Obviously, Maverick has impeccable timing.

The quarterback gives me a nod. “Ah, Delaney. Surprise, surprise.”

Is he being facetious?

Because he doesn’t sound surprised. He sounds cryptic and a little pleased with himself if that makes sense. I squint at him, reminding myself to play back this conversation later.

“Hey, Ryker,” I say, giving him a nod. “We rarely get people on the third floor, so…welcome?” I hold my hands out.

Ryker looks around. “Yeah. It’s dead up here. Great place for a hook-up.”

I shake my head. “Oh my God. Is that all guys think about?”

“Yeah,” they say in unison.

“Typical,” I say with a laugh.

Almost as if he knows I’m putting up my internal defenses against him, Maverick takes a step closer and picks at a spot on the shoulder of my black shirt. Butterflies take off inside me as his index finger and thumb press together on the fabric to grab a white hair.

“What’s this?” he asks.

Swallowing, I look down at his hand and clear my throat. “Cat hair. I got in the kitten tent today at the shelter and they crawled all over me. Super adorable. I’d love to bring one home but Han would flip his lid.”

Ryker takes a full two steps back from me, his eyes wide. “You rolled around with cats?”

“Well, not literally, but yeah. It’s very therapeutic. Are you allergic?”

He nods.

“That’s awful.” I grimace.

He waves me off. “No worries. I’ll just stand over here so I don’t breathe it in. That way you guys can chat.” He finds a spot about ten feet away and pretends to look at a book. I say pretend because it’s a reference book about rivers in South America and I can’t imagine why he’d be interested, but who knows.

It’s almost as if they planned on seeing me…

I turn back to Maverick who hasn’t taken his eyes off me. “I’m completely non-allergic to cats,” he tells me.

“Why should I care?” I’m being bratty, but his cockiness brings it out in me.

He isn’t fazed and plucks another hair off me, this time around the neckline of my shirt. His fingers brush my collarbone and I inhale sharply, remembering the texting convo about collarbones with He-Man. “You’re really covered in these.” My chest rises rapidly, and he grins, leaving me convinced the man is the devil.

I’m saved just as I hear Skye talking. We’d made plans to meet after my shift and grab a drink at Buffalo Bills before we head home. She’s probably on her way up here to keep me company until I’m done.

I hear her talking to someone as she calls out my name rather tentatively, which is odd, and I’m wondering who’s with her. It sounds like a guy, but not Tyler…

Alex and Skye appear from around the corner of the shelf and I start, stiffening.

What the hell is she doing with him?

With a sheepish expression on her face, she clears her throat and waves at everyone. “Hey, y’all.”

I’m frowning as my gaze goes from her to Alex.

She nods, reading my expression. “Ah, yeah. Alex saw me on the staircase on my way up and wanted to talk…” Her voice drifts off.

Ah, I fill in the rest. She couldn’t tell him to buzz off. She’s too nice and she’d probably done her best to dissuade him.

Alex’s eyes are measuring the space between Maverick and me, which admittedly is just a few inches.

“What are you doing up here?” he asks Maverick.

Maverick straightens, his back going stiff. “It is the library. People do come here to study. What are you doing here?”

Alex taps his hand against his thighs and juts out his jaw. “Studying. Same as you.”

“I don’t see any books, kicker,” Maverick says.

A spot of red appears on Alex’s cheeks. “I left them on the first floor—since you’re so interested.”

“Huh. Maybe you should go get them.”

Alex’s face hardens. “Why? Am I interrupting anything between you and Delaney?”

Jesus take the wheel. They are both crazy.

I hold my hands up. “Hang on a minute—”

“Yeah,” Ryker says, interrupting me. He’s put down the reference book and has joined us, his brow pulled low in a scowl as he takes in the back and forth between the two. “We don’t need any trouble here, guys.”

Skye takes Alex by the arm. “Why don’t we head back downstairs?”

Alex pulls his gaze from Maverick and looks down at her, a slight softening in his face. “Sure. Sounds good.” He sends me a resigned expression. “Bye, Delaney.”

They turn to go and Skye gives me an I’m sorry look over her shoulder as they walk away.

“Dude. Not cool or subtle,” Ryker says to Maverick as soon as they are out of earshot. “Did you have to be a dick?”

Maverick’s nose flares. “He was a dick first.”

“Yeah, but you’re a leader,” Ryker tells him. “The team needs you to show everyone else how to act.”

Maverick lets out a long exhale, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Hang on a minute. Maverick is jealous of Alex? I’m about to remark on it, but he brushes past me, his tall frame stalking off. Part of me wants to call him back, but pride and all.

I look at Ryker and raise my hands up. “What’s going on?”

“If you can’t see what’s right in front of you…” He shrugs. “Later, babe.”

And then he’s walking off but not before turning around for one more comment. “Just do me a favor, okay? Don’t hurt him. He’s been through enough already.”

My heart drops at the thought of hurting Maverick. Of course I wouldn’t.

Delaney

The cafeteria in the student center is loud with the sounds of clanging dishes and students’ voices. I’m not here to eat, just to grab a soda before I head upstairs to my first salsa lesson.

I get to the register, pay for my Coke, and then head for the exit. My eyes can’t help but wander to the far left corner table near the windows where the football players usually sit in a huddle. I come to a stop when blue eyes meet mine. A flash of awareness washes over me as Maverick rakes his gaze up and down.

A small smile tilts up the side of his mouth, and it infuriates me that he seems to know he makes my body do crazy things. He’d acted jealous of Alex in The Dead Zone a few days ago but neither of us has mentioned it since. I guess we’ve decided to let it go.

Miss Brunette—the same one from class—approaches his table and plops down in the seat next to him. Her hands snake around his bicep as she looks up at him adoringly.

I feel the eye roll coming, and instead of stopping myself, I let him see it.

There you go, folks: further proof that football players are magnets for floozies.

I tip my soda at him and he smirks, as if saying, I can’t help it if women love me.

You’re so full of shit, my face says back.

He gives me a full-blown grin before looking over at her with that distant smile, the one I know isn’t authentic. He leans in and says something to her, and she looks crestfallen.

He turns back to me and stands.

He mouths something, and it looks like Wait for me.

I glance around to make sure he means me, and the only person near me is a cafeteria worker in a white jumpsuit. Looking back at him, I point to myself, just to confirm.