Goddess Rising (23 page)

“At
my
expense, Wes,” she snapped. “I don’t know what the hell you told Sasser, but I know you’re up to something. And it had better
not
be a story about me.”

Wes felt his chin rise. “And if it is?”

Samantha bristled. “I won’t be an affirmative action point, Wes.”

“You don’t get to have it both ways, Samantha,” Wes answered, frowning. “You’re the one dead set on breaking the glass ceiling,” he pointed out. “Well, guess what, Sam—that glass is transparent. I’m just covering the story before someone else does.”

“You
asshole
,” Sam hissed, her voice pure venom. “Do you have any idea how much flack I’m going to take for this? I have it hard enough as it is. You think those boys don’t want me off the team already? You focusing in on me is just going to make my life a living hell.”

Wes faltered for a moment, thought of the internship and her own challenge to him a few days ago. “You’re the one who accused me of being a slacker. You’re the one I was thinking of when I decided to step up and go for something bigger.” He gestured at his camera. “This
is
the bigger thing, Sam. And I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but it’s one helluva story, especially if you
do
make it into the Challenge. It’s out there now. You’re the one setting precedence. All I’m doing is reporting on it.”

She spun around, walking away at a fast clip.

Wes blew out a frustrated sigh. “Think of all the people who will see this as a major win for women’s equality,” he pointed out as he caught up to her.

“You’re seriously going to stand there and spout bullshit about women’s equality to me?” Sam snapped, incredulous. “You—the guy who goes through girls like tissues?”

Wes’s chin jutted up. “Everything that happens between me and the girls I’ve slept with has been consensual,” he reminded her. “Why are you acting like I’ve committed some heinous crime? And how did I become some kind of misogynist because I like sex and women like sex with me? I don’t make promises about relationships. I don’t set up elaborate ruses.”

“You did with me.” Sam threw over her shoulder, leaving. “Befriend Samantha Wyatt, get her to tell you a few of her secrets, see if you can score the girl who’s trying to do something besides be an heiress to her daddy’s fortune.”

Wes put a hand on her shoulder again to stop her, agitated. “One, I didn’t set up a ruse with you. I’m genuinely into you, and I want to get to know you better. I’ve been clear about that from the start. Secondly, you’re the one who told me you thought I wasn’t taking my potential seriously. So this is me, taking it seriously. This story could get me a competitive spot on
The Statesman
,” he told her. “So yeah, I’m going after it. Because I may not be good enough for you right now, but I’m damn well going to earn the right to try.”

Sam paused briefly. Wes took that to be a good sign.

“You’re the newsmaker, Samantha,” he told her. “What you’re doing is singular. I’m not trying to make things harder for you—I’m trying to do justice to your story.” Wes stepped closer to her, feeling the warmth of her body through her fatigues as he pressed himself against her back. “Please, Sammy—
let
me.”

For a split second, Wes felt her relax against him, and he thought he had her. But he should have known by now things with Sammy weren’t going to be easy. When were they ever?

She elbowed him hard in the solar plexus, and the breath whooshed out of him as he curled around the pain that expanded from his abdomen.

“No, you don’t have my permission,” she hissed. “But you never wanted it anyway, did you? You were always going to do what you wanted to do. If you wanted me to know, you would have told me before you just showed up today.”

“I didn’t think you’d like it—” he gasped out.

“Bullshit. You
knew
I wouldn’t like it,” she snapped, swinging open the door to her Mustang. “Stay the hell away from me, Wes. I mean it.”

September—Wednesday Night

Sam’s Apartment, College Station, Texas

S A M A N T H A

S
he heard the
knocking just as she finished towel drying her hair. Her first priority, following her long day of training, had been getting off the grime from the day’s exercises. Well, perhaps second only to giving Wes a piece of her mind.

“Coming!” she called out as she padded across her living room, swinging the front door open to find Chris standing there, holding a box of pizza. He took in her t-shirt and cut-offs, his grin widening.

Sam tossed the towel over her shoulder and crossed her arms. “If this is a peace offering on behalf of Wes, then no,” she told him, frowning. “Tell him he can take that pizza and shove it up his—”

“What’re you talking about?” Chris interrupted, his brow knitting in momentary confusion.

Sam cocked her head. She looked Chris in the eye for a beat, and when she realized he had no idea what she was talking about, she relented, stepping aside to let him in.

“Your roommate is an asshole,” she told him flat out, before she caught the aroma drifting from the pizza box. She might have been pissed at Wes, but she was also famished. No way was she turning down hot pizza after the day she’d had and the stale MRE she’d eaten for lunch between field training sessions.

Chris’s confusion morphed into an eye-roll as he nudged into her apartment, box first. “Hell, I coulda told you that,” he replied as he glanced around. He took in her plush sofa, the muted lamps, the expensive rug—all the décor courtesy of her Aunt Hannah’s decorative flair and her father’s black Amex.

“Nice digs,” he commented. “You’re definitely not in the dorms anymore, Dorothy.”

“Thank you, Toto,” Sam answered with a smirk. “How’d you know I’d be home?”

“Lucky guess,” Chris replied easily, putting the pizza box down on her kitchen table. “Figured if you weren’t, I’d just polish this bad boy off all by lonesome.”

“I have a feeling that wouldn’t be such a terrible hardship for you,” she teased, moving toward the fridge. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Anything but alcohol.”

She tossed him a cold bottle of water. “Still hungover?”

“More like still traumatized.” Chris mock shuddered as he set the pizza down on her kitchen table. “So what’s Wes done now?”

“You really don’t know?” she asked, carrying over her own water and some paper napkins.

Chris shook his head as he opened the pizza box.

“He’s doing a story on me under the guise of covering the Ranger Competition,” she told him, handing him the napkins.

“For what class?” Chris asked, clearly confused as he pulled on a slice of hot pizza.

“Not a class, apparently.” Sam shook her head. “He says it’s for some kind of competitive internship with
The Statesman
.”

“And you’re not happy about it,” he guessed between chews, observing her expression as she took her own slice.

“No,” Sam replied flatly. “This is going to put a damn target on my back. I’ve got enough crap to contend with as it is.” She made a little sound of pleasure as she chewed the hot cheese and succulent pepperoni.
So much
better than an MRE. “Thanks for this—I’m hungrier than I realized.”

“Any time,” Chris said with an easy smile. “I accept tips in the form of back rubs and kisses.”

“How about you just settle for ‘thank you’ and the gratitude of an exhausted girl?”

“What wouldn’t I settle for with you?” Chris teased as he picked up another slice. “I don’t know what Wes is up to, but I got to tell you, Sam—on the rare occasion he makes his mind up to do something, he’s like a dog with a bone. Even if you’re pissed about this, I doubt he’ll give it up.”

“So you’re saying you don’t think there’s anything I can do to get him to drop this particular bone.”

“Sorry, Sammy,” Chris replied with a helpless shrug.

“I’m surprised he didn’t mention it,” she remarked, picking up another piece of pizza.

“I am too,” he agreed. “My guess is, he knew I’d advise against it.”

“Why?”

Chris shot her a knowing look. “Anyone who gets within a mile of you can tell that you’re an intensely private person, Sammy. No way would you want your business aired out in public, good or bad. Wes would know that too. Therefore, he knew this would piss you off,” he reasoned, biting into another slice.

“He says he’s doing it because I accused him of being a slacker.”

Chris chewed on his pizza, expression thoughtful. “So you threw down a gauntlet and he picked it up?”

Samantha frowned. “More like I made a comment and he blew it out of proportion.”

Chris smirked.

“What?” she asked.

“You challenged the guy, and now you’re all surprised and outraged he called you on it?”

Sam sat back, startled. “That’s not what I did.”

“Well, it sure sounds like that’s what you did,” Chris responded with a shrug.

Sam’s chin came up. “I’m fixing to kick your ass out and keep the rest of this pizza.”

“Hey! You’re the one who got his back up.” Chris threw his hands up in defense. “Listen, a guy like Wes—he doesn’t get called out to the carpet that often. And certainly not by a girl he’s interested in. Honestly, what’d you think was going to happen?”

Sam frowned. “I guess I thought he’d get his act together—I just didn’t think he’d use me to do it.”

“You challenged him and he accepted it,” Chris replied. “How he’s going about it—well, it’s so typically Wes. If you knew him better, you’d see it.”

Her brow creased. “How do you figure?”

Chris chuckled a little. “Wes is a two-birds-one-stone type of guy. Writing this story, he gets incredible access to the inner workings of one of the best ROTC programs in the country
and
he gets closer to you—sees you doing stuff no one else gets to see. He gets to know you better while writing a story that could get him places. Honestly, I’m kind of impressed he pulled this off, and more than a little jealous,” he admitted.

Sam sat back, munching on her pizza, considering her options. She could ignore Wes and let him do what he wanted. Or she could cooperate, and try to keep the story focused on the Challenge itself rather than on her personal bid to make the final team. Or she could distract him. Irritate and rile him, just as much as he was irritating and riling her.

“You want the last piece?” Chris offered, pushing the box toward her.

Sam looked down in amazement. He’d hoovered up that extra-large pizza like he’d just gotten out of prison. “You can have it.”

Chris grinned, scarfing down the last piece as she sat back, wiping her hands on a napkin and looking at him.

“What?” he asked around a mouthful.

“You know that second date?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

Sam smiled slowly. “Want to make it a double?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Is Wes gonna be on all our dates?”

“Well, you know what they say…” Sam replied. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

*

September—Friday Night

Lone Star Cerveceria, Bryan, Texas

W E S L E Y

“I’ve got to
admit, I was surprised when you invited me out,” Miranda admitted as Wes opened the restaurant door for her.

“Why?” he asked, smiling back at her. “We’ve always been friendly. Just ’cause we’re competitors now doesn’t mean we can’t hang out every now and then, right?”

“Friendly?” Miranda laughed. “Is that what you call what we did in the darkroom last year?”

Wes grinned, admiring the view as she passed by him. Miranda was a natural redhead with the kind of strawberries-and-cream skin that was dusted with freckles all over. Tall and leggy, she was a head turner and she knew it. Made good use of it too, to get what she wanted.

“I call what we did in the darkroom some good, clean fun,” he replied as he looked across the crowded
cerveceria
.

“Not
that
clean,” Miranda teased. “So who are we meeting again?” she asked, glancing around the crowded restaurant.

Wes put a hand to the small of her back as soon as he spotted them. “My roommate and our friend Samantha,” he answered smoothly, though the idea of a double date still rankled him. Count on Sam to date Chris just to spite him. Just the thought of them together stuck in his craw—much less the idea of them touching and kissing.