It isn’t until the flag girl bitch sitting in front of us flashes her phone, we come up for air.
She giggles with her seat mate until Ryan says, “If I see that photo online anywhere, I’ll make sure you never carry a Pitbull banner again. Understand, Bambi?”
Her head pops up over the chair. “Sure, Ryan. Sorry.”
Cursing under his breath, he swings his attention back to me. “Listen, this is why we need to clear the air. I cannot muck up getting into the NFL. Do you know how many college students make it?”
“Less than two percent?”
He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Give or take a half-percent, yeah. And I have a real good chance of being one of those guys but it needs to be the only focus in my life.”
He grabs my hands. “What happens between us, this electricity, or whatever the hell it is. It’s fucking distracting as hell. Wherever I go, I search for a glimpse of your hair, always hoping to see you smile.”
He kisses me more fiercely than the first time and I clamp my legs tight. “I had no idea…”
“I can’t be with you but damned if I can let you go. Tell me you’re not seeing Knight Walker.”
After I shake my head no, his mouth covers mine as his hands grab my hair. I grip the chair, to keep from tearing off his shirt or grabbing his cock.
At a hoot from his teammate, Ryan stops, his breath heavy. The centers of his eyes grow dark with want and his nostrils flare. He grips my hand, intertwines our fingers, and the web between my digits becomes my new erotic zone.
Totally turned on, I squirm in my seat, trying not to hyperventilate. His thigh rests tight to mine, his biceps so wide he only needs to move an inch to slide across my oversensitive breasts.
It’s going to be a long bus ride.
I whisper, “So, what’re we going to do about this?”
“Will you come to my room tonight?”
We both know it’s forbidden and I shake my head. “No. Someplace else.”
“I’ll send you a text.” His coarse palm slides to my cheek and he brings his soft lips to brush mine. “What is it about your eyes? Sometimes they’re green, sometimes blue. Now, they they’re almost golden.”
“It’s a birth defect.”
“No, they’re amazing. Fucking perfect.” When his warm breath hits my lips, I flick a tongue over the lower one, and he closes his eyes, brows creased.
“I am so fucked.” He leans away, shakes his head, and turns Texan.
“Y’all want to show me my homework, darlin’?” He winks and flicks his eyes to the back where the assistant coach, Chris, fumes.
Across from us, sitting next to Jackson, Star gives me a thumbs up. In front of them, the flag girls are their knees, prairie-dogging over the seats. One, or perhaps both, slept with Ryan last season but now he’s mine.
Trying to cool the heat between us, I open my laptop and show him the online software for people with dyslexia. We start to work and soon he’s able to write faster and we get two speeches outlined. I help him through a history assignment then he dares ask me for help with math.
“No way.”
The bus stops and he places a quick peck on my cheek. “Tomorrow night. After the game, alright?”
The players check into the hotel while the band hangs back, waiting by the bus.
I’m still staring at Ryan’s perfect ass when Star comes up behind me. “Those were some searing hot kisses. I had an orgasm just watching.”
“I, ah… Right?” I point at the luggage sitting on the hotel’s sidewalk. “You put anything under the bus?”
“No, you?”
I tug on my knapsack. “This is all I brought. Let’s get our room.”
A gray-haired woman named Candy takes our name and gives us a key card. As soon as we’re inside our room, Star sighs and flops on the bed while reading our itinerary on her cell phone.
“Dinner, practice, breakfast, practice, then game. Makes no sense? We’re just the pep band. I think the flag-bitches are doing this to us on purpose.”
I nod in agreement. “Could be. Either that or the assistant coach. He was glaring bullets at me and Ryan.
“Those girls always think they get first dibs on the players.” She jumps off the bed and grabs her makeup bag. “C’mon. we need to move.”
The next day flies by and in the afternoon, Ryan wins the game with an incredible throw. Of course, the cheerleaders rush the field. Not wanting one of them in his arms, I fly out of my seat and elbow my way to where his teammates bang his helmet with their palms.
As soon as he removes his mouthguard, I hug him tight. Sweaty and dirty, he smells all man and my clit twitches.
“Later, right?” Grinning widely, he kisses me, pulls me off, and waves to the TV cameras.
I nod, every nerve tingling and once he jogs to the locker room, a piece of me goes with him.
All evening, I wait for his text. Because it doesn’t come, I ask for him at the front desk.
“The Washington Room.” A young man points at a set of stairs where people congregate outside a double door.
I meander over and sneak a peek inside. What the hell? Ryan has his shirt off and is kissing this beautiful model.
It’s just a photo shoot but when the lights shut off and some guy shouts, “It’s a wrap.” Ryan doesn’t turn off the charm. Instead, he laughs as a long-legged blond whispers in his ear. Her hand crawls down his oiled abs as I stand there, horrified. When she kisses him, I swivel on my high heels, drop his key card with the front desk, and bolt.
Back on my own floor, Knight is going out as I’m coming in. “Whoa, slow down. Where’s the fire?”
“It’s nothing.” I glance away and dig into my purse for a tissue. Some women are beautiful when they cry. Me, not so much.
“Obviously, it’s something. Why not come with me?” He pushes the down button on the elevator and walks me to a quiet corner of the hotel bar.
He pulls out a chair, returns with a couple artisan beers, and sets one down in front of me. “What did Ryan do now?”
I shake my head, no, while tears drip down my cheeks.
“Wait. I know. He had some kind of ad campaign this evening, right?” Knight grins and leans back in his chair, pleased he was able to guess.
I nod, gulp down my beer, and wipe the foam away with the back of my hand. “Can I have another?”
“Sure, just slow it down a little.” He pushes his untouched bottle in front of me and holds two fingers up at the bartender.
The alcohol lessens the worst of my pain. “I was supposed to meet him.”
“And?”
“I stopped to watch the end of the shoot.” I recall the beautiful model kissing Ryan and scrunch my eyes shut to turn it off. “This blond was all over him and he didn’t seem to mind.”
Knight laughs and not in a friendly way. “Kira, Kira, Kira. Grow up. Models kiss. It’s what they do. It doesn’t mean anything. Listen, if they’re any good at all, she has to get into the moment. She’s turned on. The guy is turned on. This makes for some hot photos. Hell, it takes a few minutes to cool your jets. It happens to me all the time. If she’s in a relationship, she smiles and goes her own way. If not, we fuck.”
This is supposed to cheer me up? “Well, it ruined my mood for what we had in mind tonight.” My phone dings, I check the text, and it’s Ryan.
I text back.
Me: Changed my mind. Sorry.
I am not one of those drama queens who argues with text messages. Besides, maybe I should let Ryan know what it feels like to like someone and have them flirt with someone else.
Knight and I take a table and talk for a while about our past relationships. I tell him about my former boyfriend, Mr. Needs-A-Break. Knight shares a story about his high school sweetheart. I doubt it’s true but it makes me laugh.
After a while, he sighs, a bit tipsy. “How much is Ryan paying you to do his homework?”
I snort out a little laugh and tell him my measly tutoring s
alary.
He pulls out his wallet. “Would you like to make a little more?”
“Sure. You know someone who needs a tutor?”
“Well, maybe not so much a tutor, as much as… let’s say… a ghostwriter.” He grins and places five one-hundred-dollar bills on the table.
Except in movies, I’ve never seen five Benjamin’s stacked together and it’s a bit embarrassing how my mouth drops open.
“Take them. They’re yours.” He pushes them toward my empty beer bottles but I’m not that drunk, and frankly just sobered up a whole lot.
“For doing what again?”
“I have four papers due in English. Write them for me.”
“Uh. No. That’s illegal. It could get me kicked out of college.”
He shrugs, “No one will know. I’ll give you some samples of my work. All you need to do is make it sound like it was me doing the writing. Easy money.”
His laissez-faire attitude tells me he’s done this before. My inner-journalist stomps forward, takes hold of the conversation, and shuts down my pity-party.
I channel my inner undercover agent and smile with Southern charm.
“You sure I won’t get caught?” I finger the money as if considering his offer while he leans back, legs wide.
“Never have before.”
“No? How long you been doing this?” Pretending to swallow, I bring the beer bottle to my lips.
His chest rises as he grins. “Since high school. Only then, I didn’t pay with cash, just sex. Would you rather have some of this?”
He points to his cock.
Wow. Some people should not drink and Mr. Hollywood is one of them.
I give him what I hope is a sexy glance, holding back my disgust. “Is that how you got into FSCU?”
“No.” He laughs and takes another swig of his bottle. “My parents hired a life coach. He got someone to take my SAT’s, stage some pictures, write my essay, you know…”
Holy shit. I can’t believe he’s admitting this. Just recently people have gone to jail for less. Maybe he doesn’t watch the news. Maybe, he thinks it could never happen to him.
I fake laugh, check the time on my phone, and yawn. “Oh shit. I need to go.”
“What about my offer?” He glances down at the bills still lying on the table.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Really? What about Ryan? You’re doing him favors.” He says the last word like it means a whole lot different than tutoring and in this nasty tone I never heard from him before.
“I said. I’ll think about it. Okay?” As I turn to go, he jumps up and grabs my wrist so tight it’ll leave a mark.
“No one turns me down. Understand?”
“Let go of me, Walker. Now.” I’m loud enough to get the bartender’s attention. A big guy, about forty, he frowns and stops drying a glass to stare our way.
Knight sees him, too, and all of a sudden, Mr. Hollywood reappears. He laughs offhandedly, brings my wrist to his mouth, and kisses it. “Thanks for hanging with me. See you tomorrow.”
I rush back to my hotel room, slam the door, and slide the chain across. Star is already in bed but she looks like she’s been crying.
All my problems forgotten, I sit on her bed. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jackson. I need to tell someone or I’m going to burst but you can’t tell anyone. Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise. Did he hurt you?” I glance at the redness on my wrist.
It must be the full moon.
“No. nothing like that. He’s got an addiction and I tried to help him.” She turns into her pillow, already blackened by running mascara and sobs. “This is all my fault.”
“Huh? How?” I run into the bathroom, grab some tissues, and a wet, warm washcloth. Back at her side, I cradle her head and wipe her face.
Then, she blows her nose, she sits up, back against the headboard. “He asked me to be his therapist and I agreed. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“Heroin? Steroids?” I still have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Gambling. He’s over fifty thousand in debt and some nasty bad guys are gunning for him, with real guns, Kira. They’ve even asked him to throw a game but he won’t. What am I going to do? I gave him all the money I have but I don’t have that kind of cash.”
“He needs to talk to the police.”
“That’s exactly what I said but he said it would ruin his chances at getting into the draft. He swears he’s learned his lesson. He hasn’t gambled since we met.”
“Can he take out a loan?”
“He tried.”
“Listen Star, I don’t like this. You could get hurt.”
“Can you tell Ryan? Maybe he can talk some sense into him.”
“I would but we’re not speaking.”
“What happened?” After I share my story, we cry some more, then finally sleep.
What a mess.
Chapter 9
Ryan
I can’t believe Kira blew me off, not after those hot, hot kisses on the bus. She’s into me and it’s not only about the sex. The software she purchased for me wasn’t cheap and she doesn’t have a lot of money to spare. I asked Jeff to pay her off but she won’t take my money. What’s worse, she doesn’t want to be my tutor anymore.
As soon as I exit the bus, I walk over to her apartment and pound on her door. I’ve had enough of her games. She’s messing with my head and needs to make up her mind. Either she wants to spend some time with me or she doesn’t.
It’s probably Knight Walker. A guy like him has a lot to offer. Unless I get into the NFL, I got nothing. With my disability, I’ll be lucky to get my degree, coach high school football or sell used cars.
Shit. I ring her doorbell about fifty times, bang my fists on the wood, and text. When the door swings open, I hop back, letting it crash against the front of the house.
“For God’s sake. What do you want?” Angry green eyes flash at me.
“I want to know why you’re quitting as my tutor and why you didn’t meet me at the hotel like you promised.”
“You really don’t know?” She snorts and looks down her nose at me, like I’m some kind of low life.
My buttons pushed, I snap. “You’re a tease.”
“And you’re a man-whore.”
“Say it again.” I lean in, fists clenched. I’ve never hit a woman and not about to now, but I could do a lot of damage to her door.
She juts out her chin, unaware her woodwork may not survive the night. “Let me help you out. Model? Blonde? Kissing you? The photoshoot?”
“Shit. Cindy kisses everyone, even women. It don’t mean nothin’.”
“It meant something to me, cowboy.” Her eyes water and my fists unclench. Ah shit, I hurt her and didn’t even know it.
“Honey, since August, there’s been no one but you.”
“Honey, we only had sex once. I’m not buying it.”
“It’s been exactly thirty days, two hours, and fifteen minutes. Can I come in? …unless Knight is here. He isn’t, is he?” I poke my head in the door and she steps aside.
“No, no. We were just friends and now, not even that.” She strolls into the kitchen and grabs a couple of longnecks. “Beer?”
“Sure. But then I got to get back. CJ wants to show us a tape of the game.”
“Oh.” When her lips turn down, I get this stirring in my groin. I don’t want her sad but football comes first. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.”
“I’ll probably be asleep.” She takes my hand and sits us outside on the front steps. “Listen, I need to tell you something, real fast. Star asked me, to ask you, to talk to Jackson. He, ah, has a pretty big problem.”
“What is it?” Me and him have been friends forever. It stings I have to hear some shit secondhand.
“Star says he’s been gambling. He’s up to his ears in debt. He needs help.”
“Shit.” My chest constricts as I think back to those hoods in the
parking lot. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. This is the kind of crap that will keep him off the NFL and me, too, if they think I’m associated with him.
“Tell her thanks… and I’ll take care of it.” I glance at the time on my phone and my heart thumps. I didn’t come to talk about Jackson. I wanted to talk about us.
Kira relaxes and smiles. Maybe I’ve been going at this all wrong. Maybe she needs a friend. I sip my beer and watch her nibble her lower lip. There’s more she wants to say.
“I got another problem, too.”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s Knight.”
“And?” If he hurt her, I swear to God I will make his life a living hell.
“He asked me to write some papers for him. Offered me a lot of money, too.”
“I don’t understand. Why is getting paid an issue?”
Her eyes flare. “I can’t take his money. It’s not right.”
There’s a bunch of guys on my team paying someone to do just that. Still, I try to understand her point of view. “Kira. If it bothers you, don’t do it.”
“He had someone take his SAT’s for him, too. His parents hired a college-coach, AKA a fixer. He got into FSCU with false credentials.”
“It’s none of our business, is it?” I check the time. Five more minutes before I’m late. “I don’t want to seem unsympathetic, but the Walkers are a huge donor to the college.”
If she attacks them, she’ll be putting her career and mine at risk. “You’re not thinking of making Knight Walker your journalism project?”
Oh shit, I recognize the look in her eyes from this summer, the day she went after our ex-coach. “It’s big news, Ryan. This stuff is all over the media.
It could mean the difference of getting a job or living at home when I graduate.”
“What if the Walkers sue you? You could end up paying damages the rest of your life.”
“You don’t understand.” She stands and paces in front of the stairs. “I mean, it’s not your fault. How could you? You’re bound for the NFL, to make millions of dollars. I’m a journalism major. I’ll be lucky to make minimum wage.”
I check the time. Dammit, Coach is going to make me work like a motherfucker if I miss his videos. “Walk with me back to campus?”
Misconduct (FSCU Pitbulls Book 1) Page 5
