Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology

by Paige, Rochelle

  But I can’t just walk into the school and watch him. They have rules. He’ll be okay, he will, and he’ll be getting the best services in the state. I giggle. I can even go to his parent teacher meetings and soccer games and everything else.

  I let out a deep breath as I step outside the entrance of Camden.

  DAY ONE IS DONE! LIFE DOES NOT SUCK!

  All of that good feeling deflates when I see my car is sitting cock-eyed in the parking lot. Most of the cars have left since I stayed in the library for an hour studying until most of the crowd had dispersed. Dammit.

  I walk up to the Jeep, and the left back tire is decidedly flat. I lean down and inspect it.

  Well crap.

  I eyeball the spare on the back and let out a sigh as I whip off my blazer and toss it inside along with my backpack.

  Five minutes later, I’ve found the jack and have placed it in the right spot on the axle—according to the manual I briefly perused.

  An idea hits, the memory of that letter left in my locker. I tug it out of my backpack and reread it again. I have to admit, it makes me curious. Oh, trust me, I don’t buy for a second that a Shark might actually be my secret admirer—such bullshit—but I am intrigued.

  Showtime.

  I type the digits into my phone and send a text.

  Shark, got your letter. Who are you? How did you know my locker number?

  The reply is immediate, and my hands tremble as they clutch the phone.

  Ava. I can’t believe you texted me.

  Wonders never cease. You left me your number, dumbass. WHO ARE YOU?

  A friend. IDK. I can’t think straight right now. I saw you today and it freaked me out. You took my breath.

  I blink rapidly.

  LIAR. This is all a joke. A good one. Fuck off.

  I’m a lot of shitty things, but I meant what I said. Every single word. I know you have no reason to trust me. I believe you. About the party. About everything.

  I fire off another text.

  Well, Mr. Shark, I have a flat. I wonder who’s responsible? I got new tires this summer. You think this is just a coincidence?

  A few minutes later, I’m turning the jack’s rotatable clasp counterclockwise and lifting the deflated tire off the ground.

  “Trouble again, Tulip?” says the deep voice behind me, and I imagine what I must look like to him: butt high in the air, my body straining to turn the jack.

  So what?

  I keep working, never pausing or looking at him. “Keep moving, QB1. Nothing to see here but a girl who knows how to change a tire. Quite fascinating for you, I’m sure.” I blow at a piece of hair that’s gotten in my eyes. “In fact, I’m quite unusual in your world, am I right? That’s why you’ve always looked at me weird, I think. I’m nothing like those rich bitches you fuck from behind under the bleachers.” I twist on the jack, still refusing to look at him. “I don’t fuck guys under bleachers. I only fuck guys who care about me, who want me for me—who like me in spite of where I come from.”

  I close my eyes in exasperation, glad he can’t see my face. What is it about him that pushes me to make these remarks?

  Please leave. Just go away.

  But he doesn’t.

  “How do you know I like to fuck from behind…under the bleachers?”

  I heave out a curse word. Me and my big mouth.

  He bends down next to me, looking at me, but I refuse to return the favor. I stare at my tire.

  “Tulip? Have you…watched me?” There’s a hint of embarrassment mixed with incredulity in his words; I expected gloating. Curiosity makes me finally set the jack handle down and face him. His hair is damp from football practice and sticking up in all directions as if he left quickly without showering. He’s wearing a white, vented jersey with the number one on it and tight red football pants.

  I sigh. “Yes. Fine. A few times, and entirely coincidental. Three times after a game in the fall and once in the middle of the school day when I went to the field to pick up my poms I’d left.”

  What I don’t say is after the first time, I slipped under the bleachers after the game on purpose to see if he’d be there, and oh boy, was he. He…he looked sexy as hell, his head thrown back, sweat dripping down his face, his lips twisted as he plowed some girl from behind with the grace of a powerful animal, barely leashed and close to veering out of control. Wild. Intoxicating—

  Whoa. He’s a Shark. Off limits. FOREVER.

  He licks his lips, a red blush rising up from his throat to his cheeks. “Shit.”

  I gape. “What? You’re actually embarrassed?”

  He gives me a short nod. “Sex is…I guess I like to work out my issues with it, and just the thought of someone like you…seeing me like that…” He grimaces and scrubs his face. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

  Fascinating. I file that tidbit away.

  “Who is someone like me?”

  “A nice girl.”

  Oh. “Even though I said you’d peaked in high school and you’re going to end up alone and crying and addicted to porn? That wasn’t nice. I forgot to mention you’ll probably spend most of your time drunk-dialing old girlfriends and hookers.”

  He huffs out a laugh. “Actually, you got in my head pretty good this morning.” He flashes a smirk. “But if you tell anyone that, I’ll call you a liar.”

  I do a little clap. “Ohhhh, I mind-fucked the great Knox Grayson. This moment…is sweet!”

  He opens his mouth and then closes it.

  “What?” I ask.

  He heaves out a sigh. “I owe you another apology. I never should have brought up that stupid video in class. I can only blame it on being thrown for a loop that you actually did sit with me and being close to…” He clamps his mouth closed.

  Being close to what? Me?

  He continues. “It was wrong and stupid, and if you want to slap me or punch me right now, I’ll let you. I won’t even flinch.”

  “I’ve had self-defense training. Honestly, I can hurt you if I wanted.”

  “Then do it. Make me bleed. I deserve it.”

  “No.” I frown, the idea of inflicting pain on him unsavory. “I accept your apology, okay?”

  He swallows. “I didn’t hurt you that night. You know that, right?”

  I’ll kill him with my bare hands.

  Call it an inkling or just a woman’s intuition, but my gut knows Knox wasn’t part of what happened to me. He wasn’t even there.

  I’m not so sure about his brother.

  I give him a short nod.

  Relief seems to come off of him in waves. He reaches down and rubs his hands across the rubber. “Slow leak?”

  I pause and wipe at the sweat on my brow. “You think? Or did someone do it on purpose?”

  His thumb presses against a spot on the tire, his eyes studying the wheel as if it’s a puzzle. “Puncture, and not a nail. Looks like someone sliced it.”

  I exhale. I already saw the cut. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. It doesn’t matter. I expected worse, to be honest. Besides, I have a spare, and I know how to change a tire.” It does hurt, though, pricks at the very heart of me to know people despise me.

  He puts his hand over mine. “So do I, so let me do it.”

  “I don’t need you to help me, okay? I can save myself. Been doing it all my life.”

  “I know you can save yourself.”

  I sigh. “Why are you being nice to me, Knox?”

  His eyes meet mine, searching my face. “Do you need a reason?”

  No. I guess not. Plus it’s hot out here. “Fine. You want to take the spare down from the back? Also, do you happen to have a lug wrench in your car? I do, but mine’s all rusted and…”

  Before I can finish, he’s already jogging over to a Mercedes-Benz SUV, popping the back and riffling through it. He holds up a sparkly new wrench and runs back over.

  He bends down next to me. “First, let’s get the nuts off.”

  I almost say That’s what she said, but
then I remember who he is and stop.

  Bending down with him, I watch as he removes the last nut, slips the tire off, and puts the spare on, the tightly roped muscles of his forearms straining as he lifts and secures it. A bead of sweat drips down his forehead and onto his face. He glances up, catching my eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

  “I’m smirking, not smiling. Just enjoying the sight of Cold and Evil doing hard work.” I grab the flat tire and attach it to the back of my Jeep. He stands, and I feel the heat of his gaze watching me.

  Knox Grayson never paid me any attention in the years I went here—except for those odd looks he’d give me—and the truth is, I’m a bit discombobulated by his nearness, in class today, in the office, and right now.

  I turn and we’re just…staring at each other.

  A prickle of awareness goes down my spine, as if somehow he knows what I’m thinking.

  He’s the first to break our concentration on each other. With one step, he’s closer to me. Reaching out, he fingers a piece of hair that was in my eyes and puts it behind my ear.

  “Don’t do that,” I say, frowning.

  “It was in your eyes.”

  “So?”

  “Maybe I like your eyes and want to see them.”

  I inhale sharply. “Don’t play games, Knox.”

  He scowls, his brow coming down. “I’m not.”

  “Are you saying you don’t play games with girls?”

  “Every single girl here knows what I’m about. I am who I am.” He drags his finger down his scar. “They’ve either repulsed by this or they’re fascinated. I give them what they want. Which are you?”

  I ignore that. “Love ’em and leave ’em, right?” Yeah, I saw him with four different girls.

  He shrugs nonchalantly, and my eyes follow the movement of his broad shoulders.

  “How’d you get that scar anyway?”

  His face tightens, and I see a glimpse of pain before it disappears so quickly I wonder if it was ever really there. “No one asks me that, Tulip.”

  “Fine, it’s a secret. I have one on my inner thigh from a curtain rod with a sharp end. Got it from one of the foster homes I stayed at, older girl who didn’t want me sleeping in her room. I was ten. See?” I slightly lift up my skirt, showing him the stretched-out mark, which is about the size of my pinkie. “I slept with a rock under my pillow after that.”

  I regret showing him, feeling the scrutiny of his eyes on my skin. He moves his gaze up slowly, landing on my face. He squints at me in the afternoon sun. “Did she ever try it again?”

  “No, but I was ready. I would have done whatever it took to keep her away from me.”

  Which is what’s so fucking maddening about that keg party. Me, a girl who knows how to defend herself, was rendered helpless.

  “Knox, you look like a mechanic with that wrench in your hand. Nice. Let me snap a pic for posterity,” says an amused voice behind us.

  I flip around and chills dance down my spine. It’s Dane who’s spoken, and with him are Chance and Liam. Chance has that stricken look on his face again, but Liam…well, this is the first time we’ve come face-to-face all day.

  He’s huge, looming and broad, the perfect defensive player. I wonder if he and Jolena are still together. Last year their relationship status seemed to change every other week. He cheated on her constantly, but in the end, she’d always take him back.

  But it’s Chance who gets most of my attention.

  He sends an accusing look at Knox, his jawline grinding.

  I force a small smile to curl my lips. What did I ever see in Chance? Sure he has that engaging smile and at one time I thought his summer blue eyes were perfect, but now, he’s…a coward. Out of everyone, if he’d really cared about me, he should have believed me.

  Unless it was him.

  “Dude, we’re going to The Coffee Bean to hang like usual. Aren’t you coming?” he asks, his voice almost accusatory as he speaks to Knox, his attention bouncing from me to him.

  Chance looks almost…

  Being nonchalant, I flip my hair out of my face, and his eyes follow the movement, a hungry look there.

  I straighten my shoulders, adjusting my white shirt, which is noticeably sticking to my skin in the heat. And, guess what—Chance’s gaze goes there too, lingering on my chest.

  Well, well.

  Mr. Boy Next Door is jealous.

  My anger stirs. He has the nerve to look at me as if he wants me, yet he called me a slut.

  “Yeah, unless you’re too busy helping…her,” Liam adds snidely. His hair is still longish with those stupid swooping bangs. His green eyes meet mine and take me in, sneering.

  Knox gives me a glance then looks back at them. “Nah, I have studying to do. You do too, Dane.”

  Dane sweeps his eyes over me, a small, knowing smile on his face. “I can study later. Got to admit, this moment is priceless though.” He pulls his hair out of the manbun he has it in and shakes it out, the strands brushing his jersey. He points those eyes that are so much like Knox’s at me. “Wanna join us, Ava? I’ll buy you whatever you want if you don’t have the money.”

  Shock ripples through me, but I know—I know he’s a jerk, just like the rest of them.

  “What the hell, Dane?” Chance says, his face whitening.

  “Yeah, babe,” Liam adds. “Maybe we can talk about that video of you dancing. Do you remember that? You’ve got some sweet moves on you, I’ll give you that—”

  “That’s enough,” Knox snaps.

  There’s a tense silence and my heart races, my mind pulled back to that night. I lick my lips nervously. Here I am, alone in a school parking lot with four of the football players who were at that party, and as much as I want to be cool, my hands tremble and I form them into fists—

  “Yo, Ava! You good?”

  I start when Wyatt pulls up in a souped-up black Chevelle with a hot pink stripe down the hood, rap music blaring and the motor so loud I’m surprised I didn’t hear the vehicle approaching.

  We all turn to look at him. He’s wearing a Camden baseball hat and a wide grin.

  Maybe it’s something he sees on my face, because he turns off his car and gets out, sauntering over to us.

  Without warning, his tall, lean form eases over to me and tosses a casual arm around my shoulders as if we’ve been friends forever. “You doing good, locker neighbor?” Locka neigba. He scans hard eyes over the group and lingers on the jack I still haven’t put away. “You need a ride?”

  “I’m good. Just had a flat. Someone cut my tire.”

  I hear Chance curse.

  Liam laughs, quickly covering it with his hand when Knox scowls.

  Wyatt narrows his eyes. “Fuck that. Heard you got into Moreshead Dorm. Saw your name on the resident list when I checked in after school. Looks like we’ll be living together—well, on different floors. They tend to keep the boys separate from the girls.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t had a chance to check in.”

  His arm tightens around me. “I’ll help you move in. It’s furnished already, but you’ll need to get your clothes there, and for the love of God, bring your own sheets ’cause theirs are rough as hell.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I keep my gaze on him and off the football players, pointedly ignoring them. “I have to drive back to the group home and grab some things, and then I’ll be there.” Plus, I want to see Daniel and tell him the good news.

  “I’m out of here,” Chance growls, his shoulders tight with tension as he stalks off toward a car several spots away.

  “Yeah, I’m bored already,” Liam adds before following him. They get inside a black Escalade and peel out.

  Relief hits me me. Two down.

  Wyatt’s giving me directions to the dorm when Knox’s voice cuts in, his tone odd, almost questioning. “If you’re okay, I’ll go, Tulip.”

  I glance at him, trying to maintain a neutral expression. “I’m fine. Thank you for the help.”

  “Yeah.” He’
s still holding his wrench, and his face…it’s not shuttered this time. In fact, it’s layered in emotion as he watches me with Wyatt. “Take care of her at that dorm, will you?” he adds.

  “Of course,” Wyatt murmurs.

  He and Wyatt exchange a long look, and it feels as if they might be friendly with each other.

  Knox nods and gives me one last glance, his face back to stone. “Good.”

  He and Dane walk over to his car.

  Once they’ve pulled out, I turn to Wyatt, who’s now inspecting my new tire. “You know the football players well?”

  He shrugs, a meh expression on his face. “I play baseball, and jocks tend to hang out. We’ve been to a few parties together, but I ain’t like them, see. I’m no Shark.” Shak. He breaks out another grin. “Stupid name, right? I mean our mascot is the Dragons. I’m new here and they don’t like outsiders, but when you’re me, you don’t give a fuck.”

  I study that eyebrow piercing, the sleeve of tattoos on his forearm, a mix of hummingbirds and roses intermingled. Recognition hits.

  “Oh my God! You’re Wyatt Carrington…your dad—your dad’s the lead singer of the Snowballs, right? Indie band from Boston? Started his career as a model and switched to music back in the nineties?”

  A slow blush starts up his neck. “Most people don’t recognize me until I tell them—”

  “No shit, you look JUST like him. Geeze. I love their music.” I pause. “And thanks for being nice to me this morning. Sorry if I was a jerk. I wasn’t ready for it. First day jitters.”

  “No problem.” He gives me a fist bump. “We’ll be friends if you tell me you’re a Red Sox fan? Yes?”

  I laugh. “Is that the sport with a long stick? Dude, I don’t know jack about baseball.”

  “I can live with that. Just don’t ever bring up the Yankees and we’re golden.”

  I laugh, then my eyes follow Knox’s flashy car as it pulls out onto the highway. I chew on my lips. “Hey, what do you think about Knox Grayson? You like him?”

  Wyatt follows my gaze then grins wistfully. “I think he’s fucking hot. That big-ass body…and those guns on his arms, fuck. If only he went that way. Damn shame.”