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

by Hannah Gray

  “Yeah, wellll,” I drawl out in my drunken stupor, no doubt sounding like a fucking dumbass, “that was ’fore yer friend had to come here. Fuckin’ up my plaaansss.”

  I feel breasts—huge, fake breasts—press against my side. And then breathing against my neck.

  “I’m sober, handsome. Let me take you home.” She drags her long, painted nail over my chest.

  My stomach turns. “Layla. Go away.”

  She doesn’t go away. She moves even fucking closer.

  That breathy, annoying voice carries on. “Oh, come on. I can make you forget all about that girl. I don’t even know what you see in her.”

  I laugh hard because, well, I honestly don’t know why that would be funny. I guess it seems hilarious to me that someone could think Cam was unforgettable when she’s anything but that.

  Red leans over the counter, narrowing her eyes at Layla. “Watch yourself, Layla. I have heard things about you.”

  Layla’s lips curl. “Oh, please, bar rat.” Then, she points a finger in Red’s face. “I can ruin you. I will ruin you.”

  Red pretends to act scared. “Oh my, I am shaking in my adorable boots! I’m sure what my ex, Maverick, told me wasn’t true anyway. He never did tell the truth. Though he did hear things … and there were a lot of details … and it was his best friend … and they did live together … so he was in the house whenever you stopped in for a visit.”

  Layla’s eyes grow large, and she’s as red as Red’s hair. She looks as angry too. Red signals for her to come closer, and reluctantly, Layla does. Red whispers something in her ear, and Layla’s eyes go wide. Before Red can say anything else, Layla pushes herself off of her barstool and stomps off. Yelling for her friends to follow.

  I turn to Red, feeling my eyelids get unbearably heavy. “Whaddya know ’bout ’er anyway?” I’m too drunk and tired to form a coherent sentence.

  She shrugs and walks off, returning a moment later with a burger and fries and a Coke. As she slides it to me, Mason plunks down in the next stool, and she passes him a plate with the same and a Sprite.

  “Thanks, babe.” He grins. Then, he turns to me. “You don’t look so good. I shouldn’t have gone off with the other guys. I didn’t realize you needed a fucking babysitter these days.” He takes a bite out of his burger. “Fuck, that’s good.”

  I look at the plate of food, confused. “I thought the kitchen closed hours ’go,” I slur.

  He shoves a bunch of fries in his mouth. “They did, but she pulled some strings. She knew you needed food in your stomach. You need to sober up before bed. It’s already after midnight. Coach will have your ass if you show up hungover.”

  I nod. He has a point. Besides, this burger does look pretty fucking good.

  I finish everything on the plate in no time, and surprisingly, I feel a whole lot better and a little more sober. By now, everyone else has cleared out besides Red, the other manager named Tyler, Mason, and me.

  Lane left a bit ago with a lady who definitely looked like she was in her thirties. He’s getting to be worse than even I was a few months ago.

  Red finishes her side work and plops down next to us. She picks at a few of Mason’s fries. He pulls her into his side and then turns to me.

  “So, Captain …” He pauses. Like he is trying to find a way to word this next sentence without pissing me off. “You have always been the one who grounds us. You keep the team levelheaded. You limit the amount of beers we can have, for Christ’s sake.”

  “And? Get to your point, King.”

  “Well, look around, Trent. Here you are, drunk off of your ass on a weeknight.”

  I answer him in a mocking voice because he has struck a nerve, “I still keep all of you motherfuckers in line. You’d all be out, chasing pussy, every night of the week if it wasn’t for me. I’m the glue to this fucking team. So, fuck you.”

  He sighs. “No shit, Sherlock. Everyone knows that. But lately, you haven’t been keeping anyone in check. Fuck, man, you can’t even keep yourself in check.”

  “You want to start something, Mase? Let’s fucking start it. I’ll fucking lay your ass right here, motherfucker.” I stand up, adrenaline rushing.

  Mason stands slowly and puts his hands in the air. “What the fuck are you going to do, Trent? You’re going to fight me? Your best friend? Your teammate? If you don’t think you have something wrong with you right now, you’ve lost your damn mind.”

  I take a step back. “Sorry. I’m not going to fucking fight you. I just … fuck, man, I don’t know.” I sit back down on my stool, rubbing my temples. “You’re right about one thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asks. Not in a condescending tone either. He just asks me in a tone that tells me he wants to understand.

  That’s why I need to smarten up. I threatened to fight him, for fuck’s sake.

  “I am losing my mind. Every day apart from her, I lose it a little bit more. How fucking pathetic is that?”

  Red stands. “Come on, boys. I’ll drive you home.”

  Great, now, Sunshine’s best friend pities my sorry ass.

  thirty

  Cameran

  “Cammy Wammy, I am so glad you decided to come with me!” Anna gushes as we make our way to our seats after loading up on sugary goodness at the concession stand.

  I pull my NEU beanie tighter on my head. I am a Cali girl, so fall in New England is a shock to my system. I can’t imagine what the winter will be like. Luckily, I was able to get mittens and some fleece-lined leggings. Now, all I need to find is a winter jacket.

  “It’s because I love you. Plus, you kind of saved my life. After all, you did call the ambulance.”

  We make our way up the bleachers and find an empty section. Anna puts the blanket down on the seat and smooths it out.

  Sitting down, I turn to her. “That was a good idea. These bleachers wouldn’t have been very comfy.”

  She laughs. “Yep. I learned that during my first game I attended freshman year. Not comfy and damn cold on the cheeks.”

  We enjoy our junk food together. Which is nice because Anna is never one for splurging on junk. I, however, love all of the junk. Although, this past week, I have definitely lost some weight because I haven’t had much of an appetite. I haven’t been sleeping much either. Those few weeks at Trent’s, I slept like a baby. For the first time in years, I actually woke up, feeling rested. That’s all gone though. It’s back to nightmares and insomnia. I have had a few sessions with my therapist, and that has been fairly helpful.

  Due to my work schedule and, oh, recovering after being shot, this is the first one I have been able to attend, so I am unsure of what to expect. I’m pretty certain it will pass at a snail’s pace. I’ll probably be bored out of my mind and ready to go home during the first quarter.

  Suddenly, “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons starts to blare through the speakers, and the crowd begins clapping and screaming for NEU. Okay, I’ll admit it; the energy is out of this world. I see movement on the field. Glancing down, I catch Trent running out of the tunnel, leading his team out onto the field. The crowd erupts into even louder cheers, which I didn’t think was possible, chanting the superstar’s name.

  Seeing him with his helmet in hand, running out there, doing what he was born to do, it’s hella sexy, and it does all sorts of things to my lady bits. He moves with such confidence. He demands respect, just with his presence. My heart races as the rest of the team makes its way onto the field, jogging over to Trent. Between the music, the school spirit brought by the students, and Trent’s ability to capture the attention of a crowd, I have to say, this is quite a rush.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” Anna yells.

  I give her a thumbs-up, and she smiles before turning her attention back to Mason. Even with her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses, I can tell she’s zeroing in on him and him only. They text and call each other daily. He comes into The Atlantic during her shifts sometimes and sits on her side of the bar. It’s clear to see tha
t they are into each other, but for some reason, they have been in this weird friend-zone thing.

  I don’t know a great deal about football. My dad was big on it and always watched it on Sundays. But I never paid too much attention. But when the game begins, I find myself on the edge of my seat and even standing up a few times to clap when our team makes a move and the fans erupt into cheers.

  With only one minute and forty-six seconds left in the second quarter, we are up by one touchdown. Leaving the score 23 to 16. Trent fakes left and then does some crazy footwork before rolling to the right, just in time to launch the perfect spiral into the air. Unfortunately, not in time to avoid a defensive player—a large one, might I add. He sacks him hard.

  Trent remains on the ground long enough for everyone on our side to stand up on their feet. It goes from being as loud as a frat-house party to eerily quiet.

  Before I even know what I am doing, I grab Anna’s hand and squeeze, whispering, “Please be okay. Please be okay.”

  She squeezes my hand back. “He will be okay. That was a hard hit, but I have seen him jump back up from far worse.”

  Tears begin to cloud my vision when I see him begin to sit up and slowly stand.

  Everyone hoots and hollers and claps, chanting, “Kade thirty-two.”

  Anna removes her hand from mine and then pats me on my shoulder, leaning into my ear. “That was an awful big reaction for someone you claim not to have feelings for.”

  I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and shrug. Relief flooding my body. “Trust me, babe, I don’t understand it myself.”

  They finish the remaining forty-eight seconds without Trent. Luckily, they hold the lead, and the score remains the same. At halftime, we make our way to get a popcorn refill and some Sour Patch Kids because, I mean, football and junk food go hand in hand.

  After we grab our stuff and head back to our seats, I see Layla and her bitchy posse huddled around the stairway. I groan inwardly, preparing for some sort of snarky comment and definitely some eye rolls.

  What happens actually shocks me more. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact, they see us coming and all pretend like they don’t and go about their conversations.

  “Whoa, that was weird. Almost makes me worry more,” I mumble as we make our way to our seats.

  Sitting down, Anna turns toward me and nudges me with her elbow. “Something tells me you won’t be hearing much from her anymore.” She winks and takes a sip of her Diet Coke.

  “Anna … what did you do?”

  She gives me a fake confused look. “Who, me? Why would you assume little ol’ me did something?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Because you’re you. Now, spill it.”

  “All right, all right. So, I used to date a baseball player whose roommate used to sleep with her on occasion. Let’s just say, I might have heard that she takes laxatives to stay thin.”

  I look at her, confused. “Okay … and? She shits to stay a skinny bitch. What’s that have to do with anything?”

  Anna’s smile is so wide that it looks like it might actually hurt. “Well, let’s just say, rumor has it that, one time, when she was sleeping with one of the baseball players, things got a little … messy.”

  She pauses and looks at me. I still don’t quite get it.

  Rolling her eyes, she continues, “Hershey bomb everywhere.” She makes an explosion noise and motions the same with her hands.

  I almost spit my soda out. “Oh my gawd, Anna. That is awful. And hilarious at the same time.”

  She smashes her Coke into mine. “I told her if she didn’t piss off, everyone would be calling her Hershey Squirt by the end of the week.” She looks at me and shrugs. A playful, evil smile on her lips. “Nobody fucks with my bestie! Especially someone who shits their pants!”

  I grin back. A real, genuine grin because it feels freaking amazing to have friends. Okay, a friend. But still, freaking amazing. Even though I feel a little bad for Layla that something so humiliating happened to her, I hope that she really will leave me alone.

  Trent

  We end up winning the game 33 to 20. The end of the second quarter, for a second there, I thought I was down for the count. But once I got my breath back, I felt much better.

  Lane slaps my back on our way out of the locker room. “Fuckin’ right. Six to zero, baby. Six-zero.”

  I nod and swing my arms, slapping my hands together. “Let’s just keep it up and push for that undefeated season. NEU hasn’t had one of those in eight years.”

  He turns and walks backward, facing me. “Then, let’s fucking do it, man. But first, let’s throw a fucking party tonight.”

  Mason appears next to me out of nowhere. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, we have a championship to make it to. We need to get our shit together.” I know he’s just worried about me falling off the wagon again.

  I lightly punch his shoulder. “It’s okay, Mase. We don’t have practice until tomorrow afternoon. You guys go ahead. I know Coach says no, but it isn’t like they enforce jack shit. I have to go see my dad tonight though. So, hard to tell when I’ll get back from that.”

  His face grows grim. “Shit. I’m sorry. He text you?”

  I nod. “Yep, I know he was here because he doesn’t miss a game, but I got the text a few minutes ago, telling me to meet for dinner. Should be really fucking awesome.”

  Mason knows more about my dad than Lane does. Not because I’m not just as close with Lane, but because it’s just come up. Mason has his own set of deep-rooted shit in his family too. So, he gets it.

  Lane knows my dad’s a dick though. No doubt about that. Mason just tends to be the one who gets me to talk more.

  Lane nods his head at us. “Good luck with your dad. But hurry back, so we can fucking party. Later, fuckers!” With that, he jogs off, catching up to some of our other teammates.

  I am sure he’ll be spreading the word about the party.

  Mason shakes his head. “Dude, he’s always down to party. He needs to get his head in the game.”

  I laugh. “What are you, a saint? Because let’s be real; he drinks and fucks as many girls as any of us.”

  He frowns. “Well, no, I know I’m not. But during the season, I try to reel it in. Fuck, man, I can’t afford to fuck off this year. You’re not the only one who needs to punch his ticket to the NFL, you know.”

  I nod. I do know.

  “I know, Mase. I surely had a few weeks of fucking off. But that’s over now. I have my head on straight now. If I do make it back tonight—which I probably won’t, but if I do—I will just a beer or two. My days of pouring shots down my throat are over.”

  Satisfied with my answer, he nods. “All right, man. I think Anna will probably come over. Hopefully, she will anyway.”

  That makes me want to avoid the house even more tonight. I know where Anna goes, Cameran goes. And vice versa. If I saw her there, dancing in my house, blonde hair swaying around, I’d throw her over my shoulder and take her up to my bed and worship every inch of that perfect body until she admitted we were meant to be. But we know that isn’t what either of us needs. She needs space, and I … I need to stay on track with football. So, tonight, I will avoid my own house.

  I give him my most convincing smile. Though it’s forced. “Go for it. I won’t be around anyway.”

  thirty-one

  Cameran

  I watch Anna change her outfit for the third time. She finally decides on a pair of ripped-up leggings, a pair of red Converse, and a white graphic tee with a black leather jacket. She looks freaking hot.

  I pretend to fan myself. “Hubba-hubba. Someone is looking fiiiinnne. Who are you dressing up for anyway, Banana?” Luckily, she doesn’t try to slap me every time I call her that anymore.

  She narrows her eyes and puts a hand on one hip as she pops it out. “Nobody. What’s wrong with looking good for me?”

  I scoot back further in my bed. Not buying a word of it. “Mmhmm … so Mason isn’t a factor?”
>
  She pulls her hair out from her jacket, dramatic as ever. “Whatevs. It’s not like that. Not really anyway.”

  I still don’t understand what the hell is their deal. I guess they are best friends. Well, aside from me, that is. “All right. Well, since you’re riding with Cassie and Phoebe, your car will be here. So, if you need a ride, please call me.”

  Cassie and Phoebe are some girls she met in one of her classes. I’ve met them a few times, and they seem super nice.

  She sits down on the edge of my bed. “Are you sure you don’t want to go? Or you don’t want me to stay in? I feel like the worst friend.”

  I shoo her away. “I will be fine. Besides, I am looking forward to binge-watching Riverdale. I haven’t seen it since season one. I have a lot of catching up to do. I haven’t even found out who killed Jason.”

  She stands, smoothing out her jeans. “Ooh, I could spoil it, but I won’t.” Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it. “Well, that’s my ride. You sure you’re—”

  I cut her off, “I’ll be fine. Go, have fun.”

  She leans down and hugs me. “All right, chickie. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Call if you need anything.”

  “Will do!” she yells as her red hair bounces out the door.

  As odd as it sounds, I need this night alone. Between work, school, and trying to be somewhat social, I haven’t had any time to just sit and reflect. Luckily, my work schedule has been switched up, giving me a little more time to keep up on my studies.

  I won’t lie. I miss Trent basically every second of every day. Those who say it gets easier are liars. I miss his scent. I miss his hands on my body. I miss how well I slept with him next to me. I miss waking up next to him. I miss everything. One of the things I miss most is the way he looked at me. He saw into me, and yet it didn’t make him run. It’s like he knew my deepest secrets that were lingering in the depths of my soul. Yet there he was, begging for a spot in my life. And time and time again, I pushed him away. I pushed a good guy away. For what? To sit home on a Friday night, eating edible cookie dough in my pajamas, watching Netflix? I wish he were here. Binge-watching with me, making me laugh.