On the Sideline (BSU Football Book 3)

by JB Salsbury

  The sound of drawers opening and closing behind me send me turning around and I frown when I see she’s slipped on an oversized t-shirt. Good. Because her figure is the type that can make a man forget his own name, or his reason for coming here in the first place.

  She holds out my phone and when I open my hand she slaps it into my palm. “There. You can leave now.”

  Nope, it doesn’t matter that she’s wearing a t-shirt, the memory of her topless is branded into my brain and her scent still fills my nose. “Why’d you keep it?”

  “I didn’t.” Her big eyes grow bigger as she dramatically states the obvious. “You have it.”

  “But why not give it to Riley when she asked you for it? Why lie?” The way her shoulders tense makes me wonder… “Why didn’t you tell me you had it today when I saw you with Ro and Emery?”

  A fire lights behind her golden eyes. “Why didn’t you ask me for it in front of Rowan and Emery?”

  “Don’t switch this around on me, you’re the one who stole my phone.”

  “I didn’t steal it. I don’t want your stupid phone.” She reaches over and grabs hers, shoving it up toward my face. “Mine is brand new and a thousand times better than your piece of shit.” Her face crumbles as if she’s disappointed in herself and she throws her device to her bed. “Just go.”

  “Just tell me why you kept it.”

  She props her hands on her hips and I find myself wondering what it would feel like to replace her hands with my own. Her eyes meet mine and her jaw is tight, her lips thin as if she’s clamping them down to keep back the truth. “Why do you care?”

  “I’m curious.” Hold on, why are we standing so close? Did we somehow gravitate toward each other while arguing? “After you tell me why I’ll go, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

  “You’re dating my cousin, I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

  And why does seeing her again make my chest expand with anticipation?

  Her lips are still tightly closed.

  “I made a mistake, I was drunk and in the wrong place, I’m sorry if I scared you or made you feel unsafe, but you threatened me with a snake to my dick!” I instinctively cup my junk just to remind myself that we all survived it. “I think we’re even. So why the phone—”

  “You called me disgusting.” Her voice is so quiet, and yet it carries an explosive force.

  I run a hand through my hair and palm the back of my neck as shame and guilt press in.

  “I wanted to hurt you back.”

  “Look, I’m…” Fuck, I can’t look at her, but I force myself. I owe her that much. “You’re not disgusting.”

  She snorts and shakes her head. “Okay.” She turns away from me, but I lunge and grab her arm. Her eyes zero in on the spot where my hand grips her forearm.

  Shit. I let her go and take a step back. “I’m sorry. It was a dick thing to say and not at all how I really feel.”

  By the look on her face she thinks I’m feeding her bunch of bullshit. If it weren’t completely inappropriate and considered sexual assault, I’d bring her hand to my dick and let her feel exactly how not disgusting I think she is. And now that I’m thinking of her hand on me, my jeans grow uncomfortably snug.

  “I should get back…” I point to the door.

  “Yeah,” she says, casually. Flippantly. “See ya around, jock.”

  I open my mouth to apologize again but she turns her back on me and heads to her snakes. My pulse ripples through me and I decide it’s best I get the hell out of here before she uses another snake to force me out.

  Back in the hallway I close her door and head to Riley’s room. Her door is wide open and she’s no longer alone but surrounded by four other girls. She looks up at me apologetically.

  “Is this a bad time?” I ask.

  “Sorry,” she says and excuses herself from the group. “Last minute scramble for our upcoming formal. I had to call an emergency meeting.” She rolls her eyes, but the girls can’t see. “Rain check?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  She presses her palm to my chest and moves closer. “One more thing,” her voice is low and seductive and I instinctively lean in. “You’re coming to the Valentine’s Day formal with me.” She winks. “I promise I’ll make the evening worth it.” Before I have a chance to answer, she pushes up on her toes, tilts her head and kisses me. I inhale deeply, searching and excited for the tingling rush of pheromones I know is coming. But it never does. She sits back on her heels and I stare down at her with mediocre desire—warmth instead of fire. Huh. “Oh, did Bex have your phone?”

  “No. I uh…must’ve misplaced it at my house.”

  “Bummer.” She reaches to her desk for a Post-It note that is heart-shaped and, surprise, pink. She scribbles down her phone number. “When you get a new phone, mine can be the first you program in.”

  “Thanks.” I tuck the number in my pocket, right next to my phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She kisses me again, and again I’m left with meh feelings.

  I turn to leave and on impulse look back over to Bex’s door. Snake girl voodoo, that’s the only explanation.

  Chapter Four

  Bex

  The next morning at breakfast I’m having a hard time choking down my Cheerios as I watch Riley across the table from me taking selfies. She tugs the front of her v-neck shirt down to expose the ultimate amount of cleavage and expertly manipulates the cotton to show the slight hint of her neon green lace bra. Then she flips her hair, pouts her over-glossed lips, and snaps the pic from every possible angle. She spends more time in selfie prep than I do in my entire morning routine.

  I push away my mushy o’s. “Updating your thirst-agram?”

  She glares at me with her phone still held high and snaps another dozen photos. The impromptu I didn’t know my photo was being taken even though I took my own photo selfie. “You could benefit from a little self-reflection, cousin. When was the last time you saw a photo of yourself?” She drops her arm to check out the pictures and mumbles, “Or looked in a mirror.”

  I stand to take my bowl to the sink.

  “I need you to find a place that will let us rent surfboards for the formal.” She doesn’t lift her face from her phone. “I’m starting to think the whole throwback beach movie theme dance is a big mistake.”

  “It’s not a mistake, it’s a great idea.” It was also my idea. Theme submissions for the formal are always anonymous and I couldn’t believe my idea got picked. Though I’d never tell Riley it was mine. 1960’s Beach Blanket Bingo era romance on Valentine’s Day is sandy beaches and picnic blanket tablecloths, island food and music. When Riley announced the chosen theme she butchered it by explaining, “It’s a throwback beach movie theme, like Point Break. Hello, Keanu.”

  “We’ll need ten surfboards and tell them since they’re decorations we only want the cute ones.”

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  Her sharp gaze snaps to mine. “It’s called delegating. You’re a sister therefore you have to contribute.” Her phone pings and her spine shoots straight up, her face alight with excitement as she opens the text. “Oh my God, he’s so funny,” she says loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Loren?” Monica says as she rushes to Riley’s side.

  “Yes,” Riley answers with a squeak.

  “I thought he lost his phone,” Desi says while taking Riley’s other side to look at the text.

  I hold my breath as I await Riley’s hate-filled stare. I’m sure he told her I lied about not having his phone.

  “He found it. Dum-dum lost it in his couch cushions.” She hits a button on her phone and holds up the screen to the sisters at her sides. “Look how he responded to my selfie.”

  He didn’t tell her. Why wouldn’t he tell her? That makes no sense.

  “He called me Heartbreaker!” She swoons dramatically making all the sisters giggle with envy.

  I roll my eyes and take my bowl to the sink.

/>   “He is totally in love with you.”

  “When are you going to see him next?”

  “You have to bring him to the formal.”

  I try not to eavesdrop as Riley and the girls talk about Loren, but I can’t seem to tune them out. I slam my bowl into the dishwasher, drop my spoon noisily into the silverware basket, and nothing drowns out their voices.

  “You know my rule,” Riley says.

  I cringe because I know what’s coming.

  “Pre-law or pre-med are the prerequisites to get in my bed.” She sounds so proud of her stupidity.

  I’d love to open my mouth and expose her for plagiarism because that rule is not uniquely hers. It’s the Thunderbird women’s motto and has been for generations. Although, the original phrasing is “prerequisites for the marriage bed”, but women’s liberation and all that. My great-grandfather was a lawyer in Virginia, my grandfather a doctor in New York, my own father a lawyer in Los Angeles, and Riley’s dad is a doctor in Bel Air. Her oldest sister is living with her boyfriend while he gets his law degree from Princeton and my older sister graduated last year and is engaged to Dennis, who is, surprise, a medical student.

  “I suppose I could make this one, little exception for a football player. His body!” She bites her lip while, I assume, texting him back. “Momma’s got needs too.”

  They erupt in giggles and I can’t get out of the kitchen fast enough.

  “Don’t forget the surfboards, Bex!”

  “I won’t!” I yell back to her with all the fury of a woman who has no idea what she’s so mad about.

  After class I do a quick Google search for surf shops in the area. I figure I’ll start at the closest one and move my way out until I find one that will rent us ten cute surfboards for the weekend of the Eta Pi formal.

  The closest shop that rents equipment is halfway between campus and Venice Beach, Carvers Surf Shop. The small beach community has a natural, LA-hippie feel, and I’m not surprised how crowded the area is on a sunny day like today. The boutiques and cafes are milling with people as they walk the sidewalks and enjoy the early February sun.

  I have to walk a block to get to the surf shop so by the time I get there I’m pulling off my sweatshirt to tie it around my waist. Punk rock music comes from the open door and the smell of surf wax tells me I’m in the right place. The walls are lined with casual beach attire, men’s on the left, women’s on the right, but I don’t waste my time shopping, these places only cater to the size fours of the world. I search for someone in charge, an employee, but they’re all dressed in the same casual clothes as the customers and I can’t tell them apart.

  I spot a petite girl behind the glass counter, her long sun-bleached hair in two braids, and her tan skin on full display with only the teeny tiniest sundress to cover enough to make her not naked. She smiles at me and I feel a little less uncomfortable as I approach, however still over-dressed. “Is there something I can help you find, honey?”

  All my warm feelings deflate. Honey? She’s my age!

  “Yes, uh, I’m actually looking to rent some surf boards.” I try hard to ignore the flash of surprise in her green eyes—damn, she’s pretty. I clear my throat and trudge on. “You do that here, right?”

  “Yes, are you looking for lessons?” She does a quick up down with her eyes, probably sizing me up to gauge my surfing success rate. Her frown tells me she doesn’t think I’d fare well.

  “No, not lessons. Just the boards.”

  “Can I try these on?” A woman behind me snags the girls attention.

  “Of course.” She focuses back on me. “I’ll send out our manager to help you with the rentals.”

  “Great.” As soon as she’s gone I wipe the fake smile off my face and look at the variety of stickers in the glass case in front of me. Waves, sunsets, pineapples, a pug wearing sunglasses…I lean down and squint at a sticker of a snake sunbathing in a g-string and the sticker reads Pythong. I chuckle. “That’s a good one,” I say to myself before realizing the presence of someone standing in front of me at the glass counter.

  I look up, my smile falls, and my face ignites.

  “Bex? What are you doing here?” Loren’s eyes dart around the space, a small, uneasy smile tilting his lips all under the shadow of a Ripcurl ball cap. “Is Riley with you?”

  The sound of my cousin’s name is like a cattle prod zapping me back to myself and to my reason for being here. “You work here?”

  He squints playfully, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “You didn’t know I worked here?”

  “No! God no, I wouldn’t have come—”

  He lifts his brows.

  “—I didn’t know you worked here. I’ve never even been in here.” I snort-laugh. “There is nothing here I want. Trust me.”

  He crosses his arms over his massive chest—God, he’s tan and huge—while I continue to babble incoherently.

  “This is not the kind of place I shop, so…nope.” I feel my worst and most embarrassing nervous tick bubble up from my throat and blurt in a British accent. “Nothing here for me, gov’na’!” I slam my lips closed and sweat dampens my armpits.

  “You’re adorable,” he says with humor in his voice.

  Not disgusting. Not a compliment either. Babies are adorable, puppies too. And so are chubby girls.

  “Actually,” I clear my throat, my thoughts sobering and calming. I’m getting all squirmy around the guy who is in love with my cousin! Dumb. Snap out of it, Bex. He’s a jock! And just another pretty face…and body. And smile—whatever! Stop it. “I am here to see if I can rent ten surfboards from you for the purpose of décor for the Eta Pi Valentine’s Day formal.”

  His light eyes dance in the few seconds of silence before he says, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Ha. Yeah. So…?”

  He reaches for a binder and I pretend not to notice the way his bicep contracts and swells. “Valentine’s Day.” He flips through the pages of hand scribbled dates and names and I'm disappointed his hat blocks his face. “Huh…”

  “If it’s not possible it’s fine—”

  “It’s not that. I manage this store in the off season.” He looks around me as if searching someone out. “Brit!” He lifts his chin at whoever Brit is.

  “Yeah?” The gorgeous girl with the braids comes around the counter and presses in close to Loren to look at the book.

  Maybe she’s near-sighted.

  Loren and her go back and forth in surf shop lingo I don’t understand, or maybe I’m too focused on the parts of their touching bodies to pay attention.

  “Have you talked to Riley lately?” Cheap shot, I know, but seriously, I felt like he needed the reminder that he’s kind of sort of seeing my cousin while this little model-looking woman is pressed against him.

  “We texted this morning, but other than that…” He shakes his head. “Thanks,” he says to Brit and then turns away from her to snag a pen.

  “I can vouch for the fact that the selfie she sent was absolutely spontaneous. She wakes up like that.”

  He grins. “I never doubted it.” He’s back to the paperwork “Okay, we can do ten that weekend, but we’ll have to charge for two day rental if you’re going to have them longer than twenty-four hours.”

  “That’s fine.” I’m grateful when Brit gets pulled away to help another customer.

  “I’ll need an ID and form of payment to hold them.”

  I pull out my driver’s license and credit card, handing them to him. He stares down at them, blinks a few times, then snaps them flat and bends forward to record whatever information he needs.

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Three years.” He continues to write. “Off and on.”

  “When you’re not playing football?”

  “Yeah. Summers and pre-game.” He hands me back my ID. “Bexley Rebecca Anastasia Thunderbird is quite a name.”

  “Tell me about it. My parents guaranteed I’d never have anything monogrammed w
ith my initials.”

  He tilts his head while he thinks that over and then smiles so big I can see all his pearly white teeth. Face like that, he should really consider acting. “BRAT.”

  I sigh. “See what I mean.”

  He hands me back my credit card. “Plastic like that you could buy yourself a new name.”

  “What?” I look at the all black card in my hand. Oh. Right. My whole body blushes. “It’s not mine, I mean, it is, but my dad pays it,” I mumble and cringe at how awful that sounds.

  “You’re all set.” He rips off a carbon copy of the rental agreement. “Pick them up anytime after nine am on the fourteenth and return them before closing the following day.”

  I fold up the agreement, still willing my skin to cool. “Great, thanks. Oh! Riley wants me to request the cute ones?”

  “Cute ones.”

  And I’m sweating again. I can’t stand it and pull my thick hair high securing it with the elastic I always have on my wrist. I subconsciously push my glasses up my nose only to remember I took them off in the car. “Sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing?” he snaps. He’s not smiling and his jaw ticks.

  “I don’t know,” my voice is almost a whisper. What did I say to make him mad?

  His expression relaxes a little. “I’ll make sure ten of our cutest boards are ready on the fourteenth.”

  I’m relieved to see he’s no longer mad. “Cool.”

  “Later, Brat.”

  I laugh, grateful the tension is gone. “Later, dude,” I say in my most obnoxious surfer voice.

  Then I speed walk back to my car grinning the whole way.