Chasing Sunshine: A New Adult Sports Romance (NE University Book 1)

by Hannah Gray

  I don’t even know this girl. But I know I want to get her the fuck out of this shithole.

  four

  Cameran

  This is insane. This guy—who, by the way, is the hottest man I have ever seen in my entire life—just rescued me. My heart has not pounded this way since … nope, not going to think of that. Maybe I shouldn’t have been a bitch to him after all. But I was nervous and uncomfortable, and I could tell he was checking me out. The revelation hits me that if it weren’t for him, I could have been sexually assaulted back there. I shiver at the thought.

  We jump in Hot Guy’s truck, which is as hot as he is. A blacked-out Chevy that sits up so high that I have to pull myself up by the handle on the door. He jumps in the driver’s side, and Anna piles in the back.

  “Cameran, I am so sorry. I went to find you in the bathroom, and I must have walked right by you and that creep and not realized it. I’m so sorry. Next party, I’ll never leave your side—oh, and I’ll buy pepper spray!” Anna says this while shaking her head and glancing down nervously at her hands.

  I can tell she’s afraid I’m mad at her. I’m not at all. It wasn’t her fault. No one would have predicted the frat boys were such dicks.

  “Hey,” I say, turning myself around in my seat and patting her hand, “this isn’t your fault, and I’m fine. It could have been a lot worse.” I glance at Hot Guy. “By the way, I’m Cameran, and thank you for helping me back there. I really appreciate it. Most guys probably would have kept walking.”

  When the last words leave my mouth, he swings his head and looks at me. “The fuck did you say? No guy should ever walk past a girl who is about to be assaulted. Have you experienced this shit before or something?” he practically growls out.

  I cover my nervousness with a laugh. Though it comes out high-pitched and obnoxious. I pick at my fingernails. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Just meant, you know, bro code or whatever. No big deal. I didn’t mean anything.”

  Great, Cam, keep your mouth shut. You just need to get through this year. No one needs to know what a screwed-up life you’ve had.

  I don’t need everyone to know what a freak show I really am. I need to blend in with the normal college kids. I need them to believe I am completely ordinary and not some broken, shattered piece of pottery that will forever be tainted.

  I inhale, and my nostrils are assaulted by how freaking good this guy smells. I’m talking so good that it sends tingles to places that haven’t felt tingles in a long damn time. It’s masculine and woodsy while also being fresh and clean. It almost puts me in a trance.

  Anna’s voice brings me back to reality. “Cam? You all right? You didn’t answer my question.”

  I turn around in my seat. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  She answers, looking concerned, “I asked if you’re all right. I’m sure that was scary.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Really, it could have been worse,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. I resume looking out the window.

  Goose bumps cover my legs, and I shiver. Even though it’s the end of August, evenings in Massachusetts get quite chilly. And I’m basically wearing next to nothing as an outfit. Dumb choice. I always dress for comfort, not for attention. I’d love nothing more right now than to have on my sweatpants and a big, baggy hoodie.

  Hot Guy must notice because he turns on the heat. When he does, he brushes my arm with his, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. These aren’t tiny baby butterflies. These are gigantic, bat-sized ones that make me feel like I might vomit. I almost look over to see if he felt something, too, but what would be the point? I can’t get attached to anyone.

  Everyone changes, and people you think are good aren’t. Which is why I’ll be single my entire life. Probably with a bunch of dogs that I get from the pound to keep me company. I will be a crazy dog lady instead of a cat lady because, well, I actually hate cats. They are moody and downright creepy. Their eyes follow you everywhere you go. No, thanks. One of my favorite movies when I was younger was Turner & Hooch. When I get a house of my own, I want a dog just like Hooch. I begged my mother for one, growing up.

  She said, “Absolutely not. I am not having a house covered in drool.”

  But whenever I see those types of dogs, they have the kindest eyes. No judgment. A bitchy cat? Pfft, they totally judge.

  Anna gives him our address, and a few minutes later, we pull in. He jumps out and comes around and gets my door.

  “Oh, um, thanks,” I mutter while getting out. “You don’t have to walk us in. We’re fine. Really,” I say because he could be a stalker or a rapist. Though, if I’m being honest, something in my core tells me that he isn’t.

  Something about his presence actually calms me. He feels almost familiar or something, homelike. Which I haven’t had since my parents died.

  “Just walking you to your door to make sure you two get in. That’s all,” he answers and puts his hands up. Then, he turns and struts toward the door, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.

  I have to be honest. The jeans, the white T-shirt showing how huge his arms are, the tattoos decorating those same big, beautiful arms? Yeah, it’s hot. Like really freaking hot. He’s probably been to this dorm hall before, likely multiple times.

  Wow, seriously, Cam? Jealous already? I have absolutely no business feeling jealous about someone I met less than an hour ago.

  He gets to the door, and the overhead light flicks on, giving me the perfect opportunity to look at his features before saying good-bye. I don’t usually make eye contact with people, so this is rare. Wow. Green eyes stare back at me. He has a strong jawline with some stubble on it. Enough to be sexy, but not so much that he looks like a bum. His hair is a dirty-blond color, and this guy, he must be six-four.

  Are those butterflies in my stomach coming back again? Ridiculous. The last thing I need is to be attracted to someone.

  I break eye contact first and look down at my feet before muttering, “Well, thank you …”

  “Trent,” he says smugly before I can say anything else. “Trent … Kade.” He punctuates his last name with a slight sideways glance, giving me the impression that he thinks I should know who he is.

  Sorry, buddy, hate to disappoint, but I have no clue who you are.

  “Um, thanks. I’m Cameran. Cameran Steele.”

  Shit, why’d I give him my last name? Now, he can look me up. What if he finds something? Or what if he is a psycho and comes back to get me? Way to go, me.

  “Hey, Trent, thank you for keeping my girl safe. And good luck in your game next weekend.”

  I look at her, surprised. I guess she knows who he is.

  Why does that bother me? Have they ever … had sex? Ugh, why do I care?

  “Thanks,” he drawls and starts heading toward where his truck is parked. “Have a good night, ladies,” he yells over his shoulder. Halfway to the parking lot, he turns around and continues to walk backward. “Oh, and, Cameran Steele?”

  “Yeah?” I answer nervously.

  “It was nice to meet you. Hope to see you soon.” And with that, he turns away and walks to his truck.

  I finally pick my jaw up off the ground as I hear his truck rumble to life and speed away. Now, normally, I would be uncomfortable with a man telling me such things. Because I have learned the hard way not to trust the male species. But my stupid heart is betraying me and beating wildly for this sexy-as-sin man.

  Damn it.

  Anna doesn’t even get the building door closed before she’s gushing, “Giiirrrlll … Trent Kade was totally into you. How did you play it so cool? Most bitches would have turned into blubbering idiots before melting into a puddle on the floor.” Spinning around, she gives me a serious expression before saying, “It’s me … I’m most bitches.”

  I laugh hard. But then curiosity gets the best of me. “Why does everyone keep saying his name like I should know who he is?”

  I unlock the door to our room, and Anna follows close behind, locking it behind us.

&n
bsp; “Cameran! Did you used to live under a rock? He’s only the quarterback for NEU. Lord, girl, get with the program.” She gives me an are you for real look while pulling off her heels.

  “So … he’s a big deal around here?” I wrinkle my forehead.

  She covers her mouth and shakes her head. “He is literally ranked the number one college football player in the country. He’s expected to get drafted in the first round. Football is a big deal around here. A very big deal. I’m talking like a second religion big deal. I am so dragging you to some of the games. Now that you and I are besties,” she singsongs the last part.

  As I pull my pajamas over the dress and carefully slip it off so that I don’t flash my roommate, heat rises to my cheeks. “Are you saying I need a friend, Anna?”

  “Girl, you never check your phone. You haven’t even talked about any friends, and I have never seen you look at your social media,” she answers, snuggly pulling her comforter up over her chest.

  I bite my lip and wring my hands together—nervous habit. “I don’t have any.”

  “Friends or social media?” she asks, confused.

  My cheeks are scorching so hot that they actually burn. “Er … both?” I bury my head in my hands.

  “Well, lady, that’s going to change. And also, you do have a friend. It’s me. Let’s set up your Instagram!”

  “Friends first, social media later?” I say and pray to myself she’ll drop it.

  I can’t have social media. Not yet. That would make it way too easy for someone to find me. As it is, I know my days of safety are limited. I can’t shorten them by letting my new roommate make me an Instagram account.

  She eyes me for a few beats, one perfectly shaped brow raised. “Deal.”

  I inwardly sigh in relief. I hope that she’ll forget about this social media debacle, knowing that’s not likely. If I have learned anything about my new redheaded friend, it is that she is very persistent and does not take no for an answer.

  As for me, I know sleep will be hard to find tonight with pictures of that cocky grin etched in my brain and eyes that seem to have the ability to speak to me without saying a word. Yep, I am screwed. Only three days at my new college, and I have already met someone who lit my lifeless soul on fire, just by looking at me.

  I know it won’t be a problem though. A guy like him is probably headed to another girl’s house now. I bet all of the girls around campus are smitten by him, and I can see why. Hell, I might be a little infatuated with him myself.

  But I came here with one goal: get a degree. And that is what I am going to do. No chiseled, tattooed, sexy man is going to ruin that for me. No way. I have already had way too many things robbed from me by a man. Never again.

  five

  Trent

  I park my truck and make my way across campus to my first class of senior year.

  I could have gone into the draft last year, but I wanted to get my degree in business. In the unlikely event—well, actually, probably more likely than I’d like to believe—that I get injured, I’ll need something to fall back on. It’s risky as hell to play four years of college ball and chance getting injured, kissing my NFL future good-bye. But this is what I wanted to do. My dad, however, didn’t agree.

  Let’s just hope I don’t make any mistakes at the first game. Hell, I can play a perfect game and still have to hear him bitch at me. His NFL career ended abruptly halfway into his third season with a knee injury. But not before he helped his team win two Super Bowls. It wasn’t enough for him though. He felt robbed of a career and, in turn, robbed in life. It changed him for sure—and not for the better. He still left behind a legacy, so you could say I have big shoes to fill.

  I walk into class, right away spotting Nate in the back row. It’s hard not to spot him. He’s one of the defensemen on the team, and he’s built like a brick shithouse. He’s also one of the funniest sons of bitches I know.

  I make my way to him while enduring the, “Hey, handsome,” and, “Hey, Trent,” and all the eye-fluttering from chicks as they twirl their hair on their fingers along with fist bumps and nods from the guys.

  Trust me, I appreciate it; I do. It beats being bullied or some shit like that. But honestly, some days, it gets old. Some days, I just want to be left the fuck alone. To slip into a classroom where not a soul knows who I am.

  I spot a familiar head of long honey-blonde locks in the middle of the room. She’s looking down at a book, so she doesn’t see me. I see some guy sitting next to her in a polo shirt and khaki shorts, looking like the douche bag that he is. I chuckle to myself.

  Sorry, Carter, just in case you’re here to give her shit about your fraternity brother coming on to her or you’re going to hit on her, you are going to have to find a different seat.

  She’s still looking down at her book, oblivious to me and d-bag Carter. He’s just about to strike up a conversation when I clear my throat. He glances up, confusion etched all over his face.

  Nodding to his seat, I say, “Hey, man, you mind?”

  His eyes narrow for a split second, and then he remembers who he’s talking to. “Yeah, sure, no problem.” He gets his stuff and moves down to the next row.

  That’s right, little bitch boy, make way for the fucking king.

  I hear someone calling my name. I know it’s Nate before I even turn around.

  He’s got humungous arms stretched over his desk and silently mouths, What the fuck?

  I shrug and give him a smirk as I jerk my head toward the pretty little thing sitting next to me. Yeah, I’ll admit, I’m not just about wanting to fuck her, but he doesn’t need to know that. I have a reputation to maintain. Can’t be having the guys thinking I’m a pussy.

  He narrows his eyes and folds his arms over his chest, not buying it. But eventually, he turns back to the other guys he’s sitting with.

  I turn toward my newfound interest. She’s leaning forward, so her hair creates a blanket around her head, shielding her face from my view.

  “Well, hello there, Cameran Steele.”

  Her head snaps up, her face twisted in confusion as her teeth chew on her bottom lip. My eyes automatically go to her mouth. She’s got plump pink lips.

  “Nice to see you again. Hope this seat isn’t taken.” I plop my ass down and continue to smirk at her.

  My eyes continue to study the curves of her face, and I can’t help but think about what those lips could do to me. I feel a strain against my zipper, and I shift in my seat.

  Goddamn this girl. She fucking kills me.

  “Um, hi. Pretty sure no one is going to attack me in class, so you’re relieved of babysitting duty,” she snaps, clearly annoyed.

  This. Doesn’t. Happen. To me.

  “Hey, I thought we were friends now. You don’t want to be my friend?” I put my hand on my chest and feign hurt.

  She eyes me closely, appearing not convinced by my actions. Finally, she sighs, “In my experience, friends are overrated. Also, you’re too cocky to be my friend.”

  I try to pretend to be surprised. “Me? Cocky? Why ever would you think such a thing?”

  She coughs on a laugh. “Hmm, let’s see … it was probably when you just kicked that nice guy out of his seat.”

  I shrug. “Ah, yes. But he moved, didn’t he?”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tries to pretend she’s reading something in her book. I stretch my legs out under the table and lean back, making myself comfortable. I can see her peek at me from the corner of her eye.

  “So”—I nod my chin up at her—“why are friends overrated, babe? Also, I wouldn’t call Carter nice. I mean, his polo shirt, I suppose, is nice, but him? Not so much.”

  She taps her pen against her lips. “I just haven’t had the best of luck with friends. I guess I’m a shitty judge of character.”

  I honestly can’t relate to her because, well, I usually don’t even give people a chance. I run with a tight group. I keep myself closed off to the rest of the world. Football, fuck, p
arty. That’s it. But I do know one thing. People are shit. Not all of them, of course, but a good fucking portion.

  I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes slightly. “Then, you’ve picked the wrong friends, Sunshine. I’m going to show you.”

  Her eyes widen slightly. “Show me what?”

  I dip my head toward hers, and her breath hitches, though she tries to cover it with a cough.

  “That I can be a damn good friend.”

  She forces her stare ahead when the professor walks in. And then, she answers quietly, “I’ll consider your offer.”

  I swear she has the smallest smile on her lips.

  Game on, baby. Game on.

  Cameran

  I’ll admit it. I’m intrigued. More than intrigued actually. Though I can’t help but ask myself why NEU’s most beloved player—in more ways than one—would want to be my friend.

  Then, my inner self rears her ugly head, putting those negative, self-sabotaging thoughts in my brain. He probably just feels bad for me after the other night. Or maybe it’s one of those weird bets I have read about in novels. The one when all of the popular dudes make a bet that involves sleeping with someone first. I slouch down in my chair. That’s probably it. He’s going to play me for a fool.

  I hate that I have to be this way. But I know why I am. Because I was told for two years that I was a disgusting pile of shit. Going nowhere. An embarrassment to humanity. Yes, that’s definitely why I have these inner demons that always invade my brain.

  Sometimes, they are so loud, I can’t hear my own thoughts. Sometimes, they pull me into a place that’s so dark, I can’t find my way out. Have you ever woken up and been upset for the simple fact that you were graced with another day? I have. A year ago, I would actively pray to God to take me off this planet, take me away from the monster who made my life a living hell.

  Of course, now, the thoughts of wanting to die are gone. But left behind them came a whole new set of emotional problems. Not feeling worthy, not trusting easy, being frightened by those who have a penis. Yep, lots of fun. I mean, who wouldn’t want to date a nutjob like myself?