Spring Tide (Coastal University Book 1)

It’s the first day of term, and I’m officially running late. Or late for me anyway.

Typically, I prefer to be at least fifteen minutes early for each lecture. Prompt and punctual. This way, I can mingle with my classmates, prep my supplies, and potentially catch my professor’s attention. I’m not a teacher’s pet, per se, but recognition is important in any major.

At a large school like Coastal, much like in real life, you have to make an effort to stand out. Otherwise, you may as well be lost in the crowd, swept up in an endless sea of faces without a name.

With three minutes to spare, I hastily stumble into the lecture hall and scan the room for my friend, Eden Levine. She’s sitting front and center, as per usual, only three rows back from the professor’s main podium. Her dark hair is tucked neatly behind her ears, two large clips holding back the thick strands.

I shuffle into my seat beside her, grinning as our eyes meet.

“Hey, girly,” I quietly murmur. “Thanks for saving my seat.”

“Of course,” she whispers back, eyes wide. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss out on our first day with Professor Gill.”

She presses a flat hand across her lips, barely suppressing a giggle. “You’re obsessed.”

Eden’s accusation is spot-on.

Professor Ainsley Gill is my official teacher crush—strictly in a professional sort of way. For the most part. She’s highly intelligent, well respected, and she’s also one of the most approachable faculty members at Coastal U.

Last year, she came to Biology 270 with a fully dislocated shoulder. Apparently, in a rush to head out the front door that morning, she popped it out of place. Instead of canceling class, Professor Gill called in a guest lecturer to assist with a readjustment. According to her, it was the perfect opportunity for a “live demonstration.”

The woman is my actual hero.

“Hello, everyone,” Professor Gill greets, her assertive tone cutting through the hushed murmurs. “Welcome to SPME 495: Fieldwork in Sports Medicine.”

Her introduction is met with reverential silence. It’s not necessarily the norm here at Coastal, but we all know how lucky we are to be sitting here today.

“Class will be short and to the point,” she continues. “Please refer to the roster posted on our course website. You’ll find your assignments listed, as well as the contact information for your team supervisors. I’d like for you to reach out to them at some point today.”

Following her announcement, I boot up my laptop and sign in to Canvas. There’s a loud shuffling as my classmates eagerly search our assignment roster. Once I’ve loaded it myself, my gaze trails across the page in search of my placement.

Please be baseball. Please be baseball.

And there I am: Harper St. James—Men’s Sports, Football under the supervision of Senior Associate Athletic Trainer, Jaqui Nerrie ([email protected])

Well, screw me sideways. That’s certainly not what I was hoping for.

Of course, the odds of a baseball placement were about one in twenty. But still, I’m usually a fortunate girl. And Harper plus baseball, man, that would’ve been the perfect catalyst in operation Date Nate™️.

Oh well.

At least I’ve heard that Jaqui Nerrie is an absolute goddess. She graduated from Coastal U four years ago, yet she’s already worked her way up to senior associate. Anyone would be lucky to work with her.

“Eden,” I whisper-hiss, gently nudging her with my elbow. “What’d you get?”

“Baseball,” she mutters, dejected. “I’m so annoyed. I mean, why would they assign us spring sports? I’m not even gonna get to stand on the sidelines for their games.”

“Wait, seriously?” I choke out. “Would you rather have football?”

“Um, hell yeah, I would. Is that what you were assigned?”

“Mhm.” I frantically nod. “Would you maybe want to swap?”

“Yes!” she instantly replies, then reconsiders a moment later. “Wait, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

I lean closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Let’s just say it’d be mutually beneficial.”

“But why would you want baseball?”

I quickly glance around, ensuring our privacy. “I may have a little thing for the starting pitcher.”

“Gunderson?”

“Mhm,” I confirm, barely concealing my grin.

“Oh my God.” She’s giddy now. “Okay, yes. Do you think Professor Gill will actually let us swap, though?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“You’re right,” she agrees. “Let’s ask her before we leave today. The worst she could say is no.”

“Exactly,” I whisper back.

The two of us spend the rest of the Q and A session in hopeful anticipation. I’m absentmindedly chewing my nails, attempting to listen as my peers recite their endless stream of questions.

It’s sweet. I can tell that everyone’s excited, anxious but eager to begin their internships, to finally have a taste of the real-world experience.

By the time Professor Gill ends the short lecture, I’m practically shaking.

“Please remember to contact your supervisors by the end of the day,” she announces. “I’ll see you all on Friday.”

I bolt out of my seat, rushing to her podium with Eden in tow.

“Excuse us, Professor,” I say, summoning my most professional tone.

“Yes, ladies.” She grants us both a warm smile. “How may I help you?”

“We were wondering if we could swap assignments for the internship,” Eden says, cutting straight to the chase.

“Sorry, ladies.” Her smile fades, replaced by tight-lipped sympathy. “I’ve already stated that all assignments are final.”

“Right, we heard you say that,” Eden cuts in, clearly lying through her teeth. “But, um, we were wondering if you might consider a swap due to extenuating circumstances?”

“Of course.” Professor Gill knits her brows. “If there’s a legitimate concern with your assignment, please tell me.”

And that’s when it hits me—the perfect little white lie.

“It would be a conflict of interest for me,” I blurt.

Eden’s head snaps in my direction, eyes widening for a fraction of a second.

Professor Gill purses her lips. “How so?”

Well, fuckity fuck. “Because I’m, uh, I’m dating someone on the football team.”

“Oh, very well.” She nods her agreement, scribbling a quick note into her folder. “I can see how a relationship of that nature may be considered inappropriate.”

A wave of relief washes over me. “Right, exactly.”

“Thank you for informing me, Miss St. James.” She gathers her materials, tucking some loose files under one arm. “I suppose, due to the circumstances, I could allow you to switch with Miss Levine here.”

“Thank you, Professor,” I counter, equal parts uneasy and delighted. “I just wanted to keep things professional.”

“Of course. Please send me a reminder email, and I’ll change the official roster.”

“We appreciate that,” Eden chimes in. “Thank you.”

“Have a nice week, ladies.” She perches her glasses back into place, signaling our dismissal. “I’ll keep an eye out for your email.”

I duck my chin, carefully concealing an ear-splitting grin. As Eden and I exit the lecture hall, we’re tripping over our own feet, bursting at the seams by the time we reach the quad.

“Oh my God,” Eden whisper-shouts. “That was kinda badass. I can’t believe we pulled it off.”

“Please, I was practically pissing myself the whole time.” My hands are shaking, nervously twisting into the ends of my now-tangled hair. “I really hate lying.”

“But it’s for the greater good.”

“True, and now—”

“St. James, hold up a second!”

We stop in our tracks, heads turning toward the sound of a male voice. I carefully glance over at Eden’s shocked face. She’s staring, open-mouthed, spine stiffening as our classmate approaches.

Grant Fletcher’s now flanked by a group of unfamiliar friends. He’s a large guy, with broad shoulders and an even broader personality. He’s also nearly impossible to miss in a crowd, no matter how much Eden wishes she could.

“Hey, Fletcher.” I awkwardly clear my throat. “What’s going on?”

“I saw your name on the roster.” He’s speaking directly to me, but his attention is clearly elsewhere. “It looks like we’ll be working together this term.”

“Oh, um, Eden’s actually gonna be working with you.” I wince, gently nudging her forward. “I’m officially on baseball now.”

“What?” His jaw drops, gaze darting between the two of us. “Gill said our assignments were final.”

“Yeah, but she’s already swapped us.”

“Why would she do that?” His eyes narrow. “Matter of fact, why the hell would you be up for a swap? Baseball’s in the off-season right now.”

“Oh, it’s, um . . . there was just a conflict of interest on my end.” One shoulder lifts in a noncommittal shrug. “That’s all.”

“A conflict of interest?” he scoffs. “What, Coach your dad or somethin’?”

“Um, no,” I stutter. “You know he’s not.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s none of your business, Grant,” Eden bites out. “That’s what it is.”

“It’s fine, Eden.” I nervously tug at my hair. “Uh, we told Professor Gill that I’m dating a player. That’s the reason she allowed it.”

“That true, St. James?” His brows skyrocket. “Or did you lie so Princess Eden could have what she wanted?”

“I, uh—”

My friend steps forward, leveling him with her stony gaze. “She’s not lying, asshole.”

“No?” One corner of his mouth tugs up in a smirk. “Then tell us who the lucky guy is.”

“More like imaginary guy,” his buddy cuts in, coughing under his breath.

“Come on, Fletch,” another pipes up. “You know we’ve never seen her at their parties.”

“No.” I fold my arms across my chest, going in for the kill. “They’re right.”

“They are? You actually lied to Gill?” His grin is full-blown now. “I thought you were, like, in love with her or something.”

“No, it’s just, Luca’s not really into the whole party scene,” I blurt, nearly flinching as his name rolls off my tongue.

Oh God. Now I’m spiraling.

“Luca?” Fletcher raises one dubious brow. “Luca Reynolds?”

“Mhm,” I murmur my agreement, willing my lips to stay closed. The bigger the explanation, the bigger the lie. And I can’t afford to keep weaving this web.

“You’re dating Ötzi?”Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

“Ötzi?” I echo, confused.

“You know, the Iceman?” his buddy clarifies. “’Cause that kid’s cold as ice. Never fucking talks to anybody.”

“Oh, right.” I square my shoulders, indignant. “Well, he talks to me.”

“Right.” Fletcher’s lip curls. “So how’d you guys meet, then?”

“What is this?” Eden demands, voice dripping with irritation. “Are you testing her or something?”

“If I were, she probably wouldn’t be passing.”

“Actually, we met at Amber Isle,” I cut in, another half-truth slipping from my lips. “Luca works down at the pier, and I lifeguard. But you already knew that.”

“Huh, for real?”

“Yep.”

“You know, you probably should’ve kept that to yourself, then,” he finally concedes. “If you stayed with football, you and Ötzi could’ve spent a ton more time together.”

“Yeah, well, I was worried about keeping things appropriate.”

His gaze slowly drags across my frame. “I bet you were, Sunshine.”

“Grow up, Fletch,” Eden grumbles, visibly annoyed.

“Make me,” he shoots back, his words vaguely reminiscent of a toddler.

Eden snorts, clearly fuming and unafraid to show it. In fact, her anger’s practically dripping onto the tops of my sandals at this point. But I can’t fault her, not when her ex-boyfriend is purposefully baiting her.

“We have to get going, Fletch,” I murmur, looping one arm around my friend. “See ya later.”

“See ya, Sunshine.” His gaze cuts to Eden, then, “See ya, Princess.”