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

by Zoey Shores

  I give him a quick, awkward smile in return and quickly turn back to the field to take notes on Chicago’s offense.

  Things have settled into a kind of normalcy between me and Luke over the last few days of last week. The awkwardness of that kiss we shared on Monday still lingers, but much of it has dissipated. We’re moving forward with just being friends. It still feels tentative and unsure -- and neither of us really know what, if anything, is going to develop from there after this semester and this football season ends -- but for now, things are settling down and becoming comfortable between us.

  Things are even becoming easy.

  Simple?

  Sometimes, when I meet Luke on campus and we chat a bit as we walk to our next classes, or the couple times last week we got lunch together at the cafe, things seemed simple.

  But then, sometimes, like when he just flashed that show-stopping smile at me, a certain chill runs through me, or a certain tingle spreads between my legs, that reminds me that simple is still not a word that can be used to describe anything that goes on between me and Luke Tanner.

  Chicago’s performance on offense is far from inspiring. As they make little progress against the Wolves on the field, I start to zone out from the action in front of me, and my minder wanders back to images of Luke playing out there today.

  He really was mesmerizing. His form is always perfect when he’s playing the game. I know next to nothing about the game of football, really, even after covering it for a couple weeks. But even I can tell he has perfect control of the field. His eyes are always sharp and aware, scoping out the movements and intentions of the defense.

  His shoulders are always square. His stance is always tall and drawn-up, commanding and noble. When he determines his move, and it never takes him long, he executes it with perfect alacrity. The way his arm slings forward to launch the ball is like a flash of thunder, and the perfect arc of his pass is like a work of art in motion.

  Not to mention what those tights do for his figure. His trim, sleek hips are outlined deliciously, accentuating how his large upper-body and wide shoulders rise out of his narrow waist. His naturally tapered figure is only amplified by the padding under his jersey.

  And the way his tights reveal his sculpted ass, those cheeks solid and round, somehow looking perfectly hard and perfectly soft at the same time …

  I shake myself out of it as I notice my mouth beginning to water. I steady my attention back on the field. Chicago just narrowly secured a first down against us, but they’re still far from our endzone. After a couple more plays that our defense saw coming a mile away, they finally get shut down and have to punt the ball back to us.

  Luke pumps his first and excitedly puts his helmet back on his head, flashing me a pearly-white smile as he jogs back onto the field with the rest of the offense.

  Sure enough, on the first snap, he releases a perfect spiral to Sage Tatum, who up until this point has had a disappointing game. Another easy first down, and the home field crowd greets it again with signs and groans of disappointment, giving way to boos.

  After a blow-out win of 39-15, I settle into my hotel room and get to work writing up my article for this Monday.

  After writing my summary of the game and the sidelines activity of the team this week, I get to the point to include the touch of color -- the story of Luke trying to cook dinner for the team. From last Monday night. That Monday night.

  A strange feeling of nostalgia washes over me as I look at the notes I took that evening while I observed Luke trying to cook his utter failure of a meatloaf. It’s hard for me to believe that those words were written before Luke and I kissed.

  They were written with the very same pen that now lies next to my laptop on the hotel desk in front of me. On pages in the very same notebook that I used to take down notes of the game this afternoon. My handwriting is exactly the same, too, of course. To the naked eye, nothing betrays the enormous gap that separates when those words were written from now.

  But what a gap there is.

  How much was different back when those words were first scribbled down on this paper …

  I shake my head wistfully and get to work turning those rough notes into a coherent part of the story. Dr. Gasten loved the idea of including this as part of the article when I told him about it during our staff meeting on Tuesday, even though at that time my head was still totally spinning over what had transpired the night before. He said that it was exactly the kind of thing he wanted more of for the Wolves coverage, and that he was blown away by how well my column had started out already.

  At the time, that feedback actually worried me a little. I still wasn’t sure what exactly that kiss with Luke meant, or what it would lead to. Would Luke try to ignore me from then on? Would things end up hopelessly awkward between us?

  After all, it had been my closeness with Luke that had allowed me the special glimpse into the life of the team that differentiated my writing on the subject from everyone else's, especially from Greg’s, who definitely would have gotten this full-time Wolves assignment if not for the article that my impromptu interview with Luke helped me produce.

  It was so relieving Tuesday after class when I ran across Luke on campus on our way home, and how cool he was about everything. How easy and natural it still was for us to talk -- more easy and natural than before, since that kiss clearly released so much tension.

  Not that it hasn’t created some new tension of its own. Often times I still feel the touch of his hand on my leg in my dreams, or when I begin to doze off at night. I often wake up with a tingling on my lips reminiscent of his lips. I still remember, so vividly, the impression his scent had on my nose up close …

  I straighten up and try to focus on the task at hand. After a couple hours, I have my article all written, proofread, and polished. I’m happy with the work. The story of Luke’s cooking really helped to spice up and add interest to an article that otherwise may not have been so interesting, since Chicago has been considered an easy win ever since the Wolves’ blow-away performance against Michigan on opening day.

  Next week is our first home game in two weeks, after unprecedented dominance from the Wolves against LSU and against Chicago tonight. Even though everyone had called this game for the Wolves, no one really expected a score like 39-15. Passions are going to be running high next week, and no matter the outcome, everyone is going to be wanting to read about it come Monday morning.

  After re-reading my article one more time and nodding in self-approval, I close the lid of my laptop and fall back on my bed. What a day.

  I pick up my phone and catch up on what I missed back home. The group chat Rory and I have going with some of our other friends is inundated with new messages.

  Apparently, April had been going out with a guy on the basketball team for the last week and a half, who had led her to believe that they were going to be exclusive. This afternoon she saw him kissing another girl through the front window of Tom’s Tavern while she was downtown grocery shopping.

  Is there such a shortage of decent guys here at Winthrop? Or is it just the athletes who are such dogs? I sigh, reflecting on the obvious fact that Luke, and all his friends who are seemingly such good guys, are athletes themselves. Are all of them really the same way? Then again, I know I shouldn’t paint with such a broad brush.

  After all, my and Rory’s scummy exes weren’t athletes. Not by a long shot …

  I lay my phone down next to me and flip through the channels on the hotel TV, when my phone vibrates again. I look over to see a text from Luke.

  Luke: Come to the pool.

  Me: Pool? What pool?

  Luke: The hotel pool, duh. Me and the guys are hanging out, come join us.

  Me: I didn’t bring a swimsuit.

  Luke: No problem. We’re just skinny dipping here, anyway.

  My eyebrows just about jump past my hairline.

  Me: What???

  Luke: haha jk … or am I???

  Me: I don’t
think I want to know.

  Luke: Come on, the hotel gift shop probably sells cheap swimsuits. Buy one and come down.

  Me: So you’re not skinny dipping then???

  Luke: Just because we are doesn’t mean you have to. Swimsuit, no swimsuit, doesn’t matter to us. Just hurry up already!

  I bite my lip, wondering if I should or not. The idea of being in a bikini in front of Luke draws up some anxiety. I get my thumbs ready to type out a lame excuse, to tell him I’m tired, or something, when he fires off another text before I can.

  Luke: Do I need to come up there and carry you down?

  What the hell, why not?

  Luke and I are just friends, right? No need to feel anxious about hanging out by the pool in a bikini with a friend.

  Me: Alright, give me a couple minutes.

  Luke: So is it going to be bathing suit or birthday suit for you?

  Me: Bathing suit! And you better have been kidding about the skinny dipping …

  Luke: LOL. Don’t worry. Only Archer. The rest of us have trunks on.

  Me: I could actually believe that, too …

  Luke: You’ll find out soon enough ;)

  I take the elevator down to the lobby. I buy a simple blue bikini and head back up to my room to change. I look at myself in the mirror for what feels like way too long.

  I pull myself away, trying to quiet the self-consciousness that’s barking at me in my mind. I put on a pair of shorts and loose t-shirt that I brought with me as pajamas and head back down to the lobby to get to the pool.

  I quickly notice that the guys in the pool aren’t alone. Two girls are hanging out with them. And they’re beautiful.

  One is a blonde in a tight black bikini. She’s sitting on the side of the pool, chatting with Lincoln. Her long, tan legs play in the water. Her lush thighs lead up to a slim waist, and huge boobs. She’s giggling at something Lincoln is saying. Self-consciousness pinches me and I subconsciously compare myself to her.

  Dammit, Heidi, I think to myself. You’re you. That’s good enough. You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone.

  Obviously, I know that’s true. But it’s hard sometimes. The other girl is in a tiny white bikini. Her slim body is perfect, her pale skin spotless, and her face like a supermodel’s. These are the kind of girls that guys on the football team, and Luke, usually hang out with. The kind of girls Luke slept with, no doubt, all last year.

  How many of them must there have been?

  “Heidi!” Luke’s greeting pulls me out of my preoccupations. He’s standing waist-deep in the pool. Shirtless.

  My God.

  The ridges of his muscles glitter in the lights, the water from the pool making them appear so smooth and defined. His abs are a six-pack verging on an eight-pack, cut so deep and in such vivid relief. He still looks pumped up from the workout he got on the field this afternoon, his muscles so lively and full. He radiates energy and virility.

  “Hey, Heidi’s here!” Archer echoes, after rising from underneath the water.

  “We told Archer you’d only come if he put some shorts on,” Luke says. The two girls giggle at his joke.

  I approach closer to the pool. “Hi guys,” I say.

  “Girls, meet Heidi. A mysterious woman from Luke’s past,” Chase introduces the girls to me.

  “Wow, how exciting” the blonde in the black swimsuit giggles.

  “I’m Lyssa,” the girl in the white introduces herself.

  “Carrie,” the blonde waves to me, smiling. They seem nice.

  “Nice to meet you,” I answer. “Are you two from Winthrop?”

  “No, we’re from here in Chicago,” Lyss answers.

  “They’re consorting with the enemy,” Lincoln winks. He grabs Carrie around the waist and lifts her into the pool, causing her to squeal.

  “No one with a chest like this is my enemy,” Carrie says, running her fingers across Lincoln’s pecks.

  “Come on in,” Luke urges, pushing his arm forward and splashing me with water.

  “Hey!” I gasp. “These are still supposed to be my pajamas!” I retreat to one of the reclining chairs that line the sides of the pool. Swallowing my self-consciousness, I remove my shorts and shirt.

  When I turn around, Luke is facing me. His eyes pop open. They're unblinking, fixed on my body. I notice his lips curl in, and his tongue sliding across them. I return his gaze. His wet hair hangs down over his forehead, matted and dripping. It’s an arresting look for him.

  Lyssa squeals as I see her rise above the water level, Chase having hoister her on his shoulders. “Let’s play chicken!” he calls as Lyssa giggles, trying to steady herself.

  “You game?” Luke smirks at me.

  I feel a flush rise to my cheeks. Play chicken? With Luke?

  Which would mean … his head … between my legs?

  “Sure,” I peep.

  “Three-way match?” Lincoln asks, before diving under the water and coming back up with Lyssa on his shoulders.

  I ease myself into the cold water. Once my feet are on the bottom of the pool, Luke submerges. I can feel him swimming towards me underneath the surface of the water. My body tenses as he pokes his head between my knees. My heart beats like crazy as I feel him between my legs, and my blood pumps wildly as I’m hoisted up, steadied on his shoulders.

  My adrenaline is surging, and my nipples are rock hard – I'm hoping that the coldness of the water is believable cover for that fact, as I glance down at them outlined like solid beads in my bikini top.

  Luke arcs his head back and looks up at me. Seeing his face between my bare thighs makes me dizzy, my mind swimming in waters far deeper than this pool. The wry smirk on his face leaves me unsure of exactly what’s going through his head. Does he know how turned on I am right now?

  “I’ll be the ref!” Archer announces, hoisting himself out of the pool. “Elimination style. Last team standing wins.”

  Before I’m able to really get my bearings, Archer shouts, “Go!”

  Luke marches forward and I tangle with the other two girls. The guys underneath us are all cheering us on. It’s a fun, good-natured competition as we three girls each try to unseat the others. Unfortunately, I’m the first to go, as Lyssa is able to torque herself and upset my balance.

  Luke is laughing as I raise my head back above the water. “I guess Chicago has to win something this weekend.”

  We cheer on and the other two continue to duke it out, before Carrie and Lyssa both grab a hold of each other and tumble off the others guys’ shoulders at the same time.

  “Tie!” Archer announces.

  “Booo,” comes Luke’s response.

  Carrie and Lyssa arise from the water laughing and splashing at each other. Lyssa swims over to me and extends her hand. “Good match,” she says.

  I laugh and shake both her and Carrie’s hands in a show of sportswomanship.

  “So, are you, like, part of the team somehow?” Lyssa asks as we all lounge in the water together. Luke and Lincoln have taken off in an impromptu swimming race on the other side of the pool.

  “Kind of,” I answer. “I’m with the student newspaper. I write an article about the team every week.”

  “You have a past with Luke, right?” Carrie asks.

  I chuckle. “I guess you could say that. It’s not exactly as interesting or mysterious as Lincoln made it out when he introduced me.”

  “You sure there’s not something … more going on between you and Luke?” Carrie presses.

  I cock my head to the side. “We’re just friends. Why do you ask?”

  Lyssa laughs. “Both me and Carrie were trying to get with him, but he barely realized we existed. No interest at all. We though he must have a girlfriend. And then he was over by the chairs, texting someone, telling the other guys he was trying to get Heidi – you – to come down.”

  “Oh,” I answer dumbly. Could Luke have really brushed off two girls who look like this because he wanted to see me?

  I look ove
r at the other side of the pool, where Luke’s face emerges from under the water, after having just beaten Lincoln in their last lap by a hair. Our eyes meet and a sweet, warm smile forms on his lips, right before it’s obscured by the splash of water produced right next to him as Archer cannonballs into the pool.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: LUKE

  It’s our first home game in three weeks, since the season opener. As loud as the crowd was that day, they sound like they’re on fire this afternoon. Everyone had pretty high expectations for us as a team this year, but no one quite expected we’d play as dominantly as we have so far this season.

  No one, that is, but us.

  We’re gathered in the entrance was to the field, huddled close together as Coach Riker gives us a pep talk. It’s not an easy game this afternoon, as we’re facing Florida State. They might just be our biggest challenge yet, considering they’re also undefeated this season. They’ve demolished their competition for the last three weeks, arguably dominantly than even we have.

  They’ve got a star quarterback, Gavin Ewins, who’s up for the draft next year. He’s been playing like a wizard, and right now he’s the odds-on favorite to score the Number One draft pick.

  We all have to be at our best. If even one of us is playing at even ninety-nine percent effort, a team like Florida will shut us down. And who knows if we can build up the steam we have right now if our momentum is derailed at our homecoming?

  I’m damn sure not about to find out.

  “Alright, boys, not much more I can say at this point,” Coach Riker drawls, standing between our huddle and the wide opening onto the field. “We all know how important this is. I gave you enough sermons all week long during practice. This is our biggest challenge yet.”

  I look around me. All the other players have passion and determination written on their faces. The success of this season has even smoothed over a lot of the tensions that has existed amongst the team since Coach Riker came in last year. A lot – not all, though.