Falling For The Wrong Player

The first time Alex Anderson called me beautiful, I threw a drink in his face.

Two years later, I discovered I would have to spend an entire semester working with him.

If I had known what would happen next, I would have dropped the class, abandoned my scholarship, and run as far away from Westbridge University as possible.

Unfortunately, I did not know.

All I knew was that Alex Anderson was the last person I wanted to see on a Monday morning.

"Tell me this is a mistake."

I stared at the email on my laptop, reading the announcement for the fourth time.

WESTBRIDGE WOLVES STUDENT AMBASSADOR CAMPAIGN

Student Media Representative: Sabrina Cole.

Athletic Department Representative: Alex Anderson.

I turned toward my best friend, Cathy Brooks, who was sitting across from me in the student media office.

"You recommended me for this?"

Cathy lowered her coffee.

"I thought you would be perfect for it."

"You recommended me for a project with your ex-boyfriend?"

"I did not know they would pair you together."

"Then why is his name directly beneath mine?"

She glanced at my laptop and sighed.

"Because the university apparently enjoys making my life difficult."

I stared at her.

"Your life?"

"Fine. Our lives."

I closed the laptop before I could throw it across the room.

Alex Anderson was the captain of the Westbridge Wolves, the university football team. He was also the most popular guy on campus, a talented quarterback, and a walking reminder that good looks and good character were two entirely different things.

Girls lined up for his attention. Professors praised his leadership. The university administration treated him like a national treasure.

I considered him a public nuisance.

He was arrogant, charming when it suited him, and far too comfortable with the attention he received. Two years earlier, I had learned the hard way that his compliments were not always sincere.

I had no intention of repeating that mistake.

"I cannot do this," I announced.

Cathy leaned forward. "Sabrina, listen to me. This campaign is a huge opportunity. You will interview the players, write feature stories, create content, and cover university events. It could help you secure an internship before graduation."

I hated that she made sense.

My scholarship covered my tuition, but I still needed money for transportation, food, and other expenses. I worked part-time at the student media office and accepted freelance writing assignments whenever I could find them.

An opportunity like this could change things for me.

It could also place me within arm's reach of Alex Anderson.

"I will request another assignment."

"The names have already been announced."

"Then I will request a correction."

Cathy gave me a sympathetic look.

I hated that look almost as much as I hated Alex.

Before I could continue arguing, the office door opened.

"Am I interrupting something?"

I knew that voice.

I turned slowly.

Alex stood in the doorway wearing a black football jersey and gray sweatpants. His dark hair was damp from practice, and his duffel bag hung casually from one shoulder.

His gaze moved from Cathy to me.

Then he smiled.

"Well, this is an interesting surprise."

I turned back to my laptop.

"Not for me."

He walked into the room and pulled out the chair beside mine.

"Good morning to you too, Sabrina."

"I did not invite you to sit here."

"Fortunately, the university did."

He placed a folder on the table between us.

I stared at it without touching it.

"What is that?"

"Our campaign schedule."

"Give it to someone else."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I would rather interview a brick wall than spend time with you."

He considered that for a moment.

"Would the brick wall know how to throw a football?"

"Probably not, but I imagine it would have a better personality."

Cathy made a choking sound.

Alex laughed.

I hated that his laughter sounded genuine. I hated that he could look at an insult as though it were an invitation to flirt. Most of all, I hated that he seemed completely unaffected by my dislike of him.

"You are still angry about that party," he said.

I finally turned toward him.

"Do not flatter yourself."

"Then why do you look like you want to throw something at me?"

"Because you are sitting beside me."

He leaned closer.

"You know, most girls would be thrilled to have my attention."

"Most girls have not heard you brag about how easy it is to manipulate them."

His smile faltered.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Two years earlier, I had attended a party with Cathy. Alex had approached me in the kitchen, complimented my appearance, and asked for my number. I had believed he was genuinely interested until I overheard him telling his teammates that he could make any girl fall for him if he tried hard enough.

I had returned to the kitchen and thrown my drink in his face.

By morning, half the university knew what I had done.

Alex had laughed about it publicly, but I had seen the humiliation in his eyes before he covered it with another charming smile.

I had never apologized.

He had never forgotten.

"I was an idiot back then," he said unexpectedly.

I blinked.

That was not the response I had anticipated.

"Back then?" I asked.

His mouth curved again.

"There you are."

I looked away before he could see that the exchange had unsettled me.

"Just give me the schedule."

He slid the folder toward me.

The first few pages contained dates for interviews, training sessions, team dinners, and weekend events. I turned another page and stopped.

FEATURE STORY: AN EXCLUSIVE PROFILE OF CAPTAIN ALEX ANDERSON.

I looked up.

"You have got to be joking."

"I am afraid not."

"You expect me to write your profile?"

"I expect you to ask intelligent questions and write an interesting article."

"And I expect you to stop talking before I lose my scholarship and end up in prison."

He laughed again.

I was beginning to suspect that irritating me was his favorite hobby.

My phone vibrated.

An unknown number had sent me a message.

You should quit the campaign before it is too late.

I frowned and opened the message.

Another one appeared.

You have no idea what happened between Alex and George. Do not let him fool you the way he fooled Cathy.

My fingers went still.

George Bennett.

Alex's former best friend.

My first crush.

The boy who had helped me settle into university, remembered the smallest details about me, and once spent an entire afternoon helping me prepare for a scholarship interview.

Then he had disappeared from Westbridge after a mysterious falling-out with Alex.

Nobody ever gave me the complete story. Cathy refused to discuss it, and Alex became cold whenever George's name came up.

I had not heard anything about George in months.

I looked at the unknown number.

A third message appeared.

Ask Alex what he did to his best friend. Then ask why George had to leave.

A strange uneasiness settled in my stomach.

I locked my phone and slipped it into my bag.

"You all right?" Alex asked.

"Fine."

His expression changed.

"Let me see your phone."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Who messaged you?"

"How do you know someone messaged me?"

His jaw tightened.

For the first time that morning, Alex looked less like the confident football captain everyone admired and more like someone who had just heard a threat.

"Sabrina, I need you to answer me."

I should have told him to mind his own business.

Instead, I took out my phone and showed him the messages.

He read them without moving.

Then his face went completely pale.

He stood so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor.

"Where did you get this number?" he demanded.

"I did not send the messages to myself, Alex."

He barely seemed to hear me. His eyes remained fixed on the screen.

"Did you tell anyone about these?"

"No. What is going on?"

He looked toward the door, then back at me.

I had never seen him look frightened before.

Not even when I had thrown that drink in his face.

"Because," he said quietly, "George Bennett is supposed to be dead."