Looking to Score(7)

“I can introduce you,” he offered. “But fair warning, you’re definitely not his type.”

I didn’t honestly give a single fuck if I was Oakley Davis’s type or not. But I was curious about what his friends thought about him. If they were quick to loosen their lips and talk shit about their teammate, I needed to know. Any information I could get on the school’s star running back was useful, so I entertained Dale for a little longer.

“And why exactly do you think I’m not his type?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

He looked me up and down in a single sweltering swoop. I felt my cheeks heat, and I took the lingering moment to stare right back at him. Dale was kind of hot. He didn’t command the room quite like his teammate, but there was a playful energy about him that felt authentic and genuine. Dale was confident; his blatant staring was proof enough of that. He was also flirtatious. “Don’t get me wrong, you definitely look the part. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Legs for days, and lips any man with half a testicle would lose his shit over.” As he spoke, he took a step closer.

“I sense a but coming on,” I replied, making him laugh. Dale’s dark chuckle made my skin buzz.

“But you brought your backpack to a bar. I can see your copy of Seven Habits of Highly Effective People sticking out of your bag. You have a pencil tucked behind your ear, and you carry yourself with confidence. You didn’t even bother getting dressed up when you came here, which means you don’t have to try hard to make your presence known.” That wasn’t exactly true. I just had a preference for comfort if I had to walk all over campus. “Oakley Davis likes easy girls that aren’t smart enough to call him on his bullshit, so if you’re looking to hook up with him, you’re better off finding someone else.”

I didn’t let Dale see me falter. Although his words had affected me, I didn’t know how I felt about him pinning me down with baseline assumptions. “Well, good thing I’m not here to sleep with him. I’m here for work. I’ll just go introduce myself, thank you,” I replied with a wink, excusing myself before Dale could say or do anything else. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something off about him.

Oakley was laughing with a short blonde girl when I walked up and introduced myself. I stared at his side profile longer than I should have. His jawline was impeccable. “Oakley Davis?” I asked before clearing my throat. Oakley turned to look at me, with confusion evident on his face.

“That’s me,” he declared. God. Even his voice was sexy. Low and rugged. I cleared my throat again, begging a sense of professionalism to course through my veins. What the fuck was wrong with me? Justin Bieber once had dinner at my parents’ house—when I was fucking fourteen and overwhelmed with hormones. If I could handle the Biebs, I could handle a cocky football player. I was a grown-ass woman.

I opened my mouth to introduce myself but stumbled when Oakley gave me a long, sensual perusal, similar to what Dale had just done. It was like the blonde at his side was long forgotten.

But this felt different. This was like disarming a gun. I was standing there with my finger hovering over the trigger to my career, and he emptied the chamber at my feet. His dark eyes looked like deep pools of honey with specks of gold. A shadow of scruff covered his jaw. His hands rested on his chest, the veins in his arms thudded as he dragged his gaze up to my thighs, my stomach, my breasts, my chest, and finally landed on my lips. I shivered, then shook my head. Nope. Nope nope nope nope.

“I’m Amanda,” I choked out while thrusting my hand out to shake his. I felt stupid. Oakley grabbed it with a grin and squeezed before pulling me closer. I tried snapping my palm back, but he wouldn’t let me. And up close, I breathed in the spicy scent of his aftershave and the booze on his lips. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“It’s nice to meet you, Amanda. Have I seen you before?”

I looked up at him through my thick lashes and shook my head free of the lust once more before pulling back. The pheromones this asshole was giving off were fucking with my ability to form coherent words and make good choices. “I’m a new student. A public relations major,” I said, hoping it would lead us into the part where I got to tell him I was his new publicist.

“Public relations? I think I need some help with my image,” he rasped, stepping closer. His hold on me felt hot. I was trapped in his orbit.

“Oh?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. Was he genuinely self-aware about his issue? I wasn’t sure what was worse: a client who didn’t know any better or a client who didn’t care.

“There’s this rumor going around,” he began before releasing my hands and sliding his own to my hips. I knew right then that I should have stopped him and drawn a clear line of appropriateness. But I didn’t. Nope. It was like my vagina took control of my mouth and slammed that sucker shut. “Do you want to know what that rumor is...baby?” The pause before the nickname sobered me some. Oh my God, this bastard couldn’t even remember my name. From five fucking seconds ago. It was hard to tell if that was a reflection of his view on women or if it was the booze. He swayed a bit as he spoke. His eyes were heavy from drunkenness—fucking hell.

I nodded. “People are saying I have the biggest cock in Texas.” Was this guy serious? No. He couldn’t possibly be serious. “Is that something you could help me with?”