Nothing is given freely here. If you’re good and you bust your ass, then you get playing time. However, if you screw up or screw off, then you dwindle away until one day you’re no longer at practice or sitting on the bench at all. I’ve worked too hard, for too long to give my spot away.
My parents were so proud of my athletic ability when I was growing up; I refuse to let them be disappointed in me now that I’m getting somewhere with it. The fight last weekend wasn’t like me at all. I’ve had haters my entire life, but they usually aren’t able to get through to me like that. I can only imagine the disappointment my parents must’ve been feeling if they were watching from above.
One thing that hasn’t changed from when I was in high school is the amount of women giving it up freely whenever I want it. Chicks seem to flock to me whether I’m on the bench or playing the entire game. It’s not the small high school or away girls anymore; it’s anyone and everyone sending me the ‘I’d fuck you’ looks. I’ve even had a few dudes hit on me. Freaked me the hell out at first, but I learned to roll with it.
College is a new life in itself. Being in my second year, I’m still adapting. My brothers have no clue what I deal with. Well, Clyde has some, since he went for a while; however, I prefer the normalcy of when I’m at home and can decompress. Here at school, I’m always on.
“Ty! My man!” DaShwan yells, throwing me a peace sign as he passes by, full of a bright smile.
“Get it, Gator!” I holler back, using his nickname and chuckling. I don’t know him well, but he’s been someone who’s cheered me on since I first got here. For those people, I’m grateful. They helped me power through the tougher times of being at a new school and not knowing anyone.
JJ catches up at my side, and we bump each other’s forearms in greeting. “Bro, we fucking missed you Saturday.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. That game was some bullshit.” I tried not to watch it, but gave in and turned it on in time to see Bama get creamed. I’m sure Coach flipped out on the entire team.
“Stratton was so hot that you weren’t playing. He was going apeshit on everyone, riding the guys like nothing else.”
That’s what I figured, but what else is new, Coach flips out if I miss a warm up, let alone an entire game. “So everyone’s going to be pissed at me today then.” Not being able to play was punishment enough; I don’t need to catch any flak from the guys as well. Bad enough a few of them texted me Saturday evening telling me to eat shit the next time I want to get kicked out of a game.
“Or they’re going to be thanking God that you’re back in the locker room and on the field so that Coach will chill the fuck out. I’m telling you bro, when you get picked up in the draft, I think Stratton’s going to have to retire early from a stroke. He thinks you hung the moon, pretty boy,” he teases, and I roll my eyes. Laughing, I shake my head as my other buddy, Chandler approaches us.
“What-the-fuck-ever, dude. He likes me now. Wait till we get someone better, then I’ll be scrubbing toilets and running the field every time I look at him wrong.”
“Sup, Ty, JJ,” Chandler interrupts, and we bump forearms with him next. “Christ, Ty, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier that you’re coming to practice before.” He huffs.
JJ turns to me. “See bro, told you. Bama’s golden boy and all that jazz.”
“Stop! You know I hate hearing that shit,” I grumble, too busy paying attention to the guys while my body harshly slams into something.
“Oof!” A female voice squeaks as she lands on her butt, sprawling out to catch herself with her hands. Standing in front of her, students veer around us without offering her any help like a bunch of dicks.
“Shit! I’m so sorry,” I stammer out—concerned—and reach down to get her back up on her feet. Her heated chocolate gaze glares up at me full of fire, irritated like I’m the one who bumped into her and not the other way around.
After a moment, she finally places her soft palm in my hand. Her fingers are so small enclosed in my own, and as her skin makes contact with mine, I get a jolt. The shock relaying all the way to my toes is powerful enough to force me to do a double take.
Running my eyes over her again, I note her slightly flushed cheeks. Her skin’s creamy, and with the blush peppering her skin it’s almost as if she’s turned on. Her heaving chest is much more noticeable when paying attention too; she’s not overly big in the bust area, but more like the perfect handful. Top it all off with a pair of plain reading glasses, the type you’d see a chick dressed up as a naughty school teacher wear. I’d skimmed over it all on the first glance I had of her, but she’s stunning, truly, in an understated way.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I ask again, my voice coming out a bit rougher after taking a better look at her and help her to her feet. The shock still has me a bit shaken.
I quickly lift her bag as well, showing the manners my parents instilled in me as a kid. She still hasn’t spoken, and I’m dying inside to finally hear her, to see if she has a sultry voice to match the slight pout her peach lips make while she quickly takes stock of my body. Time seems to slow as her gaze runs up my body and then flutters back down it. My chest puffs in her perusal. I definitely like what I see, and I’m suspecting that she realizes just who she ran into.
The guys both stand next to me, quiet and grinning at our exchange. I’m surprised they haven’t butted in and tried to introduce themselves or made some smartass joke to embarrass me.
“Umm, yeah. I’m fine, I guess,” she grumbles, clearly still irritated as she stares at my hand as if she felt the zap also. I wonder if she did. It was probably just static or something, right? I don’t normally shock people when we touch, but maybe I didn’t use enough fabric softener this time. I wonder what she’s thinking.
“Your bag.” I hold the blue straps out toward her, noticing a lime green quote on the front pocket. ‘Fuck off, I’m reading. Seriously, off you fuck!’ I read aloud, chuckling. She clearly has a thing for books.
“What?” Her gaze finally meets mine, and she instantly consumes every thought I have at the moment, the quote and her bust size fading to the back of my mind as I take in the most gorgeous set of irises I’ve ever seen.
As quickly as possible, I catalog the little beauty mark on her cheek. Then onto the soft pale peach ‘kiss me’ lips that are again in a slight pout as she stares at me and fuck if I don’t wish that I could press mine to them. Her perfectly shaped brows that I’m sure other women spend way too much time worrying about, all framed by long chestnut locks with a few stripes of peek-a-boo red showing through. “What?” She repeats, and I blink, coming back down to earth. She has the type of features a man could get lost in.
“Um, here’s your bag.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” She snatches it up, careful to avoid touching my palm again. Once it’s shouldered, she hurries around me in the opposite direction.
“Wait!” escapes in a yell before I can catch myself and hear JJ quietly chuckle behind me.
“Yeah?” she calls as she walks backward, and I’m amazed she doesn’t bump into anyone else.
“Are you all right?” It’s the only thing I can come up with to ask, never mind that I keep repeating myself. It’s like I’m in second grade again and I’m attempting to talk to the first pretty girl I’ve seen before.
“I’m fine,” she yells back, ending with my nickname, “Freight Train.” Her short form gets swallowed up amongst the students, effectively making me lose her. I can’t believe she knows my name...Wait, of course, she knows who I am. Shit, who is she?
Turning back to the JJ and Chandler, I mutter, “Who was that? And how have I only just noticed her? Do we know her?”
The guys both laugh louder at me and Chandler tugs on my bag. “Come on; we’re going to have to run to the field unless you want to do burpees after practice. And no, we don’t know her.”
JJ groans, “Fuck that nonsense, come on!”
“Owens!” Someone shouts from down the hal
lway, but I ignore it, glancing at my watch.
Shit. I’m definitely going to get my ass in more trouble at this rate.
Placing my other arm through my backpack strap, I take off in a sprint to the athletic center. JJ and Chandler follow, catching up and running beside me. Time isn’t on our side right now, and I refuse to run suicides or do flipping burpees for being late. Who knows what Coach has in store already for me missing the game.
Tyler Owens of all the people for me to choose to run into today! Why couldn’t it be the science geek again from last week? Of course, it’s my luck to run into Alabama’s freaking star athlete when I’m rushing to class. I bet he was appalled being the spoiled football jock and all.
And what was that exactly when we touched? Did he feel it, too, or was it just me? It had to be me; he didn’t let on that it affected him. I need to stop dragging my feet, or I’ll go around static shocking anyone I come in contact with. So freaking embarrassing, I swear.
Everyone talks about how good looking Tyler is, but I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing him in person. Sure I watch football, but not college games. I wouldn’t have even known it was him had I not seen the posters and banners with his face plastered on them as ‘Bama’s Golden Boy.’
Blegh.
Don’t get me wrong; he has a nice face—prominent nose, high cheekbones, eyes full of mischief with lips promising to uphold his naughty thoughts. All topped off with a ball cap pulled down low, giving him just an ounce of mystery. It’s enough so that you want to lift it and see the rest of him. When he spoke to me, it took everything in me not to reach up and push his hat off. I felt like I was in a trance and his teeth were so damn white; how is that possible?
He was probably disgusted to have someone normal slam into him and not a football player. I’ve heard the ‘too perfect’s’ talk before. You know the fake-boobed-bimbo types blabbing around campus, about how they like to fawn all over him whenever he ‘allows’ it. At least I get it now why they worship him, well looks-wise anyhow.
I was struck dumb for a moment myself. And he’s massive in size, like a tower over you and makes you feel tiny, type of big. Not in a rough, scary way, but more of a holy shit he’s buff and strong and super hot.
And Jesus, I was completely shocked when it first happened, and I glanced up to find that the solid chest belonged to him of all people. I wasn’t expecting his help either, that threw me for a loop even more. Kindly offering me his hand to stand back up was polite, considering it was my fault and most students would’ve been cursing me had it been them instead. His grip was tight but not enough to hurt me, just enough to offer the support I needed. I’ll admit it; I may have slightly swooned when my palm met his.
He had this goofy smile when he asked if I was okay and it was sorta cute. I’m not used to guys looking at me like that too much, maybe if I’m at the pool in my swimsuit with my glasses off. Then they may, but not when I’m in my comfy school clothes. I just blend in with all the other faceless students I guess. I kinda like it that way, though.
God, who am I kidding, it wasn’t just ‘sorta cute,’ but more like he was completely adorable with that grin when he called me sweetheart. I swear my heart skipped a beat when he said it. No one’s ever called me sweetheart before—not even my dad.
No wonder why women throw themselves at him. I’ve heard the stories around campus; he’s like a dog in heat. There are rumors that he’s even shuffled multiple conquests through his door on the same night. All the females claim that he’s a stallion in the sack with a body to die for. The chicks love to brag that they got him off or whatever.
Personally, I think it’s gross no matter how gorgeous he may be. I know one thing is for sure, I will never be one of them. Not that he’d want me to be or anything, I’m just reassuring myself after coming in contact with his killer smile and Superman-like body.
Superman...Geez, that perfectly explains how hard his body felt. I bet if you peeled that shirt off he’d be shredded like most of the guys on my book covers.
Shit, maybe I should use some sanitizer after touching those hands. Thinking about him and all of his conquests has me shuddering. Speaking of his hands, they were surprisingly rougher than I would expect, even if he does handle a football regularly.
And those muscles in his arms, flexing when he pulled me up. Sweet baby Jesus, I could’ve fanned myself right then. Thank goodness I didn’t; that would’ve been even more embarrassing.
Now, I understand how women can get sucked in so easily with him. Oh God, I hope he doesn’t think I ran into him on purpose. I bet he totally does and that’s why he was smiling like that. He most likely thinks I’m freaking pathetic.
Shit.
Huffing out a tired breath from my short jog to class, I plop down in my usual seat, happy I at least made it here on time today. I don’t get it why they had to make the campus so freaking big. I feel like I have to walk a mile just to get to any of my classes. I love it here, though, minus the size. The professors are great, and I’ve made a few friends in passing. Well, maybe not actual friends, but I do say hi to a few familiar faces.
Geesh, I need to push the ‘Freight Train’ out of my mind. He’s just a stupid jock, even if he was polite. My best friend is going to freak when I tell her about this.
Taking my cell out, I quickly punch out a text to Brianne so that I can fill her in on what just happened.
Me: I just face-planted straight into Tyler Owens!
She shouldn’t be surprised about the face plant part; that happens like once a week to me. Only it’s not usually this entertaining.
My phone lights up with her calling me instantly, but I hit ‘deny’ since the class is fixing to start. The last thing I want is more attention.
Brianne: Ty? No way! What did he say?
Me: Umm...Ty? Since when is he Ty to you?
Brianne: That’s what he tells everyone here to call him.
Me: Wait, you’ve spoken to him before?
Brianne: Yes, he’s in my creative writing course.
Me: Tyler Owens takes creative writing? And how come you haven’t told me about this before now?
Brianne: IDK, I didn’t think you’d care or I would have. He’s a smart guy. What did he say when you ran him over?
Professor Reynolds walks in, clearing his throat, so I type out one last text, quieting my phone.
Me: I didn’t run him over!!!!! It’s class time now, but you’re filling me in later!
Mr. Reynolds starts talking right away, so I don’t check her response. I shove my phone into my bag and grab my pen and notebook, scribbling notes down quickly as the instructor rambles on. I learned my first year that if I don’t take a lot of notes, then I forget everything. Half of the curriculum is so boring; I could be watching paint dry with more excitement. I tried the recording device thing, and it wasn’t for me, I need the process of actually writing it down. The connection of pen to paper—physically writing the notes—seem to implement everything more accurately for me.
Mr. Reynolds drones on with his lesson plan, and I zone out, missing the majority of his lecture. I can’t help it; I keep replaying the way Tyler felt, the timbre of his voice, and how I wish I could see him again. Pretty weird considering he’s not my usual type—at all. God, he was handsome and sweet.
Why do I want to see him again anyway? The first time wasn’t embarrassing enough? I think I figured out what’s bothering me the most, though. I never apologized to him, and it’s those damn southern manners kicking in, making me feel guilty about it. I shouldn’t feel bad because he seemed to be in just as much of a hurry with his friends as I was. If anything, we’re both at fault, and I should just drop it. That’s a good plan, partial ownership and all, so he’s guilty too.
Ty’s just so different than I’d expected and it has my head spinning. It’s making it harder to stop thinking about him, why couldn’t he have just been rude? Then I would’ve moved right along like nothing.
It’s been awhi
le since I thought of my type. Do I even have one? I suppose it’s rather varied.
The last guy I dated was a cute writer. He would think up these sweet poems and give them to me. I loved that part of him, just not the idea of him liking men more than he did women. It kind of defeated the purpose of us being together. No hard feelings in the end and we remain friends, and he’s happily dating a scruffy painter.
Before the writer was Jake.
Agh Jake.
He was a summer boy. The type that comes to visit his grandparents, and when it’s time to return to school, he goes back home and then you never see him again. Gosh, he was good-looking and tanned from the hours he spent as a lifeguard at the local pool. After the pool would close, he’d sneak me in, and we’d swim for hours. I had so much fun with him.
Before Jake was the guy I lost my virginity to. He was your typical high school bad boy. He rode a dirt bike and had an old, beat-up leather jacket. His ear and tongue were pierced, and I thought he was amazing at the time. Well, at least until we slept together and then I caught him making out with a cheerleader a few days later. He’s lucky my father didn’t find out about him. That would’ve been ugly.
I cried like it was the end of the world at the time. However, I got over it after a short period of time and became dedicated to my schoolwork. It all worked out for me too; I got a partial scholarship, and if the rumors that went around the school are true, he got syphilis.
Payback’s a bitch—even more of a reason to be a decent human being!
Not only that, but it taught me to be more careful. I was entirely too naïve and trusting back then. I learned the hard way, unfortunately.
I’ve never had a thing for athletes before, more like the opposite. They’re egotistical, smug, and too much work. On the plus side, they do have nice butts and cute smiles, eyes, voice...Well, everything it would seem when I think of Tyler. And, surprisingly, he also had manners. I wonder if all the talk about his ‘package’ is true too. Hung like a horse, makes me blush just thinking about it.
Freight Train Page 3
