Possession: A Football Romance (Stone Creek University Book 3)

by Lainey Davis

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Olive

  Stone Creek pulls out a win against Maryland, which is a bit of an upset, so the mood in the stadium is ecstatic. Fans are jumping and screaming, hugging and crying. I wind my way through everyone down to the players’ entrance to the stadium. The security guards know me by now and wave me through the barricade so I can wait for Bax in the training room.

  Justin glares at me, and I hesitate as I walk toward him. “Bax asked me to be here,” I tell him. “I’m off the clock, just here for my friend.” Justin furrows his brow and looks like he’s about to say something, when the guys start limping in from the field.

  “This is a restricted area. For players and staff only,” Justin finally says.

  The players who are really hurting stop by the training room before they even talk to the media, so they’re still peeling themselves out of shoulder pads and helmets. I glance around, but don’t see anyone I know well.

  When I don’t move, Justin grabs my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin, and quickly marches me to the hall. “Players and staff only, Ms. Hampton. You’ll do well to remember that.”

  Before I can open my mouth again to protest, I hear the sound of football spikes clacking down the hall. I look over to see Baxter coming slowly.

  “Shit, Liv,” he says, and I can see that he’s really in pain. He doesn’t even comment that Justin laid his hands on me, and Justin quickly releases my arm as Baxter approaches.

  “It’ll be ok, Bax. We’ll get you fixed up.” I squeeze his hand and he winces. He walks into the room and turns around, to see that Justin has blocked my path again.

  “Ms. Hampton will have to meet you afterward, Morgan,” he practically sneers. “This space is for athletic team personnel and players only. If you could please let us do our job.” Justin moves to shut the door.

  “What the fuck,” Baxter roars. He tries to lift his arm, and then winces and groans. He looks to Justin, pleading. “Please, man.”

  Coach Burns walks in the room just then and starts patting his players on the shoulder. “JT, tell me about your thumb, kiddo?” Coach makes his way around the room, checking everyone out while I stand hesitating in the doorway, and Justin relents. His nostrils flare as he breathes. “Fine, she can come in. But she is not assessing. She is here in a moral support capacity.“

  Bax grabs for my hand. “Please stay,” he says again. I nod and stay close. Justin starts poking and prodding while Bax winces but tells him nothing hurts.

  Justin rolls his eyes and grabs Baxter’s arm. He raises it up and tries to circle it around as Baxter moans. Justin doesn’t seem to be reading Baxter’s nonverbal cues at all, is just going through the motions of a joint check. He doesn’t even look to see Baxter’s obvious pain response when he performs certain maneuvers. It’s killing me not to jump in, not to say what I suspect has happened.

  “Hey,” I say, finally, stepping in between Baxter’s legs. I grab his cheeks and pull his face down so his forehead rests against mine. “You have to tell us where it hurts so we can help you.”

  Justin nudges me out of the way. “Olive, that’s enough. Let us do our jobs here.”

  “Don’t fucking talk to her that way,” Bax says, jumping up off the table.

  His chest heaves. “Bax,” I say. “It’s ok. But you need to tell him what hurts or he can’t fix it.”

  “I need you to fucking fix it, Liv.” He tries to raise his arm to touch my shoulder, and he can’t. I think I know exactly what’s wrong, why he can’t lift his arm, but before I can speak up, Justin growls that I need to leave the room.

  This gets Coach Burns’s attention, and he whips around.

  “What the hell is going on over here, Morgan?”

  “Coach, I want Olive to check me out,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “Well then have her check you out. What’s all this caterwauling burning holes in my ears?”

  I bite my lip and stand to the side while Justin glares at me. “Olive Hampton no longer interns with the football team, Coach,” Justin says. “She is, as you know, an undergrad, and has been reassigned to the swim team where she can earn more—”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck if she’s a hot dog vendor.” Coach Burns spits his gum out onto the table next to Bax. “My players are finely tuned machines. This finely tuned machine has it in his thick skull he wants a specific mechanic. Give him the god damned mechanic.”

  Bax grins and, with his good arm, rubs the hair at the back of his neck. Coach walks away, and Justin throws his hands up. “This is a fucking liability waiting to happen,” he says. He moves on to another player laid up on a nearby table.

  I’m not sure what the fallout will be, but I’m sure it’s not good. But I can’t worry about that now. Baxter is injured.

  I step in front of him and help him out of his shoulder pads. “Ok, bud,” I tell him, placing a gentle hand on his leg. “You going to be honest with me about what’s wrong?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bax

  “IT’S MY SHOULDER,” I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut. “It’s my fucking shoulder, Livvy.”

  “Ok,” she says, soothing, brushing her hand through my hair and leaving a trail of sparks along my skin. I’m scared and I know she knows it. I felt something creak when I flattened that Maryland runner. I’m so fucking mad about it, too. My head hasn’t been right since last night. I didn’t get enough sleep and I’m all over the place with my thoughts, thinking about what Kevan said.

  If I don’t know my teammates, if I can’t read people like I thought, can I read the offense? Can I even fucking do anything? Liv tries to lift my arm and I groan.

  It started hurting even worse when her dickhead boss was moving it around. “Bax,” she says, gently moving my arm around. “I’m going to assess your A-C joint, ok?”

  I don’t know what the hell that means, but if Olive says I need it, fine. I’m not letting that asshole guy put his hands on me again, though. I can tell you that.

  By this time, my roommates are done getting checked out and are standing around staring. I growl at them. “Take a picture, guys. It’ll last longer.”

  “Hey,” Liv says, squeezing my leg. God, that feels good. Her touch almost makes me forget the stinging ache in my shoulder. “Be nice, ok? I think I know what’s wrong.”

  Justin steps away from whatever he was doing and frowns at me. He starts asking me stupid questions I don’t feel like answering, and then he tries manipulating my arm. I yank it away from him. “I want Olive to do it,” I snap.

  My shoulder is starting to throb.

  “Hey,” Olive says, resting her palm on my cheek. She never touches me this much. Fuck, she must know something’s wrong. I cannot afford to have something really wrong. “How about if Justin and I do it together, ok? I’m right here.”

  He rolls his eyes and nods, and then resumes trying to lift my arm while Olive keeps her hand threaded with my left hand. She presses her other hand on my leg, and I try to focus on that. I hear Justin talking low with Olive, and she nods. She runs her fingers along my collar bone, and then points to the sore spot on my shoulder.

  “It’s right here, right, Bax?” She presses on the spot where my collar bone connects to my shoulder and I hiss.

  Justin sends one of the assistant trainers for ice and his attitude shifts a little, like he’s back to being pissed off. Good, that means it’s not too serious. “I think we’ve got a sprained A-C joint, Morgan,” he says. “One week no contact. Ice and stim. Some PT. It’s not separated or torn—just looks like you tweaked it when you made a tackle.”

  I nod. “What about the pain?”

  He cracks a maniacal grin. “Can’t handle a little pain?”

  “Fuck you, man. Step in my shoes for an hour and we’ll talk.” This is such bullshit. I look around for Coach, but he’s already left the room.

  Justin rolls his eyes, a-fucking-gain, and mutters that he’ll get the doc in here for a cortisone shot.

  Moth
er fucker. Those shots fucking hurt. I usually wind up getting one in my back each season. This sport is so damn painful. Olive must see me shivering, because she squeezes my hand. I realize she hasn’t let go this whole time. “I’ll be right here with you, ok?” I nod.

  Doc seems to be lining up a few shots of glory—some of my teammates lie ass up on a table, some have their knees exposed. None of them get their own personal angel with them, so I try to shut my mouth while they deal with the stick alone.

  Olive runs her fingers through my hair, soothing me. I know I need her. I need someone who just loves me, who has always loved me.

  Not even my own mother stuck around when our worlds exploded, but Olive was there. She’s always been there. I can’t risk losing this by answering some feral need I feel whenever I think about her.

  I can dip my dick anywhere.

  Olive knows what an injury-free season means to me to get my chance at the pros. So when she sees me tense up as Doc prepares the needle, she gives me a smile and I forget everything I just convinced myself about why I need to keep my hands off her.

  I can’t help it. Even with a giant needle headed toward my arm, I’ve got a raging hard-on.

  “Hey, Bax,” she says. “Don’t look at the needle. Just look at me.” I’m not sure which is harder.

  “She’s right, son,” Doc says, flicking the syringe. “Ease up now for me. Come on.”

  I try to tune him out and look into Olive’s eyes. Her face is so beautiful, even when it’s etched with concern. Neither of us ever had parents we could turn to with something like this. Something like physical pain or just reassurance. We only had each other. Could I throw caution to the wind and bang Olive Hampton? Probably. But look what I’d be risking to do that.

  I’m sure we’d have a good time—I always make sure ladies have a good time. But this means so much more to me. I bite my lip as the doctor inserts the needle and squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Just breathe, Bax. Breathe with me and it’ll be over soon.” Her breath is cool on my face and it smells like butterscotch. She must have been eating candy with Scotty’s mom. With the guys’ families.

  Someone forgot to tell my dick about Olive being off limits. For the millionth time, I have a fence post in my pants just from thinking about her, and having her hands all over me is not helping at all. I guess it’s good I’m still wearing my cup.

  “You should be good to go, son,” Doc says. “I agree with Justin’s assessment and treatment plan. I’ll get it written up and sent to Coach Burns.”

  “It was Olive, sir,” I tell him.

  “Come again?”

  “Olive figured out what was wrong. That Justin fucker brushed it off and—”

  Olive places a finger over my lips and I stop talking. Doc looks confused and clicks his pen open and closed a few times. “Want me to make note that Ms. Hampton provided valuable insight?”

  “Just make sure her name gets in there,” I tell him. “Hey, can I go shower?”

  When I get dismissed, I tell Olive to wait for me in the hall, and I spend a half hour just letting the scalding water roll off my body. The shot is supposed to take awhile to be effective, so Doc gave me painkillers.

  “Morgan, you coming out with us?” Scotty and Alex are dressed for the club, with slicked back hair and too much cologne. I should go out. It’s my senior year. I should celebrate a W.

  “I think I gotta go sleep this one off,” I say. “I jacked up my shoulder.”

  “You need someone to help you get home?” Scotty looks like he wished he hadn’t offered.

  I shake my head and shut off the tap. “Olive is here.” They seem relieved. She’ll take care of me. She always does.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Olive

  I CAN TELL Bax is really hurting when he finally finds me in the hall. I snagged another bag of ice from the training room while he was showering. “Looks like you and I have a date with the Roku tonight,” I tell him, shaking the bag of ice at him. “Let’s get you home.”

  Bax doesn’t say much as we walk to his car. I can tell he’s really in pain because he lets me drive his beat up old pickup. “Didn’t Doc give you some pain meds? You really should take something,” I tell him.

  He studies me for a minute, and fishes a pill bottle from his sweatpants pocket. I hand him my water bottle and he swallows the pills as I’m parking outside his building. “Let’s get you comfortable,” I tell him.

  By the time I have Bax on the couch with the bag of ice strapped to his shoulder, he’s drowsy and loopy from the pain meds. As he dozes off, I order takeout and perch on the edge of the couch.

  My timer goes off to remove his ice, and as I’m pulling the plastic from his skin, his eyes fly open. His pupils are dilated and I know the meds have kicked in. “Liv,” he says. “Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are?”

  I blush. “That’s awfully nice of you to say, Baxter Morgan. Thank you.” I tug the bag of ice free and toss it on the coffee table. “Let’s get your shirt back on.”

  But he yanks me against his chest with his good arm. “No,” he says. “I want to feel you, Livvy.” His speech is slurred and I know he’s not thinking clearly. But god, it does feel nice to have my hands pressed against the warm, muscled expanse of his chest.

  His good arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me close against him. I wriggle around a bit, not wanting to hurt him, and I realize his muscles aren’t the only thing that’s hard right now.

  I can’t help myself. I glance down at his sweatpants, where he evidently has a baseball bat stashed in his boxers. “Want you so bad,” he mutters, and then he thrusts his hips up against me.

  I flush from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes. This is everything I’ve fantasized about, except he’s messed up on pain meds and has no idea what he’s saying. “Bax, why don’t you let me get up and get you a drink, ok?”

  But he doesn’t let me get up. He rolls his hips against my jeans, moaning a little and when I meet his chocolate eyes, they’re molten. “Always want you,” he says, his tongue thick from the medication. His hand slips from around my waist and he takes my hand in his, bringing it to the stiff, throbbing erection under his sweats.

  I suck in my breath. He’s so hard. So hot. He presses my hand against his dick and groans with need. “Olive,” he says. My breath comes fast and shallow. I can feel my heart beating in my ears. I have no idea what to do, except I know that this can’t happen. Not now. Not when he’s messed up like this and has no idea what he’s even asking me.

  He lifts his head from the couch and captures my mouth in a gentle kiss and I feel a moan begin deep within me, escaping into his soft lips as they press against mine hungrily. How many times have I fantasized about kissing Baxter? Oh god, I’m kissing him back now, my tongue searching and roaming over his teeth. This is so wrong, but it feels better than almost anything I’ve ever done before.

  “Delivery!” I hear a knock at the door and I spring up from Baxter’s grasp. My heart is racing and his head drops back down on the arm of the couch.

  I open the door and snatch the food bag, thanking the delivery guy, and I set everything on the counter. I stand in the kitchen, catching my breath, smoothing out my hair. He won’t remember any of this, I tell myself. This is all the pain meds.

  “Think you can eat, Bax?” I stick my head around the corner to the living room, and I see that he’s sound asleep on the couch, still shirtless.

  I pick at the food and put it away, never taking my eyes off him. He doesn’t stir. As I stare at his crotch, I notice with mixed emotions that his erection has gone down, too. Eventually, I toss a blanket over him and turn off the television. Not wanting to leave him alone, I decide to crawl in his bed, just so I’m close by if he needs me.

  I wake up sometime in the middle of the night and Baxter is in the bed with me, his chin nuzzled against my shoulder, his good arm draped around my waist.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 
; Bax

  I WAKE UP with Olive in my bed, like some fucking fantasy come true. She must have brought me home and taken care of me last night. I can’t remember anything past the car ride when she told me to take my meds. My shoulder hurts less this morning—more of a dull ache than an acute, stabbing pain.

  I think Doc said I was supposed to come in this morning to start rehab stuff. My stomach grumbles and I realize I’m fucking starving. Olive starts to stir so I do what any good friend would do, and I flick her. “Hey,” I whisper. “I’m going out for bagels. You want one?” She nods and rolls over.

  I pat her on the shoulder and close my eyes, fighting back the urge to drop a kiss on the skin of her neck, right behind her ear where I bet it’s soft as silk. I dreamt last night that I kissed her, that she wanted to kiss me, too.

  As I slide into my sneakers, I remember the dream, me telling her how much I want her, Olive hesitating, but then returning my kiss and running her tongue along my teeth. I felt so safe, so natural, so happy. Definitely the best damn dream of my life.

  In the living room, I see the melted bag of ice she must have been putting on my shoulder, and my shoes are neatly arranged by the door. Shit, she must have really taken care of me last night. I owe her a lot more than a bagel.

  When I get back, she’s still asleep, so I write her name on the bag and open the fridge—where I see she has neatly arranged takeout containers from last night, too. What did I even do to deserve this girl? There’s no fucking way I’m ever going to have a girlfriend who treats me this well.

  I sure as shit don’t deserve this much kindness after I run off my mouth the way I do to everyone who gets on my nerves. And that’s everyone. Except Olive.

  It’s important for me to remember that these fever dreams of grinding my dick against Olive? Those have to stay what they are: fantasies.

  I whisper to her that I’m going to the training room and she nods. She’ll let herself out later, I guess. Hopefully she will get some sleep while I’m out.