Full Contact: A College Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  “It didn’t help that Boulanger dropped those two passes in the third quarter,” I said. “If that drive ended in a touchdown, the entire fourth quarter would’ve played out differently.”

  “Right?” he said with a wry smile.

  I hesitated. “If I can offer an observation?”

  He raised his glass. “I’m two beers in, baby. I can handle the painful truth.”

  “It’s tough for me to tell from the stands, but… The whole team looked demotivated today,” I said carefully. “Like your hearts weren’t in it. Was it because you underestimated Lone Star Tech? Were you guys looking ahead to the San Antonio game in two weeks?”

  Danny ran his hand through his flawless blond hair and sighed. “It was Lance. Having him suspended was like losing the family golden retriever. Usually he’s cracking jokes and playing grab-ass in the locker room before a game to lighten the mood. Today? It was as quiet as a temple.”

  “Ahh,” I said. I could totally see how Lance’s presence would brighten up the whole team—and how his absence would demotivate everyone.

  Danny gulped down the rest of his beer and began pouring another from the pitcher. “The really shitty thing about today? It made me realize that I’m not as good of a quarterback as I thought I was. Yeah, I know that’s selfish to think about after a team loss, but I’m like, shaken to the core about it. Lance is such a good receiver that he makes me look better than I actually am.”

  “Now you’re just throwing a pity party,” I said.

  He leaned back in the chair and sighed. “But it’s true. A good quarterback should be able to do well with sub-par receivers. The moment I lost my best guy, I fell apart. My completion percentage was garbage today. Who’s going to want to draft me after seeing that?”

  “Everyone has bad games.”

  “And we’re going to have another one next week,” he replied, “and the week after that against San Antonio.”

  I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re being over-dramatic now. Next week is Lincoln Memorial. They’re in last place. That’s the perfect time to adjust your game plan. Because that’s all you need to do: make some adjustments.”

  I used my roll of utensils to draw imaginary lines on the table between us.

  “Your offense relies on having Lance as a constant threat for the deep ball, which forces the defense to double-team him and keep the safety back. That allowed you to check him on every play, then hit one of your other receivers in the open area left in the middle. Well, without Lance there to cover, Lone Star Tech closed those gaps up the middle. But you stuck with your normal strategies, slants and button-hooks in the areas that would normally be open. That was your mistake. All you need to do is make some adjustments, force your opponent to move coverage around and open up weak spots again. You could run a formation with two tight ends, and lots of screen plays. Or more running back options. Either of those would open up the back field, which is when you hit your receivers because they’ll be open.”

  Danny stared at the table with an impressed look on his face. “You shouldn’t be our physical trainer. You should be our coach.”

  “My point is that all you have to do is change your strategy. Danny, you’re one of the most gifted, hardest-working quarterbacks I’ve ever known. I’m certain you’ll find a way to be successful. You’re too talented not to.”

  “How many quarterbacks have you ever known?”

  “Including you? One,” I admitted. “But still.”

  I could see Danny’s face softening as my words sunk in. I’d gotten through to him, even just a little bit. He might still stay in the post-loss funk for the rest of the weekend, but at least I’d helped him see the light at the end of the tunnel.

  Before he could respond, there was a rumbling outside as a shiny black pick-up truck pulled into the parking lot. Danny groaned as the occupants climbed out.

  Nicky Tarkenton and two of his henchmen, decked out in San Antonio jerseys.

  “Seriously?” I muttered.

  “That’s just what I wanted to see today,” Danny said. His hand on the table clenched into a fist, and he stared daggers at the front door.

  I reached out and put my hand on his. “Hey. Don’t let yourself get baited. He’s going to tease you about the loss, and then they’ll go off by themselves.”

  “I know, I know.”

  Nicky came through the door, his ink-black hair looking so greasy he must have put something in it. His eyes immediately locked onto our table from across the room. “There’s the fighting Stinger himself!” Nicky announced as he approached. “You don’t look half bad, for someone who got the crap beat out of them today.”

  “Lone Star Tech,” one of his big goons chuckled. “I’d be embarrassed to lose to them.”

  “We beat them by three touchdowns,” Nicky confirmed. “Since they’re a mediocre team.” He gave Danny a false concerned look. “But if you guys lost to them, you must be worse than mediocre. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe I was hoping for a real challenge this year.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at your own game?” I asked.

  Nicky swung his mocking eyes toward me. “Actually, honey, we played on Thursday. In fact, we were in the stands today for that shitshow of a game.” He looked back at Danny. “We were hoping to get some good scouting on you, but you played so poorly I don’t think there was anything for us to learn.”

  One of the big henchmen barked a laugh. “You believe this guy’s slated to get drafted ahead of you, Nicky?”

  “Well, he was. After today’s performance, it’s obvious that walking Chihuahua Lance Overmire was the real talent on the team. Without him, Danny here is practically neutered. Have fun handing off the ball to the running back for the rest of the season.”

  “Thanks for the intelligent insight as always,” Danny said.

  “It really is a shame about Lance,” Nicky went on. “I guess it makes sense that the only way your team could win is by cheating. But I always figured you were on the juice, not Lance.”

  “Nah, Danny’s balls are small all on their own,” one of the goons said.

  I examined Nicky’s face. He was acting awfully smug about Lance’s test. Was it a hint that he had orchestrated the whole thing?

  “You’ve got to be really fucking pathetic to fail a drug test these days.” Nicky shook his head in disgust. “Then again, we’re talking about Lance Overmire here. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.” He nudged Danny in the arm. “I wonder what your girlfriend sees in him.”

  Danny looked like he was on the verge of snapping. So I tried my own desperation pass.

  “I know you framed him,” I blurted out.

  All four of them—Danny included—looked at me in surprise.

  “You messed with his piss test,” I said simply. “And when I find proof, the three of you are fucked.”

  Nicky’s face was a greasy mask of uncaring. But his buddy over his right shoulder looked more than just surprised for a split second. He looked alarmed. Like I’d hit the nail on the head.

  Nicky laughed, and the others laughed with him. “Good luck with that detective work, Nancy Drew. I’d love to watch you searching for clues on your hands and knees, but the only thing you’d find is evidence of a real man.”

  I smiled sweetly at him. “Then I’ll bring my magnifying glass.”

  Danny roared with laughter, and so did Nicky’s two goons—though theirs was more muted as they tried not to laugh. Nicky smirked like he thought the joke was funny, but I could tell he was fuming under the surface.

  Nicky coldly said, “You can joke all you want, but after we beat Appleton in two weeks you’ll be gagging on what I give you. If you’re good enough, you’ll swallow in time for me to let you back up to breathe. Whore.”

  Everything after that happened in the blink of an eye.

  Danny was up out of his chair and moving toward the opposing quarterback before I realized it. Nicky grinned like it was what he’d wanted.


  One of the San Antonio goons was ready. He turned and intercepted Danny as if they had planned it, tackling him to the floor. Danny was huge and muscular, but this guy was a linebacker with at least 100 pounds on him. Danny’s fists were a blur, but the larger man had him pinned on the ground. Other customers in the restaurant screamed.

  “No!” I shouted, leaping to my own feet. “Get off him!”

  I ran to help, but Nicky grabbed my arm and held my back. “Watch what happens to your boyfriend, bitch,” he growled.

  Almost in slow motion, the big San Antonio player reached down and grabbed Danny’s left ankle. Danny kicked, but his grip on the ankle was too strong.

  With a jerk of his massive arm, he gave Danny’s ankle a hard twist, rotating his entire leg.

  Danny screamed in pain.

  43

  Roberta

  “Danny!” I shouted when I saw his leg twist grotesquely. “No!”

  Two big line cooks arrived from the kitchen and pulled the linebacker off Danny. “Okay, okay, I’m good,” the guy told the cooks, but they held his arms anyways.

  “My knee!” Danny said as he writhed on the ground. “You injured my knee!”

  “Oops,” Nicky said under his breath. “How sad.” He gave me one last smile and let go of my arm.

  I fell to Danny’s side. “Are you okay? Stupid question. How bad did he twist it?”

  “I didn’t twist nothin’,” the linebacker said. “He attacked me and I defended myself. You all saw it!”

  I tuned him out while focusing on Danny’s pained expression.

  The cops arrived a few minutes later. I helped Danny up and we hobbled outside to give them our statements.

  “He intentionally injured Danny’s knee!” I insisted. “He got him on the ground, grabbed his ankle, and twisted. It was intentional.”

  The cop looked over his shoulder at the San Antonio players, who were being questioned by another cop. “My question was simple. Did you attack him first?”

  “I jumped up from my seat, but that doesn’t mean I was going to attack him,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The cop gave him a sympathetic look. “Danny, I’m going to level with you. This doesn’t look good. There are a dozen witnesses who saw you jump up to attack him.” He gestured at his leg. “Yeah, you hurt yourself in the process, but you were the instigator. I’m probably going to have to take you in, Danny.”

  “Oh come on,” I said. “This is hardly fair…”

  Nicky and the other cop came walking over. “Mr. Tarkenton says he’s not pressing charges.”

  The cop, Danny, and I all gave a start. “Really?” he said.

  Nicky grinned and spread his arms. “This was all just a big misunderstanding. Danny here lost his temper after a bad game. I wouldn’t want to add insult to injury.” He stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

  Danny spat at his feet. “Fuck you.”

  “Hey now!” the cop said, stepping between them. “Cool it, Danny.”

  Nicky waggled his finger. “Now now, there’s no need for that.” He stuck out his hand again. “Shake my hand to let me know there’s no hard feelings between us. Or I will press charges.”

  “Just do it,” I whispered.

  Danny stared at his hand like it was a rattlesnake. Finally he shook it. Nicky’s smile widened.

  “Atta boy. Glad I could teach you a lesson about turning the other cheek.”

  “You’ve had your say, now go back to San Antonio,” the cop said dryly.

  Nicky narrowed his eyes. “I’m just exercising my right to free speech.”

  The Appleton cop nodded at Nicky’s truck. “You’re also running window tinting above the 25% VLT limit.”

  “What? My tinting is exactly at the limit.”

  The cop shook his head. “No, that definitely looks like 26 or 27.”

  “More like 30,” the second cop said. “Hope that truck isn’t here in the next five minutes.”

  Nicky put his hands up defensively and backed away. “Whatever you say, officers. We’ll go back to San Antonio where we belong. Where winners belong. See you in two weeks, Danny. If that knee’s up to it.”

  They piled into the truck and drove off, the engine making as much noise as a semi.

  “Prick,” the cop said.

  Rather than call an ambulance, the police officer took us to the hospital. Danny was wheeled into the back for scans. I texted Lance and Feña to tell them what had happened. Neither responded, but 15 minutes later Lance came rushing into the waiting room like a mother whose child was in surgery.

  “Where is he?” he asked. “Is he alright?”

  I put a hand on his chest. “He’s in the back getting an MRI. They wouldn’t let me back there.”

  “Is it his ACL again? Is it torn?”

  “I don’t know,” I said calmly. “That’s what the scans are for, Lance.”

  He nodded, and his face darkened. “Tell me everything that happened.”

  By the time I finished the story, he was trembling with rage.

  “And you’re certain it was intentional?”

  “He was on top of him, pinning him with his weight, then grabbed his ankle and twisted. It wasn’t just an accident.”

  “I’ll kill them,” Lance said softly. He was gazing off, as if he could see San Antonio from here. “I’ll dunk them in the Riverwalk until he begs for mercy.”

  “You can’t do that,” I said, even though I knew he was just venting.

  “Sure I can. I’m suspended from the team, so they can’t do anything to me. Maybe I’ll just break his fingers. Can’t throw a football with a cast on your hand.”

  I smiled and squeezed his hand. “Just think positive thoughts for Danny’s knee right now.”

  Lance nodded, though he still looked like he wanted to grab a rifle and march to war.

  “Where’s Feña?” I asked.

  “He had a meeting with a professor. Left the house to go to that right before your text came in.” Lance looked at the entrance, and his eyes widened. “Coach?”

  Coach Mueller stood in the doorway to the waiting room, a weary look on his face. He came over to us and said, “Where’s Danny?”

  “Getting an MRI. How’d you find out?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Son, this isn’t a big town. When the star quarterback shows up at the hospital with a knee injury, I get phone calls. What happened?”

  Lance gestured to me, and I told the story again.

  “Thank God they’re not pressing charges,” Coach said. “Our football program can’t afford that publicity right now.”

  “That’s what you care about?” I demanded. “The publicity?”

  “One thing at a time. And who are you?” He squinted. “Wait a second. You’re the girl who applied for the trainer position.”

  “I am.”

  “What were you doing at the diner? You were just a witness or something?”

  “I was eating with Danny,” I said curtly. “We’re friends.”

  But Coach Mueller had a knowing smile on his face now. “I bet you’re friends. Guess you wanted that trainer position to get close to the boys after all, huh?”

  “It’s not like that,” Lance said before I could. “Roberta is our friend.”

  “Oh, she’s your friend too?” Coach said. He looked down at me and said, “You’re bad luck, honey. Stay away from the rest of my team. Thank God I hired Brett instead of you, or half my team would have leukemia by now.”

  It was the final straw in an already shitty day.

  “You made the biggest mistake of your life not hiring me.” I jabbed him in the chest with my finger. “Brett is a terrible trainer. He doesn’t believe in dynamic stretching, and he’s got Feña on resistance band nonsense workouts designed for middle-aged women. With the way he’s running things, you’re lucky half the team isn’t injured.”

  Coach laughed in my face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Martinez is kicking farther than he has
in years.”

  I started to respond, then clamped my mouth shut. Telling him I’d been secretly training Feña behind his back was the last thing I needed to do.

  “Brett is a garbage trainer,” I insisted. “And you’re a shit Coach for hiring him.”

  My words rolled off the seasoned Coach like rainwater off a metal playground slide. He sneered down at me and said, “You’re just a jealous football groupie. I’ve seen your kind over the years, always lingering on the edge of the gym or practice field. Biding your time, waiting for the right moment. I’ve just got one favor to ask, honey: wait until they’re out of school before getting yourself knocked up. They don’t need the distraction.”

  Danny came rolling out into the waiting room in a wheelchair, pushed by an orderly and with a doctor in tow. Coach Mueller immediately forgot all about me and rushed up to her.

  “What’s it look like, Samantha?” he asked. “Is it torn?”

  Danny smiled weakly at me, and accepted a rough hug from Lance.

  “It’s not a full tear,” the doctor said. “It might be a partial, though I can’t be certain. I’m calling it a grade one sprain right now.”

  Not torn. I breathed a sigh of relief. Lance celebrated by punching the air excitedly. The doctor paused to look at him, annoyed, before continuing.

  “He’ll need to ice it and cease all activity for four to six weeks. Then I can reevaluate it and give a better diagnosis.”

  “Four to—what!” Danny said.

  Coach Mueller sighed.

  “Bro…” Lance said in shock.

  “Can’t you just wrap it?” Danny asked. “Or give me a brace to wear? It honestly doesn’t feel too bad.” He flexed his knee.

  “Even if it feels fine, a sprained ACL compromises the stability of the entire knee joint. You might be totally healthy and nothing will go wrong… Or you’ll drop back for a pass, plant your leg, and it will give out completely. There’s no way to be certain, so the safest thing is to avoid football.”

  Coach Mueller didn’t argue. All the color had drained from his face the moment she called it a sprain. He knew what that entailed.

  Danny’s face was filled with despair. “There has to be some way to stabilize it so I can play…”