Romance: The Campus Player: A College Romance

by Caroline Lake

  Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.

  The Bad Boy’s Baby

  Chapter 1: Caroline

  The walk in closet was littered with beautiful designer dresses, but none of them were right. There were tens of thousands of dollars in clothes on the off-white heated tile below her feet, and yet as Cynthia took one outfit after the other off the mahogany trimmed closet fittings, pulled each on and danced a little in front of the mirror to see every angle, she shook her head. She took a breath to calm herself. She was being ridiculous after all; it was just Christmas dinner with her family, she told herself, and an old friend. She took another deep breath in and touched her light brown hair to see if her curlers had cooled. They needed a bit more time. She examined herself in the mirror. She had always loved her slightly curvy figure, and although she had put on a little bit of weight since graduating law school three years ago, it fell into all the right places and only made her look more womanly. She looked better than she ever had.

  “Is this okay?” She hadn’t noticed Glen come in and his question startled her a bit. Her husband stood before her dressed in his usual manner, charcoal grey slacks and a light grey shirt. The bland combination perfectly complimented neutral brown hair that was combed into a side part. He had classical features, which made him handsome in a way that grew more obvious as you got to know him.

  “Of course, Glen. You look completely appropriate.” The response is a unique one, but where Cynthia knew some people wanted to hear that they looked handsome or radiant, Glen wanted to hear that he looked appropriate. He wanted to be sure he fit in and was suitably prepared for the occasion.

  When they first started dating, she had given him compliments liberally. As soon as she saw him, she would tell him how handsome he looked, and his response was always the same. He would look a little confused, and ask, “Is it, you know, too much?”

  “So, who’s this David joining us for dinner?”

  “Coop,” she corrected him quickly, “well, yes, David Cooper. But he goes by Coop.”

  “Coop… aren’t we getting a little old for nicknames? David’s a strong name. He’d be better off reverting to that. From what I heard from your mother, your father had to really push his partners to get him a real job at the firm; he should really show some thanks by cleaning up a bit. It’s amazing they hired him at all with all those tattoos—”

  “He had a real job,” Cynthia cut him off, “he’s an artist.”

  Glen paused.

  “Your mother also told me you two dated for a while.”

  Glen’s comment hung in the air for a moment, and Cynthia was immediately embarrassed by how defensive she had been of Coop. Not wanting her husband to think she still harbored any emotion for her ex, she continued quickly to cover her tracks.

  “Oh, I’m surprised she even mentioned that. We went out a few times, years ago,” she waved her hands dismissively, minimizing their relationship as much as she could, “summer before law school, I think. I’m not even sure.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t bring it up tonight. Wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said, as he took a tie off the wooden rack affixed to the wall next to the full-length mirror.

  “Especially in front of his fiancé.”

  That last word sucked all the air out of Cynthia’s chest. Her mother hadn’t mentioned that detail when she said Coop was back in town. A fiancé. Her mind raced.

  When she heard he had bought a house in their neighborhood she had thought it was a big step for him, but had chalked it up to him giving up his freelance artwork and getting a steady job at her father’s firm. But learning that he was engaged… Cynthia could still remember the soft, authoritative way his hands felt when they held her. She could still feel the gentleness of his lips the first time they touched hers. Even now, after all these years, simply thinking about him sent waves of heat through her body. She breathed deep. A fiancé. What was she like? Probably young… definitely beautiful. She sighed and scanned her closet again. Nothing here would be right.

  “Cynthia?” Glen asked, holding a tie up in front of his shirt.

  “No tie, Glen,” she answered, a bit more agitated than she had meant.

  “Ok, well, I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready,” Glen mumbled quietly, already retreating into the hall.

  Cynthia sat down on the plush leather armchair in their closet and surveyed her wardrobe. None of this would be right. She had to impress, but in an effortless way. Anything she had left over from her single days was too obvious. She wanted to show Coop what he was missing, but it would be so embarrassing if anyone could tell that’s what she wanted. The only pieces she had bought recently were appropriate for work. And anything that she could wear as a public defender was too straight-laced for Coop’s taste.

  It’s funny how much things change. She got up and ran her hands through her dresses. If she had married Coop, this closet would look a lot different. This belonged to someone who wanted to be taken seriously in a male dominated office, not someone who embraced their femininity and sexuality as she had when she was dating Coop. But all this also belonged to someone who survived on a bit more than a freelance artist’s salary. As much as she complained about Glen being boring, it did mean he was dependable, and it was that dependability that led to the job that he landed at her father’s firm right out of college. And that was what gave her a closet that was bigger than her first apartment.

  After a few more minutes of searching, she dug up a red dress that could work. She pulled it on. It was conservatively cut but clung to her body in all right places. Standing in front of the mirror, she slid her hands down her sides. For the first time in a long time, her curves were on display. It was refreshing. Feeling confident, she pulled black pumps off a shelf and stepped into them. They made her legs look endless and perked up her butt. To finish it off, she found the perfect shade of red lipstick. She sat at her vanity in her bedroom and carefully applied it. She let down her curlers and examined the final result. She looked better than she had in years. She grabbed her black quilted Chanel bag and went downstairs.

  Glen was standing in the hall with his hands in his pockets, coat on. He was holding her coat in his hands; he had clearly been waiting for her. Cynthia smiled softly as she paused at the bottom of the stairs and waited for his reaction. Glen handed her jacket to her and turned to leave.

  “Ready?”

  The pumpkin pie Cynthia had bought yesterday steamed in her hands, keeping her warm as they walked across the street and two doors down to her parents’ house. Earlier that day, she had carefully taken it out of its package and placed it in one of the pie dishes that she and Glen had gotten as a wedding gift. She reheated it in the oven for ten minutes before they left.

  She remembered registering for the dish years ago with Glen’s encouragement. They spent the day smiling and imagining their life together, choosing expensive pie plates and excessive throw pillows to fill out their new home. Three years later, the plates were sitting in a cabinet unused and the throw pillows were stacked in their window nook. A few of them still had the tags on.

  Cynthia had actually tried to bake a pie once. She was an hour into her efforts when Glen came home after golfing with some clients. He examined the situation from the foyer. Cynthia was laughing helplessly, covered in flour, the dark granite counter top littered with eggshells and measuring cups. She saw Glen in the hall and stretched her arms out to him, inviting him to join her as she was trying to salvage the dough she had made a mess of. He stared at her for a few seconds.

  “Oh, Cynthia… try to get this taken care of,” he said, and he went upstairs to read.

  Cynthia rolled her eyes as Glen rang the doorbell. He couldn’t shake his manners if he wanted to. She pushed by him and opened the front door,
which her mother recently had painted white, and went inside.

  Because she had grown up in it, it had taken her returning from college to recognize the decadence of the home. Every detail was perfect enough to be ripped from the page of a magazine, carefully placed by a decorator and maintained by a housekeeper. They had mainly used neutral tones, but had splashes of color incorporated into the palate as well, which added a refreshing jolt of the unexpected every so often. This was fitting for her mother, who was calm and cool right up until she really had something to say.

  Tonight, the home was immediately welcoming. Everyone else had already arrived and was milling around the living room with drinks in their hands. Tinsel and live garland was affixed to all the trim, giving it an incredibly festive feel.

  Cynthia tried to look casual as she scanned the room until she found Coop. Her chest tightened and her face got hot when she found him. Age had certainly been good to him. He had filled out a bit, looking stronger and more like a man than he had years ago. His silky dark brown hair was shorter than it had been, but was still just as thick. Now, it hung just below his ears. It was a more grown up style, but still edgy. His green eyes were as full of happiness and life as they had been years ago. They showed his true nature which, despite the rough look he portrayed with his rock star attire, long hair, and sleeve of tattoos down his left arm, was soft, gentle, and kind. The tattoos were new. Cynthia didn’t recognize them. They reminded her that he had been absent from her life for years; and yet… seeing him now, it felt like just the other day she was running her hands through that hair and sneaking into the bathroom off the hallway to have her way with him. She wondered what else about him had changed.

  Coop’s faded, ripped jeans stood out in the sea of business casual stuffiness that filled the living room. He did, however, opt for a long sleeved button down in lieu of his usual black tee shirt. That must be his “grown up” look. The sleeves were still rolled up enough to show off his tattoos, though. He was talking animatedly to a woman slightly obscured from Cynthia’s view.

  Her brother interrupted her gaze by knocking into her with a bear hug.

  “Hey, Ryan,” she laughed. She forgot how much she missed him. He was the male version of her. People always guessed that they were twins, but Ryan was two years younger, and refused to let her forget that. He was stockier, too, but had the same light brown hair and brown eyes as she did. Her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek, complimented her dress, and removed the pie from her hands, hurrying to the kitchen with it. A bow-tied member of the staff her mother had hired for the occasion took her coat.

  “Cyn,” Ryan said, “good to see you buddy! Come on, let’s hit the bar.”

  He pulled her to the corner of the living room, where a temporary bar had been brought in. A member of the catering crew was stationed behind it ready to take their order.

  “Let’s do a shot,” he whispered to her, continuing before she could protest, “Come on! I’ve been sitting here for hours with Mom, Dad, Coop, and his airhead… I need this!”

  There was no way he had been there for any longer than twenty minutes, she thought, but him calling Coop’s fiancé an airhead made her smile. They each threw back a shot of whiskey before picking up a glass of red wine.

  “You ready for this?” He asked, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His brown eyes stared into hers. It didn’t matter that he lived across the country now. They didn’t speak as much as they used to, but he had always had the incredible ability to read her like a book, and now was no different.

  “I think so,” she replied honestly; there was no use lying to Ryan. She wasn’t sure if the pit in her stomach was from the shot she just did or the fact that, after six years, she was going to have to interact with Coop.

  “Hey stranger,” chills ran through her body as Coop gently put a hand on her back to turn her towards him. He pulled her into a hug. Cynthia was stiff, aware that everyone was watching her, scrutinizing her facial expressions and body language for her reaction. She pulled away from him but it was too late. She took a deep breath in and was filled with his musk. Masculine but soft, his smell was one that had once made her feel both safe and alive. Now, with that simple moment, everything returned to the surface. Every feeling she ever had for him that she had worked so hard for to bury rushed to the surface. All her blood, on the other hand, rushed between her legs. Her body was reverting right back to what it knew it wanted, even though Cynthia tried to convince it otherwise. Honestly, she felt more aroused with that brief body contact than she had felt having sex with her husband in, well… she didn’t know how long.

  “You must be Cynthia, so nice to meet you,” Cynthia hadn’t noticed the woman standing next to Coop until she stuck out her hand to shake. Thankfully, Cynthia’s mother had drilled manners into her for so long that they worked on autopilot. Her hand was already shaking the tiny hand of Coop’s fiancé.

  “I’m Rose,” she said, smiling. The frame of her curly dark hair accentuated the beauty of her green eyes. Piercings ran up the length of both her ears and her short-sleeved dress showcased a slender, petite body. She didn’t seem to be wearing any make up, but she didn’t need any. She was effortlessly flawless.

  Cynthia was immediately aware of the gaudy red lipstick she had on and how grotesquely tall she was. Her eyes darted to Rose’s left hand, where she was wearing an understated, gold band with a small, solitary diamond. It couldn’t have been more than a single carat. It was dwarfed by the four carat masterpiece that adorned Cynthia’s finger. She used her left hand to slowly push her hair back, making sure everyone had a good view of it.

  “Not short for Rosacea,” Ryan chimed in, “I asked,” he had the smallest hint of a smile, which made Cynthia love him.

  “Rose, what a pretty name,” Cynthia observed, making every effort she could to be the bigger person, “what do you do?”

  “What do you mean?” She replied, with a vacant smile. Coop looked visibly uncomfortable.

  “Tell her about the yoga, Rose,” he encouraged, with a look that said he had to do this more often than he liked.

  “Oh, yeah, yoga. I do yoga. I teach it, I mean. I go to people’s houses. Mainly rich people,” she laughed, “it’s fun. I’m not certified or anything but I’ve been to enough classes that I think I’ve got the hang of it. I just started working with your mom, actually.”

  “My mom?” Cynthia was shocked, “Her?”

  She pointed to her mother, who could never have had the patience for something like that. Imagining her being led through a clumsy yoga routine was hilarious, especially with an instructor who was faking her way through it.

  “I’d pay to see that,” Cynthia said. The shot she and Ryan had taken was starting to settle in, and she wasn’t as miserable as she thought she would be.

  “Well you should join us sometime,” Cynthia’s mother appeared by her side, dressed in a navy long sleeved dress and a delicate strand of pearls around her neck, “it’s great. I can already touch my toes. Come on, dinner’s ready. Where’s your father?”

  She gestured toward the dining room, indicating that they should all take their seats. Being who she was, her mother had placed thick parchment name cards at each of their seats. A thin gold line framed each name, which perfectly tied in to the white and gold china and the coordinating white linen tablecloth. There was no such thing as a casual dinner when it came to Nancy Holland. Ryan picked up his and swapped it with Rose’s to move her a little further from Cynthia.

  The staff had laid out an incredible meal in the dining room. The salads were being plated on each table setting as they entered. Cynthia’s father, Smith, came downstairs. He had the same stocky build as Ryan, but was a few inches taller. Where Ryan’s eyes were soft and his face friendly, Smith Holland’s features seemed more stern. Nancy rolled her eyes.

  “Just in time for dinner, Smith,” she said. Even though she was smiling, Cynthia knew this was her mother’s subtle way of scolding her father.

>   “Oh Nancy, duty called. And you know I’ve already had more than enough of this crowd,” he said, throwing a wink at Cynthia and Ryan, who had seats next to each other at the table. They got up to hug their father. He greeted the other men at the table with a firm handshake.

  “Good to see you, sir,” Glen said.

  Coop pulled Smith into a hug.

  “You’re not my boss for another week, right?” He said, laughing.

  “That’s right. You’re going to make a great addition to the team, Coop. Rosie, good to see you again,” Cynthia felt a tightness in her chest as her father greeted this girl with a nickname. As if he sensed her reaction, he slapped a reassuring hand on Cynthia’s shoulder.

  “Let’s eat!”

  Six bottles of wine later, with the food finished, they were all laughing as Ryan told a story about his college days.

  “Where did you go to college?” Rose jumped in. It was clear that she had been trying to insert herself into the conversation in order to get to know everyone. She’d been doing it all night. It was nice that she was making an effort, but it was a bit awkward and obvious she couldn’t keep up. In sharp contrast, even after three years, Glen still kept to himself.

  “Princeton,” Ryan responded quickly, taking a breath to return to his story.

  “Oh, where’s that?” Rose asked, excited someone was addressing her directly.

  “It’s in Princeton, sweetie,” he said slowly, exaggeratedly looking around the room. Cynthia kicked him under the table. He was doing this for her, but she was starting to feel bad for poor Rose. The girl was clearly out of her element, and a lot of the conversation topics had flown over her head. Coop, on the other hand, fit in with the family so well that he didn’t notice her struggling. It was as if she were there alone.