Page 1 of Trick Shot
1
Claire
Pete Santos is everybody’s favorite guy at Bainbridge University. His signature wolf howl is a staple at sporting events, whether he’s helping the hockey team score another win or leading the student section in cheering on everything from intramural Frisbee to Co-ed Pickleball.
When he’s not assisting in the Chem Lab, he’s hiking through trails with his fellow Bio Ed majors. Pete helps out everywhere he goes.
His study sessions are the reason half the students in Physics I have passed, and his propensity for managing chaos is why the hockey team hasn’t run amok through campus. Yet.
He’s here on a full academic scholarship.
His GPA is 4.0.
When he graduates with dual degrees next December, he’s going to share his passion for science with hordes of angsty, moody, hormone-ridden middle schoolers.
Then he’ll stay late to coach the high school hockey team.
He volunteers at a wild animal rescue and treats his Gramma to breakfast once a week.
He even dresses up as Santa at the local toy drive.
He’s a lovable teddy bear.
A golden retriever no one can get enough of.
In fact, as far as I know, there’s only one person on this campus who’s not singing his praises and cheering him on from the sidelines.
But I have my reasons.
And it’s times like these that I really need to remember them. Because even though the man grates on my very last nerve, even though the mere thought of him can send me into a rage, even though I detest his privilege, his natural charisma, and his unflappable demeanor, I have to admit he’s hot.
So hot. I’ll never say it out loud, but Pete’s my catnip. He’s no Hollywood pretty boy. He’s not chiseled in granite. He’s not the kind of guy you see on the cover of a magazine unless you happen to subscribe toLumbersnacks Monthly.
And if you do, please let me know where I can get a subscription.
Right now, he’s standing ten feet away from me and I’m doing my best not to stare. It’s a losing battle, though. He’s wearing his standard uniform: basketball shorts, a BU Hockey tee with the sleeves cut off, and a backwards ball cap. It’s not sexy. At least, it shouldn’t be. Half the guys surrounding us are dressed in the same way, but none of them have me on the verge of swooning.
No. Not swooning. I don’t swoon. I scowl.
Giving my head a mental shake, I take a calming breath and relax as my features return to their natural state of resting bitch.
His gaze darts in my direction and I realize my fatal mistake.
The very first rule of hating someone from afar is that you have to keep your distance. (Hence the previously mentionedafar.) But I’ve been caught looking. Dammit.
Pete saunters toward me, and honestly, that shouldn’t even be possible. Santos is six-four. His legs are like tree trunks. The man doesn’t have hands. He has giant, meaty paws that match the rest of his hulking body. Sauntering shouldn’t be in his wheelhouse. But, like everything else at this damn school, he does it with ease.
“Need some help, Claire?” he asks, his straight, white teeth gleaming.
“You weren’t on the plane,” I blurt, because dammit, he wasn’t one of the hundred Bainbridge students who flew from Baltimore to Jacksonville early this morning for the minimester Marine Bio course. I know he wasn’t. I’d have noticed. I swear my brain gets an alert when the man comes within a few hundred feet of me. When I get a whiff of his woodsy cologne or hear his booming laugh, my body hears those little beeps that precede a storm warning. It’s been this way since freshman year. I ignored it then, and I’m ignoring it now. Over the past three and a half years, I’ve become a pro at ignoring Pete and concealing any effect he has on me.
“I was on a plane,” he says, chuckling. “Trust me, I didn’t walk to Florida from Maryland. I flew down a few days ago with the faculty and the other assistants.” Holding up his badge, he flashes another smile.
Pete Santos is perpetually cheerful and it’s nauseating.
He may be hot as hell, but that doesn’t mean I like him.
“You work here?” I ask, once again proving that the pathway from my brain to my lips has no filter.
