On the Sideline (BSU Football Book 3)
Page 2
“Mmm.” I nod while slurping back the cold tea, attempting to quench an unquenchable thirst.
College students gather in groups around the quad and I watch as Emery emerges from the people-cluster like a bright ball of brilliant sunshine. Her blonde hair pulled up on the sides, pale pink cashmere sweater, and her cuffed carpi jeans make her look like she stepped off the cover of a J Crew catalog. She sits next to me and smiles. “Sorry I’m late.”
I study her perfect bone structure, perfectly symmetrical lips and lean in. “You got some lip gloss on your chin and cheek there.”
She blushes and taps at her mouth with a napkin, her wedding ring catching the light and nearly blinding me. “I ran into Theodore on my way here.”
Rowan sighs dreamily. “Aww, newlyweds.”
I think it’s weird that Emery got married at nineteen, but I wouldn’t dare tell her that. Honestly, she kind of scares me.
I go back to my tea, sucking back the icy beverage while the girls discuss the men in their lives, Carey and Spider, who also happen to be roommates, and I try to ignore the twinge of jealousy I feel. I remind myself that I don’t need a man in my life to make me happy. But from what I know of Rowan and Emery, neither do they. And yet, they both seem blissfully satisfied in their relationships, so I’m back to my envy.
“Yo, Ro!”
We all turn at the same time toward the male voice.
My lids fall into a hateful glare when I see him.
Loren.
I eye my trespasser and bite down on my straw. He smiles at Emery and focuses on Rowan. “I’m hitting the grocery store on the way home, Carey told me you had a list.”
“Oh, sure, I’ll text it to you.”
Did his face pale a little? I think it did.
I smirk around my straw.
“I lost my phone so if you want to just write it down…” He reaches around to his backpack and in doing so his eyes catch on me and widen. He clears his throat and drags his gaze back to his backpack to dig out a pen and paper.
Emery, clearly bored by the exchange between Rowan and Loren, turns to me. “How was your weekend?”
I choke mid gulp sending freezing cold tea into my nasal cavity. “Oh God!” I grip the sides of my head while icepicks jab my temples. “Brain freeze.” I cover my mouth and huff hot air into my palm, my eyes watering from the near drowning. “Fuck that hurt.”
Loren’s lips are rolled between his teeth, and my cheeks flame with fury and embarrassment. “Laugh it up, jock.” I tilt my head and glare. “I know where you sleep.”
His expression falls and he blinks away from me. A pity really, I never realized before that his eyes are a pretty mix of blue and green, like Caribbean water.
Rowan looks between us, and slowly hands Loren her list. “That should do it.”
“Cool. Later.” He scampers off and I have to admit scaring a six-foot-something football player away is strangely satisfying.
“Okay, dish.” Rowan says, leaning in for gossip. “What the hell was that all about?”
“What did he do to you?” Emery says with all the emotion of a serial killer.
I sigh and push away my drink, lean on my elbows and take two fists full of my sweaty, mop-like hair. “You know he’s seeing my cousin Riley, right? In a drunken stupor he stumbled into the wrong room, I found him nearly naked in my bed Saturday night.”
They both look at me like, “And?”
I shrug. “I had Monty wake him up.”
Rowan gasps and covers her mouth while Emery’s slow smile of approval is tinged with evil.
“That must’ve been the nightmare night he told Carey about on Sunday,” Rowan says.
I flinch inwardly at his description. You’re disgusting.
His words didn’t surprise me, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t hurt.
Growing up the daughter of a Thunderbird, I was draped in white lace from infancy, bred to become an educated, desirable young woman for the sole purpose of becoming a rich affluent wife. But there was some cosmic mix up in the DNA and I wasn’t born the petite, polite, silken haired debutant my parents expected. I didn’t fit in with all my cousins and siblings and my differences went well beyond my thick curls that don’t spiral, but frizz. While my sisters and cousins were sitting cross-legged drinking tea with their pinkies in the air, I was down by the river flipping over rocks and catching salamanders with my bare hands.
Disgusting was a word I heard often.
I suppose I heard it enough that I eventually became it. Why fight it, right?
Emery sniffs haughtily. “Please tell me Monty took a bite out of him? He deserved as much.”
“Sadly, no.”
Emery frowns.
“Enough about that,” Rowan says with a swipe of her hand through the air as if physically knocking all talk of Loren away. “Tell us what’s going on with the snake retreat guy.”
Evan Zanderboughten. He’s in the ecology masters degree program at University of Los Angeles and runs the LA County Herping Society. I joined the club in an attempt to meet like-minded people. The interaction is mostly online, but the monthly herping expeditions are worth it. Although, in order to look for snakes we have to be very quiet so not a lot of talking. Evan’s a couple years older than me and he looks like a young Jeff Goldblum, even has the same mullet.
I stab the ice in my tea with the straw. “I don’t know. He’s kind of hard to read. When we talk online he’s kind of flirty, but in person…” He probably thinks I’m disgusting. “It’s for the best. With our curls? We shouldn’t be producing offspring together.”
Emery’s blue eyes dart my way. “There’s a lot that happens between flirting and making babies. Don’t give up so soon.”
“You probably make him nervous.” Rowan, always the voice of positivity.
“He’s a brilliant scientist and I’m a walking mop, I’m sure I do not make him nervous.” Truth is, I feel sweaty and awkward when I’m around him. I say whatever stupid thing comes to mind and then beat myself up for my idiocy until I see him again and repeat it all over.
I’m not a confident redhead like Rowan, or a genius level blonde bombshell like Emery. I’m a nerd who likes to play with slimy animals and bugs. Every man’s dream. Not.
After logging lab hours I don’t get back to the sorority house until close to six o’clock.
I park in the driveway of the two-story Victorian mansion with the golden EP proudly lit on top. The sorority house is the nicest on Greek Row, it’s benefactors insistent on being the pride of not only the school but the entire Greek system. Our house has been in Architectural Digest, Coastal Living, and Cosmo as the top 10 best sorority houses in the country. Eta Pi has the Thunderbirds to thank for that.
The house is busy this evening, girls settled in different areas of the living room, dining room, and kitchen either eating or studying. Our housemother, sixty-three year old Aggie (real name Agnes) is scraping roasted vegetables from a cookie sheet onto a platter. I pop a steaming piece of zucchini into my mouth as I pass her and she curses me in German. I snag a Lunchable from the fridge and head to my room, my sanctuary.
Balancing the Lunchable under my chin, I grab my key and unlock the door, kicking it open and dropping my things on the bed. I pull off my sweatshirt and toss it in the hamper, and breathe a sigh of relief at being in nothing but my leggings and sports bra.
“Bex!” Riley’s voice sounds just before her knock. “You there?”
I swing open the door, sending a burst of cool air from the hallway against my bare skin. Ahhhh… “What’s up?”
She wrinkles her nose at my appearance, but thankfully doesn’t comment. She leans around me to search my room. “Loren chased me down at school today and said he left his phone in here on Saturday night when he accidentally passed out on your bed.”
I turn around and pretend to search along with her. “I haven’t seen it.”
“Huh, that’s weird. He said he was sure it was here.”
Her gaze darts to the snake habitats. “No, it’s cool. If it were in here I’m sure you would’ve found it.”
“He was so drunk, he could’ve dropped it anywhere.” I notice then she’s pretty dressed up for a Monday night. Her spaghetti strap tank top giving away that she’s wearing her date night push up bra. Her hair is down, loosely curled, and she’s wearing her fake eyelashes. “You going out?”
She smiles, as if my question excited her. “Loren’s coming over to get his phone and he said he’d hang out for a bit.”
Doesn’t take a mind reader to know what’s on her agenda for the night. My stomach sours. “Cool, well…sorry about the phone.”
“No worries, I’m sure it’ll turn up.” She spins on her Tory Birch sandal and I watch her walk away, her Lulu leggings hugging her perfectly toned ass. She embodies everything that is beautiful. She always has.
I close the door and vow not to feel sorry for myself. I rip open my Lunchable and look down at my soft belly. I take two bites but it tastes like cardboard. Maybe I need to try one of those new diets all the girls are on. Keto or primal or whatever low carb fad is trending.
If I looked more like everyone else I could narrow my lack of romantic partner to my personality rather than my appearance.
Funny…that doesn’t make me feel any better.
Chapter Three
Loren
“Hey, is Riley here?” I ask the pretty, black-haired sorority girl who answers the door. “I’m Loren, she’s expecting me.”
“I know who you are.” She smiles in a way that says she’d be open to getting to know me in a much more intimate setting. “Hold on.” She turns around and I take a brief moment to check her out. She can’t be more than five-foot-three, her tiny shorts showing off a pair of yoga-toned legs and her cropped top showing a healthy sliver of abs and a belly button ring. What is it about sorority girls? They’re all gorgeous. Back at the farm we’d call that exceptional breeding. Who says money and beauty don’t go hand in hand? Even a layman could tell the difference between a prize-winning Arabian and a wild mustang.
I pull my eyes away just in time to see Riley skip to the door, a smile on her face, which is precisely where I keep my eyes in order to avoid staring at her tits. Although, even from my peripheral, I’d say the point of her skimpy top is that I do just that—stare at her boobs.
She throws her arms around my neck and the extra firm padding of her bra stabs my chest. That would explain their perkiness. “Come in.” She slips her hand in mine and pulls me inside, up the stairs, and toward her room.
The other girls eye me as I pass by, and I wonder if they’re all still whispering about the morning I left running out of Riley’s cousin’s room.
My feet hesitate at the top of the stairs and I count the doors down the hallway realizing my mistake. Third door on the left. Yesterday morning, I stumbled out of a door on the right. I eye that door knowing full well what kind of horror lies behind it.
“Want something to drink?” She flips on the lights.
“Whatever you have is fine.”
How did I not know I’d stumbled into the wrong room? Riley’s room looks ripped from the pages of Pottery Barn for girls. White furniture with all the overstuffed opulence that money can buy in every shade of pink. Hanging on the wall behind her bed, in big block letters, is her name. RILEY.
She hands me a pink LaCroix can and I wonder if she buys this particular flavor because it matches her room.
“In case you forget?” I say, pointing to her name on the wall.
Her eyebrows pinch together. “No, actually. It’s for guys who stumble into the wrong room.” She smiles sarcastically.
Ouch. I frown, and nod. “I deserved that.” I poke at a white chair covered in fur to make sure it’s not alive before I sit on it. Huh, it’s like sitting on a sheep dog.
She pulls out her white leather desk chair and sits across from me. “Don’t worry. I told my sisters what happened, that it was a mistake and you didn’t hook up with Bex.”
“Good, thank you.” I feared my night of bad judgment would taint my reputation enough that it would ruin my chances with Riley. We’ve been hanging out off and on, and although we’ve never been on an official date, now that football season is over, I’d like to try and see where things go. “I hope they believe you.”
She laughs. “It didn’t take much convincing. Bex is guy repellant, you’d have to be deaf, blind, and ugly to want to hook up with her.”
“Um, isn’t she your cousin?” Listen, I’m not saying Riley’s wrong. Bex is…a little scary. But where I come from you don’t shit talk your own family, no matter how fucked up they are. My cousin Ronnie got his front teeth knocked out by a mule and drinks his own urine for “health benefits”, but I’d never talk shit about him to an outsider because he’s blood. Family first.
She groans. “Yes.” She attempts to pop the top of her LaCroix but her long fingernails can’t seem to get the job done. “But she’s such a freak. The whole family thinks so.” She hands me the can.
Without her asking, I open it and hand it back.
“Thanks.” She takes a long sip and then presses her fingers to her lips, her cheeks puff out ever so slightly and then exhales through her nose and—holy fuck, was that a burp? Her eyes are a little watery, she did just burp, but in no way I’ve ever seen. God, that looked like it hurt. “Anyway, I searched her room for your phone and it wasn’t there.”
“What? You’ve gotta be kidding. I know I left it there.” I don’t want to tell her this, but I need my phone and I can’t afford to buy a new one. My off-season job starts this week and it’ll take me months to save up that kind of cash. Not to mention my parents are already spread thin having both me and my brother Levi in school at the same time, so it’s not like I can put in a call to them for a loan.
“I swear, I looked everywhere.” She takes another sip of her drink and then sets it down on a furry coaster. She stands and crosses to me, her eyes sparking with heat. She takes my drink from me, and I realize I never even opened it and sets it down on a coaster next to hers. “Now, let’s talk about something else.”
I grip her hips as she straddles my thighs, my entire brain turns to static as I try to remember my original purpose for being here. “Wait, is your cousin in her room right now?”
Riley’s seductive smile falls and she slouches to pout. “I already told you she doesn’t have your phone.” A knock sounds on her door. “I’m busy!”
A small female voice says, “Sorry to interrupt, but we have an emergency. The photographer for the formal double-booked so he’s out.”
She huffs out a breath and ignores the girl. “You think Bex is lying?” she asks it as if she doesn’t believe her cousin is capable of such a thing. I wonder if she knows Bex set a snake loose on my nuts to get me out of her bed.
“I know it’s in there.” I give her hips a squeeze and lift her off my lap to set her on her feet. “I need to see for myself and then I’ll be right back and we can pick up where we left off.”
My dick is kicking me in the shins for walking away from a sexy and willing woman in search of my phone, but the brain in my skull reminds me that my entire life is on that phone, my connection to my family, my team, even my teachers text me. And I know the snake girl has it!
When I open the door a small girl in the hallway shies away from me. “She’s all yours,” I say to the girl then call over my shoulder to Riley that I’ll be right back.
I find the door I remember from the morning before and know I’ve got the right one when I read the whiteboard hanging from it. “What do snakes clean their car windshields with?” I read softly to myself. “Windshield vipers.” I suppress my urge to smile at the utter stupidity of the joke and knock firmly on the door.
“Come in!”
With my stomach in my throat I peer in cautiously. The three snake habitats on the far end o
f the room are closed and each contain a coiled serpent. I spot the yellow and white one and shake off the creepy crawlies. The room is nothing like Riley’s, neat and tidy, but decorated in natural wood furniture, indoor plants, and little white lights.
“I’m in here!”
An old Garth Brooks song comes filtering out of the open bathroom door along with the overpowering scent of cleaning supplies, which tells me I’m not going to walk in on her naked. I step into the doorway and she’s on her knees wearing nothing but a sports bra and leggings. Her long, thick curls are gathered into a knot on top of her head that bounces as she scrubs the base of her toilet vigorously.
“I know you have my phone.”
Her entire body freezes and seconds pass before she slowly sits back and looks up at me. She’s not wearing her glasses, but her eyes are still big and framed in thick, black lashes that make their pale brown color look almost yellow. She obviously has no make up on, and her skin glows with a light sheen of sweat making her cheeks pink and the curls at her hairline damp. “What are you doing here?”
I lean against the door frame, cross my arms at my chest and feel a sense of triumph when her eyes fall to my pecs making her cheeks flush even more. “My phone. I’m not leaving until I have it—hold on, is that my shirt?”
She looks down at the now trashed and bleach stained BSU Football shirt she’d been using to scrub her toilet and shrugs. “Is that what this is? Huh.” She hands it back to me.
“Keep it. I just want my phone.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“I can’t possibly imagine what you’d want to keep my phone for. It’s password protected, it’s not even the latest version, so please, just give it back.” I contemplate the rationality of sharing anything personal with this girl and decide it’s worth it. “It’s the only way my family can get in touch with me.”
That seems to do the job because her shoulders drop and she nods. She pushes to standing and I catch my breath at the sight of her body. Long legs, round hips that taper into a narrow waist, and her boobs…I stare at the ceiling, it’s the only safe place to look. While I’m staring at the ceiling she squeezes by me, and her skin is like warm velvet as it brushes against my bare arm. A delicate floral scent follows her past me and I wonder how anyone could smell this good while sweating. My blood tingles and gathers and I’m reminded of an article I read in Men’s Health that talked about human sex pheromones. How the smell of a person can lead to intense arousal. Is that what my body is reacting to?