Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

It may simply be a placebo effect, but I swear to God, my knee has already started feeling better. Since Sunday night, I’ve been icing and resting and following Harper’s home program to the letter.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been counting down the hours until I can lie down in her bed again. My gold-standard ice bath isn’t cutting it anymore. I’m craving a full-fledged deep-tissue massage, but I have to wait a few more hours until I can have what I want. What I need, really.

As long as I can stay awake this time.

I can’t afford to spend my Tuesday night lounging in Harper’s bed. Not when I could be studying, or picking up an extra shift at the pier, or helping my sister with Bentley. I only have one hour to spare tonight. That’s the allotted time I’ve given myself, preceded by team practice drills and a weekly phone call with my best friend, Danny.

My only friend, I guess, if I’m excluding my siblings.

Daniel Moreno has been my friend since before I can remember. In reality, we met on the playground way back in preschool. Danny kicked a load of sand in my shoe, so I punched him square in the nose. He cried, I felt bad, and the rest is history.

Now, Danny’s a fellow linebacker at our rival school, Dayton University. It was always the plan to leave our small hometown together. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford the early deposit and lost out on my scholarship. Thankfully, Coastal U made me an offer I couldn’t refuse—a full ride within a twenty-mile radius of home.

Besides, I have no problem staying close to my family. Taylor and my parents need me around. And so do my three little sisters and delinquent brother. At least, they need me financially, which is why I’m counting on the draft this spring.

I’m nearly two hours into our nightly practice regime when I hear Coach call my name. His tone is sharp, gritty, and harsh on my ringing ears, and it’s likely because I’ve been leaning to the right for the last twenty minutes.

What more does this stubborn man want from me? I suffered through his conditioning program this morning, got taped by our interns before hitting the field, and now I’m on my last set of bag and tackle drills.

“Reynolds,” Coach calls again, one hand waving erratically in my face. “You’re unsteady on your feet today. What’s going on?”

I grit my teeth. “Nothing, Coach.”

“Yeah? No joint pain?” He scrutinizes me, eyes slowly dragging from my shoulder pads down to my dirt-stained cleats. “You’re leaning, son.”

“We’re all good here.”

Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear his gaze lingers on my knee for a split second too long. Then, before I can even blink, he gives me a tight-lipped smile followed by a heavy pat on the shoulder.

“Why don’t you have one of our interns look over you after practice today?” he suggests with a definitive nod. “Give ’em some practical experience.”

My brain scrambles to invent a reasonable excuse.

“I, uh, I’ve got work tonight,” I finally manage to spit out.

“I’m asking you for fifteen minutes, Reynolds.” He cocks a brow, tapping the end of his pen on his clipboard. This is no suggestion, that much is clear. “You told me you were dedicated to the team. That’s why I made you defensive captain this year.”

He’s right, in the end. I need to face the harsh reality that Coach Reid is the one in charge here. If I want to stay on his good side, then I need to keep up appearances and quit with the fucking back talk. God knows I’m not winning any popular votes with my teammates, either.

“Right.” I clear my throat, flexing the fist I’ve been clenching to my side. “Yeah, I suppose I can spare fifteen minutes.”

“Great.”

I manage to finish my last set of drills fully upright, with minimal lateral lean and a phony-ass grin for Coach. By the time I make it back to the athletic training room, my muscles are crying out for that promised massage.

Harper must have magical hands or something, I swear to God. The fucking woodland fairy.

As I step further into the room, the sound of hushed whispers catches me off guard. Along the back entrance, Eden and Fletcher are standing awfully close, their faces an inch or two apart. It’s difficult to judge Eden’s expression, though, as Fletcher has her caged in with one arm.

I clear my throat, taking a few solid steps closer to the pair. “Everything good here?”

Eden’s head ducks around Fletcher’s tall frame, cheeks flushed a warm shade of pink. Her eyes widen with recognition when she spots me. It only takes a brief moment before she’s scrambling away from her companion. Fletcher, on the other hand, is much slower on the uptake. His arm gently falls from the wall, spine visibly stiff at the sound of my voice.

When he finally turns to face me, his expression is plainly dejected.

“Sorry, Reynolds,” Eden squeaks out. “How can we help you?”

I raise one dubious brow, eyes locked on Fletcher. “Actually, Harper’s gonna look me over when I get to her place. If Coach asks, just tell him we’re all good here.”

“Sure thing.” Eden’s gaze flits from me to the wall, to Fletcher, and back again. She’s chewing on her bottom lip so roughly that she’s bound to draw blood. “See you later, then.”

She waves one trembling hand before darting out the back entrance. With a crestfallen shake of his head, Fletcher trails closely behind. I swear I hear the word princess followed by the heavy slam of an automatic door.

By the time I’ve ventured home, showered, and dressed for Harper’s, I only have about five minutes left for a phone call. It’s not a huge deal, but we’ve been cutting our conversations short for months now. There’s always something in the way, whether it be my schedule or Danny’s.

He answers on the first ring with a cheerful “Hey, man.”

“Practice ran a little late,” I tell him, scrubbing a towel over my damp hair. “I only have a few extra minutes tonight.”

“No worries. I’m going out to dinner with . . .” He clears his throat, an awkward lilt invading his tone. “I mean, I’m about to go out for dinner anyway, so it’s no big deal.”

I scrub an irritated hand across my forehead. “Alright then. How’s uh, how’s your team doing this season?”

“You little fucker.” The playful timbre of his voice returns. “You know we got our asses handed to us last weekend.”

My eyes roll back. “Yeah, you and your guys couldn’t block Miami’s offense for shit.”Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“And you still think you’re hot shit because the Ospreys beat them last season. News flash, their best player was just medically disqualified.”

“Yeah, and what’s your team’s excuse this year?”

“You’re still such an ass, Reynolds.” His warm chuckle reverberates through the phone. “Glad to see Coastal hasn’t changed you too much.”

“I’m a few miles from home, D. What is there to change?”

And that’s the damn truth. While I’ve been stuck in this town for the past four years, Danny’s been the one changing over at DU. In fact, he spent this past summer galivanting around Europe with his girlfriend. I doubt he’s even been home once since last Christmas. At least, that’s the last visit I’m aware of, anyway.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says earnestly. “How is everybody over there, anyway? Little Giorgie?”

“Giorgie and the twins are good.” I can’t fight the grin that lights up my face. “Taylor’s working her ass off, and Elio is himself, as per usual.”

“I need to get back there soon for a visit. I think Sof . . . I mean, I think I’m gonna head back for fall break here in a few weeks or so.”

“You know you can say her name, right?” I ask the question through gritted teeth. “I’m not gonna spontaneously combust if I hear it.”

“Yeah, man, I know,” he says somberly. “I just . . . it still feels a little weird.”

“It’s been two years.”

“I know.”

“Look, I need to go anyway.” I straighten my shoulders, the next words unintentionally slipping from my mouth. “I’m, uh—I’ve actually started seeing someone.”

“Oh?” His tone is pleasantly shocked. “That’s fucking great, dude. What’s her name?”

“Harper,” I blurt out. “Yeah, she’s . . . great. A sweet girl. I’m heading to her house now, actually.”

“I guess I’ll talk to you next week, then. I’m really happy for you, Luc.”

“Sure,” I grumble. “Have a good night with Sofia.”

There’s an awkwardly long pause, and then, “. . . yeah, thanks. Night, then.”

When I finally hang up, my mind is reeling. Now, I’ve got a headache to go along with my body aches, and I’m jonesing even harder for that coveted massage. For Harper’s magical healing hands.

I drive at least seven miles over the speed limit the entire route to her apartment. My knee is shaking as I take the stairs two at a time. With one solid knock, I plant myself directly in front of the sparkly, pink entrance.

The front door swings open in the same fashion as the other night. I narrowly avoid another smack to the face as Harper exclaims, “You’re here!”

“I am.”

“That’s great.” She smiles wide, soft cheeks stretched across her lightly freckled face. “And look, I didn’t even hit you this time.”

I give her a pursed-lipped nod. “Right.”

“Okay, well, come on in and make yourself at home.” She holds out one arm, gesturing wide to the entrance of her living room. “Stella’s out tonight, just so you know. She wanted to give us a little bit of privacy.”

“Privacy?” I ask, stepping over the threshold before us. Harper trails in after me, closing the front door behind her with a gentle shove.

“Stella thinks we’re hooking up,” she blurts, fingers twisting into the ends of her sun-bleached hair. “Not that I told her we were having sex or anything. I wouldn’t do that yet. I mean, unless you want me to. Should we come up with a story to cover that?”

A flush of heat rushes to my neck. “Can’t we just . . . leave that part to the imagination?”

“What do you mean?” Her head tilts like she honestly has no clue what the fuck I’m talking about.

“Surely you don’t need to share all the details about your sex life?”

“Oh, um, yeah . . . we usually do.” Her brow crinkles, nose scrunching as she assesses me. “You know, like, favorite positions, best partners, how we like to—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” I hold up one hand, the heat rising further up the column of my throat. “I get the picture.”

“Sorry,” she squeaks out, shooting me an apologetic smile. “This is all pretty normal for me, Luca. I’m sure you talk about worse things with your guy friends.”

“I don’t,” I say plainly.

Her eyes go wide. “Ever?”

“Never,” I confirm. “That’s . . . private.”

Her head is still tilted, gaze fixed on mine as she gently rubs at her chin. Her teeth press into her full bottom lip. “Is it because you’ve never had sex before?”

“What?” I sputter, disconcerted.

“If so, that’s totally normal.” Her hands clasp together underneath her chin, that sweet, innocent smile of hers stretching a mile wide. “You know, virginity is actually just a social construct anyway, and no amount of—”

I clap a hand to my forehead, my headache returning in full force. “Stop.”

“I promise, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Her voice is soft, reassuring as she reaches out with one hand. Before she can make contact with my skin, however, she draws her arm back, clasping it tightly against her chest. “At least, not in front of me.”

“I’m not a virgin, Harper.” The words are biting, irritation slipping through. “I just have boundaries.”

She’s nodding emphatically now. “Boundaries? Like, in the bedroom?”

“Like, in my conversations,” I correct. “I know the concept might seem foreign to you, but I don’t need to share every intimate detail of my life.”

She waggles her brows. “Intimate, huh?”

“We’re done talking about this. Let’s just get to work, because now I only have—” I pull my phone from my back pocket, checking the time. “—fifty-three minutes to spare tonight.”

“Okay, well, you know the drill, then.” She prances off down the hallway, tilting her head back to shout, “My bed! Pants off!”

An unhappy groan slips out as I mutter, “Is it your personal mission to make me as uncomfortable as possible?”

“Quite the opposite, Luca,” she calls out, beckoning me toward her with both hands. “Now, come on, slowpoke. We’re wasting time.”