Do Over: A Second Chance Sports Romance: Winthrop Wolves Book 1

by Zoey Shores

  DO OVER

  A Second Chance Sports Romance

  WINTHROP WOLVES Book 1

  Copyright © 2020 by Zoey Shores

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  COVER by Mayhem Cover Creations

  NOTICE: This work is entirely fictional. None of the characters bear any resemblance to any real persons, living or deceased. All acts depicted are consensual. All characters are above the age of 18.

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  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: HEIDI

  CHAPTER TWO: LUKE

  CHAPTER THREE: HEIDI

  CHAPTER FOUR: LUKE

  CHAPTER FIVE: HEIDI

  CHAPTER SIX: LUKE

  CHAPTER SEVEN: HEIDI

  CHAPTER EIGHT: HEIDI

  CHAPTER NINE: LUKE

  CHAPTER TEN: LUKE

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: HEIDI

  CHAPTER TWELVE: LUKE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LUKE

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HEIDI

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: LUKE

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: HEIDI

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: LUKE

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: HEIDI

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: LUKE

  CHAPTER TWENTY: HEIDI

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: LUKE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: HEIDI

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: LUKE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: HEIDI

  EPILOGUE: LUKE

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  CHAPTER ONE: HEIDI

  “Okay … one … two … three!”

  With groans of exertion, we both grip tightly and lift our respective ends of the sofa, shuffle a couple feet to the left, and finally drop it with a thud between the front window and the door of our apartment.

  Our apartment. We’re finally out of the dorms and into the real world. Well, one foot into the real world, anyway. We still have two years left here at Winthrop University; but for those last two years, we’ll be living off campus, here on our own.

  Emphasis on here. After wearing ourselves out hauling that seven-ton couch up the narrow staircase to the second floor and then jamming it through the doorway, I don’t care if the roof falls off this place or the plumbing starts to back up – we’re not moving for as long as we can help it, because we’re not going to deal with that boulder of a couch again until the last minute possible.

  As I stretch my strained back and take a deep breath, I’m almost contemplating failing a class or two, just so I have an excuse to stay here an extra year, just to put off that next move.

  “Who says two girls can’t move all their stuff in by themselves?” Rory, my roommate and best friend, says with a triumphant, and only slightly ironic, cheerfulness.

  “One more thing we don’t need men for this semester,” I shoot back with a smile.

  “You know it, girl.”

  Rory lifts up her hand for a high five and I slap it confidently, the endorphins from the arduous workout of the move flooding my brain and replacing the ache in my muscles and joints with a confident happiness. I know that later tonight – and definitely by tomorrow morning – those will have worn off and I’ll be feeling the soreness, but for now, with all our stuff finally moved in and looking forward to my first year of true independence, I’m feeling pretty damn good.

  We walk outside our door and onto our second story wooden porch, which affords a picturesque view of one of the cute, tree-lined streets that make up this classically beautiful University town. It’s idyllic now, but I know that tonight, all the student housing will be overflowing with parties.

  As I look down at the storm drain that hugs the sidewalk in front of our cute, four-unit, two-story housing complex, I can already see an overzealous first or second year undergrad puking his or her guts out.

  But for now, it’s the picture of tranquility. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the tree that brushes against the side of our building and cools the sheen of sweat that lies on my skin. Rory and I both sigh in refreshment and drop down onto the plastic chairs we have set out to the side of our front door out on the porch.

  “Although it would have been pretty nice to flirt with some impressionable freshman boys just to get them to carry that couch up for us,” Rory comments with a smirk.

  “True,” I ponder. “But the semester without man is worth it.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Rory seconds my sentiments.

  Last year, both Rory and I started dating different guys. Over the summer, however, it was almost eerie how closely both of our relationships followed the same trajectory. We both started noticing posts on our ex’s Instagram pages with them looking especially *ahem* friendly with some of the girls in their hometowns.

  When I called out my ex, Paul, on it, he tried to tell me we should have an open relationship over summer break, until we got back to campus.

  I clicked the red hang-up-button on my phone at that moment and never answered any of his texts. I think he got the message.

  Rory had a similar but more dramatic denouement about a week later, when a girl she’d never spoken a word to in her life contacted her on Instagram, telling her that she and Rory’s ex, Mark, had slept together before she knew Mark had a girlfriend.

  Unlike Paul, apparently Mark wanted to keep things on the downlow and stay with Rory, only fooling around on her behind her back, rather than flaunting it openly.

  Rory – through gritted teeth – thanked the girl for a solid upholding of the girl code, and then for a couple days didn’t let on to Mark that she knew. Not until the day of the Mark’s summer visit to Rory’s hometown, a visit they had been planning for weeks.

  Mark pulled up to their driveway, got out of his car, approached Rory with a big, toothy grin and his arms spread open to greet her with a hug – and got promptly kicked in the balls.

  To tell you the truth, I’m kind of jealous of her for how satisfying that must have been.

  After all that, and looking forward to our first year living together, Rory and I made a solemn vow: no boys all Fall semester.

  No boyfriends, no dating, no hookups.

  Just quality girl time in our very own apartment, and lots of focus on the first semester of the biggest year of our college careers. Junior year.

  I’m a journalism major, and my career in the field will pretty much be made or broken based on how good of an internship I can get next summer. Rory, as a theatre major, is in the same boat.

  Both are incredibly competitive fields, and if you’re not able to snag a top-notch internship between your Junior and Senior years to build your resume and get your foot in the door to start networking, once you actually graduate it’s a steep uphill climb – and few make it to the top.

  “Really,” Rory says, standing up briskly. “Let’s drink to that.”

  “Hm?” I’d been momentarily lost in my thoughts, recounting the summer I’d just had and all the hard work that lies in front of me this year.

  “To the semester without men – let’s drink to it. Let’s go get a bottle of wine.”

  “Great idea,” I agree. I cringe just a little bit at a soreness in the small of my back when I stand up and straighten out. Oh, yeah, tomorrow’s gonna be rough.

  We gingerly walk down the stairs out
side and set off to the local grocery store. It’s the Friday before the semester starts, so the town is lively, but not as lively as it will be tomorrow and Sunday. Most undergraduates wait until the weekend to move in. Rory and I wanted to get ahead of the hassle.

  We pick up and nice sized bottle of red wine and walk back home, taking our time, stretching some of our sore muscles as we walk. I stop for a moment and reach my hands up to the sky, trying to work out a kink in my shoulders, when Rory nudges me in the side with her elbow.

  “Look,” she whispers, standing close to me. “You-know-who.”

  I turn my head in the direction she’s indicating, and sure enough there he is: Paul. My ex.

  I tense up, waiting to feel something. Anger? Frustration? Loss? Awkwardness?

  But my nerves relax, and my heartrate stays steady. I don’t feel anything.

  Did it suck what happened between us – in particular, did it suck how he treated me, not just over the summer but for the last two or so months of our relationship even when we were still on campus last semester?

  Yeah. But I’m over it.

  I feel proud of myself. I shrug my shoulders to Rory and keep walking.

  “Good for you,” Rory says, noticing the genuineness of my nonchalance. “He’s not worth any hard feelings.”

  Seeing Paul back on campus was the one thing that stressed me out when I thought about it over the summer. Now, I’ve seen him, and he hardly even registered for me. I’m over it. I’m over him. I’ve got my eye on the prize. I’m focused on getting a 4.0 GPA, making a splash with the student newspaper that will lead me to a top internship this summer, and dedicating my free time to self-care and quality girl time with Rory at our apartment.

  There won’t be any complications this semester, certainly not because of some man.

  No strife, no angst. No drama. No confusion. No questions begging for answers. No grappling with confusing feelings that tie my stomach up in knots, no wracking my brain wondering what some guy thinks of me, if he’s feeling the same way I’m feeling.

  Nope, not this semester. None of that.

  This semester will simple.

  *WHACK*

  “—are you okay … Heidi?”

  The ringing in my ear subsides, giving way to what I recognize as Rory’s voice. I blink my eyes hard, trying to sharpen my still-blurry vision. A dull throb on the side of my head begins to turn into a headache.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re throwing!” I hear Rory yell, angrily, at someone.

  I’m sitting on the sidewalk. I look to my feet and see a football lying there. The shock is starting to wear off and my cognitive function is beginning to sharpen again.

  “Oh shit! I’m sorry! Are you alright?”

  I hear a man’s voice. From how his voice is progressively getting louder with each word, I can tell he’s running toward us.

  Through the fog that blankets my hearing, my vision, and my thinking right now, there’s something about that voice that seems … familiar?

  I look up and see the man standing in front of me. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

  The static blobs that make up the man standing in front of me start to take on definition. I can see a vague outline of his face. He’s tall. He has a big, sturdy frame and expansive, wide shoulders – I can tell that much, at least.

  I begin to make out his face. I notice how sharp and prominent his jaw is. I can see a thick tuff of brown hair sitting on his head. Each second that my vision starts to return to me, the features of his face that reveal themselves seem to recall something buried in my mind. There’s a creeping recognition. Someone I know?

  “—just because you’re some hot shot football player, doesn’t mean you can just toss that stupid ball around without any regard for the people around you!” I hear Rory mid-rant, giving the perpetrator a piece of her mind.

  “I know, I know, my bad, I’m sorry,” I hear the strangely, elusively familiar man answering.

  “It’s my fault, I missed the catch,” another male voice sounds out.

  I see the figure of the first man kneel down in front of me. “Seriously, are you okay? I’m really—” he stops suddenly. “… Heidi?”

  I blink hard again and shake my head, throwing off the cobwebs. When I open my eyes, my vision is clear enough to see who I’m looking at.

  “Holy shit, no way,” he says, a voice of disbelief.

  Luke Tanner.

  “Luke,” I say, dumbly.

  “Heidi, holy shit … you’re a student here?”

  I raise my hand to the side of my head where the football collided. No blood, but a dull throb. “Yeah,” I answer, another monosyllabic grunt.

  Rory bends down and helps me to my feet. I finally feel like I’m planted on solid ground again, my mind coming back to me. I turn my head toward Rory and see a quizzical, surprised look on her face.

  She must be caught off guard at this unexpected reunion between me and Luke. After all, I never told her – that we dated back in high school. Me, and the new starting quarterback for Winthrop University’s football team. Back before he was the talk of the campus of one of the most prestigious universities in the world, back before he was one of the hottest prospects in college sports – back when I was one of the few people who even knew his name.

  “Your head okay, Heidi?” Luke asks. His deep, emerald green eyes have concern etched in them, but it’s mingled with the shock of suddenly seeing me again after all these years.

  I’m surprised he even recognizes me; surprised he even remembers my name.

  “Yeah, I’m alright,” I answer. I don’t have a concussion or anything, and the ache of the side of my head, where the football collided, is starting to wear off.

  Luke and I date briefly, for about three months. Sophomore year of high school. We’d grown up in the same town all our lives – I lived in the rich end of the town (more like middle class, but where we grew up, middle class passed for rich), and he lived in the poor end of town. Dating a guy like Luke was a dream come true for high school freshman me.

  Oh, I was smitten alright.

  Then, one day, he got into a big fight with some seniors from our school. I never got the whole story, but it had something to do with his brother, who was always getting into trouble. The fight happened on school grounds, and everyone involved was expelled. Luke included.

  I don’t know if Luke got a GED, or finished high school online, or what, but I never saw him again after that. My parents – who never liked us dating to begin with – outright refused to allow me to speak with him after that incident. From that point on, he was just a memory.

  Until now.

  He looks so familiar, but so different. His features are sharper, more mature. His jaw is harder, sharp as a blade. His neck is thicker. He’s taller, even though he towered over me – and all of the high school staff – even back when he was just a fifteen-year-old high school freshman. His shoulders are broad, like the ridge of a mountain.

  I glance at his hands, in which he holds the football that led to this unlikely reunion. They’re enormous, his fingers long and thick. Just above them are his forearms, huge with corded muscle. My eyes travel further up his arms to see his hard, surging biceps jutting out of his powerful arms like boulders, straining against the tight fabric of his t-shirt sleeves.

  I lift my gaze up more, back to his eyes. So much of him has changed, but not those – these are definitely the eyes I remember looking into on breezy nights when he walked me home after school.

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?” Luke asks again, his voice laden with concern.

  I smile, a flood of memories coming back to me, memories that have been locked in my head for years. “Yeah, I’m fine. No harm done.”

  “So,” he begins, a transient awkward expression passing over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me you went here?”

  I can feel my face reddening with blush. “I thought you would have too much on your plate to worry about
hearing from an old high school friend.”

  I see a flash of mischievousness light up in those emerald eyes, and the right edge of his soft, full mouth perk up into a smirk. “Friends?”

  My heart flutters. Is he flirting with me?

  If he thinks that he can exploit our past for an easy hookup, he’s got another thing coming. He and all the other guys on campus who try their luck with Rory or me this semester are going to have to look elsewhere.

  Even if he is Luke Tanner.

  Ha, forget that. Considering what I’ve heard from some of the girls who’ve been to parties with him, especially if he’s Luke Tanner. The last thing I need is a player who wants me to just be one of the contacts in his phone, just another willing body in his booty call rotation.

  No, thank you.

  “We’d better get going,” I say, hurrying to throw cold water on his flirt-bait. “It was nice seeing you around.”

  “Yeah, you, too,” he answers.

  I keep standing there for a moment, and so does he. It feels like he’s waiting for me to say something more, but I just flash him another quick smile, wave goodbye, and turn to walk back to our apartment, Rory by my side.

  Once they’re about out of earshot, Rory turns to me with her eyes wide and her thirst for gossip palpable. “Girl, once we uncork this wine, you’re telling me everything.”

  CHAPTER TWO: LUKE

  “Friends, huh?”

  “What?” I ask, Archer’s question shaking me out of my daydreaming and back to reality.

  “What’s the history with you and that girl?”

  I sigh. “We dated in high school. Freshman year.”

  “Damn,” Archer laughs. “Way back. And you’ve been holding a candle for her this whole time?”

  I don’t like the tinge of embarrassment that question makes me feel. “Nah, man, just crazy to see her after all these years is all.”

  The way the image of her face – so familiar after all these years, but so much more beautiful now – plays in my mind makes me worry that I’m trying to convince myself with that answer more than I’m trying to convince Archer.