Give You Up (Dumas University Book 1)

by Ashlyn Mathews

  Why is my orderly world careening into crazy territory with Taron’s arrival? He is most certainly to blame, upsetting the balance of the universe when he showed up at Bayside the same time as me. I look around the bleachers. Set my hands on my hips. Ask Assistant Coach Hank the same questions I asked Cindy.

  “Am I being punked? Is this a secret casting call for an episode of the Twilight Zone? Because this has been the weirdest day in the history of my weird days.”

  His green eyes gleam. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Hank is . . . He is handsome. An idea pops into my head. Why not ship him with Cindy? I check out his left hand. He’s not wearing a ring and looks to be close to Cindy’s age. Bonus? He has a steady job.

  Now that she isn’t my boss, her personal life is fair game. If he isn’t married, is he dating anyone? Divorced possibly? Does he like dogs? Or is he a cat person? Cindy adores dogs but is allergic to cats. Is he a patient man? Cindy’s quirks can test anyone’s patience. Or is he married but one of those guys who doesn’t wear a wedding ring for a multitude of reasons?

  Cindy’s been burned before with a guy who was cheating on his girlfriend with her. Cindy hates cheaters and liars with a passion. If she knew of my past, she would end our friendship. It’s a good thing my past stayed behind in Cali. Until he followed me to Washington state.

  “Why me when there are plenty of girls willing to take that spot?” I return my mind to the issue at hand.

  Later, when I have my laptop open, I’ll pull up my calendar and schedule time for playing matchmaker.

  Hank tips forward into my personal space and says in a low voice, as though we’re sharing a secret, “Taron has a bad rep on and off the field. He can’t keep his junk in his pants, and he’s quick to use his fists. The dean wants a complete haul-over of Taron’s reputation.”

  He straightens. Now it is my turn to get in his personal space. “You didn’t answer my question. Why me?”

  “You two have history.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What kind?”

  No way will I let Taron use me as his crutch again.

  “The two of you dated in high school. His coach made sure you attended their games, including the away ones. You’re a good influence on him, and from what he tells me, one of the few who can keep him in line.”

  “What about his time at Stanford?”

  “He had a PA he liked.”

  Was she the stunning redhead on his arm at Bayside? Doesn’t matter. I did not sign up to be his servant.

  Ignoring the girls cheering and ogling the players from the stands, and the dean watching practice from inside the broadcast booth, I march onto the field, find Taron in the crowd, and grabbing on to the front of his jersey, I demand an answer.

  “How could you?”

  “It’s three months of your life, Syn.”

  “My very well-constructed, drama-free life. Babysitting your ass will destroy all that.” I can find the jerk who hurt Natalie without resorting to bowing down to the new football god.

  Taron peels my fingers off his jersey and strokes his chin. It’s a good thing we have an audience. I am ready to smack the satisfied smirk off his pretty face.

  “Come on, Syn. Be a good sport, why don’t you?”

  I open my mouth to give him an earful. He collars me around my neck and rubs his knuckles on top of my hair. His teammates jog over and crowd us.

  “Hey, man, who you got there? She’s tiny.”

  “Small but fierce, boys. Don’t let her sink her teeth into you. She’s got the bite of a pit bull. Won’t let go for shit.”

  Some of the guys laugh. The rest are silent, and it’s not the good kind either. I am getting animosity vibes directed at Taron from the other players. My heart aches for him.

  He has a temper and has made poor decisions from what I have read online, but no one is expected to be a saint. Take my friends, for example. Riley is a thief. Dare uses alcohol and pot as his crutch when he doesn’t want to deal with the difficult stuff in his life. And Midnight? Midnight can be a controlling jerk who uses his wealth and influence to get his way, bulldozing over people and leaving hurt feelings and anger in his wake.

  I untangle my head from Taron’s arm, tug down my tank top that rode up, showing bare mid-drift, and eye his teammates.

  They are huge. Sweaty. Stinky. Curious. They look from me to Taron. They’re wondering what our history is and where I came from.

  Other than group class projects, I keep a low profile. The college scene isn’t my scene. Something else I have in common with Riley. We work. We study. I hang out with Dare. She spends time with these old folks for reasons beyond me other than she enjoys doing things for them. Wash, dry, repeat.

  “What’s she doing on the field?” This from Terrance, the jerk who tripped me in sex ed class.

  “She’s my personal assistant. Where I go, she goes. She’ll keep me in line. Me in line will help us win games. Got it?”

  Wide eyes all around. Guys talking at once. That same animosity wafting toward Taron. I’m not happy with the situation he put me in, but this protective surge swells over me. How dare they not like him? We all have to start over somewhere, sometime.

  What’s that saying? It’s so cliché, it’s just my luck I forgot it. I think hard. The conversation dies down. The guys are staring, wondering why I’m still on the field. I turn my head to the left and distract them with the bling on my face while I give the saying time to formulate in my brain.

  Finally it does, and I sigh in relief. The sun is burning hot on the side of my face. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. That’s what I’ll do. In the corner of my eye, the players stare at the two shiny balls above and below my right brow. They stare at my nose ring too, the sun shining bright on the metal. Smiling, I introduce myself.

  “Name’s Syn. Pronounced like the word sin but spelled with a y instead of an I.”

  “Hot. What’s your last name, Syn?”

  I stare back at the blond who towers over the other players, including Taron.

  “Winters.”

  “Hot and cold. Nice. I’d tap you.”

  Taron steps between me and holy hotness.

  “Ain’t happening, bro. She’s off limits.”

  I look around Taron’s hulking body. “What’s your name, hotness?” It’s bad of me to test Taron’s temper, but after the crap day I am having because of him, his temper is fair game.

  “Jackson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jackson.” I extend my hand. Jackson reaches for it. Taron smacks it away.

  “I said she’s off limits, man. Off. The. Fuck. Limits. What aren’t you understanding?”

  “Is that what she says?”

  “It’s what I’m saying. I’m the leader of this team, and what I say goes. End of story.”

  “Not of mine. We did our time. You can’t walk onto our turf and declare it yours, lamebrain. At best, you should play backup.”

  “I don’t play second to anyone.”

  “The starting position was mine.”

  “Then you should’ve worked for it rather than feel entitled.”

  Taron’s family is wealthy, but I never had the impression he felt entitled to anything. His hard work is what earned him his starting position and everyone’s respect. What he could not overcome without help was his temper. His temper hasn’t cooled one bit with age.

  The players grumble. Taron and Jackson posture, thrusting their chests and balling their hands against their sides.

  “Do what you’re good at, Syn,” Hank says near my ear. He is as tall as Taron and not conspicuous at all when he has to drop his head down to my ear. “Taron’s counting on you.”

  I blow out a sigh. I am not Taron’s biggest fan, but I’m not out for his blood either. From the looks on the guys’ faces, half are for Team Taron and the other half are arming to walk off on their starting QB. I put my body between the guys, and grabbing Jackson by the back of the head, I bring him down to my level.

 
; “Taron’s right. You can’t tap me. Sorry, buddy. But I know of a rocking place that has the best beer on tap. Tomorrow night at Shades. First round is on the house.”

  God, Midnight will crap his pants, but I’ll spin it as free advertisement. Do this right and the guys will come back for more and tell their non-football-playing friends.

  Lately, business is slow. Midnight’s bar isn’t near campus. It also has a bad rep after what happened over spring break. He blames Riley for the police raid. Riley is a thief, but she isn’t a drug dealer. Geez. Those two and Dare will give me a stomach ulcer with their troubles and antics.

  “That so? On the house?”

  The disbelief in Jackson’s voice snaps me back to the present.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you have so much clout?” Jackson crosses his beefy arms and peers down his nose at me.

  He thinks I’m yanking his chain, and I understand the reason. He’s never seen me in his life. I’m a nobody.

  “She’s dating Midnight’s cousin, Dare, punk,” someone in the back pipes in. “I live next door. She stays over. A lot.”

  “Um, thanks, peanut gallery in the waaay back.” I stick my hand up, pointing my index finger skyward. The guys laugh and the tension on the field evaporates.

  “We like her.”

  “She’s a keeper.”

  After hearing Midnight’s and Dare’s names, I assume Jackson will drop the idea of tapping me. He doesn’t.

  Why am I not surprised? Jackson must not be used to a girl telling him no. Did he hurt Natalie? I look him up and down. Tall. Taller than the other guys. Muscular. Charming smile that can make any woman weak in the knees and follow him to God knows where. Except he has dirty-blond hair. Natalie said the guy has dark hair.

  He takes my not-very-discreet observation as a sign of interest.

  “He can’t be with you twenty-four-seven. There’s a reason there are away games. It’s a chance to get away and let down your hair.”

  He stares at my hair, and his brows furrow. I resist the urge to run my fingers through the short strands. Or blow at the pieces that fall near my eye. My bangs are cut in this slanted fashion. The old guy who cuts my hair says the slant highlights my best feature—my big two-toned eyes.

  “I’m not dating Dare. I’m—” I pause for effect. Look around as though seeing if anyone is eavesdropping. “He—” I wave for the guys to lean in. They do. “I’m—” I blow out an exaggerated breath. “Now, this cannot go beyond us. And, no, I’m not offering my services. I am . . . I am Dare’s personal professional snuggler.”

  Jackson straightens. Quirks a brow. “No such thing.”

  “Google or YouTube it. It’s valid.”

  “Or it’s your way of telling us you’re Dare’s fuck buddy.”

  Crass some? I glare.

  “You ain’t denying that part, so it must be true. Where there’s one, there’s room for another. I’ll be tapping you later.” He winks.

  Low growl from behind me. Suddenly, I’m picked up by the waist and set off to the side.

  “I said she is off limits.”

  “And she’s saying she’s fair game.”

  Oh, hell no, I did not. I open my mouth. The guys rush at one another with arms pulled back. This is not happening. One, guys don’t fight over me. It just doesn’t happen. Two, it’s crazy but I’m seriously considering I’m part of a casting call, and soon, some guy will walk onto the field and yell out, “Cut!”

  When it doesn’t happen, I jump into action. I’m either a glutton for punishment with as crazy as my day is, or I’m dumb as rocks. I step between the guys with egos the size of the sun and tempers just as hot. Yanking off my ring, I reach back and jam it into Taron’s palm.

  He grunts and, leaning in, says for me only, “One wish. After practice. Inside my truck.”

  He walks away, leaving me out of breath and dizzy from the promise in his lust-laden words. I walk on wobbly legs off the field and sit on the bleachers. Hank follows and takes a spot next to me. I rest my elbows on my knees, clasp my head in my palms, and blow out a breath.

  I am in trouble.

  In deep shit.

  I should quit.

  I cannot be in proximity to the man I couldn’t face with my godawful truths, instead choosing the easy way out, which is to run away. Except just when I am ready to tell Hank I’ll be looking for a different job off campus—good luck with that; jobs are filled before school starts—his words and the hope in his voice has me changing my mind.

  “Well done, Syn. Taron will need all the help he can get. It’s not ideal playing with guys who have chips on their shoulders.”

  “Then why play at all?”

  “For love of the game.” He rises from his seat, his focus back on the players on the field. “There’s something he wants me to relay to you. Do this for him, and at the end of the three months, he is willing to give you anything in return. He won’t refuse your ask.”

  He turned the tables on me? Three rings. One chance. One wish. One listen. To dial down his temper when we dated in high school, I gave him one ring at a time. He could ask for one chance, one wish, or one listen, and then return the ring to me. If I gave him all three rings at once, he could ask for anything and I wouldn’t refuse him.

  I growl low under my breath.

  That guy . . . I want his balls served up to me on a silver platter. Taron is calculating and has probably planned this since before he put in for the transfer. And for what reason other than to punish me for that kiss? Or is there more to him being in Dumas? I have to know what this more is.

  After he gets his championship and his teammates’ respect, I’ll have an idea of what I want, and it might or might not be Taron Vaughn’s balls.

  9

  Syn

  I should bolt while Taron is in the locker room showering, but if I do, I’ll never get the answers to my burning questions.

  Why is Taron in Dumas, upending my life, when he was doing well at Stanford, from what I gathered stalking his social media accounts? Is Hank a good fit for Cindy? Which guy on the team hurt Natalie?

  “Ready?”

  I glance over my shoulder. Taron is walking over to me with his backpack hanging off one shoulder. I’m sitting on a bench outside the locker room, afraid I’ll get lost if I wander too far, not normally having a reason to come over to this side of the campus.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I stand, and we make our way back to the front of the school.

  I see Taron’s lifted black pickup truck right away. We did a lot of kissing and heavy petting inside and in the bed of his big truck.

  Does he remember our times together whenever he is sitting inside? Does he kiss and do serious heavy petting with other girls in one of our favorite places to make out? I dash those thoughts aside. I shouldn’t be jealous or let what he did with other girls bother me when I’m the one who gave him up.

  He hits the key fob, does this sexy jog to the passenger-side door, and my mind wanders down a path I am not liking.

  What if I make him mine again? Running into one another at Bayside might be the universe’s sign that everyone deserves a second chance as well as closure. And if our second chance doesn’t work out, at least we can say we gave the attraction between us a try. No harm. No foul. Except for a broken heart.

  I ignore the little voice in my head and stare at his tight ass. Soak in how well his T-shirt hugs the contours of his back and the expanse of his wide shoulders. Eat up the curves, angles, and lines of his face and how beautiful his eyes are. They are fringed by long, inky lashes. I could stare into his eyes and get lost in them, like looking up at the moonless night sky.

  Taron opens the door for me. I walk to him. He has a lopsided grin, this mix of mouthwatering and charming that gets my ovaries tingling in a good way. The closer I get to him, the more confuse I become. Shouldn’t he hate me for kissing a guy who wasn’t him our senior year of high school? Why isn’t he cussing me out for cutting ties w
ith him and not saying a word before I left Mossy Rock?

  Leaving like that is one of my biggest regrets. I should have explained, except how do I tell the one guy who mattered the most that my life is one big lie? Or that my mother’s confession has the power to ruin lives, including Taron’s parents’? I couldn’t for one reason. Was my mom telling the truth, or was she spinning more lies?

  I stop in front of him. My gaze swings to the ground. “Why are you being nice to me?”

  A thick finger slides under my chin and lifts my head until I am looking him in the eye.

  “Why wouldn’t I open the door for a girl?” His hand falls from my face and settles on my shoulder. “Did I mistreat you? Is that the reason you ghosted me? I treated you badly and you thought a clean break was the only way to deal with a hot-tempered bastard like me?”

  Oh, God, is that what he thinks?

  “No,” I mutter, about to add it wasn’t you, it was me, but that’s not true. “Can we not talk about what happened?”

  “Will we ever?”

  “With time.”

  “Four years isn’t enough?”

  I shake my head.

  “How long will you make me wait?”

  “When you marry,” I blurt out, my chest aching at the thought of Taron with someone other than me.

  “I’m not a character in one of your romance books, Syn. We will not make some kind of pact that we confess our darkest secrets once we’re married to other people. Anyway, I don’t plan on marrying. Marriage is for the faithful, for those willing to compromise, and for the idealistic who believe two people can be happy and stick with one another for life. For life, Syn. What a bunch of bullshit.”

  He kicks at the ground.

  “I feel the same.”

  His eyes widen. “You do? But you’ve always wanted the two point five kids, the house with the white picket fence, the big dogs that you would name Red and Rover, and the husband who would dote on you and the kids.”

  “It’s what I used to want, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “When?”