TACKLED IN THE STACKS

  A LOVE LETTERS PREQUEL

  S.J. TILLY

  Tackled in the Stacks

  Prequel to the Love Letters Series

  Copyright © S.J. Tilly LLC 2024

  All rights reserved.

  First published in 2024

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover: Lori Jackson Design

  Editors: Jeanine Harrell, Indie Edits with Jeanine

  & Beth Lawton, VB Edits

  CONTENTS

  1. Hannah – Tuesday

  2. Maddox

  3. Hannah

  4. Maddox

  5. Hannah

  6. Maddox

  7. Hannah

  8. Maddox

  9. Hannah

  10. Maddox

  11. Hannah

  12. Maddox

  13. Hannah

  14. Maddox

  15. Hannah

  16. Maddox – Wednesday

  17. Hannah – Thursday

  18. Maddox

  19. Hannah

  20. Maddox

  21. Hannah

  22. Maddox

  23. Hannah – Friday

  24. Maddox

  25. Hannah

  26. Maddox

  27. Hannah

  28. Maddox

  29. Hannah

  30. Maddox

  31. Hannah

  32. Maddox

  33. Hannah

  34. Maddox

  35. Hannah

  36. Maddox

  37. Hannah – Saturday

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Books By This Author

  This book is dedicated to the BSU Library.

  Only in my daydreams did something this exciting ever happen.

  ONE

  HANNAH – TUESDAY

  “Ope, sorry.” I apologize unnecessarily as I jump to the side, narrowly missing the backpack sliding off some guy’s arm.

  He doesn’t glance my way, blissfully unaware of our near collision, but the girl walking behind him rolls her eyes at his obliviousness.

  Note to self: pay attention when walking.

  With a clear sidewalk ahead of me, I glance down at the slip of paper in my hand.

  It’s the second day of classes, and I’m still learning my way around.

  Yesterday went pretty okay. But my Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule is different from the classes I have today and Thursday, so this is my first time walking this route during school hours. I’ve practiced a few times since I moved into my dorm room last week, but the campus seems different with so many people.

  The energy is a lot to get used to.

  I hook the thumb of my free hand under my backpack strap as I make my way down the short set of stairs between two brick buildings.

  In the midwestern September heat, there’s a fine line between rushing and sweating, so I make myself walk at a normal speed. There’s really no need for me to hurry. I’m not late, but I like taking my time picking a seat.

  Voices fill the air as I enter the main quad.

  It’s a little intimidating, the quintessential image of college life before me, but I push aside my insecurities and try to soak in the moment.

  I’m a student at HOP University.

  Yesterday, my classes were at the other end of the campus, so I didn’t really get this first-day feeling. And now that I’m here, it’s a little overwhelming.

  I worked my ass off in high school to finish with a few college credits to my name. And then I spent the last two years taking my generals at the community college in my hometown. But now… Well, now I’m a student here. And if I keep working my ass off, I can graduate with my accounting degree in three semesters. Which will set me up for a job that pays better than my mom’s floral shop, and we can finally start to spoil ourselves.

  And then I’ll be able to pay off the student loans that have started to pile up around me.

  A burst of laughter snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see what can only be described as the it crowd.

  I bat down another round of insecurities that try to bubble up inside me.

  This is university life. People are less petty.

  I can’t help but think I hope as I let my eyes move over the group of students standing in a loose circle.

  The guys are all wearing blue and black HOP U jerseys, and the girls are all in matching skirts and formfitting tops, with shoes that don’t look comfortable for walking in.

  I’m wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and tennis shoes — because I don’t want to start my week with blisters.

  I felt pretty good about myself this morning, but the longer I look at this group of what must be sorority girls, the more that confidence slips away.

  I’m a… bigger girl. Even when I tried to be a fanatic about counting calories. Even when I secretly bought those diet pills from the drugstore and hid them from my mom. Even when I made sure not to eat after nine p.m., I was still big.

  Big boned.

  Sturdy.

  Built.

  All the things people say instead of calling you chubby.

  I bite my lip and pick up my pace again.

  Those girls might be nice. Could be super kind. But being this close to them, when they look like that and I feel like this, is triggering all sorts of crappy internal chatter. And I don’t need that. What I need is the credits I’ll get for attending my macroeconomics class.

  “Mad Dog!” a male shouts, followed by a bad attempt at barking.

  It’s immature.

  I don’t want to smile.

  I don’t want to look over to see who Mad Dog is.

  But my eyeballs don’t care what I want.

  A tall guy bounds forward, gripping the shoulders of an even taller guy, and jumps up like he’s going to leap onto the guy’s back.

  My face scrunches up, waiting for the consequences. Because if someone did that to me, I’d fall flat on my face.

  But that doesn’t happen to Mad Dog. No, the giant, broad-shouldered guy doesn’t budge. Not a single step forward.

  My face goes from scrunched to impressed.

  The guy, presumably Mad Dog, dislodges his friend, shaking his head.

  But I miss whatever is said between them because I’m focused on how huge the guy is. Like, he’s honestly the biggest man I’ve ever seen in person. I’m average height, but he… he has to be six and a half feet tall.

  He’s gotta be a student here. A football player, if I’m guessing the right sport for the jersey. But, seriously, how does a person get that big?

  Realizing I’m gawking at his barrel chest, I blink and lift my eyes.

  I can’t have him, or anyone in the group, catch me staring.

  He has dark stubble on his wide, square jaw that matches the color of his buzzed short hair.

  If I had to describe my fantasy football player — and I mean fantasy like fantasy, not some made-up betting game — this guy would be it.

  A real-life tall, dark, and handsome.

  Even his eyes are a dark brown. And they’re staring right at me.

  My heart jolts behind my ribs.

  One of those eyes closes, and he winks at me.

  Heat flares up my neck, and I jerk my eyes away from his.

  Cool, got caught eyeing the popular guy. Exactly what I was going for.

  I force my shaky legs to pick up the pace as I redouble my efforts to get to class.

  I’m not interested in any drama.

  And a man called Mad Dog is bound to be drama.

  TWO

  MADDOX

  I jab my elbow back and shove Waller off me.

  He shoves me back. “Senior year, bitch!”

  I roll my eyes as I shake my head. You’d think our morning weightlifting session would have killed his energy, but nothing calms this fucker down.

  The girls’ laughter urges him on, so he keeps bouncing around, being a fool.

  I’m not sure how this group of sorority chicks found us the second we got on campus, but I shouldn’t be surprised. This particular group seems to be everywhere we go.

  It’s not like I have a problem with them. They’ve partied at the Football House over the last couple of years, but even though I live there, I don’t know them beyond first names.

  A feminine hand reaches for my chest, but Waller steps between us, slinging his arm around the girl’s shoulders, derailing her attempt to touch me.

  I don’t like to be pawed at.

  I’m no saint. No virgin. Haven’t been since my senior year of high school.

  And no shame to the guys who still like to cut loose every weekend, but I’ve had my fill of blurry nights.

  I need to stay focused these last two semesters. I got too close to academic probation last year, and I can’t get that close again. If I get pulled from the field my senior year, I’ll be fucked.

  Movement beyond our little crowd catches my attention, and I lift my eyes.


  Across the way is a pretty girl with long honey-brown hair and plump bow-shaped lips.

  Interest stirs in my ribcage.

  I don’t recognize her, but she doesn’t look like a freshman.

  And as I’m taking her in, I realize she’s doing the same to me.

  Her gaze is locked on my chest.

  I’m a big dude. I stand out. I’m used to being looked at. But this? Her notice somehow feels deeper than surface level.

  And if I straighten my back and tense my chest muscles, it’s just a coincidence.

  She’s not a part of the current high-pitch crowd. And the plain shirt she’s wearing shouldn’t be sexy, but the way it stretches tight over her big tits fills me with the urge to cut the distance between us and press my face into the bright white fabric.

  I drag my eyes up, noting her soft, round cheeks and the freckles across the bridge of her nose. A breath passes before her eyes lift and land on mine.

  Her eyes widen, and I can feel her embarrassment over getting caught looking.

  I can’t help my humor, or my relief, at being the one who looked up first, so I do the only thing that feels appropriate.

  I wink.

  Pink hits her cheeks as she drops her gaze and hurries down the path.

  My eyes follow her. And I can’t help but notice how edible her ass looks in those jeans. The animal inside me begs me to chase her down. Except this tackle would be full of desire, not aggression.

  But I don’t follow her.

  I can’t.

  I need to focus.

  So, as the intriguing stranger rushes through the entrance of the econ building, I turn away.

  I have my own class to get to.

  THREE

  HANNAH

  “Before Thursday, you need to read through the case study that starts on page twenty-seven.” The ethics professor raises his voice as students close their books. “There will be a quiz, so don’t blow this off.”

  His warning is met with a collective groan, but the professor just chuckles and tells us to have a good day.

  I take my time sliding my things into my backpack.

  Since I got to this class early — avoiding the quad at all costs after getting caught staring this morning — I overthought every aspect of my seat choice and ended up in the middle of the third row. Figured it was nice to leave the ends open for latecomers and the first rows open for the super students who like to be close enough to reach out and touch the teacher.

  Once my row clears out, I stand and do the awkward sideways shuffle out of the narrow space.

  I really hate the lecture halls that are set up like this. As if it’s not bad enough that the seats themselves are made for skinny people from the 1940s, they also have to make the experience of getting to the seat its own sort of torture.

  My sneaker catches on one of the chair legs. But the gods finally smile down on me, and I only tweak my ankle rather than falling onto the floor.

  A win is a win.

  Pressing my lips together, I take a deep breath through my nose.

  This was my last class of the day, and I have forty minutes until my shift at the library, so I can take my time. No need to walk fast on my slightly throbbing ankle. No need to stress.

  I melt into the sea of students leaving the building and squint when the afternoon sun lands on my face.

  I take another slow inhale.

  This is my new normal.

  This campus. This schedule.

  And I’m going to enjoy it.

  I make it another dozen steps before the scent of cooking food wafts through the air.

  Duh. How did I forget I have just enough time in my schedule to scarf down a late lunch before work?

  I lift my gaze over the shoulders of the group ahead of me, trying to remember how I get to the cafeteria from here.

  Left. Right. It all looks the same.

  Seriously, why do the people who design college campuses have to make all the buildings identical?

  Buildings…

  I want to slap my hand to my forehead.

  I went out the wrong exit.

  I groan in annoyance as I spin around to go back the way I came.

  But my groan turns into a croak when I crash into a body.

  FOUR

  MADDOX

  As I step out of my last class, I spot a white T-shirt I recognize.

  My luck today keeps getting better.

  I should turn right to head to the cafeteria, but before I can tell myself it’s a bad idea, I head straight, following her.

  My inner voice tells me I can’t just approach a random girl because I think I saw her checking me out. But I shrug at myself. Because sure I can.

  The swarm of students starts to fill in around my target, and not wanting to lose her, I start to jog.

  I’ve just about reached her, my hand stretched out to tap her shoulder, when she twirls around and slams right into me.

  FIVE

  HANNAH

  My nose smacks into a solid chest, and I let out a pained sound, finally understanding the phrase walked into a brick wall.

  Embarrassed but unable to stop it, my eyes immediately start to water.

  “Sorry,” I squeak as I start to teeter backward.

  But before I can fall — into what I can only hope is an already dug grave — giant arms encircle me.

  I don’t fall.

  I don’t do anything.

  I just stand there, stunned by the stinging pain in my nose, the throb in my ankle, and the fact that I’m being held upright by a stranger.

  And, oh wow, he smells amazing. Like soap and cologne and exactly what I imagine someone in a magazine ad would smell like.

  “Are you okay?” a deep voice rumbles from above my head.

  Even as I nod, tears drip from my eyes, skyrocketing my humiliation.

  “I’m fine.” I try to project believability into my voice.

  The hands pressing into my back slide up to my shoulders and hold me steady as he leans back a few inches.

  “You sure?”

  The man’s voice is low and soothing, but as I’m lifting my gaze, I realize why I can feel his voice as well as hear it.

  My hands are pressed against his chest.

  His huge, wide, rock-hard chest.

  The rough stitching under my palms makes me focus on what I’m looking at.

  A jersey.

  A HOP U football jersey.

  Oh, please, no.

  Holding my breath, I raise my eyes the rest of the way until they meet with the same dark irises that caught me staring just a few hours ago.

  His mouth opens, a half smile pulling his lips to the side. But a moment later, his lips form a worried frown, and he’s back to pulling me closer.

  “Oh shit!” He slides one of his hands up from my shoulder to cup my cheek. “Aw, Babe, you’re bleeding.”

  Babe?

  My fingers curl against his chest.

  So many things are happening right now. But none of them include me using words.

  Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep in that last lecture? Am I currently snoring alone in a lecture hall?

  Up close, the man, Mad Dog, is even bigger than I first thought. Tall and broad and thick. I don’t know much about football, but he’s gotta be one of the biggest guys on the team. The ones who crash together like monster trucks.

  I bet I could shove him as hard as I could, and he wouldn’t fall over.

  Not that I would do that.

  I would never just shove a person.

  A finger hooks underneath my jaw, and with a little pressure, he guides me to turn my face.

  Too late, I remember my eyes are watering because of the impact, so I look like I’m crying.

  I blink rapidly, trying to will them away, but instead, it causes a few more tears to break free.

  His face lowers toward mine, and I have a split second to wonder if he’s going to kiss me…

  Then I remember this is real life, not a movie.

  And did he say I was bleeding?

  I yank my hands away from his body, which I should have done several seconds ago, and reach up toward my face.

  “Wait.” Before my fingers touch anything, he drops his hold on my chin and grabs both my wrists in his one big hand to stop me. “Your nose is bleeding. Fuck.”