Without A Doubt

C H A P T E R S E V E N : P A R T III

Evan looks around nervously fidgeting with her hands—something I've noticed a lot when the attention is on her as she disregards the others stares, looking obviously relieved when Hannah walks back up to her, grabbing the drink she hands her before slinging it back.

Maybe it's the chase—the way she has the ability to keep me guessing or the witty comebacks. I'll be the first to admit Evan Carter isn't someone I've payed attention to the last three years, but that may have everything to with that she's made it abundantly clear she will never be "one" of the many girls that occupy my bed.

Easier said than done.

I'm not a chaser, it has no appeal to me and I usually would have lost interest because I couldn't care less about the chase it's never entertained me. Girls look past it for more than a one and done situation and are vying for more than sex, but this back and forth with Carter is intriguing the hell out of me and I don't know how to feel about that.

I coast over her body—her fine ass body and that single sight alone has my dick sporting a semi.

Probably not smart considering her brothers in front of me.

Her outfit is as easily tempting as that undeniably hot halloween costume or those seemingly impossible leggings that always seem to steal my attention—hugging her curves and perky ass in all the right places.

Evan's a relatively small girl probably five-five give or take— at least compared to my six-seven frame. The clad material of her denim shorts hug her frame—giving me a far greater appreciation for her ass.

Fuck.

Combined with the sight of small cursive print of black ink decorating her skin—only adds to the sex appeal she has going on.

It's hot.

I can't make out with the inscription words say, but I'm intrigued because Evan Carter doesn't strike me as the type have a tattoo. But that just add to ever growing list about Carter that I know little about, but more I want to uncover and I'm not talking about how much I want to see her in my bed.

Bumping into Carter yesterday wasn't my intention, but an added bonus—to be honest I forgot she was in the class to begin with. Seeing as it's a one-hundred person class at nine am in the fucking morning, but she sits in the front of the lecture hall Professor Grier teaches in, something I've avoided all semester long.

The constant questions of whether my knee is healed, if I'm capable of leading the team to another championship under my leadership, my potential draft projection, the start of the season all seems to be a popular topics of conversation still.

I get it It's a big deal for the university to have someone projected to go this high up in the draft, but I don't need people hounding left and right and every goddamn second about it, I've got enough on my mind.

I've gotten somewhat used to it on campus the stares and murmurs, and since the draft boards on ESPN after last season ended went up it's become more occurrent when I'm out. Interviews, calls—text with some current players in the league—it's insane really.

Grier is notoriously known for randomly asking question about the material throughout class to see if you're paying attention or read the previous night's material.

The class itself though?

Is as basic as you can possibly get—apply a couple theoretical theories and analogies, it's an easy grade. With the way practice is running over and coach has been killing us in practice for our first game against Stanford in a couple of days, I don't get started on any of the work until ten or later.