Completion (Cambria University Series Book 3)

by Sadie T. Williams

  “Maggie,” she purrs and slides a nail up my arm. Maggie is cute. Petite, with a small rack, and short fire engine red hair. She is wearing leather pants which I can only imagine, in this hot house, are sticking to her legs. But her lack of a full size shirt may be compensating for the trapped heat down below.

  “Hey, Maggie,” I watch as her nail continues up past my shoulder and stop when she cups the nape of my neck. She is pressing her tits so hard against my arm that my forearm feels like its titty fucking her. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can make me scream your name, stud,” she leans and whispers into my ear. One thing I’ve learned from Mac is that if any girl uses terms like stud, champ, captain, or any other sports reference, they are looking for one thing and one thing only. To get into my jersey, and by into my jersey I mean onto my dick.

  “Let’s do this Maggie. I want some of that lipstick on my dick,” I say as I wipe my thumb over her lips, smearing some of her maroon colored lipstick. Maggie has big, fishy looking lips which will probably feel hella good sliding down my shaft.

  Maggie blushes, hooks her arm around my waist and leads me upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

  Once inside, she closes the door and struggles like a newborn calf learning to walk while trying to get out of her leather pants. I’m suddenly realizing I may not want my face where all those sweaty juices are.

  Finally, Maggie strips successfully while I lean against the desk of whichever frat boy occupies this space on the regular.

  “Ready now?” I goad.

  “Shut up, Rhodes and fuck me til I’m blind.”

  “Damn, girl. Calm your ass down,” I clip. Jesus, some of these jersey chasers are insane. Maggie may not be the best choice for this activity. She seems needy and aggressive. Mac makes us live by a set of rules that his dad taught him so we don’t fuck up our future by doing the wrong chick. I feel like his rules were made for girls like Maggie.

  But, I’m here now with semi hard-on. I mean, Maggie may be fucking crazy, but she’s naked and standing in front of me, and I need to blow my load. Stress relief.

  After a successful blowie I can tell Maggie is expecting something in return.

  “So, this means you’re not fucking me, right? Since you came already?” she asked with some serious attitude while wiping her hand across her mouth.

  “That is correct, but if you want you can fuck my hand. That’s all I’m offering.”

  “Fine,” she huffs and climbs up on the bed.

  I finger Maggie until she is screaming my name so loud I’m pretty sure of three things: 1. She’s faking it, 2. The people in this house can hear her over the music, 3. She really is fucking insane.

  After, she comes, or fakes coming, I don’t really care at this point because it only perpetuates the reputation I’m trying to hide behind, I put my pants back on to leave.

  “Thanks,” I say as I head toward the door. Maggie is still sprawled out, naked, on the bed.

  “Thanks?” She quirks a brow at me.

  “Thank you very much?” I reply. I don’t know what this chick wants, but the way she is looking at me is freaking me out. It’s like I’m a steak and she’s a starving dog.

  “So, you’ll call me then?”

  “Umm, sure.” I don’t have her number. I don’t want her number. One of Mac’s rules is that we never fuck around with the same chick twice. That way they don’t think we’re going to wife them up. Most of these jersey chasers know that my boys and I are likely going to the NFL and they want us for status.

  I leave the room and let out a deep breath. Several people are hovering in line for the bathroom when I walk through. The dudes are smiling at me and a few even slap me on the back. Maggie is definitely doing the walk of shame down this hallway and I feel a pang guilt hit me in the gut.

  ✽✽✽

  “Rhodes!” I hear Bateman shout from the living room.

  “What?” I reply from my bedroom. I’m lying on my bed reading a book for class. We’re nearing the end of the second semester already and I’m cramming for my finals next week in between our spring workouts.

  “Get your ass out here!”

  I groan, roll off my bed and walk into the living room.

  “What the actual fuck?” I gasp in shock. There’s a fucking raccoon sitting in our living room. He’s just chilling by the coffee table, chewing on a carrot, looking happy as fuck.

  “Yeah, your fucking crazy-ass jersey chaser must have left the door open again when she snuck in here. This little mongrel was eating your dessert, or whatever this used to be,” Bateman says as he inspects a white pastry box that has been chewed on.

  Maggie has been stalking my entire life since I hooked up with her at the Pi Kappa party back in December. It’s May. For the last almost six months she’s left food, coffee, cards, all sorts of random shit for me outside of our door. It’s become a problem and judging from the large, furry Zorro impersonator in my living room, I’d say we’ve hit rock bottom.

  After about three months we finally figured out how she was getting in since you have to have a key card to enter. Her crazy stalker ass would wait outside until someone left building and then she would sneak in through the open door. Propping the door open with a rock or something, she’d come back repeatedly to check on her gifts. If I didn’t find it in a time she deemed suitable she would knock on doors, harassing the other dudes living here, asking where I was or if they had seen me. She wanted to make sure I wasn’t purposefully leaving her gifts outside.

  “What did you do that girl? I’m going to need you to draw a diagram because I’ve never had a chick go this nuts over my dick,” Blake laughs from his spot on the couch. He’s playing Madden and doesn’t seem the slightest bit concerned that there is a potentially rabid animal sitting ten feet from where his legs are propped up on the coffee table.

  “Same as always,” I shrug, trying to play it off. But I’m starting to think Maggie is going to go all Fatal Attraction on me soon.

  “Yeah, right. She’s in fucking love. Stage 5 clinger. You must have upped your game with this one. Dude,” he shoots up and looks at me, “was she a virgin?” Blake laughs to himself at the thought.

  “Fuck, if I know. We hooked up at a party one time.” It wouldn’t matter if she was a virgin because I didn’t sleep with her. But I don’t tell him that.

  “It has to end,” Bateman says and pulls out his phone.

  “Who are you calling?” I ask as I keep an eye on the raccoon. He’s sitting on the tan carpet, munching his carrot. “Did you give him carrots?”

  “Your mama… Animal Control. Who do you think?” Bateman snaps. “Yeah I did. They’re healthier than whatever is in that box.”

  Leave it to Bateman to worry about the raccoon getting type 2 diabetes.

  Animal Control shows up after an hour and two men safely remove the raccoon with the promise of releasing him outside of the city.

  “What the fuck was in the kennel?” Mac thumbs over his shoulder as he walks into our room. He just got back from a run and passed Animal Control on their way out.

  “Rhodesy got a new pet from his stalker,” Blake chuckles.

  “Cat?” Mac asks casually, but there is a glimmer of hope in his voice. “Why wouldn’t you keep it?”

  “Nope,” Blake replies and pops the “p” sound on the end.

  “It was a raccoon,” I sigh.

  “She gave you a fucking raccoon?” Mac looks stunned.

  “No, dumbass,” Bateman shakes his head. “The raccoon was an added bonus to a box of donuts or some shit she left for him this morning. The thing must have come in through the door she left propped open and followed the smell to our door. He scampered in when I opened it this morning.”

  “Jesus,” Mac rakes his hands over his face.

  Just then my phone rings with an Unknown Caller and no area code.

  “Animal Control?” Bateman asks.

  “Maybe,” I reply and answer my phone. “Hello?”
>
  “Jessup Rhodes?” a male voice asks.

  “That’s me,” I answer.

  “I’m Marvin Hempkar, I believe you know my daughter Maggie.”

  Oh, fuck.

  The boys must see the panic in my eyes.

  “Who is it?” Mac whispers.

  “Yes, sir. I know your daughter, Maggie,” I emphasize so the boys understand who called me. How the fuck did he get my number?

  After a brief conversation, I hang up the phone with a “Thanks for being cool about this, sir.”

  My boys are hovered around me. Blake left his game of Madden, while Mac and Bateman are staring at me like I’m the second coming of Christ.

  “Well, what the hell did he want?” Blake asks.

  “He offered to pay my full tuition if I date Maggie for a while.”

  “Holy fucking shit!” Blake exclaims. “You have a magic fucking cock, bro!”

  “You’re the definition of a pimp man,” Bateman says.

  “I don’t think that’s right,” I murmur. “I think that makes me the whore in this situation.”

  “Well, you’re hotter than Julia Roberts,” Blake says with a wink.

  “Ahh, that’s why you mentioned the rules,” Mac chuckles to himself as if he just realized what’s going on.

  “Yeah, I used your rules. He doesn’t need to know that they’re yours and not actually our coach’s rules.” I may have lied and said our football coach runs a tight ship and we’re not allowed to date. I also told him I didn’t need the money because I was on full scholarship.

  “See boys, I told you these rules are going to save your lives,” Mac smirks. “I’m going to shower.”

  “I didn’t want to believe you, Mac,” Blake says, but I can see he’s thinking. He hasn’t bought into Mac’s rules for dating (or more like fucking) yet. “But after this dumpster fire I may start.”

  “Ahh fuck,” I grumble and rub my temples with fingers.

  “I never thought I’d be living with a legend,” Blake laughs and slaps me on the back before returning to his game. “Want in?”

  “Yeah, let’s play a few.” I haven’t won a game yet, but I’m getting closer.

  “Sure, I need a confidence booster.”

  “Shut the fuck up and kick-off.”

  I proceed to lose four games straight. What the fuck?

  Chapter 15: Stanzy

  Freshman Year – University of Minnesota

  The University of Minnesota has been everything I’d hoped for. Gorgeous campus, phenomenal pre-physical therapy program, and dominant volleyball team.

  Staley and I are living in a high rise that houses a shit load of freshmen girls, some of which are our teammates. We’re on the tenth floor with a spectacular view of the Twin Cities skyline and the Mississippi River. Our room is pretty small with two twin beds, two desks, a sink, and one walk-in closet, but it’s cozy and we decorated it to feel more like home. A communal bathroom and kitchen are down the hall too. It feels like stereotypical college and I love it.

  Classes start Monday, but we’ve been on a campus a few weeks for volleyball. Our team is fucking stacked! Last year the team made it to the regional final, but missed the championships by one game. I think we can get to there this season.

  There is solid senior leadership in our setter and one of our outside hitters. They’re good shit and have been showing us the ropes on and off the court. We’ve fit in perfectly and it definitely feels like we made the right choice coming here.

  Staley is making quite the impression on our coaches and she should see some time on the court. I’m working hard, but there is a junior libero who I’m competing with for the starting the spot. We’re neck and neck. So far, she has a higher serving percentage while I’m taller and can be used to hit from the back row. It’s just going to depend on what Coach Trotter values more.

  “Holy shit, I needed that shower,” Staley whines as she comes back to our room wearing only a towel with her shower caddy in hand.

  “You’re lucky we’re not in a co-ed dorm.”

  “Why? I wish we were! I’d go streaking in a heartbeat.”

  I shake my head.

  “Stanz, we need to go out. I need some action. I’ve been sympathetic to your situation with Jessup, but can we please move the fuck on?”

  She says we like it’s her heart that crushed like an insignificant bug under Jessup’s shoe.

  “Stay, please stop. We’ve been over this. I prefer my boyfriends in books from now on.” I shake one of her romance novels at her.

  I started reading Staley’s vast collection of romance novels after we moved in, after I finally stopped crying. They’re actually really good storylines and some of the guys, holy mamacita! They’re hot on paper.

  “Which one is that?”

  “Reckless Hearts.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one. Graham Carroll will get you to double click your mouse about halfway through.”

  “Jesus, Stay.” I shake my head at her. “How are we even related?”

  “We shared an egg. It’s like DNA and shit.”

  “Stick to the arts, my dear sister.” I laugh.

  “Hey, ladies!” our friend Poppy says as she pops her head into our room.

  Poppy, Harper and Cora all live in our dorm and play volleyball. We immediately bonded with them and we’ve become super close.

  “Hey, Pop!” I reply from my bed. Staley is still in her towel and is making no movement to get clothes on.

  “So, Harps and I are heading to The Cove. You ladies want in?”

  “What’s The Cove?” Staley asks before I can.

  “It’s like this huge bar and grill right on Bliss Lake. Not too far from here. Like twenty minutes. It has a dozen sand courts and they have pickup and league games every night of the week. We’re going to go play a few games and drink some beer. Maybe get some food too. It’s a super good time.”

  “That sounds really fun…” Staley trails off and shoots me a pleading look. I’ve been a boring lump of a human since Jessup left. I thought he’d reach out by now, but it’s been weeks of silence. It hurts so damn bad that some days I feel like my entire soul has shattered.

  “It does, but I have a date with Graham.”

  “Oooo, Graham Mitchell? He’s hot,” she says and wiggles her eyebrows at me.

  “Who’s Graham Mitchell?”

  “Uh, duh, the hottest senior on the football team. Where have you two been?”

  “Right, no. Graham Carroll is my date,” I reply and shake my book at her like I did to Staley.

  “Get up. Get dressed. Now,” Staley says with a tinge of malice in her voice.

  I sigh.

  “Come on, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease,” Poppy pleads with big puppy dog eyes. Poppy is gorgeous. She’s tall like Staley with dark chocolate colored hair and huge brown eyes. She is super fit and rocks a crop-top like no one I’ve ever seen. Abs for days.

  “Fine. But only because I know Graham will be here when I get home.”

  Poppy laughs. “Whatever you say, weirdo. Love you. See you downstairs in ten. Harper will drive.”

  We arrive at The Cove around six and the place is packed with people. We’re all wearing a sport bikini, cut offs and flip flops as we walk in. It makes me feel normal, almost. Like we’re back at Mary Lou’s getting a game going on a summer afternoon.

  The Cove is amazing. It is a huge white building with green shutters surrounded by massive, varying level wooden decks. There’s a deck by each sand volleyball court for spectators, one large deck that rises above the rest where you can oversee the whole lake, which I bet looks spectacular at sunset, and three smaller decks spread out around the perimeter of the building for those not interested in watching the volleyball games. You can also eat inside, but who would want to with these views?

  The night air is warm, but there is a cool breeze coming off the lake. August evenings in Minnesota are perfect as the sun sets.

  We find a table near court six and sit down
waiting for a game to open up. A waitress takes our drink orders and we don’t even get carded. Bonus.

  “Ladies,” a male voice interrupts.

  “Hey, you made it!” Harper squeals and jumps from her seat.

  “I did. I brought some reinforcements too,” the guy says as Harper throws her arms around his neck.

  “Who the fuck is that?” I whisper to Poppy.

  “Trevor something. He plays on the men’s club volleyball team. Harper met him in the weight room yesterday and you know Harper, its true love,” she tells me.

  I giggle. That’s Harper all right. She’s told us stories of her previous boyfriends. She’s had more boyfriends that she planned to marry than I’ve had in my entire my life. She’s a hopeless romantic. As our backup setter, she’s a bit shorter than I am, with a cute blonde bob that she pulls into a spout on top of her head when we play, bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She looks like a porcelain doll.

  “Girls, this is Trent Maybury,” Harper begins the intro when Poppy leans over to me.

  “Oops, good thing I didn’t call him Trevor to his face,” she whispers with a giggle.

  Harper continues, “He’s the setter for the guys’ squad. We met a couple days ago. Hope you don’t mind him and his boys joining us. They were hoping to get a few co-ed games going.” Harper looks to us with pleading eyes.

  “Hey,” I pipe up and stick out my hand, “I’m Stanzy. Libero.”

  “Staley,” my sister adds with a wave.

  “Poppy.”

  “Nice to meet you all. This is Evan,” Trent motions toward a tall, dark and handsome fellow to his right who waves at us, “and this is Duke.” Duke is shorter with long blonde hair that is pulled into a ponytail.

  We all scoot together so the guys can join our table. After a few rounds of drinks a court opens and Trent practically sprints from the table to claim it.

  “Let’s rock!” he shouts from the sand as he whips his shirt off over his head. Damn, Gina.

  “Girl, you better be clawing that six-pack later,” Staley whisper-laughs so only the girls can hear her.

  “Duh,” Harper says with a laugh and an exaggerated eye roll.