Page 115 of Love to Hate You

Olivia’s right, he’s adorable. He may be third string and a freshman, but he has quite the fan base on campus. And not all of them are underclassmen either. Apparently, Jackson brings out the cougar in some of these BU girls.

I untie the plastic handles and peek inside before pulling out a thick, neatly folded square of material. I hold it up to get a better look.

It’s a jersey.

On the front is the number forty-two. I turn it over and the name Prescott is stamped across the back in white block letters. His number is beneath it.

I look up. Jackson has disappeared, and Carter now stands in his place. A grin spills across his handsome face.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he yells. “I wasn’t sure if I’d have enough time to get the jersey to you.” He glances toward the tunnel where one of the assistant coaches is waiting. The guy points to his wristwatch and taps it twice. Carter nods and the coach goes back to staring at his clipboard.

“You got me a jersey?” My heartbeat kicks up a notch at his thoughtfulness.

He scoffs, “I can’t very well let my girl walk around in another guy’s number, now can I?”

Ever since freshman year, I’ve worn Noah’s jersey in a show of support.

“It’s my cousin,” I shout with a smile. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that front.”

He tilts his head to the side and squints.

Hot damn, but he looks sexy in his black jersey and tight white pants that hug his muscular thighs. The thick pads make his shoulders seem impossibly broad and his waist tapered.

And the blackout under his eyes…

I squeeze my thighs together to lessen the ache throbbing between them. The thought of having to wait at least four hours before I can get my hands on him makes me groan.

“Down, girl,” Olivia whispers. Her voice simmers with laughter.

Like I said before, she is so loving this.

Carter shakes his head and folds his arms against his chest. “Are you arguing with me, Thompson?”

I pull Noah’s jersey over my head and reveal a pink cami beneath. Then I slip into Carter’s and smooth down the material. Since it’s sized for a woman, it hugs my curves perfectly.

I hold my arms out wide for his perusal and shout, “How do you like me now, Prescott?”

Heat leaps in his eyes as they lick over me. “You look hot.” He winks as he jogs backward. “See you after the game.”

He gives me one last wave before being swallowed up by the tunnel.

“That,” Olivia declares, “was the most swoon-worthy thing ever.”

I don’t want to gloat, but she’s right.

It totally was.

And just like that, I fall a little bit harder for Carter.

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