The Hook Up (Game On Book 1)

by Kristen Callihan

  “Since he started kissing my girl?” he offers with false pleasantness.

  I gape at him. This isn’t Drew. He isn’t overly possessive or irrational. He doesn’t turn on friends.

  “You’re going to regret that statement,” I tell him quietly. “You’re going to realize what a shit you’re being.”

  His lips flatten into a line, but Gray’s already walking down the back hall. He eyes us but doesn’t miss a step. “Now, then,” he says as if nothing’s wrong. “Let’s get cooking.”

  Drew is sullen as Gray cooks. He’s sullen when we sit down to dinner. And he’s sullen when we eat it.

  My hand clenches around my napkin, the urge to chuck it at his head running high. All I can do is struggle to keep the strained conversation going with Gray.

  “All right,” I tell Gray, “you make an admirable lasagna. It’s not as good as my mom’s, but it will do.”

  “Don’t kill me with praise now.” Gray laughs then shakes his head. “I’m not trying to beat your Italian momma in a lasagna cook-off, Jones. That’s just crazy talk.” His brows waggle. “But I accept the compliment.”

  Drew snorts. The sound sudden and harsh. “‘Jones’?” Jones is his nickname for me. But I hadn’t thought he’d be territorial. He levels a look at Gray, and my chest grows tight. “And here I thought you didn’t like my girl.”

  I frown at Drew. So, being a dickweed is on the menu for tonight. Good to know.

  Gray doesn’t flinch. “Naw, man,” he grins at me as he answers, “it’s all good. Anna and I worked out our issues over pie.”

  He’s trying to reassure Drew, but even I know he’s said the wrong thing.

  The high crest of Drew’s cheeks turn rusty. “Apparently so,” he says with a sneer.

  Gray’s shoulders bunch as he goes still and stares at Drew. When he speaks, his voice is cold and flat. “What are you implying, man?”

  “Gray, he doesn’t…” I begin, but Gray holds up a hand, not taking his eyes off of Drew. “Let him say what he wants to say, Anna.” Gray’s nostrils flare a bit. “So tell me, are you accusing me of trying to make a play for your girl?” He’s pissed, more than I’ve ever seen him, but behind it is intense hurt. I hurt for both of them.

  The corded muscles along Drew’s forearms stand out as he clenches a fist. They stare each other down, a combined four hundred plus muscled-pounds of growing male aggression. Neither of them appears to be willing to break eye contact first. Then Drew moves, so fast, I flinch.

  His fist slams down on the table, rattling the plates. “No,” he snaps, then takes a harsh breath before shoving back from the table. “No, all right?” His movements are not with his usual grace when he rises, bumping his leg on the chair. “I’m just fucking tired of you two sneaking around trying to fix me.”

  Sneaking around? I almost shout the words, I’m so irate, but I’m not going to fight with him in front of Gray.

  Gray snorts. “We’re trying to help you.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “Tough shit, Baylor. That’s what friends do.”

  Drew’s jaw clenches. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Or am I expected to waltz around shooting daisies out my ass all the time?”

  “I don’t care what you shoot out of your ass,” Gray says, “just as long as you aren’t accusing me of betraying my best friend.”

  Drew flinches, his mouth pinching. But he doesn’t apologize. He walks away, his stride determined, awkward, and angry. “I’m going to bed,” he says, not looking back.

  Gray stands. “I’ll go.”

  “Don’t bother. Do whatever you want.” Drew pauses at the door to our room. He doesn’t turn but his fist curls on the doorframe. “Thanks for dinner.” The words are curt and clearly torn from him out of force of habit, and then he’s shutting the door behind him with a dull thud.

  My shoulders sag. “I’m sorry, Gray.”

  He shakes his head, his blue eyes still full of hurt and anger. “I expected it. Damn if he hasn’t been alluding to it for a while.”

  “He doesn’t mean it, you know.” I’m not sure if he does or not. I do know that, were Drew his old self, he’d never have picked a fight with Gray.

  Gray shakes his head. “He’s not jealous of us.” His voice is low, as if he doesn’t want Drew to hear. “He’s jealous of me, which just plain sucks.”

  I frown, and he sighs.

  “He’s injured, Anna. And I’m not. Simple as that.” Gray rolls his shoulders and heads for the door. “Get him to talk to that therapist. I don’t blame him for avoiding it,” his eyes crease with tired humor, “but he’s got one too many daisies stuck in his ass.”

  ANNA DOESN’T COME to bed when Gray leaves. I’m not surprised. I fucked up. Worse, I knew I was doing it every step of the way. It was as if the rational Drew was locked up tight within my mind while asshole Drew took over.

  Lying in bed, I stare up at the ceiling and curse myself for being an idiot. Again. It’s almost pitch black in here because Anna insists on closing both the blinds and the curtains. Apparently she likes to sleep in darkness so complete it’s like we’ve crawled up into a womb.

  Which is fine by me at the moment. A sensory oblivion would be nice.

  A slab of grey moonlight cuts across the bed as Anna opens the door. She must have killer night vision or be part vampire because she doesn’t turn on a light as she pads through the room and into the bathroom.

  My heart pounds loud in my ears as I listen to the running water of the sink and wait for her to return. Coach’s suggestion swirls around in my head. Therapy? I’m only injured, not mental. Yeah, I tend to over-analyze things, but I didn’t exactly love going to counseling before.

  “Tell me about your parents, Drew.”

  “They’re dead, doc. What else is there to know?”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  Like I’m free falling from the darkness of space.

  How do I feel now? Like I’m free falling from the darkness of space.

  Somehow my fingers end up clutching the sheets. I force myself to let go, and calm the hell down. It’s just a fricking broken leg. It will heal. I’ll get back in form.

  On the next breath I’m on the field, the scent of grass, chalk, and my own sweat filling my nose. I hear the defensive end’s footsteps, feel them reverberating through the ground as he comes upon me. My stomach clenches, acid rising in my mouth along with the soul-deep terror of knowing that this sack is going to be catastrophic. Then the lightning hot pain and the sound of my bone snapping like hard wood. Stomach turning pain.

  That snap, that sick sound echoes in my ears even as I take another sharp breath. Then Anna is there, climbing into bed, the mattress barely dipping under her slight weight.

  For the first time, I regret buying a king size bed. She might as well be in Siberia, hugging the edge of her side, while I’m laid out on my back like a slab of beef on mine.

  Because I’ve been in the dark longer than she has, I can see the shadowy shape of her shoulders, hunched over and drawn away from me. Her curls spill across the pillow in a dark, rambling mass.

  A lump fills my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  My words hang loud and uncomfortable over us.

  Bed sheets rustle as she turns, and then she’s next to me, her warm hand smoothing over my lower belly. I love the way she touches me, the way she finds the exact spots that are most sensitive. I slide my arm under her neck and draw her closer, comforted when she lays her head on my shoulder. The curve of her luscious ass fills my palm. I give it a light squeeze.

  “I’ll apologize to Gray tomorrow.” Which won’t be easy, because we almost never fight, and I was a colossal dick.

  Anna’s breasts press against my side as she sighs. She’s wearing one of those thin nightshirts she favors, which does nothing to block the warmth of her body, and I struggle to ignore that as her fingertips trace a circle under my navel.

  “We are, all of us, fucked up in some way,�
�� she says. “The only difference is a matter of how deep our crazy goes and how we handle our shit. Frankly, I think the crazy comes and goes in cycles.”

  I make a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “It must be my time of the month, then.”

  “Mmm…” Anna strokes me again. “I shouldn’t have invited Gray here without asking you. I’m sorry.”

  I can’t hold back. In one move, I roll over onto her, and her thighs part instantly, cradling my hips as I brace my forearms on either side of her so I won’t crush her chest. Her eyes gleam in the dark, her hair a wild halo around her pale face.

  “Your leg,” she protests against my seeking mouth.

  “Is fine.” I nuzzle her lips then dip my tongue into her sweet mouth. She tastes faintly of mint toothpaste, but underneath is pure, delicious Anna. Kissing her plump, pouty mouth makes my head light. It spins when my erection rubs over a tickle of curls and slick desire. That she gets wet for me as easily as I grow hard for her is a high I’ll never get used to.

  Gently I rock against her, sliding over the place where I long to be inside. My hands hitch up her shirt and stroke her silky skin. Her curves are soft and warm and giving beneath the hardness of my body. “Anna.” I kiss one corner of her mouth, then the other one. “I don’t deserve you.”

  She clasps my cheeks, her thumbs brushing my jaw. “Probably not,” she says into another kiss. “I can be a pain in the ass.”

  “Always with the jokes,” I whisper before I kiss her deeper and lift my hips enough for the head of my cock to find her wet core. On a groan, I sink into her. So tight. So perfect.

  A shivering heat licks down my spine. I go easy, making love to her with an adoration that has me trembling, sweating. Her hands caress my back, my ass, a gentle exploration as she makes little noises that sends lust burning through my veins. It is perfect. I feast on her soft mouth and slowly pump in and out of her welcoming body. Here and now, I am whole. Healed. If only it could last forever.

  But nothing does. And it soon becomes apparent that although Anna’s responding to my touch, she isn’t into it the way she normally is. I start to feel the tension in her, the way she holds back. It reminds me of those early days when I’d try to move in for a kiss, and she’d evade me. My insides go cold and heavy, and I lift my head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It’s too dark to fully see her expression, and I hate that. Hate the way she stiffens further. The way she pauses for a moment too long. When she speaks, it comes out stilted, off. “Nothing…Drew...” Her breasts press against me as she takes a breath. “I’m just tired.”

  A lump fills my throat. “You should have said so. You should have stopped me.”

  Her eyes glimmer in the gray dark. The sadness in them has my chest clenching. “It isn’t as bad as all that,” she says, reaching up to touch my cheek. But I’ve seen enough. I try to ease off her, but it’s awkward, my chest crushing into hers, my bad leg tweaking and sending pain up to my hip and down to my toes. I bite back a curse, even as Anna tries to pull me back. It’s clumsy, but I evade.

  “I don’t want a pity fuck,” I whisper, as I roll away and sit on the side of the bed.

  Anna’s hand barely touches my back, as if she’d been reaching out to me, but then it’s gone, and her voice snaps like a whip through the dark. “And I don’t want to be accused of giving them.”

  I’m not going to apologize. I’m done apologizing tonight. I run a hand through my hand and lift off of the bed. “Forget it.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t sleep.” I grab a discarded pair of shorts. I’ll put them on in the living room. Hell if I’ll bobble around in here, trying to dress. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Drew—”

  “Please, Anna.” My voice is broken, desperate. “I can’t do this anymore tonight.” I don’t wait for her response, but flee to the safety of the other room where it’s quiet and free from any expectations. For the first time since I met Anna, I wonder if it would be better if I handled this alone.

  SOMETHING HAS TO give. Drew is hurting inside, and I can’t help him. Nor can I just sit back and ignore it any longer. The tension it creates is an ever-inflating balloon, growing tight and swollen. I’m so afraid of the inevitable burst that I don’t dare to touch it. But the only thing avoidance has ever brought me is grief.

  Lying in bed, I watch the morning light sneak in through a crack in the curtain to stretch its pale fingers across the ceiling. My heart is a stone weight in my chest. I need to tell him how I feel. It isn’t going to be pretty. Drew’s pride is a powerful thing. And much more sensitive than I ever gave it credit.

  A crash from out in the living room has me sitting up quickly. I toss on a robe and run out.

  Drew is crouched over a broken glass. Bending at an awkward angle, he attempts to sweep up the pieces.

  “Here,” I say, coming forward, “let me.”

  “I can do it.” His tone is short as he shoos me away.

  I stand back, watching as he clears up the mess. Storm clouds brew over his expression. And when I pick up a stray sliver of glass with a napkin, the storm breaks.

  “Jesus,” he snaps, “I said I could do it. Would you quit hovering over me like a bee?”

  Stung, I fight to keep my expression neutral as I throw out the glass. “You missed one, and I saw it. That isn’t hovering.”

  “Oh no?” His dark brows rise with incredulity. “So you haven’t been walking around on eggshells with me this whole time?”

  Pausing, I take a breath. Calm. I need calm. “If I’ve had to walk around on eggshells it’s because you’ve been spoiling for a fight.”

  A mulish set lifts his chin, and he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Maybe you’ve been waiting for me to snap.”

  “Maybe I have.”

  He flinches at that, his gaze darting to mine.

  I don’t look away. “Maybe I’m looking for the Drew I fell in love with. Because, if you ask me, he’s gone into hiding.”

  The color drains from his face, but I can see the wheels turning in that keen mind of his. I know he’s going to avoid this, pretend like everything is okay, and it’s all in my head.

  Like clockwork, his expression eases. “Anna…”

  “Don’t,” I take a step forward, pointing a finger in his direction, “fucking, ‘Anna’ me. You do not get to placate me any longer.”

  His brows furrow. “What do you want from me? I’m trying not to fight.”

  “I don’t care if we fight, if it means you acknowledge the fact that you’ve got a problem going on inside your head at the moment.” My heart is racing now. I hate confrontation. I loathe it with Drew.

  The muscles along his neck tense as his color darkens. “Jesus, what is with everyone?” He rakes a hand through his disorderly hair before slapping his good thigh. “Would you give it a rest? I’m not some problem for everyone to solve.”

  “Oh, bullshit.”

  His brows wing up. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. That is utter bullshit. You know damn well that if it were me, Gray, or any one of your friends, you’d do the same thing. So don’t start that whole ‘why won’t you leave me alone’ line again.”

  Drew backs up, his ass hitting the counter. “I don’t even know why you care.”

  “Of course I care! Why wouldn’t I care?”

  “Isn’t it better if I never play again, Anna? Huh?” He takes a hard step in my direction. “I mean it’s not like you wanted me to be a quarterback. You didn’t want anything to do with me in the beginning. You took one look and decided I was just some meathead jock that wasn’t worth your time.”

  “That’s not fair. You know that I didn’t want to want you—”

  “Well, now there’s the difference. I wanted all of you the moment I laid eyes on you. But you were so damned closed off, I didn’t know how to approach you.”

  “Why are you dragging this up?” I hate that I hurt him so deeply with my fear
that he can’t let it go.

  “Why?” He laughs without humor. “Does it bother you to remember that you only wanted me for one fuck?”

  I’ve always said he was too quick. My jaw hurts from keeping my mouth shut. Arguing about this now won’t help. Not that Drew has any intention of stopping. A vein bulges along his throat as he continues to yell. “That first night. It was the best damn feeling I’d had in my life. And I’ve won the fucking Heisman!”

  “Just stop,” I say. “Stop changing the subject. This isn’t about me.”

  But he ignores me, his face going ruddier. “Every time is like that with you. Like my heart’s going to explode. Like I might pass out, but I’ve got to hold on because I need to feel this for as long as I can.”

  “It’s the same for me,” I snap. “You know that.”

  “Maybe that’s the only place I’ll be good enough for you. Maybe all you want is Drew the Fucking Hook Up.”

  Frustration is an ugly bubble beneath my breastbone. “You call me clueless? For months I’ve thought about nothing but you. You walk into a room, and I feel you.”

  “What does that have to do with wanting me for me?” He jabs a thumb against his chest.

  “It has everything to do with it!” I yell. “You think I can cut pieces of you up and put them into categories? Drew the man. Drew the player. Drew the super fuck? I tried and, believe me, it doesn’t work that way. When I say I want you, I want all of you. And when I say I love you, I love all of you. You’re the one who wants to put a label on everything now.”

  “Just following protocol, sweetheart.” His tone is so snide that my eyes water.

  “Stop being an ass,” I snap, taking a step into his space. “You say you don’t want my pity. Well, it sure as shit seems like you do.”

  He snorts, and I press closer. “Do you want my pity, Drew? Is that it?”

  “Why are you really here,” he shoots back. “To play nursemaid?”

  Rage I can handle. But I’m not equipped to handle his pain. Not when I know I’m the cause of it. The hurt is a kick in my stomach, making my body want to sag in on itself. “You’re never going to forgive me.”