Page 44 of Out of Bounds

"And he did mention…a temper."

"His temper?" I frowned. "I mean…he’s just…protective. He didn’t mean to—oh my god, you meanmytemper."

Ryan Cross waltzed into my future job and announced to everyone that I was this fragile kid’s toy that could also come unglued and start chucking staplers at everybody. No wonder they were scared shitless in the office. They thought I was out here to break windows.

"I don’t have a temper," I blurted out. "I’m a great worker. Before this, I worked seventy hours a week, mostly at bars! I can hold my own, sure, but I’m reliable and I’m an animation student and—"

"Which is not graphic design," she told me gently.

"No, it…it isn’t," I admitted. "But I really wanted to learn and—"

"Kassandra, we’re professionals who handle one of the biggest universities in the country. We have a lot of expensive programs we work with, all calibrated for what we do." She hesitated, watching me. "We just…think your time could be used for better things. Like your studies!"

"Oh."

"But we adore Mr. Cross."

I signed a contract to be his fake girlfriend, not heap praise on the man who was going around campus, warning people that I was dangerous.

"If you need anything, I’ll be your point of contact," she assured me. "Coffee, tea, anything. I’m right here."

"Got it," I sighed.

"Why don’t you take this time to figure out something nice for Ryan? That could be fun," Sandra suggested at the door. "I’m sure he’d just adore that from you."

Like a paintball in his locker?

I slipped off my backpack. "Sounds like a plan."

I knew one thing for certain. No matter what I said, I still had the football player’s presence hanging over me. My entire time here would be exactly like this. Unless…I could prove my usefulness.

With my free time, I could make a project of my own.

I just need some tools.

Walking away from my office, I tapped my pen against the sketchbook, taking a stroll around the graphic design department. Everyone straightened up when they saw me but they relaxed a little when I stayed quiet and out of the way.

One of the guys at the desks turned back to his keyboard, typing in the computer’s password.

Quickly, I jotted down the letters and numbers in my sketchbook, humming under my breath, pretending to smudge something.

One down. The rest to go.

17

Ryan

Twenty Minutes Late

The first step to being a football player’s girlfriend? You show up for practice. Freshman, sophomore, and during the start of my junior year, I’d witnessed it. All of the girlfriends on the bleachers. Wearing the dark blue jerseys. It was an unofficial rule that might as well have been chiseled into the side of the training center.

On her first required practice, the practice I’d texted twice to remind her about, Kassie was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in the parking lot. She wasn’t on the bleachers. Absent without leave.

The best way to ignore that was to throw myself into training.

"I’m going again," I informed the guys and steadied into position. Fifteen minutes after six, I hooked up to the lateralspeed machines once more. "Olsen, keep your arms locked. Windows, we’re ready?"

"You’re a fucking beast, Cross."

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