Downed (Gridiron #3)

by Jen Frederick

  As soon as Milly’s out of earshot, Bryant scoots forward and gestures for me to lean in. I do, but not far enough apparently, because she waves me in farther. Once I’m deemed close enough that I can sniff her flowery scent, she whispers, “I might’ve pegged you wrong, and I’m thinking that you might not need me anymore.”

  That alarming sensation on the back of my neck grows sharper. Having any kind of relationship with Bryant is a recipe for disaster, no matter what her dad publicly professes. She’s giving me an out, and I should take it. Except when I open my mouth to tell her she’s right and that I don’t need her, I find myself saying something else entirely. “I only gave you the one orgasm. There's more where that came from.”

  She blushes furiously, but manages to push out a strangled admission. “I can give those to myself.”

  The vision of Bryant fingering herself causes me to black out for a moment. When I come to, I realize that I’ve got only two options: attack or retreat. As a quarterback, there are approximately four seconds that pass between the time the ball is snapped and a defender is in your face, trying to make you part of the turf. It takes me only half that time to decide that retreat is in order. “Alright.”

  I slide back and resume eating. I need to regroup. I came here to…make sure Bryant was okay. She looks okay, sounds okay, is eating healthy if her nearly empty plate is a sign of anything.

  “What do you have going on today?” I ask between bites. Somehow hearing Bryant say that I’m all wrong for her brings everything into focus. We need to fuck again. She needs it, and so do I.

  She opens her mouth and then snaps it shut, before scooting against the back of the banquette. “I’m busy. I’ve got to go to the craft store to buy some supplies for the next date party the AOs are hosting.”

  “Date night?” I frown at my plate. She was the one who told me her only rule was no other women, but she can go on dates with other guys? That’s fucked up. “What the hell is that?”

  “That’s where we set up a social event with a fraternity so that our new pledges and their new pledges can see why joining our houses was such a fantastic idea. My sisers and I will be decorating the event with fake fall leaves, orange and brown carnations, and gold and bronze glitter.”

  If she was trying to get rid of me, listing contact with glitter wasn’t going to cut it. “Great. When do we leave?”

  “For what?”

  “The craft store. I’m sure you know that Monday’s my day off.” I arch a brow, but her face remains impassive. “For some reason I'm no good on Mondays. I used to skip classes all the time back at Western State.” I dig into my wallet and pull out a couple of bills to cover the brunch. “Your dad found out, and my schedule here magically only has classes on Tuesday through Friday. It also helps that since this is my fifth year, I only have three classes this semester and three more next semester before I graduate. One of my classes was basket weaving, but you might already know that.”

  A slight hint of pink colors the base of her pretty throat, telling me that my guess was correct. Girl knows my schedule. Hell, she was probably responsible for the no Mondays and the basket weaving. I test that theory. “I would’ve rather had the History of Pornography.”

  She sticks her nose in the air. “That’s a silly class, and you don’t need it. Also, the basket weaving exercise is just one of the many things you’ll do in studying Prehistoric Folklore Objects.”

  My lips twitch. “Took that class, did you?”

  “No, it’s always full,” she replies primly, dapping the napkin at the corners of her mouth. “What kind of basket are you making?”

  It’s my turn to frown. “There are different kinds?”

  “Of course. Let’s go.” She slaps the napkin on the table and slides out, revealing a tight long skirt that emphasizes her tiny waist and her cuppable ass. Too round, my eye.

  Outside, I take one look at Bryant’s tiny convertible and make a beeline to my truck. “I’m driving.” I place a hand on her lower back and try not to take offense that she stiffens at my light touch. This chick’s a puzzle, and I’ve got so much on my plate that the last thing I should be doing on my day off is spending it trying to figure her out. Yet, here I am, going to a goddamned craft store.

  “You’ll want to get on the interstate and take the second exit,” she tells me as I maneuver out of the parking lot.

  “Since you know everything about me, maybe you should level the playing field,” I say as I make the turn onto Halifax, the road that leads to the on-ramp.

  “I’m getting a sociology degree. Daddy wants me to work with him as his assistant or something. I had an offer from the AD’s office too. An agent’s approached me. There’s an opening in the Titan’s PR department.”

  “You'd be good there.” In the fourth quarter, after Coach took me out to give my backup some playing time, my eyes strayed toward Bryant as she schmoozed the two scouts, a handful of boosters, and other assorted VIPs.

  “I don't know.”

  “What don't you know?”

  “I've pretty much lived at Southern for the past ten years.” For as long as her dad has been coach down here, I calculate. “I don't really know any other life. Sometimes I think about going other places.”

  “What other places?”

  “I don't know. Other other places. Ugh, can we not talk about me?” She shields one side of her face with the back of her hand. “When did you first know you were a quarterback?”

  “That’s a boring story.” I dangle my hand on the top of the steering wheel as we motor down the freeway. “I grew up loving the game. My dad and I tossed the ball around for as long as I can remember.”

  “Were you always the quarterback?”

  “Nope. I started out as a linebacker but our quarterback broke his ankle and my dad suggested I step in. I never gave the position up after that.”

  “That’s always the saddest part about football, isn’t it? That there are so many players but only a few positions.”

  I resist the urge to shift uncomfortably in my seat. Is she suggesting that I did the dirty to some peewee football player? “I was ten when that happened.”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have stepped in. You are obviously a stellar quarterback. What happened to your friend? Did he take your position on the line?”

  Now I really want to squirm. “No. He moved to wide receiver.”

  “Hmmm,” she says.

  I decide a change of subject is in order. “Do you wish you could play? Be the first NCAA female football player?”

  She laughs. “No, thanks. I don't like contact sports.”

  “Oh, really? Could’ve sworn differently the other night. Seemed like you couldn’t get enough of the contact. That is, until the end.” I slide a glance in her direction. “Want to tell me what happened back there and why you’re squirrely today?”

  “I’m not squirrely,” she protests. “I have a lot of things on my mind. After I get the craft supplies, I’m going back to the house to set up a dinner with the new pledges. Then I have a few chapters to read and notes to make in my outlines. There’re a couple more scouts coming next weekend for the game against Tennessee, and I need to review their files.”

  “Great. So are you coming to my place or am I going to yours?” I pull into the craft store parking lot.

  “For what?”

  I get out of the truck and hustle around to her side.

  “For what,” she repeats when I get there.

  “For dinner and sex. What else?” I help her down from the seat.

  She makes a face. “First, would you please not call it sex? It’s making love—”

  “We don’t love each other,” I point out.

  She purses those plush lips of hers, and I want to lean down and take a bite out of her.

  “I don’t care if we hate each other, it’s still lovemaking. Second, you’re not allowed to come to the house. I live at the AO house, and no men are allowed.” She sticks her nos
e up in the air, tugs on her purse straps, and starts stomping for the front door without looking to her right or left.

  I hold up my hand to stop an oncoming car and catch up to her. “Ever?”

  She halts again, this time in the middle of a car lane. I pull her body out of harm’s way and push her toward the automatic doors. Christ, how has this girl stayed alive when she’s so reckless?

  “Western State has sororities. How are you so ignorant about this?”

  “What do I care about sorority rules?” Does she really think some stupid house rule would keep me from where I wanted to be? “And how come you can call me ignorant but I can’t call it fucking?”

  “Ignorant is a nicer term for dumbass.” She turns with a hair toss and walks toward a sign that says “flowers.”

  “Back to the no-men ban. What’s the purpose of that?”

  “Because it’s a sorority house,” she says with exaggerated patience, “and therefore available to sisters only, so unless you’re going through a gender transition, you’re not allowed in.” She gives my package a cool appraisal. “Are you?”

  I snort. “It’s adorable how you think that your little rules are going to keep me out.” I place my hands on either side of her head and back her right against the shelves, pinning her between a rack of baskets and my ever-hardening body. “What time do you want me to come over?”

  “Ace!” she exclaims, squirming against me until her pelvis rocks into my cock. She sucks in a breath and then backs away immediately, repeating her warning. “You are not going to come into my sorority house.”

  “Why? Is your dad going to kick me off the team? If he’s not giving me my marching orders for climbing into bed with you, I don’t know why he’d be upset that I broke a sorority house rule. Or is he mad and you two have been lying to me?”

  “Of course not! Besides,” she hisses, “he knows nothing about our lovemaking, and it’s going to stay that way, you hear? Fathers do not want to know that kind of information about their daughters.”

  I smile coolly down at her. “Then I’ll take my chances.”

  “No, I’ll meet you somewhere,” she says with a smidge of desperation. “I’ll come to you.”

  I hide a smirk. “Good. I’ll see you at six. Bring the basket weaving shit.”

  Bryant shows up at five to six, tracking along with her dad’s infuriating tendency to be early. Good thing I anticipated this and already had the food delivered. Carter and Zane were hanging around like vultures, wondering why I hadn’t ordered them any.

  Zane’s head lifts in anticipation when she walks in. “Hey, Bryant, how’s it hanging?”

  I lift the bag of supplies out of her arms.

  “I’m doing great, Zane. How’s Mae? I haven’t seen her around much.”

  Mae? Who’s she?

  Zane knows. “She’s real busy. She’s gotten four secondary applications including one from Duke, so she has to write these essays in between her regular class assignments.”

  “What’s she writing about?” Bryant asks as she hands me her coat.

  The minute I set the bag down, Carter starts rifling through it. “Hey, Bryant, you bring us something?”

  “Of course. Mae’s essay?” She prompts Zane, who joins our roommate in looking through Bryant’s bag.

  “For Duke, she’s working on writing about Lord of the Rings. Each of these stupid places have different requirements so she can’t use the same essay for all of them. Hey, is that pie?” he exclaims when Carter finds a big round plastic container at the bottom. I swipe the container out of Carter’s hand, but before I can yell at them for being animals, Bryant gives me a scolding look.

  I bite my tongue, because this is the most interaction I’ve had with my roommates outside of the field.

  “Ace, can you get me a knife and two plates?”

  “Two?” I object. I’m the guy she’s fucking. Surely I get a piece of the pie.

  “Two,” she replies firmly.

  The other two jackasses exchange smug grins, which makes me want to drive my fist into their faces. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help much with my roommate problem—one that I didn’t realize Bryant is even aware of.

  She sets the pie in the middle of the table. “Mae’s so bright—any of those schools would be lucky to have her. Just like she’s lucky to have you.”

  As I’m walking into the kitchen to find utensils for the pie that my roommates don’t deserve, I hear Zane respond. “I’m a damn fine catch.”

  So Mae must be his girlfriend. Huh. I wonder why I didn’t know that.

  “How’s your momma, Carter? She recovering from that hip surgery alright?” Bryant asks.

  Carter’s mom had a hip surgery? I rummage around in the cupboards for four plates. During the summer, when there were fewer students on campus, I had my own dorm room. Once the fall camp started, I was moved into the apartment with Carter and Zane. I’ve lived with them for four weeks.

  Fuck, do I know anything about my roommates? Am I supposed to? I went four years at Western State without delving much into my teammates’ lives. Some guys lived for drama, but all I wanted to do was win championships and blow off some steam after a game. I slam the cabinet door shut.

  Out in the living room, conversation halts for a moment, then picks up again when Carter answers, “She is. Hospital bills are piling up, but she’s getting around okay. Thanks for sending those flowers. She really liked them.”

  “I’m so glad. Everyone loves flowers,” Bryant says. “And hospitals are so sterile. I don’t know how anyone stands being in there for longer than ten minutes. You should talk to Daddy if you have problems with those bills. Maybe he can talk to the hospital about a payment plan.”

  “Maybe,” Carter grunts.

  When I carry the dishes out, I’m not at all surprised to see Carter and Zane hovering around Bryant like she’s the queen and they’re her loyal worker bees. If I’m good with the football, I’m nothing compared to how Bryant is with people. They love her and for good reason. She not only listens to them, but remembers every damn thing. She must have a photographic memory lurking behind those pretty brown eyes.

  I place the plates on the coffee table along with the forks and a knife. “I ordered dinner,” I remind her. The bite in my voice is a little too sharp. All heads swing toward me. Accusation swims in my roommates’ eyes while disappointment is clear in hers.

  “I’ll take my pie to go, Miss Bryant,” says Carter stiffly.

  “Mine, too,” Zane says, darting another annoyed look in my direction.

  Silently, Bryant cuts the pie in fourths and places a decadent mound of chocolate pudding and whipped cream on two different plates. The guys snatch up the dessert and disappear.

  “I’ll get the food,” I say sourly.

  In the kitchen, I grab the food from the oven where I stuck it so it wouldn’t get cold. Bryant follows me.

  “Are you upset that I brought a treat over for your roommates? I just thought it’d be nice.”

  “No,” I say tersely. At this point, I don’t remember why I even invited her over. If I want to get laid, there’s no shortage of girls around. Although, strangely enough, while I see the other guys getting hit on all the time, the women here have given me a wide berth. Back at Western State, I couldn’t walk out of my house without some girl on my jock. Here, it’s almost like I’m a leper. A suspicious thought leaps into my mind. Lo mein in one hand and plate in the other, I swivel around to Bryant.

  The minute that I spot her face, my irritation drains away. What ulterior motive could she have? I’d practically blackmailed her into coming over here. Of course she was going to bring pie for my roommates. Bryant probably doesn't walk into the Steak House without bringing Milly something, and I’m not referring to a tip. All signs point toward Bryant being generous, kind, and warm-hearted. Why she wants to fuck around with me, I have no clue.

  “I’m being a bastard, aren’t I?” I grab two more plates out of the cupboard.


  She sweeps her golden hair out of her face and considers me. “Well, I wouldn't use that word exactly, but do you have something against your roommates? Carter and Zane are good guys. If it had been other players, I might not have made the French silk pie. Maybe just pumpkin bars or something.”

  A reluctant grin tugs on the corners of my mouth. “So if you ever serve me pumpkin bars I should know you’re pissed at me?”

  “Depends?” Her eyes dance in amusement. “Do you like pumpkin bars?”

  “Nope. Can't stand the taste of pumpkin anything, and I think the whole pumpkin spice thing has gotten out of control. Coffee should taste like coffee. M&Ms should be peanut or plain. Oreos should be stuffed with the original filling and nothing else.”

  “Then yes, if I serve you pumpkin bars you'll know I'm mad.”

  “Noted.”

  “So what did you get?” She peers over my shoulder. Her tits brush tantalizingly close to my arm.

  “Got a little bit of everything. Wasn't sure which you'd like.” I lean into her, enjoying her closeness. She smells fresh—like lemons or something citrusy. I like it.

  “That is very thoughtful of you. I'll take a little of the vegetable fried rice and maybe one dumpling.” She points a finger toward the box with the pork dumplings.

  I stick three on her plate, and she doesn't protest when I hand it to her. We carry our plates over to the kitchen table.

  “What do you want to drink?” I ask as she takes a seat.

  “Just water.”

  I grab a beer for myself and pour her glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge. Back at the table, I pull apart her chopsticks and rub them against each other to get rid of any splinters before handing them over.

  “Thank you,” she says, positioning the chopsticks in her hand. “Did you call your friend from Western State?”

  “Yeah, I did. She was glad to hear from me.”

  Bryant refrains from saying I told you so. “Tell me about her,” she orders instead.

  “Lucy?” I ask. At her nod and between bites of noodles, I explain, “We've been friends for a while. Western State's in our hometown.”