by Shae Ross
How have I allowed myself to get so tangled up in him? Is it even possible for us to have a relationship considering what’s going on? And what am I thinking? He’s SEU’s quarterback—the fantasy of half the women on campus. He doesn’t want a relationship. He probably has a gaggle of girls following him twenty-four-seven, and I’m sure they’re not wearing sweatpants and headbands. It’s probably nothing for him to mash with girls whenever, wherever, and whoever. That has to be what this is about. Humiliation and a touch of anger mix with the remnants of the tingling heat he fired low in my belly.
The anger draws me out of my pity party, and the humiliation urges me to pull it together, to stop freaking out and cover the ache.
“Hey,” he says, catching my hand. He looks as if he’s about to say more, but his expression tightens, extinguishing the thought.
“At least let me go first,” he says. I lower my chin, and he eases past me, holding my hand until we’re at the top of the stairs. I step behind him while he’s looking left and right. The bar is still packed, giving me hope that our friends haven’t left yet.
“I’m going to find Jace,” I murmur.
“Priscilla. Wait. If one of those guys recognizes you, I want to be with you. I don’t want you to have any more trouble.”
“You are the trouble. All the trouble I’ve been getting into lately is because you’re with me.” My tone is pure distress. His shoulders sag, and he lets out a guilty breath. I watch his jaw settle, and he nods.
Frustration, disappointment, and a smidge of guilt draw my stomach into a tight knot as I leave him and search for Jace. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that, but it’s true, and I don’t have time to mess around with a player who wants to have a good time with me.
I spot Marcus a head above the crowd, walking through the bar with a crown of ginger curls behind him. Relief soothes my nerves. They’re angling toward the door. I haven’t missed the bus. “Hey,” I say, my voice a little shaky as I slide next to them.
“Where’ve you guys been?” Jace asks, throwing her arm around my shoulder.
“Long story. I’ll tell you later.” She opens her mouth and I repeat in a firm tone, “Later.”
Preston is waiting by the door with Carson. I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my head down, listening to Jace fill us in on their conversations with the bartenders, which have yielded no witnesses and no new information.
My legs feel limp and exhausted as I climb in the backseat. Marcus sits between Jace and me, all knees and elbows, and I stare out the window as the truck glides along.
“Priscilla?”
“Huh?” I realize Jace has called my name twice now.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, eyeing me. “How come you look so out of it, like you just lost your virginity or something?”
“Jace, shut up!” I look to the front seat and catch Preston watching me in the rearview mirror. He totally heard what she just said. How embarrassing.
“Geez, I was just joking,” she says.
My cell vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out, welcoming the distraction. It’s a number I don’t recognize. I swipe and read. Hey, Priscilla, this is Armando again, Cate’s wannabe friend. Sorry to bother you, but I can’t stop thinking about her. Can you give me any advice?
Here’s some advice: leave me alone. I type a response. Sorry, Armando, but I’ve got my own problems.
I blow out a breath as my finger hovers over the send button. I can’t be that much of a bitch. I delete and replace it. Call me tomorrow, NOT EARLY
Thanks, P, he sends back.
“Y’all sure know how to show a girl a good time,” Jace says as the truck pulls into our lot. She pats their shoulders and scoots out.
“Anytime, sweetheart.” Carson winks at her.
“You guys coming to the season opener next Tuesday?” Marcus asks.
“I’d love to go. Can we still get tickets?” Carson asks.
“I had four tickets. Gave three away to my mates,” he says, nodding to Jace and me.
“Ian can’t make it,” Jace interrupts. “I’m not going to use that third ticket.”
“I’ll put the other two at will call for you if you want them,” Marcus tells them.
Preston thanks him and opens his door, tapping Carson’s window. “I’m going to walk Priscilla up.”
I cross my arms against the cool wind and walk silently beside him. Marcus and Jace are already in the stairwell, laughing about something. Silence grows around us, making me feel awkward and anxious. I shift a quick glance over his profile, trying to read him, but he looks lost in thought.
My legs feel like noodles as I consider how to say good-bye. Is he going to say something? Should I say something? Should I shake his hand? That’s stupid. “Okay,” I blurt out.
“Priscilla,” he says, laying a hand on my arm. I stop and he turns me gently. “I’m sorry if I went too far earlier.” His voice is sincere, and he’s looking at me as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. I recall Jace’s shout out to my virginity, and heat rushes up my neck. “I know you ‘barely’ like me,” he says, lifting half a smile and raking a hand through his hair. Something about those words makes me sad, and I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say. He rubs a hand over his jaw and looks back at the car. “Anyhow, I didn’t mean to jump you. It won’t happen again.”
If I wasn’t such a mixed-up mash of jumbled thoughts, I could say something smart right now. But I just nod. That’s all I got.
I turn into the stairwell and start to climb, feeling the ache of disappointment in my joints. I can hear him behind me. He hasn’t moved yet, which means he’s watching me, which thrills me because I love it when people stare at me. I make the first turn of the stairs and meet his silvery gaze head on. I keep climbing.
“I’m going to talk to my coach tomorrow and see if he can help us,” he calls. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Yep,” I say, and when I turn into the shadows of the next flight, he’s gone.
I know he thinks I’m mad at him for “jumping me” as he called it, but I’m not mad at him. I’m mad at myself—because I fucking loved every minute of it. The sound of the truck’s engine fades in the distance and I feel empty inside. We’ll see what his coaches say, and that will be the last thing. After that, there won’t be any options left, and the roller coaster of hope I’ve been riding with Mr. Everything’s arm around my shoulder will come to a screeching halt.
Next stop: reality.
Chapter Ten
Preston
There are thirteen of us. We’re heading to the training room to get stretched, taped, manipulated, and treated for a list of minor ailments before practice starts. After practice, I have an appointment to meet with Coach Cannon and talk to him about Priscilla. I’m debating about how much I should tell him. I don’t know if our coaching staff knows about some of the boosters’ involvement with our team. If I tell them something they don’t already know, I could be putting them in a bad position, since they’re obligated to report anything that rises to an NCAA violation.
I step into the rehab room rotating my shoulder in windmill motion. It’s more crowded than usual—there’s at least a dozen athletes occupying the weight machines.
I pan the room as I walk to the massage tables and nod to a couple of the women who look familiar—they might be from Priscilla’s team. We share this facility with the other SEU field sport teams and usually we don’t overlap with the soccer girls, but their schedule may have changed due to their playoff games getting ready to start.
A woman’s voice is moaning, and it’s loud enough that I can hear it across the room. Oddly enough, the low pitch sounds vaguely familiar. I focus on a pile of red-blond hair hanging over the edge of one of the padded tables. It’s Jace, and she’s letting out a deep, low, “hurt so good” kind of moan, while a male trainer kneads her shoulder. “Lower,” she says, raising the arm that’s dangling off the table and flicking her fingertips. I grin and lean
on an open table, waiting for my trainer.
Across the room, a bathroom door opens and a beautiful blonde steps out—my beautiful blonde. The unexpected sight of her plugs an electrical charge into the air. The hair on my forearms spikes.
When did I start thinking of her as mine? I take the opportunity to eyeball every inch of her. She braces a hand on the wall and tugs the sweatpants she’s wearing over narrow hips, revealing the curve of her sweet, sweet ass. I flex my fingers, recalling the feel of it in my palm. Heat prickles the back of my neck and blood starts to swirl down below. Oh, man. I cannot get a hard-on here. I straighten and step out of it, shaking my limbs and walking in slow circles, trying to redirect the blood flow
She sits on a low bench, lifts a leg, and smiles at a student trainer approaching her with a roll of tape. Hmmm. My daydream hardens into full alert as he lifts her foot, rolls off her sock, and turns her ankle. She laughs at something he’s said, and a pang of jealousy spears my gut as his hands move over her foot, then higher, stopping on her shapely calf. I’d like to knock that guy right off that bench.
Jace moans again. “Lower and harder,” she says. The pad against her cheek scrunches her lids into thin slits, but I’m pretty sure she sees me. “Yeah. Right there,” she says, flipping me a shameless smile.
A male voice rises in the room. “Okay, ladies. We’re going to have to ask you to leave.” Our trainer Donny is trying to get everyone’s attention. One by one, the soccer women realize he’s talking to them, and they gather in front of him—with the exception of Jace, who continues giving instruction to her masseur as Donny begins his sermon.
“From here on out, we’re going to need you ladies to use the Trent Lane facility for your training and rehab needs. As you all know, our football team is approaching the end of their season. We need to give our guys priority. Thank you in advance for your understanding.” He claps his hands softly in front of him and bows to the confused looks.
Shit. I didn’t know he was planning on doing this.
Priscilla’s focus shifts, and I meet her accusatory stare with a stumped shrug.
“Um, wait a minute,” she says, moving toward Donny. “It’s playoff season for us, too.”
“I realize that but…” He makes a constipated expression, like he’s trying to decide what line of bullshit to use. She crosses her arms and leans into a hip as the soccer trainers begin to load duffle bags.
“But what?” Priscilla asks, and her teammates show their support by inching closer. Donny’s just kicked the hive. I can see the anger buzzing behind their arched brows. They’re narrowing on their target and getting ready to swarm.
“Sorry, girls, that’s just the way it is,” Donny says.
Jace lets out a huge sigh. “That’s a load of crap,” she mutters, bouncing off the table. She marches forward, focused on Donny. Priscilla scoops an empty hand toward him, as if she’s just teed him up for her BFF. Poor Donny. He’s got no idea he’s about to be eaten alive.
“So, let’s review, shall we?” Jace paces, surveying the room with her hands on her hips. “Before you stand athletes from two winning teams. The football players, undefeated,” she says, drawing her arm back like she’s opening a curtain. “And the highest ranked soccer team in the history of SEU.”
“Here, here,” Carson shouts, clapping. I join him and the rest of the guys congregate around us, curious to see what’s going on.
Jace smiles and spreads her arms. “Take a bow, girls.” Priscilla’s eyes meet mine, and I watch with an amused look as she pinches an imaginary skirt and dips her head into a queenly curtsey. I flash an appreciative grin as the other girls put their own spin on their bows. The applause dies, and Jace grips her hips.
“So now, I ask you, why are we being kicked out of our own facility?”
Donny grimaces and scratches his head.
“Because we make more money than you do,” Tyler shouts, stepping up from behind me. His tone is a lethal mix of attitude and arrogance. I shake my head at him. Is he really as stupid as he sounds? Jace whips her head around, drops her chin, and pins him with a death glare. I step toward him as he continues to spout off. “Everyone knows football money funds all you other small fries,” he says.
“Everyone also knows that according to Title IX we’re supposed to receive the same treatment, benefits, and opportunities. You’re not the only game in town Pony Boy,” Jace sneers.
“Pony Boy?” he says, looking left and right. I straight arm a flat hand against his chest and push him back.
“Take it down a notch,” I growl.
He walks away, swatting the air and mumbling something about “taking her down a notch.” I’m staring hard at his back, tempted to jump him. Carson drops a heavy arm over his shoulder, whispering something harsh. I’ve had my differences with Tyler over the years—mainly because I know he’s doing shit he’s not supposed to do. I don’t think it was a coincidence that he was one of the guys with me in the Rathskeller Bar the night Priscilla and I got arrested.
Jace continues. “One of the higher ups at this University has decided that the football players get the exclusive use of this facility, which we all know is the best facility on campus.” She pauses for a moment, letting her words sink in.
“So here’s the question: why does the administration at our university believe that in order for you to succeed, they have to take something away from us? Do you believe that?” My teammates shift around me as her eyes rake over us. “In the end, what will hurt the most is not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends. Martin Luther King said that.”
She squares her shoulders to us. “Bystanders. Complicity,” she says, pausing after each hard word. “If you let this happen today…” She points to me. “Bystander.” Then to Carson. “Bystander.” And next to Moses. “Bystander.” She waves her fingers over the rest of the guys. “You may not be the ones doing it, but it’s being done on your behalf, and you’re letting it happen. Leadership at this university is broken, and it’s your turn to step up.”
“She’s right.” I move center and confront Donny. “There’s no reason they should have to use a different facility. If you’re kicking them out, I’m going to use the other facility, too.”
“I follow Rush.” Moses nods, joining me.
Carson moves into action, reaching for a duffle bag. “Yep. Me, too. I’ll help you carry your stuff.” With the exception of Tyler, who’s ignoring us, working on the leg press at the back of the room, the rest of the guys step up.
Donny pinches his chin, sizing up the resolve of the group. “Well, look, I can take your concerns to the AD. I can’t promise anything but”—he raises his arms and shrugs—I get it. You can stay until further notice, ladies.” He scurries out of the room, and when I look back to Priscilla, her eyes are bright, locked on me and beaming happiness.
“I think it’s our turn to clap for you,” she says, and the women bust into an enthusiastic round of applause. The guys take full advantage, breaking into dance moves—mostly bad dance moves. Not me. There’s no way I’m turning away for a millisecond. Her smile lights me up like the sun, and my chest swells. Hot damn. I think I’ve finally done something right.
By the time my trainer’s done loosening my shoulder muscles, the girls are gone. We finish in the training room and practice inflicts the usual exhaustion. I take a quick shower and head to Coach Cannon’s office, rapping my knuckles on the glass window.
“Come on in, Rush. Have a seat and tell me what’s going on. I asked Dante to join us,” he says, nodding to our offensive line coach. He’s the coach that came and picked me up from jail. I have a feeling he’s also the one who worked behind the scenes to get the charges cleared from my record. “I’m aware of the bar fight and arrest,” Coach Cannon says. “Dante tells me there’s a problem with some girl threatening you.”
“No.” I glower at Dante before dismissing the comment. “Her name is Priscilla, and she’s not threatening me. Here’s the deal. Sh
e was with me that night. She got caught up in the bar fight by trying to help me. She’s the captain of the soccer team. They arrested her, too, and she got called in front of the athletic board. They suspended her, and she can’t play for the rest of the season.”
Coach Cannon shakes his head. “That’s too bad,” he says, his tone is filled with genuine regret. “What am I missing here though? There’s nothing we can do for her now that its out.”
“She’s filed an appeal,” I explain. “She needs a witness—at least one person who can come forward and say she was acting in self defense.” Coach Cannon is already shaking his head. He’s going to tell me I can’t testify as a witness because if I do it will expose the fact that they did something to get me out of my charges. “I’m trying to track down someone who was at the bar and saw the fight, so that they can speak on her behalf. But if I can’t find anyone else…”
His eyes look alarmed and he examines Dante with a critical look. He leans back in his chair, blowing air between his lips. “It’s a tangled web we get ourselves into when we do shit like this, Dante.” He swivels back to me, and I know what he’s about to say, but before he does, I need to make sure he understands the big picture.
“The women’s soccer team has made the championship playoffs. If I don’t appear at her appeal and tell them what really happened, she can’t play in the NCAA tournament. She’s the team’s leading scorer.”
“Jesus Christ,” Coach Cannon, growls. He leans forward, drops his elbows on the desk, and thinks about what I’ve said. “You got any ideas?” He turns to Dante.
Dante raises empty hands. “That’s why we’re in your office, Coach.”
“As usual, the shit runs upstream around here.” He lets out a moan and taps his fingers on his desk. “You can’t testify, son. If you do, they could suspend you.”
Dante jumps on the campaign. “You’ve got your own career to think about. I know how hard you’ve worked and what it will mean to your family to get that NFL contract. The best agent is ready to sign you. Duffy McCray is going to lead you to the good life. You just have to stay focused and keep clean for another six weeks. That girl sounds like trouble, and you don’t have to be the hero.” I clench my jaw. It burns me to hear him talk about her like that.
