Filthy Forward : A Hero Club Novel

by Kelsey Cheyenne

  “Bria, front and center.” I do as I’m told and all my teammates stare at me. Chance has already singled me out and if the girls weren’t jealous of my one-on-one time with Tatum, they’re surely bound to hate me now. “Bria is convinced her foot skills are better than a retired footballer like myself. We’re going to do some one-on-one skills and we’ll see what goes wrong.”

  My face heats at being called out and the repressed memories from Saturday night come flooding back.

  “Wait a minute. I recognize this goat. You’re Chance Bateman, aren’t you? Such a shame what happened.”

  “He’s going to join us at practice next week, Bri,” Tatum says from the front and my eyes bulge out of my head.

  “Why? He’s retired and rusty. Anything you need to teach the girls, let me do it. I could take him one-on-one, easy.”

  “You know he’s sitting right here, right?” They both laugh but I’m too distracted by the loud and stinky goat sitting beside me to respond.

  Oh, my God. I really did say that to him. Stupid, drunken brain. I’m about to get my ass handed to me.

  He passes me the ball before we square off. He’s in front of the goal on the eighteen line and I’m standing between a set of cones about ten feet away.

  “Line up behind Bria, ladies. When I take the ball from her, you’ll be next. It’s easy; all you have to do is get around me and score a goal. If your skills are better than mine, it should be easy.”

  I tighten my ponytail and take a deep breath. I can do this.

  The second my foot touches the ball, Chance moves. He’s right in front of me, defending the goal and looking for any opportunity to take the ball. I don’t even have an opening to go around him.

  I pull the ball backward with my right foot and in an L-shape motion I kick it behind my left foot and take off. My left foot is not my dominate foot, though, and I get trapped once again in an instant.

  I pull the ball back with my left foot in a V, passing it back to my right foot, searching for an opening. I’m frustrated and rooted in the same place again.

  “Come on, if you can’t get around one person, how will you win a game?” He goads me like I’m an idiot. I try to go through him, but I basically just pass him the ball. “Bria, you’re better than that,” he pauses before turning to the team. “Who’s next?”

  Not one single person scores, and after the little exercise, he teaches us some new moves and tricks. We switch places, and he’s the offender, putting us on defense. He gets around every one of us with ease.

  We practice these moves until the whistle blows and it’s time to switch. After a quick water break, we line up with Tatum. We spend the next forty-five minutes running, doing hills and suicides until it hurts to breathe.

  The whistle blows again and we break for water. The two hot soccer stars talk and glance over at us with smiles on their faces. It looks like an idea is brewing, and I for one, don’t want any part of it.

  “Good work today ladies. How about one more drill?” We all groan which only makes Tatum grin wider. “This one will be fun. A scrimmage. Chance and I will be captains and pick teams.”

  The girls get excited but I groan once more. Both of them hate me. I’ll probably be picked last.

  To my surprise, Tatum picks me first, but that only leads to whispers from my teammates about special treatment and me being the favorite. If they only knew the agony he put me through every day, they’d stop being jealous.

  We’re divided into teams and I’m playing opposite of Coach Trevino since we’re both forwards. He allows Chance’s team to start with the ball since he’s the guest. Once the kick off takes place, we’re off.

  We go head to head. Watching Tatum go up against Chance is entertaining and hot as hell. I’m as distracted as my teammates watching those two together.

  Tatum scores the first goal and starts talking crap to his friend. It feels more like a game between those two than a fun team activity. Watching them is fun, but it’d be more fun if I got a chance to score too.

  We play for about thirty more minutes. Our new coach scores another two goals and I get one assist, which is almost good enough for me.

  Chance’s team doesn’t score at all and the score ends up being three-nothing. My teammates and I are pretty proud of ourselves, but it seems our coach has different thoughts.

  “I’ll see you all tomorrow at practice. We’re going to work on taking shots on goal since only one other person on this field even gave it a shot. You all need to pick it up if you want to be champions this year. Go home, get some rest, and be ready to work hard tomorrow.” He’s pissed and my face heats knowing I’m the one he was talking about.

  “Bria, can you stay back for a minute?” I groan. Some of the girls glare at me as they storm off to the locker room. Great. As if they didn’t hate me enough.

  “What’s up, Coach?”

  “What the hell are you doing out there?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know you can play better than that. That was pathetic.” My jaw drops and I flinch as if I’ve been slapped. I know I promised to be on my best behavior with him lately, so I grit my teeth, but it’s taking all my strength to not spit back at him.

  “I guess I’m just tired from all the extra tort—um, training, I’ve been doing.” I can’t help the sarcastic tone.

  A small smirk pulls at his lips and my stomach clenches in response. “Right, well, now I know what we can focus on tomorrow. I’ll see you—”

  “At five. I know.” I may have promised to bite my tongue with him, but I never said I could control the thoughts running through my head.

  I glance over my shoulder at I head to my car and see Tatum and Chance talking. Chance nods his head in my direction and then Tatum punches him in the arm. I catch their gazes before turning around.

  What the hell was that about?

  .

  Chapter Seven

  Bria

  The next couple of weeks pass in a blur. I’m busy doing nothing but training, eating, and sleeping. My body, though exhausted, also somehow feels stronger. I’ve gained more muscle, toning them, and I’ve never felt healthier in my life.

  Even things with Tatum have calmed down. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut and he’s downgraded from a major dick to an occasional asshole. I call it a win.

  “You and Coach Hottie seem to be getting pretty close,” Morgan notes before taking a bite of her salmon.

  “Since when are you calling Paxton Coach Hottie?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Ha ha, you’re hilarious.”

  We’re sitting outside at our favorite restaurant by campus. A lot of our classmates get jobs here for extra cash, but my teammates and I never had the time with our schedule. As athletes, though, the college offers us a stipend to help cover costs since we’re unable to work.

  I chew a bite of my salad while my roommate gives me imploring eyes. She’s waiting for a story, but I have nothing to tell.

  “Come on, Bri, don’t play that. I’ve barely seen you this summer because you’ve been hiding away with Tatum.”

  “That’s not my fault.” I sigh. “We’ve come to an agreement as of late.”

  “Ooh, what kind of an agreement?” She wiggles her eyebrows and I make a face of disgust. “Oh please, don’t pretend like you don’t find him hot. You’d have to be blind not to and even then you could run your hands over his abs and just know he’s fine.”

  “Ew,” I laugh. She’s right about one thing—I’m still pretending I’m not drawn to him. Like she said, I’d have to be out of my mind to not find him attractive. Plus, we’re spending so much time together, I can’t really help it. But I’d cut off my scoring foot before admitting my feelings. “It’s nothing salacious. I agreed to stop being a brat as long as he stopped being so sadistic.”

  “Ugh, boring. You don’t have any gossip? No lingering touches or sneaky kisses, nothing?”

  “He’s my coach, Morg. I can barely stand to be around him. Tr
ust me, the feeling is mutual. There are no latent feelings hidden anywhere under the surface for him or me.”

  “Good, then I still have a chance.” I roll my eyes, but my stomach clenches at her comment. I plaster on a fake smile but I’m saved by our waitress coming to refill our waters.

  “In case you’ve somehow forgotten, he’s your coach too,” I remind her.

  “Sure, but not forever, right? He’s going to go back to his team eventually. And you know his reputation with women. I’d be lucky to be a flavor of the week.”

  “You deserve better than that.”

  “We’re in college, Bri. College is all about being flavor of the week or month or whatever.” She pushes her plate away and sips her water.

  Her words swirl in my skull, bouncing around until they stick. She’s right; he will eventually go back to the Elite and I’ll never see him again. Why does that make my heart drop?

  I push away the rest of my salad, suddenly losing my appetite. The waitress brings us our checks and after we pay, we head back to Morgan’s SUV.

  “We should stop by the bookstore while we’re out and pick up our books,” she says. My head is still spinning from her last comment and now I almost choke on my spit.

  “Shit, you’re right. Where did the summer go?” Classes start next week and I’ve totally lost track of time.

  “I already told you; you were with Coach Hottie the whole time.” I don’t dignify her with a response. “But seriously, this is our last weekend to ourselves.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “Come on, Bri. We have to go all out. Everyone should be back on campus by now. We can throw a real party and invite all the guys.”

  “Yeah and I’m sure a huge party means Ben will show up too.” Gag me. My ex-boyfriend is the last person I want to see. I’d rather spend all day being tortured by Tatum than see that colossal waste of time.

  “We can’t. Paxton agreed to the whole dry season rule, remember? Plus, I promised Tatum I wouldn’t drink. It was one of the stipulations of our agreement.” She waves me off.

  “They’re not going to find out. Well, unless you call him again.”

  “I told you that in confidence. You can’t throw it back at me.”

  “Too late. Come on. It’s our senior year. Next year we’ll have like, real jobs and it’ll be frowned upon to party every weekend.”

  “Oh, please. Since when do you care what people think? You’ll be the boozy aunt who ruins every holiday. You’ll be like Karen from Will and Grace only less shrill.”

  “She is my spirit animal, after all. So, what do you say?” I shake my head. “Come on, Bri. Just this once and I’ll never ask you to go to another party with me again.”

  “That’s a lie and you know it.” She shrugs.

  “True, but then you can say no. Once classes start and our games start, we’ll never have time to do anything anyway. We’re already doing two-a-days. This is our last chance.”

  “You’re forgetting I also have to train every weekend.” In truth, Tatum isn’t going to be on campus this weekend. He still wants me to train by myself, which I planned to do, and if I tell my best friend any of this, she’ll talk me out of it. I promised him I’d behave and I’m highly against breaking my promises. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

  “Think about it. We can have the party on Saturday. That’s three days away which gives me time to start planning and inviting people. You know everyone is going to have back to school parties which means ours will probably die down early anyway. You won’t miss your bedtime and everything will be back to normal.”

  I’m contemplative as we scour the bookstore for our books. She talks my ear off the entire time about how epic this party could be and all the reasons we should throw one.

  By the time we pull up to the house, my patience has worn thin and my resolve has wavered. As I hop out of her car, I close my door, but my hand lingers on the door frame for a beat as I consider what I’m about to say.

  “Morgan,” she spins and I sigh, my shoulders falling, “I’m in.”

  She squeals and runs up the steps.

  As she throws open the front door, she yells, “Ladies, we’re throwing a party.”

  Training with Tatum this morning has been rough. I feel like I’m lying to him, which, I kind of am, I guess, if you count omission as lying. Our focus has been on foot skills again today, with him on defense while I attempt to get around him to score.

  I’ve improved over the last several weeks. I’ve gotten around him a few times and I can tell he’s genuinely impressed. Still, I could do better, but my head isn’t in it today.

  “What’s on your mind, Bria? You’re not here today and since you’re going to have the weekend off, I need more from you.” Shit.

  I sit on the grounds as I take a gulp of water. The turf is rough under my legs and I distract myself by picking at the little black pebbles dispersed between the faux grass.

  I take my time to stretch whenever I can and this gives me the opportunity to avoid his gaze. With how much stretching I’ve done around him to provide avoidance, I’m going to be as flexible as a gymnast soon.

  I’m about to ask him why he won’t be here this weekend, but he interrupts my thought. It’s probably for the best. I don’t want him asking what my weekend plans are.

  “Bri.” His tone is a combination of irritation and concern. At the very least, I always have a smartass comment for him. I’m never one to avoid confrontation, yet that’s exactly what I’m doing.

  “I don’t know. I have a lot on my mind with classes starting soon and I have a ton of big decisions to make this year.” It’s the easiest lie I can come up with, but it doesn’t stop my stomach from clenching at outright deceiving him.

  “If you need any guidance,” the sentence hangs and his face contorts from wide open eyes to furrowed brows and pursed lips. “I’m sure there are a lot of good resources on what avenues to take and you must have like counselors to talk to, right?”

  For a moment, for the smallest fraction of time, I thought he was going to offer to help me, to be a shoulder to lean on and an ear to talk to. Silly me.

  “Right, yeah, my advisor is great.” And she has been helpful, but I’m crestfallen after getting my hopes up for something I’m sure was never going to happen in the first place.

  “What were you thinking about doing after college?” He sits on the turf beside me. If I straighten my legs, our cleats will touch.

  “Before you came along, I was focused on sports medicine.”

  “Before I came along?”

  “Yeah, you shifted things for me, in a way.”

  “What does that mean?” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, but there’s a teasing smirk gracing his lips.

  “Well, you convinced me I could try to go pro. I told you, it’s never been on my radar before. I thought I’d be hanging my cleats up after this season, but you gave me another option to consider.”

  He’s quiet for a long time. I wish I knew what was going on in his head as he stares into the distance. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him the truth, but the fact is because of him, my perspective has changed in a lot of ways.

  “You have a lot of talent, Bria, and you work hard for what you want. I admire you for that.”

  Whoa. Never in a million years did I ever expect him to say those words to me of all people.

  I sit up straight and press my forearm to my forehead. He watches my every move with a tilted head and amused eyes.

  When I remove my forearm from my head, it comes away sweaty, but not warm. I make sure he’s still watching as I pinch a small patch of flesh on my inner thigh and wince when it hurts.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He’s concerned as if I’ve gone crazy. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.

  “Making sure I’m not dreaming. Unless you’re experiencing some Invasion of the Bodysnatchers or something because I don’t know who you are right now. I thought you hated
me and my attitude, but you admire it? Nope, don’t buy it. Who are you and what have you done with Tatum?”

  He throws his head back as a genuine laugh takes over. His broad smile makes my chest hurt, but I can’t help my own smile pulling at my lips.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I do hate your attitude.” He sits up and leans in to me. On instinct, I lean closer too. “You’re hard-headed and a smart ass and more stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met.” Why is he smiling? “But your dedication is commendable. Don’t spin my words.”

  “Yes, Coach.” I salute him and he chuckles as he pushes off the ground. Standing, he offers me a hand, which I accept. I use the ten seconds I’m holding it to trail my eyes over his tattoos, enamored by the ink. One day I’ll ask about them, but right now, I need to let go of his hand.

  He clears his throat and walks backward back onto the field. “Come on, let’s run a few more drills.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bria

  The house is vibrating as music thumps through every room. Half-naked girls grind against guys to the beat of the music. Drinks are sloshing, smoke is swirling in the air, people are hooking up left and right; it’s another typical weekend at Palm Valley University.

  Half my teammates are in the living room dancing, some on the floor and some on our coffee table. I’m in the kitchen sitting on our countertop with Morgan standing on the floor on my right and Lindsay on the left talking to some guy from the men’s soccer team.

  I bring my cup to my lips and tip it back only to come up empty. I’m ready to hop down and get a refill, but I’m stopped in my tracks.

  “Here, I brought you a drink.” I take the cup from the outstretched hand.

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on, Bri, don’t be like that.” I look at my ex-boyfriend dead in the eye. From looking at him, you’d think he was one of the good ones. Floppy, sandy brown hair, deep blue eyes, a boyish grin known to rip the panties off any and every girl.

  Like it did while we were still dating.

  “What do you want, Ben?” I hop off the counter and stand in front of him. I place a hand on my hip and take a long sip of the beer he handed me. I’m not fazed by him and I don’t want him to think otherwise.