The schoolboys took notice, and before I knew it I was on my first date. He had grabby hands and sloppy kisses, but I still had a good time. I hooked up with another ball player the following week. Keeping them from going up my shirt wasn’t easy. I let them touch my breasts over my clothes, but that was it. This went on until the football team’s captain took me out. Conner acted different. He did nothing more than give me a kiss on the cheek after our date. For the first time, I wanted to go out with the same guy again. Conner took his time, and a few weeks later, my shirt and bra were completely off. He became the love of my teenage romantic life. He was the one—his hand in my back pocket when we walked through campus, hot kisses, and eventually backseat sex. We talked about attending the same college and getting married after we earned our diplomas. Even our names were the perfect match… Conner and Cami.
He played three sports and I attended every game. No, I wasn’t cheerleader material because my coordination wasn’t the best. I still enjoyed learning the cheers while I drooled over Conner’s body on the field or court. Yes, he was still a growing teenager, but he lifted weights and had bulges in all the right places. I would lay with my head in his lap, running my fingers over his abs. They turned me on like nothing else. His biceps came in a close second. All he had to do was flex and I was a wet panty goner. I was the luckiest girl alive.
At least until the end of my junior year.
Leaving school late one evening after an ACADEC meeting, I noticed Conner’s truck parked in a dark area next to the gym and I walked over. His practice had ended an hour earlier and I figured he was waiting for me. What I discovered was my future fiancé in the cab of his lifted truck having sex with the head varsity cheerleader. I was devastated and began yelling at him, calling him every name in the book. This activated a side of Conner I’d never seen. I’ll never forget what he said.
“You’re the locker room joke,” he sneered. “Half the team has slept with you because of your big tits. Now I’ve had you too. Written on the locker room wall is ‘For big tits and a quick fuck, call Cami,’ and under it are all the names of the guys who took you up on your offer. You’ll find my name at the bottom of the list and I’m sure next week another guy will add his.”
Through my tears, I realized Conner hadn’t even known I was a virgin. I ran to my car crying, vowing to never return to school.
There was no way I could tell my mother the truth and she refused to allow me to stay home with the weak excuses I gave her. At school the following day, I asked one of the guys I previously went out with if it was true. He blushed and nodded his head, unable to look at me and answer.
The hardest thing I ever did was finish my junior year there. I switched back to baggy clothes and covered my eyes with glasses again. No one spoke to me. I had allowed my ACADEC friends to fade away during my stint with popularity and they weren’t forgiving. I heard the whispers in the halls from boys and girls. The words “slut” and “whore” were the most common. I kept my head down and tried fading into the background.
That summer, my constant begging finally paid off and my parents switched me to the much smaller Downieville High School for my senior year. The girls at my new school wore cute spaghetti strap shirts with their colorful bra straps showing and the shortest shorts and skirts they could get away with. I hid large white bras with concealing clothes, talked as little as possible, and buried myself behind books again. Sadly, the rumors followed me to my new school. I refused all requests for dates, didn’t go to my high school prom, and kept to myself. If there were a yearbook caption for most boring student that would be me.
I dreamed every night about breast reduction surgery. Eighteen was the magic age, but the cost was prohibitive unless a doctor felt my breasts caused back problems. At seventeen and eighteen I wasn’t that lucky. I began wearing sports bras in a size too small. They were cheap and mashed my boobs down tight.
I swore off muscled jocks forever.
In college, and for the first time in almost two years, I made a few friends. Courtney, my roommate, was the best friend I’d ever had and she pulled me into her inner circle. I actually confided to her about what happened in high school. Like most women our age, we talked about guys. I told her I had a thing for man muscle and we scoured the Internet for hot-bodied jocks. Even with Courtney’s constant harping about my clothes and lack of eye contact with those around me, I remained shy. She began dragging me to assorted ball games and had me lusting after the exact guys I knew were the worst.
I managed to keep myself hidden from college men until Maddux. He was a soccer player, and somehow, he saw straight through my rumpled appearance and quirky glasses. I held out against dating him for a month. His persuasive tactics included lots of flexing muscle that drew out my wild muscle-crazy side. The man excelled at making shirtless look like a fashion trend. A few weeks later, I was flat on my back in his bed. I enjoyed the sex more than I had with Conner, but still, something was missing. That sizzling something other girls talked about when it came to sex. I didn’t get it. Sex was fun, but not earth shattering.
Maddux loved my boobs and paid them constant attention when we were in bed. Outside of the bedroom, he was glad I kept them hidden because he didn’t want his friends taking an interest in my chest. His obsession with keeping me modestly dressed was a clue. I was in love and completely blind to the warning signs that Maddux wasn’t who I thought he was.
A year after our relationship began, I found Maddux in bed with Courtney. Maddux’s jealousy and keeping my body hidden came from his own infidelity. I dumped him without the war of words I suffered from Conner, but the damage was done. There would be no more wild Cami. I locked her away forever.
The following day, I found another semi-part-time job. This allowed me to move into a quad apartment where I had my own small room. I avoided my former best friend and was no longer in her circle of friends. Eventually, I became good friends with one of my quad-mates, Tyson. He was as far from jock material as a heterosexual male could get. Tall and skinny to the point of emaciation, just by looking at him you knew he was a total geek. We attempted a very short friends-with-benefits relationship before deciding the benefits didn’t work for us. He was the second person I confided everything to. Maybe it was because I knew he would never sleep with my boyfriends if I ever changed my mind about hooking up. I told him every painful detail, even about my fascination with man muscle.
Tyson had seen me naked and knew what I did to hide my breasts. Other than trying to convince me I was beautiful, he left me and my constrictive bras and baggy clothes alone. He managed to bug me enough that I lifted my head and made eye contact with people. We remained best friends even after his move to the East Coast post-graduation. When he left, it was easier to return to my shyer self, and my old habit of avoiding people took over.
I rubbed my eyes, tearing myself from the painful memories of my past. I began packing my suitcase. When finished, I dipped some celery into peanut butter for dinner. After straightening my apartment, I crawled into bed, needing sleep. As tired as I was, I had trouble shutting down my brain. It pissed me off that my last thought before I fell asleep was Van Stelson’s ripped chest.
Chapter Three
I took a cab to the airport three hours before my plane departed. Traffic was a gnarly mess even though there wasn’t a ray of sunlight in the sky. Welcome to the city. I had an hour and a half to relax after checking my bag and making it through security. When I woke up that morning, I swore I would hold my head high. No shirking from eye contact. I caught myself looking down repeatedly, but with sheer willpower, I jerked my head up each time. I settled into a corner table at Starbucks with a latte, compliments of my Journal credit card. After pulling out my iPad, I continued my lessons in the foreign language of rugby. I also had my old college laptop that needed to get me through until Christmas. It would be the only Christmas item on my list for my parents this year.
I have no idea why I typed Van’s name in the searc
h engine first. It was ridiculous that I found myself attracted to him. Jock and most eligible bachelor. He and I would never happen. I could just imagine all the women throwing themselves at his smelly jock feet. Yuck.
I clicked through the list and found a grainy image of Joel that I overlooked the night before. He couldn’t have been much more than a teenager when the picture was taken. The brothers could be twins. Double yuck. I continued scanning and found another photo of Van in his rugby uniform that had me taking a too large gulp from my hot cup.
That’s it. I deserved a burnt tongue. Muscles, dimples, and blue eyes were no longer my thing, and my racing heart was because of my nervousness over flying. Adjusting my glasses, I started memorizing ridiculous rugby terms that made no sense. Thirty minutes before my plane departed, I clicked off my iPad and walked with my head held high to my gate.
Once I took my seat on the mid-sized crowded plane, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the screaming baby in the row behind me. I had the window seat with two men sitting next to me. We didn’t talk, and I quickly fell into a coma-like sleep and made it through the first airplane ride in my life.
We landed an hour and a half later. The airport was small though it had one car rental company which was listed on my itinerary. I picked up my car for the hour long drive to Colt. From my research, I knew its population was just over fifty thousand with a medium-sized state college and absolutely nothing else to attract anyone. I refused to consider rugby an attraction of any kind. For some strange reason this was where the Stelson brothers made their home.
My hotel was a quaint inn off the highway. As I waited for the middle-aged clerk to finish up with a customer who entered before me, I timidly looked around the lobby and noticed the pictures on the wall. On closer inspection, I realized they were rugby teams and action shots of games.
“May I help you, Miss?”
I turned, immediately lowering my eyes to the tiled floor. Damn. No. I had to change the habit and make eye contact part of my muscle memory. I lifted my gaze. “I have a reservation for Cami Avesque.”
He clicked away on the computer, printed out a sheet for me to sign, swiped my company credit card in case I wanted to order something to the room, and handed over a key card.
Before I walked away, I shrugged another bit of timidity aside. “Is there a picture of the current rugby team anywhere?”
“You want the college team or The Slam?”
Such a stupid name. “The Slam, please.”
He showed me the current pictures as he continued talking. “The Slam Tavern is next door and a great place to eat. If you go down another block and turn left, the stadium is about a mile from the main road. Playoff match this Saturday. Practically the entire town hits the home matches, but let me know if you want a ticket. I have a few connections.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.” I gave him a small smile. I didn’t bother telling him I’d be there front and center, because that would require more conversation. I also didn’t tell him that the last thing I wanted was to witness a bunch of grown men roll around in the dirt and act like little boys. I turned back to the team pictures after he returned to the desk. I spotted Van’s easy grin right away. He stood in the middle of his teammates with his arm thrown over the shoulder of another man. I leaned in closer to the picture. The other man’s face showed a long scar running from under his eye to his mouth, which pulled in his upper lip slightly. The other side of his face was the perfect replica of his brother’s. The unknown story behind the scar had me staring at Joel Stelson for several minutes. He was larger than his brother, his eyes more serious. A wave of regret rolled over me and then I mentally shook myself. Joel had dumb, muscle-bound jock written all over him regardless of the scar. I walked away, found my room, and sent a text to Van, whose number was the only contact on my schedule. I sincerely hoped he was at least semi-intelligent.
Me: This is Cami Avesque with the Cleveland News and Journal. I’m in my hotel room and wanted to confirm our morning appointment.
I began hanging up my clothes so the wrinkles could mostly fall out. The soft ping of my phone sounded.
Van: Tomorrow morning 7 stadium locker room.
That was it.
Okay then.
I was hungry and after looking at the local restaurant guide, I decided to walk to The Slam Tavern to see if I could order a salad. The name of the place didn’t leave any real hope that they’d have healthy food, but it was close and worth a try.
I nervously glanced around the dark interior. Before I could leave, a female shout came from the back. “Grab a menu and seat yourself. I’ll be with you in a sec.”
A stack of laminated menus rested on the counter by the door. I picked up the top one and quickly found the salads. Maybe this would work. My stomach ached with hunger, so I walked to the far corner and took a seat after placing my scrap bag down beside me in the booth. I pulled my iPad from my bag and switched it on, relieved to have a little extra light.
Before I could click into my email, the waitress arrived with a glass of water.
“Sorry, hun, I’m it out front tonight, but the cook’s in the back if you’re hungry. I’m Estella by the way. Haven’t seen you around. Welcome to Colt and The Slam Tavern. My feet are killing me and my back hurts, but that’s age catching up with me. My youngest just had her second baby and now I have four grandchildren. I’ll tell you that makes me feel older. What can I get you to drink?”
Estella was in her mid to late fifties. She had laugh lines around her eyes like my mom’s. I relaxed for the first time since waking up this morning. She was one of those special people who shy people loved. She talked your ear off without waiting for acknowledgment.
“Could you recommend a red wine?” I asked hopefully.
Her lips twitched before she threw back her head and laughed… loudly. A little too loudly if you asked me. I glanced around. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see two men at the bar and they were looking my way.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll fix you up with our only red wine. We’re known for our beer and the hard stuff, but we keep a bit of wine on hand. You stayin’ at the Inn?”
I really needed that wine; it always added a small boost to my courage. “Yes, I am.”
“Okay, pick what you want off the menu. I’ll grab you a glass and be right back for your order.”
She winked at me and I realized I needed to loosen up a bit more; the wine would help. I also needed to remember I had dreams of being a successful journalist. I needed to tough uncomfortable situations out and grow some balls. I took a sip of water, stiffened my spine, and looked around. More pictures of the local rugby teams lined the walls. Trophies and plaques too. The entire tavern paid homage to rugby.
Estella set my wine glass down. “What did you decide, hun?”
My smile was a bit wider this time. “I’ll have the dinner salad.”
She reached in front of me and opened the menu. “That’s nothing but a few pieces of lettuce, a single cherry tomato, and two slices of cucumber. Try the chef salad and I’ll have Dusty throw a little extra on it for you.”
Of course my stomach picked this exact moment to gurgle, so how could I argue. “Umm, okay, with vinegar and oil please.” Exercise and I didn’t mix, so I had to settle for walking at a fast pace when I could and constantly watching calories.
“Taste that wine and tell me what you think.”
Here goes nothing. I gave it a small test sniff and then under Estella’s watchful eye, took a sip of the nastiest-tasting wine I’d ever had. It was a fight to control my facial muscles and not give my distaste away. Without choking, I managed to speak. “Good, thank you.”
“If you’re around tomorrow night we’ll fix you up something that’ll put some hair on your chest.”
How could I answer that? Hair was already popping up here and there from the wine. “Umm, okay?”
Estella laughed full out again. “I like you, hun. How long you stay
ing with us?”
“I’m not sure. A few days at least.” If The Slam lost this week’s game, my short exposé on rugby would come to an abrupt halt. That wishful thought had me doing a happy dance in my head.
“Will you be around for the big match Saturday?”
“Yes, I should be.”
“Well if you are, let me know and I’ll hold you a seat in the tavern. We start filling up as soon as the match ends.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.” Estella looked past my sloppy clothes and huge glasses, making me feel welcome. I was sure she never met anyone who wasn’t an instant friend. I would give anything to have her confidence. She left to help a new customer, and I finished checking my email. There was one from Ted.
Sorry we didn’t speak before you left. If I had your number, I’d have given you a heads up. Congratulations, and yes, this is my way of asking for your number.
Ted
Oh crap, my cheeks burned. I had no friends at work. I kept my head down and did my job while avoiding as much office conversation and gossip as possible. I brought my lunch and ate at my desk with a book opened in front of me. When I first started at the Journal, some of the women invited me out, but I shyly refused. They stopped asking and most of the time I think they forgot I was even there. When Ted spoke to me, I rarely looked up. He seemed like a nice guy, a little old for me, but he’d never been anything but professional. Had I somehow given him the wrong impression? Did he arrange this assignment because of it? I panicked over situations like this and it was the last thing I needed. I counted to twenty as I calmed my breathing.
Kick (Completion Series) Page 2
