by JB Salsbury
My jacket is on the floor, jeans in a heap at the foot of her bed, and my t-shirt hangs off her headboard. If I thought I could lie and say it was a team prank that sent me into Coach’s bedroom naked in the middle of the night, the evidence blows my chances of escaping the truth out of the water.
“What did I say when I agreed to let you live with me?” He punctuates the question spoken to his daughter with a sharp squeeze to my neck. I never knew he had a daughter. I always assumed the guy was a life-long celibate because the pent-up sexual frustration made him more of an angry asshole and it’s a fact that angry assholes win games. “I said no fuckin’ around!”
Emery’s glare tightens. “You don’t get to dictate what I do with my body!”
“I sure as fuck can when that body is livin’ under my roof!”
“No, you can’t,” I chime in. “It’s still her body.”
“Shut up, Theodore.”
My muscles tense at the sound of his anger wrapped around every syllable of my full name, bringing me back to when I was a scrawny, helpless kid.
He gives me a shake. “You manipulated your way into my innocent daughter’s bed?”
Innocent? Didn’t seem so innocent when she had her tongue down my throat and her hand in my pants jacking me off on the dance floor.
I was at Henley’s bar with my team doing shots to celebrate a winning game. I thought she was just another jersey chaser. I stare at her now, all that blonde hair, pale blue eyes and creamy skin flushed from a night of sin. She’s like a fallen angel, a corrupted soul wrapped in an armor of virtue.
“Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of my house.” Coach shoves me forward and the forceful blow is so familiar it would usually trigger a violent response.
Instead, I smile at the conniving snake in the Barbie mask. “Touché.”
Her gaze darts to mine and a flicker of a smile touches her lips.
“Don’t fucking talk to her!” Coach is seething at the door watching my every move as I snag my clothes from around the room.
I don’t bother covering up as I slide my jeans up my thighs, commando, just as I was last night. I figure I’m already dead why not give the woman one last look at—
Coach’s left hook comes from nowhere and I stumble back holding my jaw. Emery is out of bed, her sheet wrapped around her as she rushes to my aid. “Are you okay?” She whirls around to her dad before I can answer. “Get out!”
“You’ll have to drag my dead body out of here to get me to leave before he does!”
Emery drops her sheet giving her dad a full-frontal he’ll never forget.
“Dammit, Em,” he says scrambling to pick up the sheet and cover her with it.
She leaves her arms to her sides so the bed sheet falls to her feet again. “I’m naked and need privacy,” she says with no inflection in her voice. “Leave right now or I’ll call Uncle Steve and tell him how you insisted on watching me dress.”
All six-foot-three, two-hundred and eighty-five pounds of Coach Brawley turns on a dime, storms from the room, and slams the door so hard I hear wood crack. I stare in awe at the fiery little blonde. I’ve never seen Coach bow to anyone. I think she could be the devil.
In one quick move she ties the sheet back around her and turns to me. “Are you hurt?” There’s no tenderness in her voice, and for the first time, I see a little of her dad in her.
“No.” I rub my jaw feeling only a mild ache and grin. “I can take a punch.”
She snags my t-shirt and tosses it to me. “Sorry about my dad.” Again, not a lot of feeling in those four words.
“Are you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug and shove my phone and wallet into my back pockets. “That I’m not stupid.” My gaze tightens on her. “You used me.”
“You used me too.”
I can’t argue that. One-night stands have their perks—no attachments, a hell of a lot of fun, and plenty of orgasms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Coach Brawley’s daughter?”
She lifts a brow. “I thought you said you weren’t stupid.”
“Why me? There were twenty other football players in the bar last night.”
She eyes the colorful tattoos on my arms, the inked skull on my throat, and the piercing in my lip.
“Clean cut dude wouldn’t cause a big enough stink, huh?” I chuckle. “Smart. But you didn’t know I’d stumble into his bedroom by accident.”
“He wakes up at four-thirty every morning. I’d planned to seduce you at four-thirty-five and make sure he heard.”
“That’s some sick ass shit.” I’m strangely attracted to the idea of it. But then, I’ve always been attracted to the deranged.
With my hand on the doorknob, knowing Coach is standing on the other side like a bull ready to charge, I say, “For what it’s worth, that thing you do with your tongue—”
The door swings open and Coach roars, “Out!”
Emery bites her lips, but I catch the way the corners tip up on the ends.
This chick is a fucking psycho.
I kind of like it.
Chapter Three
Spider
“How did you do on the topology exam?” Rowan, my teammate Carey’s girlfriend, is a spunky little redhead with an insane IQ.
After getting bored with last year’s computer science major I switched to civil engineering and found myself in the same class as Rowan. Little did I know she’s as competitive in the classroom as her boyfriend is on the field.
“I got an A.” I open the classroom door and hold it for her to walk through. “You?” I hook her around the shoulder and pull her to one side of the busy breezeway to keep her from getting plowed over.
“B plus.” She groans and sets her jaw stubbornly. “Should’ve been an A. I studied so hard.” Her gaze darts to mine. “Did you even study? How does this stuff come so easy to you?”
My brain works in fucked up ways. I did well in school so my stepdad didn’t have another reason to smack me around. Not that he needed one. Or, maybe all those hits to the head opened up some part of my brain I wasn’t using that made me a goddamn genius.
“Get your paws off my woman.” Rowan’s boyfriend Carey shoves me playfully from behind. He lifts her off the ground like she weighs nothing and walks a few steps nuzzling her neck. “I missed you.”
She giggles and squirms. “It hasn’t even been two hours.”
Her frown from earlier is erased by Carey’s presence. I find it fascinating that two people can have that kind of effect on each other. Women have never provided me with more than a quick and temporary relief—more of a distraction than a remedy.
“Theodore!”
I freeze mid-step at the sound of my full name. And I’m not the only one. Carey steps shoulder-to-shoulder with me, his big body radiating tension. The sun lights up a head of thick blonde hair as Emery closes in on us. She looks like a prep-school student body president in her khaki slacks and pale-yellow cardigan, complete with pearl buttons.
She stops in front of me, and eyes Carey and Rowan curiously.
“Don’t call me that.” I grip the straps of my backpack to keep from grabbing her and shaking her buttoned up look loose.
“Isn’t it your name?”
“Nobody calls him that,” Carey says with a heavy warning in his voice.
Most people find him intimidating, but she smiles at him as if he’s a puppy. As if his defensive response pleases her.
“What do you want?” I know she’s after something. She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who’d waste her time with someone she couldn’t use to further her cause.
Her eyes come back to me. “You left in such a hurry we didn’t get a chance to exchange numbers.”
“Why would we do that?” The way we left things, with Coach breathing down my neck, made it obvious there wouldn’t be a repeat of our night together. “You’re hot, but football’s the only thing keeping me out of jail. There’s plenty of p
ussy that won’t get me kicked off the team.”
“Spider!” Rowan sounds worried, as if maybe I’ve insulted the woman, but she doesn’t know Emery like I do. She may be soft and delicious on the outside, but inside she’s forged steel and sharp edges.
Emery crosses her arms at her chest. “He has no power over you or me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. He has the power to make my life a living hell.”
She chews her pink-glossed lip as if thinking things over. “Okay.” She shrugs. “You’re not nearly as brave as I thought.”
I smile slowly, all teeth as I bite back the urge to give in to what she wants, to lose my temper and prove I’m the unstable loaded gun she can aim at her dad. “Safe to say, you’re not what I expected either.” I eye her from her pink headband to her leather top-siders, noting the contrast of her virginal look versus how she liked it when I pulled her hair and spanked her ass. She bit and scratched and purred like a kitten.
She turns her attention to Rowan. “I’m Emery, by the way.” They shake hands politely. “I like your shirt.”
Rowan grins, clearly won over by the cat in preppy clothing. “Thanks. Most people don’t get it.”
“It’s a physics pun. Don’t be a jerk. The time derivative. It’s funny.” The pretty psycho grins.
“Exactly.” Rowan’s eyes light up as if she’s seeing land after months lost at sea. “I haven’t seen you around, are you a new student?” Rowan taking an interest in this chick is not good. Next thing, she’ll be inviting her over for dinner and study dates and I need Emery to stay as far away from me as possible.
“I am. Just graduated from Pontus Academy in Massachusetts.”
Mass? That explains why I didn’t know Coach had a kid.
“Thrilling conversation,” I say sounding bored. “But we need to be on the field in thirty.”
Her blue eyes register no apology. “Of course. Don’t let me hold you up.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Rowan says as Carey pulls her along. “I’ll see you around sometime. We should grab a coffee!”
When we’re far enough away that we can’t be overheard, Carey asks the burning question. “Is that the chick you hooked up with after the game?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckles. “You ghosted her pretty hard, man. What were you saying about the team?”
I bite the inside of my mouth, feeling the pinch and tasting the blood. “Brawley.”
“What about him?”
“Emery is Coach’s daughter.”
Carey stops walking, the news seeming to slam him in the gut and still his progress. “Tell me you’re joking!”
“I wish I were.”
Chapter Four
Spider
We’re halfway through warm-ups with our strength and conditioning coach when Brawley stomps onto the field. I haven’t seen him since I stood with my nuts in my hands waiting for him to beat me.
I’m not afraid of him. I’ve taken more beatings than I can count, both on and off the field. I am terrified about him taking away my only outlet—football. He could bench me for the season, for the rest of my career if he wanted to.
“Web!” He waves me over.
Carey lifts his chin. “Need a wingman?”
“Nah, I got it.” I jog to Coach and push my sweat soaked hair off my forehead. “What’s up?”
“We need to talk.” He heads toward the benches expecting me to follow.
I do.
Once there he adjusts his BSU ball cap as if it’s lined with spikes and he’s trying to find the most comfortable position. “About Emery.”
“I didn’t know she was your kid.”
He nods solemnly. “I believe you.” He looks around as if to gauge who might be listening, then mumbles, “I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“I’m not gonna tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.” I’d be an idiot to dig myself any deeper than I already have by banging his daughter.
His expression pinches, as if he’s not completely comfortable with whatever he’s about to say. “Emery is pissed at me.” He breathes heavily, finally takes off his uncomfortable hat and takes the bench. He braces his elbows on his knees and runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “We lost her mom when she was nine. I was a mess and I didn’t know how to raise a little girl. I sent Emery to boarding school.”
I grit my teeth together at the thought of a young Emery being shipped across the country by her only living parent while mourning the loss of her mom.
“I was a shitty dad.” He pops his hat back on his head. “Emery’s angry. She’s trying to hurt me.”
“Can’t say I blame her.”
His face reddens and I prep for him to yell in my face, tell me to mind my own damn business, but like a popped balloon he deflates. “Yeah. I need you to stay away from her.”
In that we agree.
“Last time I visited her at school she was a fifteen-year-old kid with a lot of…issues.” He blows out a breath. “We have a lot of work to do to repair our relationship; her using my players to hurt me is a complication we don’t need.”
I understand.
What I don’t understand is why I’m feeling strangely protective of her. I know the little kitten can take care of herself—she’s unapologetically vicious. But I also know what it’s like to be young and abandoned by a parent, to be handed over and forgotten. Emery was left to teachers and dorm supervisors to be raised. I was handed over to a stepdad who brought me up with a heavy fist and a bottle of malt liquor.
“We clear?”
I blink down at him seeing him through different eyes. The big intimidating man seems smaller, vulnerable, weak even—testimony to the lovely Emery’s power.
“Yeah, man. Crystal.”
He stands to his full height. “Coach. I’m not your man. Now get your ass back to your team for drills.”
Chapter Five
Emery
The sun is barely up when I walk into Bean Madness, the campus coffee shop. I don’t have any class work due, but I have to catch a ride with my dad to campus every day so that leaves me two hours before my first class. Usually I’d find a spot in the grass to read or listen to an audiobook, but the sun is coming up later and later and the chill in the early morning has me craving coffee.
“Emery, is that you?”
I turn around to see the redhead I met four days ago. “Rowan, right?”
She’s wearing a Bean Madness apron and has her long hair pulled up and out of her face. “Yeah.” She fidgets with a wet rag she uses, to wipe down tables. “What can I get for you?” She makes her way around the counter to the register.
“Coffee. Black, please.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Black? You sure you don’t want to try a triple fudge brownie mocha? Or a caramel drizzled vanilla latte?”
“Those sound like sundaes, not coffee.”
She laughs and pours me a coffee in the biggest insulted paper cup. She hands me the cup and when I hand her my card, she waves me off. “It’s on the house. Consider it your welcome to Bear State coffee.”
Something warm and wholly unfamiliar expands in my chest.
“Are you enjoying BSU?” She follows me to a nearby table but doesn’t sit.
“So far so good.” If I’m not counting the fact that I can’t get a certain rebel football player’s attention. I admit Theodore’s inked skin, piercings and perma-scowl caught my eye. He would be the perfect partner in my plan to make my dad miserable. I didn’t expect, given the explosive sexual chemistry between us, that he’d play hard to get. “I like my forensics classes.”
“Forensics?”
I sip my coffee. “That surprises you?”
She takes in my tailored oxford shirt, the string of pearls on my neck and the satin scarf tied around my ponytail. “You strike me as a pre-law kind of girl.”
“Nope. I’m mostly interested in how to kill people and get away with it.” I wink, but it doesn’t
take away the look of horror in her eyes.
Some people are so easy.
“I’m kidding.”
“I know!” She laughs uncomfortably. “Do you live on campus?”
“I wish.” The inheritance my mom left was enough for my dad to pay for ten years of boarding school tuition, but left me with only a few thousand dollars in my bank account and is the reason I’m stuck living with him now. I need a job so I can save money and get an apartment, which I was surprised to learn is actually cheaper than living on campus. “Is the coffee shop hiring?”
“We have a part time position, nights. It’ll include weekends.”
“That’s fine, I don’t have a social life.” And it’ll get me out of the house so I don’t have to do the awkward dance of silence with my dad at the dinner table every night.
“Have you worked in food and beverage before?”
Heat of embarrassment makes a slow climb up my neck to make camp in my cheeks. “No, actually, I’ve never had a job before.”
“Oh.” She frowns, then shrugs and grins. “No biggie. I’ll train you. It’s not rocket science. I’ll grab you an application.”
I spend the next twenty minutes filling out the application forgoing all the questions about job experience, and adding my years of community service instead, which includes working in the dining hall of a retirement home. I turn the application in and by that time the coffee shop is slammed with college students and professors. I bury my nose in my Anatomy of a Motive textbook when I feel someone nearby staring at me.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Theodore Web.
His dark hair is a little overgrown and curls around his ears in a boyish way that takes the edge off his neck-to-toe tattoos. His body is covered in colorful ink that would take days to explore and discover all the pieces of art on his body. His green eyes are tight, and he uses his top teeth to toy with the ring on his lower lip. His knuckles are white on backpack straps pulled tightly over muscular shoulders and a wide chest.
