Don't Kiss the Quarterback: Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 5 Read online

  Don’t Kiss the Quarterback

  By Catelyn Meadows

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 Cortney Pearson

  Chapter One

  I was made to be a wallflower. Sidelines? Back row? Hidden beneath a hoodie? That was how I rolled. Hoodies had gotten me through every school transfer I suffered through the past few years while my mom moved us time and again.

  Today, though, Mom insisted I dress in my school uniform even though classes didn’t start until tomorrow. Decked out as I was in a navy-blue pleated skirt and button-up shirt beneath a thick, navy sweater vest lined with white stripes along the edges of the sleeves and hem, I quickly noted that the possibility of being a wallflower and blending with the other kids here at Mt. Rainier Legacy Academy wasn’t happening.

  Kids strolled the campus in jeans and sweaters to ward off the day’s cooler weather. They were already settled in, no doubt. Mom had to get back to Idaho before work started tomorrow, which meant she’d be driving all night. Which meant I was left with the task of checking in and finding my dorm all by my lonesome.

  I stuck out as it was thanks to the huge suitcase in each hand and the backpack making me resemble a hunchback turtle. Several curious glances from passersby came my way as I passed the trees marking the school’s entrance. At least I’d opted for my pink Chuck Taylors below the knee-high socks.

  The school’s main building reminded me of colonial buildings like Independence Hall in Philadelphia. Its brick face and pointed rooflines were topped with a white clock tower supported by columns. The clock’s black face stood out and drew my attention to the time, yes, but also to the antique, avian weathervane spindling its top. I liked the look of the place. This school made me feel as though education was a noble pursuit or something.

  A pair of girls pushed through the glass doors. Dragging my suitcases behind, I hobbled forward to get my foot in the door before it closed and wheeled my baggage inside.

  Where I expected the exterior’s colonial theme to continue, the academy’s interior was extremely modern and streamlined. The school must have had a facelift recently. I scanned the lobby and the administration office.

  Offices meant people; they meant interaction and talking and eye contact. Mom had always handled this part of things. Ugh. If only she could have stayed thirty minutes longer. Mouth dry, I swallowed an extra lump in my throat. With quest-like fortitude to rival any of my favorite book characters, I trudged on. A boy with his arms full of books exited. I took advantage of the open door and wheeled my caravan of belongings in. As I settled the suitcases by the wall, the monstrous boulder on my shoulders slipped from its perch and crashed to the floor.

  The woman with short brown hair sitting behind the desk leapt in her seat at the sound. The name plate on her desk read Mrs. Partridge.

  “Sorry,” I told her. “That thing’s heavy. Nothing breakable in there but book spines.”

  Relaxing, resting a hand on her chest, she gave me a kind smile. “You startled me, that’s all. Name?”

  “Bailey Monroe.” I sat in the chair across from her.

  Her fingers clacked on her computer keys, and she lifted a pair of glasses from strings around the back of her neck to peruse the screen.

  “Looks like you’re a senior, transferring from Madison High in Idaho?”

  “That’s me.”

  Going to a new school was nothing new, but still. Transferring where everyone else has known each other for years? Not awesome. I’d changed schools so many times in the last two years, I’d lost track. Mt. Rainier Legacy Academy held one gleaming ray of light for me that none of the others had, though—

  Patricia Granger, Speech Level Singing instructor, was the music chairman and director of choirs here. Her blog was renowned, and her social media page was chock full of tips and tricks for mastering voice. Those two gems were how I’d come as far as I had so far with my singing, but the prospect of taking lessons directly from her?

  Yes, please.

  I’d endure a school transfer with uniforms instead of hoodies any day.

  “You’ve taken on quite the workload this year, Bailey,” Mrs. Partridge said, peering over the rim of her glasses to her computer screen. She pulled open another file. “Your GPA is impressive, though. From your past transcripts, you could qualify for valedictorian at the end of the year if you keep this up.”

  “Oh no.” I had no desire to give the farewell speech at graduation for a school I wasn’t sure I belonged in. Valedictorian both terrified and enticed me. I was warier than a spooked deer. I loved singing and dreamed of teaching voice lessons on a college level, but I didn’t dare sing in front of others. What made them think I could ever give a speech? But I was smart. And I liked the idea of people knowing it.

  Just not enough to put myself out there.

  Mrs. Partridge lowered her glasses and peered directly at me. Her directness made me sink a little lower in my seat.

  “We select valedictorian on a weighted scale. Meaning the honor generally goes to the student who has earned the highest grades in the most difficult classes. If you’re not aiming for valedictorian, why are you taking...” She peered at her screen. “Calculus, AP English Literature, and AP United States History?”

  “Because they’re interesting,” I said, and then hurried to add, “I almost decided to graduate early, but my dad convinced me I could finish out my high school experience and get college credit while I was at it.”

  “You’re aware these classes have large curriculums and tough tests, right?”

  I couldn’t tell if she was goading me or what. What did she care what my classes were? “I can handle it.”

  I wasn’t trying to brag. Just assure her. If she was trying to deter me, it wouldn’t work. Back at Madison High, I often went to the teacher to ask for more work because I blazed through the other curriculum they assigned. My brain thrived on the challenge, and a school like Mt. Rainier Legacy Academy promised to put me to the test.

  Or so I hoped. That challenge—and Mrs. Granger’s vocal instruction—was the reason I convinced myself to leave my friends, my mom, to travel states away from Rexburg, Idaho, to Seattle, Washington and basically start over my senior year of high school. I mean, it’s not as far as I’ve traveled at other times, but you do have to pass through Oregon, so that quantifies it as being states—plural—rather than one state away, the way it looks on a map.

  “I see you’ve also signed up for private voice lessons with Professor Granger. She isn’t going to take those at a slow and steady pace either.”

  I chewed my lip. Asserting myself had never come easy, but I pushed the question forward. “Sorry, but why does it sound like you’re trying to discourage me from the schedule I picked out?”

  Mrs. Partridge examined me through her glasses. Her eyes weren’t critical as I expected, but bemused. She gave me a wink and a smile. “Just making sure you’re ready for the workload you’ve taken on.�
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  “I am,” I assured her, feeling sheepish about having to prove myself to the secretary. I’m sure she was just trying to help, but I was well aware of just how much work these classes would consist of. Why would Mt. Rainier boast about offering the best college preparation in the Northwest if their staff went around trying to talk kids out of things? Maybe that was part of the challenge. Test our resilience or something.

  “Bailey Monroe, I hereby welcome you to Mt. Rainier Legacy Academy. Here’s your schedule, a map of the campus.” She pointed out the hours for the cafeteria, where other kids ate at lunch. “And the bistro, where you kids who board here will eat breakfast and dinner. You can eat anytime between five am and eight pm.”

  Unease settled in the more she spoke. I’d never lived on my own before like this. Every other high school I’d attended had been one building, not several. And staying at school after classes ended instead of going home? What was I doing here?

  Focus on voice lessons.

  “Here is your dorm key.” She slid the object toward me. My hand closed over it. “You’re welcome to settle in at any time. How are you feeling about a tour?”

  “A—tour?”

  “Of the campus. While your new laptop waiting in your dorm room has directions, you might want to know how to get there first.” She laughed, a merry sound that made her belly jiggle. “Our football team has volunteered to show new kids around and make sure they’re acquainted before classes start tomorrow. I can assign you with...” She tapped her phone. I assumed it was some kind of school app that would notify the football team member in question.

  “That’s okay. I’m sure I can figure it out myself—”

  She peered at her phone over her glasses. “Looks like Tate Ingram can meet you by the gazebo out back in five minutes.”

  My brain slammed the brakes. How could I have a football player escort me? I didn’t even like football. Never mind the fact that he was not only a stranger, but a boy. I never knew how to act around people in general, but boys were another disaster in their own rights.

  I swallowed my displeasure, smiled at her, and slid the packet of things she handed to me closer. My two suitcases rested where I’d left them. I adjusted my overstuffed and hitchhiker-heavy backpack into place, tucked the folder beneath my arm, and managed the two suitcases through the door and along the immaculate hallway. Hands full, I had to kick-tap the handicap button with the toe of one of my Chuck Taylors, wait for it to open, and wheel my belongings to the sidewalk.

  Cars filled the parking lot. Students hugged their parents goodbye. Others gathered in clusters, shouting joyfully and projecting bursts of laughter. Longing nestled into my chest at the sound, leaving an intense ache that made my load somehow heavier than it already was. I gripped my suitcase handles, ignored the stack of bricks on my back, and cast my gaze around for the gazebo.

  The white structure stood in the center of a beautiful spread of flowers and decorative trees. A lake glimmered behind it, catching snatches of sunlight. The sky was a shade of almost-breathtaking blue, if it hadn’t been for the tall boy distracting me from the view.

  He didn’t scroll through his phone or stare around in frustration at having to give some random girl a tour. No. He propped up a girl, with curly brown hair and great legs displayed via short shorts, with his mouth.

  I stopped in place and a groan leaked from my lips. “Great,” I grumbled to no one but myself. “Please tell me this isn’t who I’m supposed to be meeting.”

  Might as well make the best use of your time, I thought with a grunt. Heaven forbid he wait there for me like a normal person.

  Every one of my approaching steps warned me that this was a bad idea. But my hands were full, and if I dared retrieve the map from within the folder, I might lose everything I held on to.

  Maybe this wasn’t Tate Ingram. Maybe this was some other beefed-up jock with muscular arms, broad shoulders, and long legs who just happened to stop by the gazebo at the same time Mrs. Partridge assigned Tate to meet me. I paused and waited a few more minutes. No one else who fit the jock physique made an appearance, though this guy and his girl certainly seemed to get better acquainted with every second I waited. Heads turning, lips moving, his hands roving her jawline.

  Rolling my eyes along with the wheels of my suitcases, I gritted my teeth. I didn’t exactly want to wander around campus hauling all of this around. I felt out of place enough as it was.

  I coughed. Cleared my throat. Intentionally scuffed my shoes on the sidewalk with my approach. Only an idiot or a deaf person wouldn’t hear my shuffling shoes or the rumble of suitcase wheels, but these two didn’t stop.

  Hating this entire situation, I cleared my throat. Again. And a third time.

  Finally, the boy peeled himself away from the goddess of kissing and twisted toward me. His lips were red and swollen. While his hair was buzzed short along his ears and neck, the top was long enough to hang into his eyes. He flicked his longish hair away from his forehead and looked me up and down.

  “Hey, there.” He sounded way too interested for someone who’d recently been occupied as he was.

  A sour taste filled my mouth. I swallowed it down. “You must be Tate.”

  He smirked at his girlfriend in a not-entirely-repulsive way, with his handsome, hazel eyes, pouty lips, and perfect jaw. The cocky smirk was icing on his flawless face. His muscles defied the lines of his blue shirt featuring the school logo. His behavior, though, turned me into a state of complete disgust, both with myself for finding him attractive and for his flat-out rudeness.

  “Charming,” I couldn’t help saying, indicating each of them with the folder in my hand. “Please tell me that’s not some kind of offering you’re giving at the end of every shift.” Fair enough, since, for all I knew, he’d just finished giving her a tour too.

  The girl behind him scoffed, her pink-glossed lower lip dropping. She was pretty and perky, with dark eyes to match her brunette mop of curls. Her skin was smooth enough to have been carved from marble.

  Arms folded, eyes settled into a glare, she strutted forward. “Excuse me?”

  I readjusted my backpack and dipped my chin. What was I thinking? Usually, I wasn’t this outspoken, but being here in this new town, away from my friends, away from my boyfriend—who never kissed me the way this guy was kissing his girl (who was I kidding, he never kissed me, period)—irritation clung to me like static.

  These people were strangers. I didn’t even know who they were—what did I care that they were sucking face on the sidewalk? Still, it seemed like the epitome of inconsiderate. Save that for later, guys. Or as the adage went, get a room.

  Tate ran a hand through his hair, hunched just enough, and swaggered toward me.

  “Please tell me you’re not Tate Ingram,” I said again, since he didn’t exactly answer me before.

  “The one and only.”

  I winced. This backpack really dug into my shoulder blades. “That can’t be true,” the nerd in me replied as the logical statistic of his statement contradicted its possible factuality. “In all likelihood, someone else on this planet shares your name.”

  As an eyebrow raised, he swapped a look with Miss Suck Face before turning back to me.

  “You Bailey?” he asked.

  I tucked my lips into my teeth, chided myself, and nodded. I’d already said too much as it was.

  His eyes thinned with increasing dislike. “Okay then. On to the tour.” Casting a casual glance across the green grass between us and the main building I’d just exited, he pointed.

  “There’s the Administration building. The dorm. Cafeteria’s inside. Classes are on your map. You’ll figure it out.” He jutted a hand toward the brunette girl, who tossed her head with laughter, and the two of them sauntered away.

  I slowly melted into the sidewalk. What was that? Why did he even bother showing up at our meeting place if he was going to completely blow me off? If this was how my time at Mt. Rainier was going to go, I should
turn around right now. Call my mom, tell her it was all a mistake, have her come get me.

  But I wasn’t going to run away. I couldn’t let one guy get under my skin. Looks like I’d have to find the way to my dorm on my own.

  Chapter Two

  Perusing the map required the use of my hands. After a momentary deliberation, I released the left suitcase first, hurrying to keep it from tipping over with my foot. Folder open, I attempted to smooth out my map when the grip on the folder tucked beneath my elbow slackened. Papers from the folder came loose. The strap of my bag slid from my shoulder and in my clumsy two-step shuffle to keep it in place, the majority of papers being kept in place by my elbow splashed to the ground.

  “Oh no,” I cried, bending in a clumsy attempt to rescue the disarray.

  Several papers flurried a few feet away in a gentle breeze. Twisting to retrieve those nearest me, my bag slipped completely from my shoulder and landed on the sidewalk with a heavy thud.

  “Dang it!” I muttered, fighting the urge to stomp my foot or something else completely childish.

  “Here,” a male voice said. Footsteps joined it soon after. I hurried to round on him, wishing I had more guts to speak my mind, but it wasn’t Tate.

  This boy’s eyes were much kinder. He was blonde, shorter, and stockier, with a wider face that reminded me of Peeta from The Hunger Games. I’d always had a teeny crush on Peeta in the books, and whoever did the casting found the perfect actor.

  This boy swooped in, acting just as courageous and perceptive. “You look like you could use a hand.”

  “Or three,” I said, bashful under the heat of his gaze. His blue eyes rivaled the gleam in the sky or the color of the lake behind him. He hurried to collect the few papers I’d dropped and then, instead of handing them to me, took the file from my grip and stuffed them in. I took advantage of his distraction to secure my bag’s strap across my shoulders once more. The shuffle-jig-hop move required to get the bag in place wasn’t exactly graceful.

  “I’m Carson.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling my feathers in the process. No guy this cute had ever paid a speck of attention to me. With my obsession over books, too-thin build, lack of curves, and the red fading from my long, wavy blonde locks, I wasn’t exactly the head-turning variety.