Free Five (Elemental Enmity Series Book I) by Christie Rich Page A

that nothing had happened in quite some time.
    “This one looks nice,” I said, holding up the fifteenth sweatshirt I’d found in Cassie’s size. I didn’t know why it mattered so much. They were mostly blue, white, or gold with the exception of an occasional pink, girly one or the generic leprechaun green that had nothing to do with Notre Dame colors. At least this had a cool design. Stunning images of campus surrounded the Fighting Irish logo.
    Cassie took it from me, rubbed the fabric between her fingers, made a face, then handed it back. “It’s nice, but just not, well, special enough.”
    I snorted, waving my arm sideways for emphasis. “I hardly think you’re going to find a one of a kind in here.”
    She smiled sheepishly at me. “It’s the first game. I want to stand out.” She held up a white and gold jersey that had the number ten on it. “What do you think?”
    Smiling, I shook my head then raised the shirt in my hand higher. “Like that’s any better than this.” If she was going for different, she hadn’t found it. The store was packed with number ten gear.
    Not to be distracted, she dug into the rack again. “Help me find a blue one. It will go better with my eyes.”
    I started my search, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. “What’s so great about ten, anyway?”
    She straightened, giving me her ‘you’re too clueless to live’ look. “It’s Devon King’s number.”
    “Who?”
    “He’s the new quarterback.” She said it like anyone in the world should have known who he was.
    I might have guessed. Cassie had a thing for quarterbacks.
    I’d have thought she’d prefer a tight-end.
    “I have the perfect thing for you,” a deep voice rang out, blazing through my soul like a forest fire.
    I hastily glanced up from the rack. Cassie spun around as if she had casters for feet.
    Four men stood casually in front of us like runaways from Mt. Olympus. Each man exuded the cocky assurance that he was the best option a woman could have. He was it—the end. Every one of them was absolutely stunning, not to mention intimidating.
    And I thought Zach was bad.
    They posed like chiseled marble deities. Michelangelo couldn’t have done better. Was the whole world full of exquisite men, or was it just Notre Dame?
    The man smiling radiantly at Cassie had bronze skin with dark cascading chestnut hair that seemed to shine with an inner light. The clingy white tee he held sported an image of a blue and gold stiletto heeled cleat with a number ten on it. ‘Long live the King’ was written under it in bold letters.
    His amber gaze landed on mine, lighting an unquenchable inferno in the pit of my stomach. He smiled charmingly, a Celtic dream.
    Cassie stepped timidly toward him. “That’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.” Inching closer to him, she accepted the shirt with a star-struck expression plastered to her rosy features. “Now this is special, Rayla.”
    I jumped at the sharp sound of indrawn breath. Each man contributed equally to the symphony. I was immediately uneasy, and not in an ‘I’ve got four hot guys surrounding me’ sort of way.
    These men certainly looked otherworldly. Could they really be fae? I had pretty much discounted the idea that the fae even existed, but there was something different about them that I couldn’t quite grasp.
    For some reason I didn’t like that they knew my name. Refusing to look directly at any of them, I turned toward Cassie. “We should go.”
    “Why the hurry, beautiful?” the blonde asked in a southern California accent, sliding up next to me. He shot me a full, glorious smile.
    The epitome of a sun god, his bright cerulean eyes taunted me playfully. His shoulder length blond hair was split down the middle, falling in light waves that caressed his golden, Thor-like face. The closer he came to me, the more my scar itched. I fought the urge to scratch it even though it rushed with sensation. My body trembled as he came nearer.
    “I thought