day: golden hour. The warm, inviting sunset light painted the school grounds orange and pink as the soles of her shoes slapped against the pavement.
Can you keep up today, princess?
She was going to be haunted forever. Every time she laced up her running shoes, the boy who was a series regular in the comedic horror that was her high school experience would swim to the surface again. There wasn’t a single moment from that time when Eli wasn’t by her side, pushing her.
Marcee picked up the pace, as if it was possible to outrun him.
Every brick, every slant of roof or car horn triggered another memory.
What would it have been like to run with Eli on a college campus instead of the sidewalks of Brooklyn?
To have watched him mature out of soft teenage dimples into sleek adult lines?
To maybe watch him stand in a tux at the end of an aisle, his heart on his sleeve and tears in his eyes?
You’re the best, princess, if you’d only believe it.
Eli was the best: the best in their school, the best in their friendship. Hell, the best in any room he walked into.
And then he simply wasn’t.
Her watch beeped at her, syncing with her fitness app to let her know she’d cruised past the three-mile mark. She slowed to a stop next to one of the many pine trees on campus, heart racing. Even this far away from home, she still couldn’t shake it.
“Fuck.” The telltale hints of anxiety pressed in on her chest, working their way upward like black smoke, seeking purchase through her pores.
It never occurred to her that taking a job at a high school might trigger memories which were best left undisturbed in her vault.
The vault was like that chained-up doorway in the hospital of the first episode of The Walking Dead.
Only bad things waited on the other side.
She was stretching out her quads and calves, fixated on not thinking about her senior prom and the night of the accident, so of course, she didn’t hear him approach.
“Good form.”
Marcee jerked to the side in the middle of her lunging position, gasping obscenities as she fell over.
“What the actual hell?” she spit out, rolling to a seated position on the grass.
Remington Lockley loomed over her, eyebrows raised. She was getting really tired of ending up on her ass in front of him.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He offered her a hand, again, and she brushed it aside.
“Sure you didn’t,” she muttered, wiping off her shorts as she stood. “I don’t know about in England, but around here, it’s customary to let someone know you’re standing behind them. Ya know, instead of lurking like a creep and checking out their ass.”
“Who said anything about your arse?” He pointedly kept his eyes on her face.
“As if you weren’t,” she fired back. Had he been checking out her ass? A small part hoped he had.
“Because that’s what chauvinists do, right?
Objectify women?” He rolled his shoulders, swinging his arms back and forth as if readying for a fight.
“Listen, we clearly got off on the wrong foot. What you heard back at the clinic was stupid—I know that. That’s not who I am.
My mum would bust my arse if she heard what I said. ”
“And she’d be right to do so.”
“Would that make you hate me less? Because I’ll get her a private jet right now and fly her all the way out here. I’ll let you get in a few licks, too.”
Marcee forced back a smile. “Why?”
“Why what?” he asked, eyes roving over her face.
“Why did you say those things if it’s not who you are?
” She wasn’t sure why she was even entertaining the conversation or pretending to care about why he outed himself as an asshole.
They weren’t friends—it wasn’t a betrayal, at least not in the traditional sense, but she had an idea in her mind of who he was going to be and that ruined it.
Remy shrugged, the setting sun making his shadow long and distinct as it settled over her.
“Stupidity? I’ve been going over my words again and again since you called me out at training.
I know I don’t believe that shit, but it’s that locker room mentality, you know?
I knew they wanted to hear me say how much better I am than you, so I said it, and I’m fucking mortified.
I haven’t felt the need to fit in like that since my first year in the League. ”
It was no excuse, although she did believe locker room mentality was a real thing, even with women. Peer pressure didn’t just disappear with adolescence.
Oddly, Marcee felt disappointed all over again.
“Not good enough,” she replied, shaking her head.
“At best, you’re a people-pleasing coward.
At worst, a sexist, arrogant prick.” A breeze wafted between them, lifting the ends of her ponytail and tickling the back of her neck.
The walking path was empty, ready and waiting for her to jog back to the dorm.
“I can work with people-pleasing coward.” He edged closer, sneakers crunching on fallen twigs and acorns.
He was half intensity, half charm, and one hundred percent magnetic.
Standing near him was a battle of wills.
“Race me, Ackerman. Give me a shot to repair the damage. If I win, we wipe the slate clean and start over.”
Oh, he was good. Competition was her weakness. It was nearly impossible for her to back down.
“What happens when I win?” she replied, taking a step away. His forcefield was too strong.
“If you win,” he said, “you can go on hating me, on and off the field.”
Her heart rate kicked into overdrive. She was fast, maybe faster than him, and beating him at his own game might be the edge she needed going into the season.
After all, that was the most important thing.
They were rivals, not friends. He was a box to be checked off, a “W” to be written next to his school on the game schedule.
Marcee brushed past him, shoulder bumping against his like a butterfly wing on stone. Adrenaline spiked in her system, making her hands shake more than if she’d downed three straight shots of espresso.
“First one to the steps of the dorm wins,” she told him, setting her toe to the crack in the sidewalk.
He lined up beside her, bouncing on the balls of his feet before settling into a racing stance. She followed suit, barely able to contain herself. Warmth emanated from his upper body, just inches away.
Let’s go, baby!
“Say when,” Remy whispered, head down and eyes locked ahead.
“Go!”
He took off, bursting forward like a bullet from a gun.
Damn it, he was fast.
She caught up, grinning as her muscles stretched and she got to open her stride completely. If there was a ball at her feet, it would’ve been even better. Still, she’d take it over jogging alone any day. God, eighteen-year-old her would never believe this was happening.
“Think you can keep up?” he asked. Sweat dripped through his close-cut black hair, meandering past the clean edges and across his jawline.
“Try me,” she answered between breaths.
They’d made it to the back of the main campus, on the opposite side to where the dorms were located. Her calves were screaming at her, but if there was anything she knew how to do, it was push through the pain. Not that it mattered.
Marcee had never felt so damn alive in her entire life.
She inched forward, outpacing him.
The tempo of his footsteps increased, closing in on her, so she lurched into an all-out sprint.
Red brick buildings flashed by in a blur as they raced, breathing labored as they forced themselves to the limit.
She stole a glance to her left and he was right beside her, matching her pace.
Anxiety at losing was overpowered by something hot and primal, stirring a desperation to reach…
something. Endorphins. It had to be endorphins.
One hundred feet out from the dorm steps, then fifty, and he was two steps ahead of her. She pushed her legs to a limit she hadn’t tested since college, making up the distance.
Twenty-five feet and they were neck and neck. She had to win; she wasn’t ready to cut him a break and just wipe the slate clean. That was too easy, and he deserved to stew just like she did.
As if they’d coordinated the entire thing, the soles of their shoes slapped against the paving stones beneath the steps in unison.
Marcee sucked in mouthful after mouthful of the sticky air and flung herself onto the grass nearby, arms and legs sprawled out amongst the dandelions.
A second later, he dropped next to her, chest heaving.
“I win!” Her voice came out in a gasping croak. Water. She needed water. Her throat was like the Sahara.
“Like hell you did!”
“How’s my dust taste, Lockley?”
Remy’s lips pursed as he fell back. “Bloody Americans are all cheats.”
“No cheating necessary—although I know it’s hard to accept you got beat by a girl.”
“There are plenty of women faster than me.” He flicked a blade of grass in her direction. “You’re just not one of them. Maybe next time.”