by Marie James
“Clearly,” I mutter.
“I mean, loads of girls around here just throw themselves at the football players, willing to do anything and everything to get a few minutes of their time, so if he’s interested in you, it’s different.”
I get what she’s saying. I saw tons of girls fawning all over guys who looked completely disinterested in them. It didn’t matter that they were drunk, available, and dressed in fewer clothes than anyone should wear in near freezing temperatures. Oversaturation of product seems to be an issue at college parties. Now that is a subject I can use for my thesis.
“He was drunk,” I counter. “He was interested in getting laid, which, for me, would never happen with a guy I don’t know.”
She pulls her head back and scrunches her nose. “Really? Slut-shaming much?”
“For heaven’s sake,” I mutter. “I’m not slut-shaming. I’m not judging anyone, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it because other girls are.”
What I don’t say is I’ve done my fair share of less than moral things to catch a guy, and even worse things to try to keep him once he got what he wanted and I realized he assumed we were done. That part of my life is in the past, and I have no interest in reawakening that girl—no matter how good that guy’s hands felt gripping my hair.
Understanding hits and I turn my head to her. “Did you say football player?”
Her face transitions from defensiveness to something resembling elation. She nods.
“He plays on the team?” Jesus, that’s the last thing I need. She nods again.
“How did you not know that? He was wearing his jersey.”
I shrug, feeling like an idiot. “Almost every guy there was wearing a damn jersey.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Almost every guy there is on the damn team.”
“Half the girls were wearing them also. It was a football party. I just chalked it up to school spirit.”
She angles her head toward the TV, the voices droning on in the background during our conversation. “He’s a pretty big deal. As far as the team lineup goes, you could’ve done much worse.”
A familiar bright white smile and mesmerizing blue eyes fill the screen. The silky, smooth cadence of his voice reaches my ears. I’ve never heard it before, but of course the thick, rough, gravelly tone is just as sexy as his mussed hair and huge hands.
“The quarterback?” I rasp, reading the ticker.
“Blaze Porter,” Char says from beside me.
I jump, jolting at the sound of her voice, surprised I forgot she was in the room. Looking into the same eyes from the party last week, everything around me faded, exactly like it had when the music enveloped us and his hands found my hips.
“What kind of name is Blaze?” I muse, even though it’s the perfect name for him—especially after the way he lit my body on fire.
I squirm against the fabric of the couch, feeling things I have no business entertaining.
I ignore the faint sound of my roommate’s voice as I watch, mesmerized by the way he manipulates the football in his hands while he speaks to the reporter. Memories of how his hands felt on my body, almost indecent, but not quite, flood me. I feel the sharp burn at the nape of my neck where he gripped my hair and angled my head exactly where he wanted it as he kissed me. I can see the way his fingers looked when he reached out for me as I broke our contact and turned to leave.
I shake my head and scrub my hands over my face, a failed attempt to clear it of all things football and Blaze Porter.
“So…” Charity begins, “you wanna go to the party now?”
The arrogance in her voice and smugness pulling at the corners of her mouth annoys me even more now that I know exactly who the blond stranger is.
“Fat chance,” I say, getting up from the couch, doing my best not to turn my head in the direction of the sultry voice beckoning me from the TV.
“You can’t be serious,” she huffs as I sweep the crumbs into my hand and walk toward the modest kitchen.
I laugh when I turn from scraping the mess into the trash to face her. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her hip is tilted out dramatically.
“You have to go!” she whines. “You’re my in.”
“I kissed a drunk guy at a party. I’m not an ‘in’. Besides, he’ll be locking lips with some other girl at the next one. I know his type, Char.” It was just a kiss, but I’ll be damned if I want to go to another party to see him showing the same attention to a different girl.
“His type? You know absolutely nothing about football players,” she counters.
“Not football players. Bad boys, rogues, pleasure seekers.” I wave a dismissive hand for emphasis. “I know too much about that type of guy. Not interested.”
“You would do this to me?” Her voice goes from playful disbelief at my rejection to outright bitterness.
“I’m not keeping you from the party, but I’m not going either.”
I leave her standing in the kitchen. It’s just a damn party, but she’s acting like her social calendar for the semester depends on my attendance. I have better things to do than worry about college parties and Blaze Porter.
Chapter 4
Blaze
“I’m going upstairs,” Danny slurs in my ear as I walk past him and a few of the guys from the team. Thinking the bourbon on New Year’s was a one-time thing may have been a mistake. The stuff is flowing like water tonight, and I’ve already drank enough to numb the burn as it hits my stomach.
National fucking Champions.
Never in my wildest dreams. Stars aligned and the universe’s cosmic energy was somehow on our side Monday. Though, it didn’t hurt that their passing game was off and their defensive line couldn’t handle us. I thought Alabama fans were going to riot when our bus pulled out of the stadium, but the boos and trash they threw our way weren’t even enough to wipe the victorious smile off my face.
Tilting my head back, I pour more of the golden liquid down my throat.
“Thanks for the update,” I say, placing my nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam on a low table and watching as it clatters to the floor, having misjudged the distance by at least three inches.
“Twins!” he screams. “I have fucking twins waiting for me in my room.”
I grin from ear to ear. “And rather than being up there fucking them, you’re down here bragging about it.”
He blinks at my words and reaches up, scratching his head. Confusion covers his face as his eyes cut toward the staircase.
“Fuck,” he mutters, turning and heading in the direction of the twins, who will more than likely be beyond disappointed with his performance. My bet would be he passes out before he can get his dick out of his pants.
“Hey.” A warm hand caresses the front of my jersey, and I look down, finding a petite redhead slithering her way against my chest. Familiar red lips and glassy eyes look up at me. I grin down at her and squint, trying to recall where I’ve seen her when the realization hits me like a blow to the chest. My grin turns into a full-blown smile and her eyes twinkle as she reads me wrong.
“You’re you,” I say.
“I’m me,” she agrees, pressing her bare tits against the front of my jersey. The theme of the night is touchdowns and titties, and God bless the brazen women who took it the extra mile.
I take a step back, only for her to take a step closer. “You’re the friend of that girl.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I have the urge to tell her she’s done nothing but smear her over-glossed lipstick across her front teeth, but I have other things to worry about.
“I have lots of friends,” she purrs. “You wanna be my friend?”
“The girl who was with you last week…” I begin, pulling my eyes from her and scanning the crowd, “is she here?”
She shakes her head, going for sexy, but I can read the sudden stiffness in her shoulders at my inquiry. She’s not happy she’s standing in front of me and I’m asking about another woman.
&n
bsp; “She’s not interested in you.”
I cough an indignant laugh. Not interested? I haven’t met a girl at this school who isn’t interested. Playing hard to get maybe, but I love a good chase.
“But I’m willing to give you anything you want,” she continues.
“Where is she?” I ask, ignoring her blatant offer of sex. All the girls here want to fuck the National Champion quarterback. I’ve turned more than a dozen half-naked women down tonight already, and the party just got started an hour ago.
“Probably at home reading textbooks for a class that doesn’t start for another week.”
Her attempt at insulting her friend falls flat. I envy a chick who can turn down a party like this to work on her education. I recognize the effort. I did it every second I could before I graduated high school and got my scholarship to LVU.
“Where does she live?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she huffs, swiping her hands down her sides. It’s not a hardship to look at her fit body. Unfortunately for her, I’m not interested in any girl who’s just going to throw herself at me because I’m on the football team. Those chicks are a dime a dozen.
“I’m serious,” she says, the seductive purr returning to her voice. “Fallyn isn’t interested in any guy.”
I grin. Fallyn is the perfect name for her—unusual, exotic, and I can get behind the idea of her being a lesbian.
“She’s into girls?” I ask, my voice full of hope.
“Hardly,” she answers. “More like asexual. The only guy I’ve seen her show any interest in over the almost three years I’ve known her is you.”
My smile grows bigger, and her eyes widen when she realizes what she said.
“What’s her address?” I ask before I can stop myself. I can’t believe I’m seriously considering leaving a victory party full of easy targets—women guaranteed to do any filthy, dirty thing I can imagine—in exchange for a not-so-sure-thing with a girl I met once. Totally worth the chance.
“Fuck’s sake,” she mutters. “Lamp Shine Apartments. Three-eighteen.”
I watch as she walks away, concerned her friendship with Fallyn and my rejection may cause problems down the line, but that nagging fear abates when she slides up against another player’s chest. The smile that spreads across her face when he drapes an arm over her shoulder just before sucking one of her nipples into his mouth is all I need to know I have nothing to worry about.
I shoot out the front door without a backward glance, searching for a ride. We make all the first-year players play taxi service for upperclassmen at every party. The last thing our first-string players need is a DUI—or worse, a manslaughter charge.
“Jimmy!” I yell, finding my freshman teammate standing off to the side of the porch trying to flirt his way into some girl’s pants. I snap my fingers to get his attention, and regret fills his eyes as he walks away without so much as her number.
“I need a ride,” I insist as I move toward the car parked at the curb.
“Anything for you, Blaze.”
I climb into the passenger seat as he tugs the keys out of his pocket and gets in on the driver’s side. “Lamp Shine Apartments,” I instruct when he pulls away from the house.
“You’ve got it,” he says, focusing all his attention on the road, driving like a blue-haired granny on her way to bingo.
“That your girlfriend back there?”
“Fuck, man. I wish.”
“You want some advice?” I offer.
“Of course!” he responds, his voice eager.
“Cut your fucking hair, dude. The mullet isn’t working. This is the twenty-first century. Any girl okay with that look isn’t one you want around longer than the second after she swallows your dick.”
Brows furrowed, he brushes his hand down the long length of his hair at his nape, as if he’s never considered his hillbilly look as the reason for getting shot down all the time.
“My mom said the style was coming back in,” he fucking pouts, like the child he evidently still is.
“Maybe in Arkansas, and only for those without access to the outside world,” I mutter as my stomach flips at the left turn he makes at the red light.
“I’m an LVU national football champion, my hair shouldn’t matter.”
I laugh, and his face falls further. “How much time did you get on the field?” I raise my brow at him, already knowing the answer.
“None,” he mutters as we pull up outside one of the nicer apartment complexes just off campus.
“Wear that ring with pride, man, but don’t expect any girls to buy that champion shit. Well, except some freshmen.”
“Jerk,” he mutters under his breath.
“Wait here,” I say, popping my head back in the door before closing it. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
I ignore his grumbling and make my way up the two flights of stairs.
My first knock goes unanswered, so I bang on the door louder the second time, feeling the sting on my knuckles from the cold.
Turning my back to the door, I contemplate heading back to the car, wondering if her friend gave me the wrong address or lied about her being home. The door pulls open and I spin around, pulling my hands from my pockets. I rub my still frozen hands together, blowing my hot breath on them. I look like a complete idiot standing outside her apartment in a t-shirt and no jacket. I open my mouth to explain that I was so excited to see her, I didn’t even consider my comfort, but the sight of her makes the words clog in my throat.
Gone is the sexy red dress and face full of makeup. The incredible woman standing in front of me has on an oversized sweatshirt and lounge pants covered in sugar skulls. I’d never admit this to any of my materialistic friends, but I prefer her like this. The only thing of concern is the messy pile of long brown hair on her head, preventing me from feeling the strands flow through my fingers when I kiss her again.
“What the—” she begins, halting when I step into her apartment uninvited.
I walk into her, kissing the shock right off her face. My hands cup near her jaw and I can taste orange juice on her lips.
Just when I think she’s going to give in and kiss me back, her hands shove at my chest. I distance myself, but only a few inches as my hands find her hips.
My head snaps to the side as her palm connects with my face, but the sound of the slap echoing off the walls of her small apartment is louder than the pain in my cheek. My hand moves to the injured area out of reflex and I rub it over my jaw, confused.
“Why would you hit me?” I ask, holding my hands out to my side as she takes several steps away from me.
“You can’t just show up here and do whatever the hell you want.” Her eyes narrow and I fight the urge to run my thumb over the crease that’s formed on her brow.
“I thought…” I trail off, watching as her eyes float to my lips, then dart back up to mine. “We kissed on New Year’s. We started our year together, that sort of means you’re mine,” I say with a cocky smile, knowing how ridiculous the words sound as they leave my lips.
“In what alternate universe?” Normally a woman with such an indignant, apathetic attitude would turn me off, but seeing this little spitfire resist my advances does nothing but make my cock thicken in my jeans.
“We won the championship,” I wager, stepping closer, trying a different approach.
“I heard,” she replies with an indifference I haven’t heard from one single person since we returned from Tampa.
“Why weren’t you at the party?” I hedge, switching subjects again. I take another unsure step, hating how I slightly stumble.
“You’ve been drinking,” she observes. “I sure hope you didn’t drive here.”
I pull my head back and take her in. Heavy sigh, crossed arms on her chest—this chick is working very hard not to let me know she’s interested. I give her points for resisting the temptation.
“I don’t drink and drive, Fallyn. I have a taxi boy.”
She
shakes her head. “You need to leave.”
“I want to kiss you again,” I bargain.
She holds her hands up. “Not going to happen, Romeo. Get your taxi boy to drive you back to the hordes of willing women at the party.”
“I don’t want those women, including your friend.” Her eyes narrow at the information. “I want you.”
“You’re wasting your time.” I almost believe the sureness in her voice, but I see her fingers flex into a fist at her side. She wants to touch me, but for some fucked up reason, she’s refusing to do so.
I step closer again, grinning at how she’s holding her ground. For years, I’ve always settled for the women who threw themselves at my feet. I’d never considered exerting effort on a woman who wasn’t open to sexual suggestions the second they rolled off my skilled tongue. “I’m going to kiss you every time I see you. Before you can even utter a word or try to push me away, my lips will be on yours. As many times as it takes, until you realize you’re mine.”
“Seeing as we don’t run in the same circles, I get the feeling I have nothing to worry about.” Gripping my shoulders, she urges me to turn toward the still open door. “Congrats on the win. Use condoms.”
The door closes behind me the second I’m over the threshold, the deadbolt clicking into place less than a second later. I grin all the way back to the car. Chasing Fallyn is going to be the best way to start a new semester.
Chapter 5
Fallyn
“That’s ridiculous,” my friend Laura says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone. She blows an errant strand of red hair from her forehead as she begins typing.
“It’s not. I swear. I’d give anything to have those shirtless hunks holding hoops to my body.” Carlie turns her phone around with the video pulled up faster than Laura can manage. “Ellen DeGeneres may be a lesbian, but she sure knows how to entertain her female audience.”
I shift my backpack loaded with today’s textbooks from my right shoulder to my left. I have no interest in watching videos from afternoon TV shows. Okay, so that part is a lie, but I’ve already seen the video, twice. I have to agree, it was pretty amazing.
