Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology

by Paige, Rochelle

  His name is Luka and I did love him. He lived at the group home but moved to Texas for college.

  Do you still see him? Email him? Text him?

  Whoa. SA is poking a little hard.

  Another text comes in. Never mind. I don’t want to talk about him.

  Okaayyy. But how many girls have you been with?

  Anyone I’ve ever wanted except you.

  My fingers clutch the phone.

  Is that what this is then? A way to bag the girl who got away?

  NO.

  Then what is this?

  I don’t know.

  A hard, rapid series of knocks sounds on my door and I look up. It’s past eight and visiting hours ended an hour ago. In fact, the hallway’s been eerily quiet tonight, an almost expectant air in the stillness. I frown and type.

  Hey, someone’s at my door. Weird, right, this late and all?

  Don’t answer the door, Ava.

  I set my phone down and look at my booty shorts and white camisole. Not exactly how I want to greet someone.

  “Who’s there?” I ask at the door without opening it, but all I get is a whole lot of silence.

  I look through the peephole, but no one’s there. Frowning, I bend down to my hands and knees to see if I can see feet or a shadow, but it’s only the bright white lights of the hallway. Briefly, I consider calling the resident assistant, but I’m a grown-ass girl and I’m tough as nails. I could text Wyatt, but he said earlier he was headed out to grab dinner with some guys from the team. Still, I think he’d come up to my floor, even though visiting hours are over.

  But…

  There’s no one there. It’s fine. Someone probably just knocked on the wrong door, realized it, and moved on. Maybe it was for Camilla, the girl across the hall who’s from California. I met her earlier this week when I moved in.

  I start pacing the floor, feeling that anxious pit in my stomach growing. I stop in front of the door and soon it’s not just a door, but a symbol of the insidious fear that refuses to let go.

  “Ava!” The voice is male and low and instantly recognizable.

  I fling the door open.

  “Knox! What are you doing here?”

  My eyes run over him. He’s still in football practice clothes, his hair damp and pushed back off his face. I swallow at his roped forearms and tanned skin, the sculpted muscles, the hardness of his thighs through his pants. A few days ago, that body was pressed against mine.

  Damn him, why is he so fucking hot?

  For the past few days in class, he’s been super polite but distant. Neither of us have brought up that kiss. He’s sat next to me, tense and wired, as if barely holding himself back from…something. Periodically, he’d look over at Chance then back at me.

  At lunch today, he stopped at my table and asked someone to scoot over so he could sit with me. I arched a brow at him but didn’t speak, and we just sat there uncomfortably, him watching me eat my sandwich.

  Why? To up my street cred, I guess.

  I can’t do this. Those were his words.

  Tonight his eyes have hints of ice yet they’re hot, as if he’s two different people, part of him battling to escape. Yep, sounds about right.

  I cock my hip at the door frame, feeling almost relieved he’s here.

  Dammit.

  “Got done with practice. It’s just around the corner. Thought I’d come over and check on you.”

  “Someone knocked on my door about five minutes ago. It wasn’t you?”

  “Nope.” He looks down the quiet hall, studying the closed doors. He even walks to the end of the corridor, opens the stairwell door, and checks it out. He’s carrying a duffle bag.

  “Whoever it was, they’re gone. May I come in? I think you’re going to need some help tonight.” He leans against the edge of my doorway, and he’s wearing a cocky grin. It’s so different from the coolness of the past few days that I feel disarmed.

  I cross my arms. “Why the heck is King Jock standing at my door asking to come in?”

  He smirks. “Trust me, Tulip, you’re going to need me.” He holds up the duffle bag. “I have supplies.”

  I arch a brow. “Color me intrigued.” I do a sweeping motion. “Please, come in.”

  He waltzes inside, running his eyes over my small room, taking in the twin bed and small dresser that come standard with the rooms in the dorm. My window is bare and I haven’t had time to put up pictures yet—or the money—for the cutesy little twinkle lights my neighbor Camilla has.

  “You need to decorate,” he says, looking around.

  I huff out a laugh.

  He turns to face me. “A girl like you deserves pretty things, Ava.”

  I frown. “Don’t say things like that, Knox. What’s in the duffle? A cute lamp? Some posters?”

  He shrugs. “No time to waste with small talk. These need to be filled stat, and I suggest changing out of that white shirt and putting on pants.”

  What?

  He opens the duffle and pulls out a bag of multi-colored balloons.

  “Why would I need balloons?”

  He darts a look at me. “Prank night at Moreshead. Wyatt didn’t tell you?”

  I shrug. He’s been busy with baseball, and he’s spotty in the dorm, plus he’s on a different floor. “I’m not exactly at the top of the to-be-informed list these days.”

  “It’s an annual thing, and I heard this afternoon that it might be tonight. Seems it’s a secret until it happens then all hell breaks loose.” He pauses. “Hijinks are about to commence, and if someone knocked on your door, that might have been code for get ready. You better be ready unless you want to hide under your bed and hope for the best.”

  My spine straightens. “I was born ready! I don’t hide from anyone. And I have heard of prank night. Even the staff gets involved, right? Or at least they let it slide as long as we clean up? Guess it slipped my mind since I’ve never lived in the dorms until now—thanks to my mystery donor.”

  He starts, pausing in his handoff of a wad of balloons. “Right. You take these and start filling in the bathroom.”

  “Bossy,” I murmur as he drops half the balloons in my outstretched hands then rushes into my tiny bathroom. I follow, and he’s in the small shower with the cold water on, his hands filling up a pink balloon. “Take the sink. Don’t fill them too much—we don’t want them to burst.”

  I gape at the football player…in my shower. “You’re like…really into this, aren’t you?”

  “Less talking, more filling, Tulip. I came to help you and we’re gonna kick ass together, you feel me?” He flicks water in my direction. “Get to work.”

  I grin. I like this side of him. “You participate every year?”

  “Nope. This is for you.”

  Oh. I let that settle and decide I’ll ponder it more later.

  A few minutes later, we’ve collected a pile of about fifty balloons, and he’s placing them back in his duffle with careful hands.

  “How many do we need?” I ask.

  “All of them. This isn’t a night you want to be shorthanded.” His eyes drift over me, starting at my legs and lingering before coming up to my face. “Babe, as much as I like seeing you in booty shorts, you need to change. I’m talking sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Tennis shoes might be a good idea so you don’t slip.”

  I gape. Again. “How bad is this going to get?”

  Another wide grin.

  I shake my head. “You are crazy. Fine, fine, let me change.” I march over to my dresser, pull out a pair of leggings, and pull them on over my shorts. When I turn around, he’s watching me, those intense eyes low and heavy. “This work?”

  “Anything works on you.”

  I blush.

  There’s a clatter out in the hall as if something metal has hit the floor.

  “Is that the start? What was that noise?” I don’t mean to be uneasy, but I am.

  He walks over to me slowly, puts a finger to my lips. “Don’t be jumpy, bab
e. We got this.”

  I feel a sudden rush of heat at his touch, and I must be crazy because my mouth opens and I nip at his finger. “Don’t call me babe, Shark. I’m the least babe there is in the whole world, okay? I’m a person.”

  He lowers his hand. “Don’t call me Shark and we have a deal.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m not giving up, Tulip. I happen to like it very much.”

  “Didn’t say you had to.”

  His gaze lands on my mouth. “Good.”

  The moment is broken when another clatter comes from the hallway.

  He walks back to the door.

  “What’s the signal?” I say, secretly hoping he shushes me again.

  “We’ll know it when we hear—”

  HONK!

  A blaring air horn slices through the silence, loud and irritating. “Oh, shit,” I murmur, adrenaline pumping.

  He grabs the duffle and puts a few balloons in my hand. “Follow me,” he says, and then he slowly opens the door.

  We enter the hall, and he’s crouched down to make himself a smaller target. I instinctively follow close behind.

  “Use me as a shield, got it?”

  I nod, feeling the heat coming off his back, tracing my eye over his broad shoulders—

  What is wrong with me? I’m about to get into a water war, and all I can think about is Knox.

  The hallway is as quiet as a church on Sunday.

  “I’m starting to think the prank is you making me think there’s something going on.” I peek over him to get a better look around.

  A huge water balloon bursts on my chest. I sputter.

  “Boo-yah! Nailed one!” calls a female voice, and I turn and see a group of underclassmen girls running toward us from the end of the hall, flinging balloons.

  “Hit ’em!” calls Knox, and I return fire, missing.

  “Your aim sucks,” he groans, and I glare at him.

  “I’m just warming up. Give me a minute—”

  Another one hits me on the cheek, water drenching my face.

  “You know, we could just hide in my room and watch Dirty Dancing,” I call out as I lob another one and it falls short. One of the girls picks it up and throws it back at us, hitting Knox square on the head. I giggle.

  He was looking at me, caught unaware, and well, it’s funny. He wipes water off of him. “You mean…you’d be alone with me and watch a movie? Is that like a date?”

  I pick at a piece of purple balloon stuck to his face. “Date, shmate. It’s just a movie night.”

  He blinks. “Okay, deal. But right now, we can’t let these girls beat us.”

  I pick up another one, and just when they’re about twenty feet away, I sail it across and it splats on Camilla’s pretty blonde head.

  I grimace. I kinda liked her.

  Knox nails two of the girls, which slows them down, but there are only two of us and several of them, including a group of guys I recognize as residents.

  We run down the hall to see another group approaching from the other direction. They’re throwing balloons at us along with the other group. Apparently, it’s a free-for-all.

  “In here!” Knox yells, ripping open the door to a maintenance closet near the stairwell.

  We dive in and shut the door, hearing balloons burst outside.

  He glances down at my water-soaked camisole.

  “I told you to change. Your nipples are hard.”

  I elbow him. “Eyes on my face, football player.”

  He laughs, then sobers and leans down, brushing his lips across my cheek.

  I suck in a breath. “What was that for?”

  He stares at me. “I’m sorry for being an ass after we kissed. I’m sorry for being so hot and cold.”

  “Meh, it’s cool. You don’t like to kiss.”

  His eyes burn. “I fucking want to kiss you. That’s the problem. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

  Me neither.

  He chews on his bottom lip. “If you want to try again—”

  We hear new shouts and girly screams out in the hall.

  “Catch them!” someone exclaims.

  “I’m allergic!” another girl yells.

  “What the hell—” Knox says just as a white and black furry arm reaches under the door, claws extended as it pats around the floor.

  “Oh my god, is that a cat?” I ask. “What is going on out there?” My statement is ludicrous considering the mayhem outside.

  He opens the door, and a small black-and-white-striped cat darts into the closet, gives us a scathing glare and a hiss, and then hides behind a mop bucket.

  We lean past the door and peek out. People—and cats—are dashing everywhere.

  I frown, angry. “We have to catch the poor little guys. How did they all get in here?”

  “No clue.”

  Another water balloon hits me in the side of the head as we venture out. “Dammit!” I yell at whoever threw it, but they’re already running away.

  “Ava! Knox! Follow me!” shouts a familiar voice.

  It’s Wyatt as he runs past, arms full of balloons.

  We dodge people as we catch up with him, taking the stairwell. Girls and guys with water guns chase after us while Knox throws balloons at them, beating them back until they shut the door. Nice job, QB1.

  We rush down to Wyatt’s floor and enter the hall, where I come to a halt, slipping a little on the water. Holy shit. There are no cats, but a white powder coats the wet floor and walls. Flour?

  The lights suddenly go out and I scream. I hate the freaking dark now.

  A tall frame pulls me close, and it’s Knox. “It’s okay. I got you.” He sweeps me up and runs down the hall. I don’t even know how he can see except for the few windows at the end of the hall that allow a little bit of moonlight in.

  “Where are we going?” I press my face into his neck, hoping he’s not aware that I’m totally smelling him.

  “Wyatt’s. I figure he went to his room. I know the way.”

  He fumbles around with me in his arms, opens a door, and darts inside, setting me down on my feet.

  Sure enough, Wyatt is in the middle of the room, holding flashlights. He tosses one to Knox, who catches it. He laughs, looking at us before focusing on Knox. “Dude, didn’t know you did prank night.”

  “Came as Ava’s backup. Didn’t think she’d like being surprised.”

  “Yeah, it would have been nice if you’d told me.” I glare at Wyatt, and he just grins and waggles his eyebrows.

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  The lights blink back on, and suddenly a Bluetooth speaker in Wyatt’s room explodes with a familiar tune by Rick Astley. It blares out in the hall as well.

  “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you…”

  “Fuck. Someone hacked all the speakers,” Knox says, shaking his head, his face incredulous. “This thing gets nuttier every year—or so I’ve heard.”

  “Seriously, is the entire building being rick-rolled?” I exclaim. “I’M IN HELL!” Wyatt and Knox start laughing, and I join them. “It’s fun, okay, it is, but this song…oh my God.”

  “Let’s get back out there,” Knox says as he grabs a handful of balloons. He’s way too pumped for this, but I’m feeling it too—as long as he’s with me. My heart pounds with excitement.

  “One, two, three…” he yells and yanks the door open then we rush out.

  HONK!

  The air horn blares again, and everyone in the hall freezes, wails of disappointment coming from every direction.

  I look around. “What’s going on?”

  “Prank night is over. I repeat, prank night is over,” is the announcement that comes over the loud speakers. It’s a female voice, probably Miss Henderson, the dorm mom. “Please grab a mop, broom, or stray cat and put the building back together. If everyone will return to their own floor, we’ll get this place back in shape. If you don’t return Moreshead
Dorm to pristine condition, this will be the last prank night ever and all underclassmen will blame you forever. And please, oh please, would whoever hacked everyone’s speakers turn off Rick Astley? I can’t even think with that on.”

  We say goodbye to Wyatt and head back up the stairwell to my floor. Sure enough, Miss Henderson is standing there, her hair everywhere, out of its usual high ponytail. Even her clothes are soaked. She tilts her head toward a cage. “Put the cats in here. In the future, please don’t bring small animals.” Her voice is stern. “They could have been hurt, and I do not approve. In fact, I plan on writing up those involved. If you know who’s responsible, please let me know.” She picks up one of the smaller cats and rubs its head, giving us all a side-eye. A few of the girls giggle and she glares at them. “I believe I counted five. I want them all rounded up and safe.”

  Knox nods. “My bet is on the freshman girls. Amateurs.” He’s looking at the girls who were laughing, who are now calling his name and giving him little finger waves as they check him out.

  “Hey, Knox,” one calls, giving him flirty eyes. “You should have been on our team.”

  Another one shouts, “Wanna come help us clean up, Knox?”

  They stare at me and a few whisper behind their hands, and even though most of them are younger than me, I figure everyone knows who I am.

  I give them death stares, my hackles rising. He gets a lot of this from girls at Camden. Funny how it never bothered me before.

  Camilla steps forward, blocking them from my view. “I’ll take care of the cats, Miss Henderson. If they don’t belong to anyone, I’ll make sure they find a good home. I work at a humane shelter.”

  I make a mental note to get to know her better.

  I open the closet where we hid earlier to grab a mop.

  Something darts toward the door then changes its mind and heads back inside, huddling in the corner.

  “It’s our little friend,” says Knox from behind me. He was picking up pieces of balloons and stuffing them into a trash bag Miss Henderson gave him.

  I pick it up, but she claws at me and tries to jump down.

  “Hey, there,” Knox says, taking the cat from me and holding her. “Come here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  The cat hides her face inside the bend of his muscled arm.