Chapter 3
SWEAT POURED OFF DANE in a steady stream, but he didn’t even look like he was breathing hard. I started sweating just watching him. His muscular forearm glistened as he clutched his water bottle. I couldn’t believe a man that tall could run so fast. I hoped he wouldn’t be around to witness me sprinting at practice, because my jiggling butt would probably repulse him.
When Maddie came to sit on my left, I pried my gaze away from Dane and strived for nonchalance. “So, uh, why did the coach call him GD?”
“It’s his nickname,” she answered as she tugged kneepads over her shoes. “Great Dane.”
“Oh.” I lifted my arm overhead and stretched my triceps muscle, simply to have something to do. Great was certainly one word for him.
A teammate I didn’t know yet chuckled from the other side of Maddie. “Or God Damn, as some of us call him. As in goddamn, he’s fine.”
Maddie grinned as she tilted her head toward the end of the bleachers. “Better not let Nina hear you say that.”
“Why not?” I asked.
The other teammate shrugged. “Last year—”
“Ladies!” Coach boomed as he stormed away from the men’s coach. “We’re taking over the gym. We’ve got priority here. Madison, get us started on warm-up.”
Maddie ran to the net, and when my teammates followed her, I jogged over too. I snuck a glance at Dane to find him positively murdering me with those eyes. Oops. He was mad at me again? How was it my fault our practice times got messed up?
A male voice boomed, “Hold it!” and I halted mid-step. I turned to see Dane point at the gym floor in front of me a second before he loped over, clutching his towel. Would he strangle me with it? My eyes darted to Allison at the sideline, but my Secret Service agent didn’t seem to be on alert. I braced myself as he neared, but my fear turned to surprise when he dropped to the floor and wiped it with his towel.
“Close your mouth, Ramirez,” he said as he popped back up and stood inches from me. How does he smell so yummy despite his soaked shirt? It was a manly scent, tinged with some sort of aftershave. “I sweat like a cow.” His angular body towered over me. Not a bovine in sight.
His eyebrows knitted together as I stared up at him. His eyes were so pretty, so deep. “I didn’t want you to fall and break your ankle,” he continued. “At least not because of me.” His insult barely registered over the blood rushing in my ears. When I continued to stand mute in his presence, his head tilted. “I know you can speak…” One corner of his mouth perked up. “You’re not going to call me bitch again, are you?”
When I finally wrestled my gaze from his face, I noticed everyone in the gym watching us. I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry.
“Thanks, Dane,” Maddie said as she gestured for me to join the team for warm-ups. She turned around, jumped to block at one end of the net, shuffled over a few steps, and jumped again. She had an awesome vertical leap, and I watched Nina and the other teammates follow her lead.
I looked back at Dane. Say something, idiota. “I don’t know…do you deserve to be called bitch again?” I backpedaled toward the net so he wouldn’t get me in trouble with Coach this time.
“I deserve only kindness and affection.” He smirked.
Above one of his mischievous eyes I noticed a scar. Where’d he get that? “We’ll see, GD.” I spun around and hustled to join my teammates. My heart pounded and my face flushed before I even took my first jump, and I hoped he didn’t look at my big butt. Focus, Ramirez. I couldn’t let him distract me. I had too much to prove.
I panicked when my fingertips barely cleared the top of the net as I jumped. Were my legs shaking so bad that I couldn’t jump anymore? But then I noticed Kara at one end of the net and Brian at the other, lowering the net to women’s height. Phew. Once the net was shorter, I lunged for the ceiling as I leaped, then sidestepped over to the next spot on the net. Blocking was my specialty, requiring strong legs and impeccable timing.
My quick breaths and hammering heart somehow soothed me, bringing peace in the midst of this tumultuous transition. So much was happening right as Dad ran for president, and I had to endure it all under the hateful gaze of his opponent’s son. But no matter how bad the rest of my life became, the gym was my home. Volleyball was my clarity.
When Maddie introduced the next running and shuffling drill, I grinned. My club coach, Susie, used to lead us through the exact same sequence of movements for warm-up—apparently having learned them from Coach Holter. The other freshmen fumbled with the intricate footwork, but I skated through. When I looked up to see if Coach had noticed my smooth moves, I saw Dane watching me from across the gym. His arms laced across his chest as he studied me with an appraising eye…
And then I was on the floor. What the hell? Apparently I’d just tripped over my feet. Real smooth, estúpida. I peeked up to see Dane duck through a door off the gym, and flames of mortification licked at my face.
“Anything hurt?” Kara had kneeled beside me before I could peel myself off the floor, and our athletic trainer, Tina, headed over.
Just my ego. “I’m fine.” I jogged to the basket of volleyballs and grabbed one for the serving drill. I hoped my coordination would improve for the jump serve.
Three hours later, we were in the weight room, and my arms shook violently as I strained to raise the bar off my chest.
“Only three more, Lucia,” fellow freshman Kaitlyn said from above as she spotted me on the bench press. Three more? Kill me now. I squeezed my eyes shut as I somehow lifted the bar twice more, then a tsunami of trembles ripped through my arms on the last rep. I would’ve never made that last one if Kaitlyn hadn’t helped me guide the bar back to its home. Thank God for spotters.
As I wiped my sweat off the bench with a towel, Kaitlyn slid my weights off the bar, and we traded places. “One-forty-five,” Brian said, nodding at the twenty-five pound plates Kaitlyn had removed. “Nice.”
“Thanks.” But I didn’t feel proud. The way I see it, if you’re as big as I am, you’d better lift the most on the team.
Finally I made it to my hotel room, happily showered and fed, and sprawled on my bed. It wasn’t a good sign that I already ached from practice, because I knew muscle soreness wouldn’t peak until tomorrow. Frank and Allison had joined another agent in scoping out apartments for me, and I relished some time alone. I’d just opened my laptop when Lady Gaga sang “Alejandro” from my cell phone—my older brother’s ring tone.
“Hey, Alex.” My wet hair fanned out as I sank back into the assortment of fluffy pillows.
“Hermanita.” His deep, warm voice made me smile. “How’s my lil’ sis?”
“Tired. Our first practice was almost four hours long.”
He hissed in a breath. “Ouch. And you have another one this afternoon?”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me. Susie’s practices seem easy by comparison. I think I’ll send her some hate texts for recommending this program.”
“So your new coach is as tough as advertised?”
“Worse, I think.” Coach Holter’s cruel comment came back to me, and I seized the opportunity to share it with someone who would understand exactly how insulting it was. “He…he asked me if I came to Highbanks just because it was in a swing state.”
“He said what?” My brother wasn’t known for his anger-management skills. “What a bastard.”
“So he’s dead wrong, right? Dad didn’t want me to attend Highbanks just to get votes.”
Alejandro exhaled. “Lucia, get a grip. Mom didn’t want you to go to school so far away from Texas, and Dad didn’t want you to have to deal with all the media crap. But Susie convinced them Highbanks would be your best chance to make the national team one day. If your coach needs someone to blame for your last-minute decision, it’s your club coach, not Dad.”
I sighed. I already knew that was true, but it helped to hear him say it. Screw you, Coach Holter. You don’t know me. You don’t know my family.
“Besides,” he continued, “Dad doesn’t need extra votes. He’ll win this thing no problem.”
I wished I felt as confident. “How’s Mom?”
He was quiet for a moment.
“You flew back to Houston with her and Mateo, right? And you’re still there?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I have a couple more days before I go back to school.”
My inteligente brother was about to start his second year of medical school at Johns Hopkins. “So…” I prompted. “Mom?”
“She’s stressed. She said the photos of her at the Detroit rally made her look huge, and she won’t leave the house until she loses fifteen pounds.”
I frowned. My mother had been overweight her entire life, but it never was a big deal to me—she gave great hugs, made the best taquitos I’d ever eaten, and never seemed to get sick. I admired her strength. Her weight didn’t seem to bother her that much, either, until the Republican primaries hit this year. My dad’s closest opponent had a wife who was a stick, and Mom had felt intimidated by the national scrutiny. MSNBC had been merciless.
Alex continued, “I can handle her crazy diets, but when I caught her smoking—”
“No!” I cringed. “Not that again.” My mother had quit cigarettes approximately sixty-seven times in the past eighteen years.
“I know. It’s so nasty.”
“Alex? I wonder if we should just let her smoke until the election is over. It’s gotta be tough on her.”
“And let her set a bad example for Mateo?” he huffed. “No way. He could die if he started smoking, you know.”
I knew my younger brother Mateo picking up cigarettes certainly wouldn’t help his diabetes, but it’s not like it would kill him on the spot, right? Alex had a flair for the dramatic. And a flair for the overprotective, which started when Dad hadn’t been around much after he’d been elected governor of Texas more than three years ago. “How’re Matty’s sugars?”
“Okay, I guess. He won’t tell me the numbers.”
I grinned. Mateo had already complained to me about our brother hovering over him at every turn, with texts like: Why can’t he play doctor with ANOTHER patient? Alejandro’s one year of medical school had added to his already elevated sense of authority over us.
“Maybe you could give Matty some space?” I suggested. “He’s sixteen. He won’t act civilized for at least a couple of years.”
“Maybe. Wait a minute…are you implying that you behave in a civilized manner, Ms. Eighteen-Year-Old?”
“Girls mature faster than boys.” When I found myself sticking my tongue out at him—a useless gesture over the phone—I considered retracting that statement.
“Speaking of immature…” He paused, like we’d arrived at the crux of the conversation. “Have you run into Douchebag yet?”
My heart rate sped up. If Alejandro ever found out how I truly felt about Dane Monroe, he’d fly here immediately and lock me in a convent. He’d threatened about as much when the nerdiest boy in school had taken me to senior prom last year. And that boy had been a Republican.
“Yep, ran into him twice already—at a compliance meeting and at practice. Unfortunately we have to share the same gym while they renovate the arena.”
“But isn’t the guys’ season in the spring? Why’re they practicing already?”
“Welcome to Division One athletics. There is no off-season.”
“Sounds almost as bad as med school. Will you have time to study if you’re practicing all the time?”
I was starting to have the same worries. Will I be able to get anything done if I’m too sore to walk? I dreaded having every minute of my day scheduled for me, including forced study time for the freshmen once school started. “Well, we have mandated study tables every night, to ‘help’ us study.”
“Right.” He caught my sarcasm and chuckled. “So did Douchebag dare to say anything to you?”
I hesitated. Alejandro already hated Dane, simply because he was a liberal. To add fuel to the fuego by sharing his aggressive introduction hardly seemed wise. “He, um, he didn’t seem happy I came to school here.” Remembering those deep blue eyes made my breath hitch.
“Probably doesn’t want anyone nearby to catch him in his lies and manipulation. The whole administration’s corrupt. Can you believe Cannell refused to answer the special committee’s questions about Yemen?”
He droned on about the latest scandal involving the Secretary of State, and all I could think about was Dane’s sturdy body next to me on the gym floor, so close, emitting heat and strength. He’d stared down at me with a playful smirk as he clutched the towel in his hand—the towel he’d used to wipe the floor and keep me safe, despite what he’d said. Tingles had crept up my spine from his mere presence.
“Lucia!”
“Huh?” My brother’s voice snapped me back to the empty hotel room. No sweaty muscles in sight. Bummer.
“Are you listening? I asked if you could stay away from Dane. I don’t trust him or his family.”
Could I stay away from Dane Monroe? Probably not. Would I stay away from him? Definitely not. “I don’t trust him either,” I said, to placate my brother. But I definitely wanted to see him again. Soon.
There was a knock on the door. “I think Secret Service is here.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad they decided to protect you.”
“I’m not.” I tossed my legs over the side of the mattress and headed to the door. “Will you have to be under protection in Baltimore?”
“Last thing I heard was no, not all the time. Apparently I’m not as high profile as a Highbanks student-athlete.” His tone was teasing. “They’ll just catch up with me for public appearances, and Mateo has Mom’s detail, so we’re all good.”
I peeked out the peephole and saw my two constant companions there. “Gotta go, okay? Te amo.”
“Love you too, Lucy.”
As soon as I opened the door, Frank asked, “Did you get some rest?”
“A little.” I stepped aside to let them in. “Any luck finding an apartment for me?”
“We found the perfect place!” Allison gushed.
I sensed some tension between them, and Frank looked away. I frowned. “When can I see it?”
Allison glanced at her watch. “How about tonight, after you’re done with all your practices?”
“You sure that’s okay with the other party?” Frank asked her. “Maybe we should wait until tomorrow.”
I looked back and forth between them. “What other party?” Frank went back to averting his gaze, which made me tense. Why won’t Frank make eye contact?
Chapter 4
THAT EVENING, AFTER LUCIA RAMIREZ dropped a bomb on my day, I finally had some time to chillax. I sank back onto the sofa, and the black leather made a satisfying crunch as it absorbed my freakishly tall body. Good thing my grandfather was loaded. His money had furnished this sweet house in style, turning it into my tricked-out bachelor pad. After I unleashed a monster, burrito-flavored burp, I patted my gut.
I scooped up the remote and flipped through my recorded programs on the DVR. What? My thumb locked in place over the remote as my chin retracted into my neck. Why the fuck was that on the list?
“Braaaad!” I hollered.
Silence.
“China?”
More silence.
Awesome. The fuckers were all over my case when I wanted privacy, and now when I needed help, they’d entered stealth mode. Was the stupid TV broken? I blew out a heavy breath and clenched my teeth, but I was too tired to move my ass off the sofa to call the cable company. Instead, I scrolled down and clicked on my favorite show.
Once the familiar music played, I eased into a smile and propped my feet up on the ottoman. Damn, my feet were huge—I could barely see the screen over the top of my toes. And you know what they say about guys with big feet…Oh, yeah. I sure was proud of my pocket rocket.
My grin faded as my little sister Jessica’s words echoed in my mind. “You�
��re such a nympho,” she’d said when she found a porn magazine in my backpack a month ago.
“And you’re a prude,” I’d replied. “It’s normal for men my age to think about sex.” I’d learned that fact in psych class. But when her mouth had contorted to convey her shock, I’d ripped the magazine from her grasp. Thinking about it now, maybe I didn’t mind her prudish nature. She was only sixteen, after all.
There was a teenage character on my favorite TV show, too, only the actress playing her looked about twenty-five. No way those tits were real, but did I care? She was hawt. Josh would give me shit for the rest of our volleyball career if he ever discovered I watched this inane crap, but I couldn’t stop. Not only was the actress smokin’, but I had to find out what happened with the teenage pregnancy storyline. Damn Jessica for getting me addicted!
I was so engrossed in Marlena and Roman’s argument that I barely noticed when Brad breezed into the room. “Dane, buddy, we gotta talk.”
Fast as a quick-set, I stopped my show so he couldn’t see it and glared at him. “Why the hell is Bill O’Reilly on my DVR?” I demanded.
He took a step back and paused. Then he gave an innocent shrug.
“It was you!” I gasped. “You programmed that show.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Dude, you suck at lying.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t me. That’s your DVR.”
“Okay.” My eyes narrowed. “You won’t mind if I delete it, then.”
When his attempt at nonchalance epically failed, I struggled not to laugh. I clicked on the button to bring up the list of recorded programs, but inadvertently hit play instead.
Shit! I shut it down in an instant but I could tell the damage was done.
Brad grinned. “Relax, little girl. I already saw that soap opera on the recorded list.”
“Stay out of my DVR,” I growled.
He laughed, and I folded my arms across my chest. This faux pas did not earn me a good score on the cool meter. “Don’t tell China,” I said.
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