Looking for Trouble (Nashville U Book 1) by Stacey Mosteller Page A

boot, since he knows I hate the smell, he reaches over to clap a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, hard.
    “Clay,” he grits out, his voice gravely from too many years smoking. “You don’t call; you don’t write.”
    I pull out of his grasp and curb the urge to massage the lingering sting of his fingers pressing into my skin. “Hey Marcus. What’s up?” I keep my voice light, like seeing him is a good surprise instead of the opposite.
    Marcus waves off the pleasantries. “Save that let’s be friends shit for someone who’ll believe it.” His beady eyes narrow on me, and he cracks his knuckles. “You’ve been ignorin’ me. Wanna tell me why?”
    I run a hand through my hair, uncomfortable with the pissed-off vibes coming off him. “Just been busy with the new semester starting.” It’s not a lie either. I have been busy. Between the new classes, the pressure to finish school and start working—even though it’s pressure I’ve put on myself—not to mention the crap going on with my brother and my project partner, I’m being pulled in plenty of different directions.
    He scoffs. “Bullshit.” Taking a step closer, he lowers his voice. “Look, I need someone who knows their way around a ring.” I start to protest, but he cuts me off. “Yeah, yeah. I know you haven’t had any actual training, but you’re strong, you’re fast, and you aren’t going to go down without a fight. That’s the type of guy I need in the ring. Not these pussy-ass motherfuckers who keep showin’ up wantin’ me to train them.” He shakes his head in exasperation. “Those idiots watch pro fights and think they have what it takes. They fuckin’ don’t. This fighting? It ain’t nothing like that shit they show on cable.”
    I blink, not sure I’ve ever heard Marcus say so much at one time. “Marcus,” I start, not wanting to piss him off since clearly he’s already wound way up.
    Holding up a hand, he shakes his head, knowing I’m about to turn him down. “Just think about it, yeah? Don’t decide right now. You know me, man. I can give you whatever you want—girls, money, a scary fuckin’ rep. It’d be a good deal, ya know?”
    “Yeah, all right. I’ll think about it, but you know fighting—even if it’s just to blow off steam—isn’t my thing.”
    Again, he waves off my words. “You’ll come around. There’s a fight the third Saturday in February. Come watch it at least, see what goes on. Make your decision after that.” Knowing it will get him out of here, I agree. Going to watch a fight won’t suck, but it’s not going to change my mind.

 
    Kat
     
     
    When I get out of my Sociology class, Max is leaning against the wall directly across from the door. I stop in my tracks and stare at him, prompting people to have to go around me. Mutters of displeasure reach my ears, and I move out of the way. Still upset with him, I duck my head and try to get lost in the crowd of bodies making their way through to either their next class, home, or the dining hall.
    His hand grips my arm and I try to ignore the tingling feeling it leaves in its wake. I don’t want Max to affect me in any way after yesterday. Let him screw with some other girl like that. I jerk out of his grasp and turn to hiss, “Don’t touch me!”
    Max looks at me like I’ve grown a second head, but he drops the hand that was reaching for me once more, eyes wide and panicked. Good. Let him feel those emotions for once. I have mine locked down, or at least I’m telling myself I do. “Kat,” he starts, putting his hands up like he wants to wrap his arms around me, but I take a step back. There isn’t enough hand sanitizer is Tennessee for me to let him wrap me up in an embrace. Not even if he’d bathed in it.
    Once we’re out in the courtyard, I turn to face him, keeping enough distance he can’t easily touch me. “What do you want, Max?” Speaking to him this way physically hurts, but I’m tired of being his backup plan. That’s