“You, Bria. I want to get back together.”
“HA!” I scream in his face. “As if.” Suddenly I’m Cher Horowitz. If only I had on a cute plaid skirt and knee-high socks.
“Can we go somewhere to talk about this? I understand why you’re mad. I need to talk to you and apologize for how I treated you.” He shoves his hands in his jean pockets and his head hangs down between his shoulders. Everything about him screams that he’s sorry. I never actually heard him say it before, which is the only thing giving me pause. Maybe I should give him a chance.
“Bri,” Morgan warns.
“I’ll be fine. Ben, you have five minutes. Do not make me regret it.” I walk past him and he follows me through the kitchen and upstairs. I unlock my bedroom door, which was locked to keep out the partygoers, and lead him inside.
He makes himself comfortable, collapsing on the bed on the opposite side of the room. He picks up a pair of panties half tucked under the bed, holding them up and wiggling his eyebrows.
“Damn, Bri, I’ve never seen these before.” He swirls the lace thong around his index finger.
“Yeah, because those are Morgan’s. That’s her bed.” The underwear falls from his fingertip and he sits up, becoming suddenly less comfortable on my roommate’s bed.
“Sorry.”
“That’s not the apology I’m waiting for.”
“You’re right. Bria, baby, I was an ass. I am an ass. You deserve better than me, I can’t deny that. I cheated on you and I hurt you and I’m sorry.”
He looks at me from under his lashes, his floppy hair falling into his eyes. I almost believe him.
“Please, give me another chance.”
“Fool me once…” He nods in understanding.
“Can you think about it? Let me prove it to you. I’ve grown up a lot since last year and I want to be with you. I want to fix this.” He crosses the room to join me on my bed. His hands are warm as they envelop my fingers. I soften to his touch and I have to get up and get some space between us to think clearly.
“I’ll think about it,” I say as I pace my room. He grabs me, pulling me to his chest in a crushing hug. His lips graze my forehead and the touch feels nice, familiar.
We go back to the party together, his arm wrapped around my waist. My best friend storms over to us, her eyes shooting daggers at the man to my left.
“Oh, are we a happy couple again?” Her high ponytail swings as she cocks her head.
“Morgan, stop.”
“Why? You may remember his magic dick, but I remember him sticking it in everyone but you. I remember the aftermath when he hurt you, and you think I’m going to stand by and watch it happen again?”
My face heats as people start to stare at us. I’m glad the music is loud, stopping more people from hearing the exchange. She’s saying things I already know, but it doesn’t stop the sting of her words from piercing my heart.
“Oh, my God, are you two back together? You guys were always good together. You’re like, the golden couple of the school.” Lindsay stumbles up, her words slurred and tosses an arm over my shoulders. She pulls Ben over and lifts her phone with Snapchat pulled up. “Say cheese!”
She takes the pic and stumbles away, uttering nonsense about drinking or dancing or something.
“Would you look at that? Dumbass Barbie and Playboy Ken together again and now everyone knows. That should be good for your sex life, right Ben?” Morgan holds up the Snapchat picture, which Lindsay captioned ‘they’re NOT on a break!’
“Morgan,” I plead, but she storms away. Ben tugs on my hand and I turn to face him.
“She’ll come around. Let’s focus on us tonight since we’re back together and all.” He leans in to kiss me and at the last second, I turn my head.
I already need to remind him that I have not agreed to getting back together yet, despite everyone else thinking we are. Why does it matter if we walked into the party arm-in-arm? We’ve known each other for a long time. It shouldn’t be weird.
And truth be told, it’s not weird. It’s all too familiar and everything kind of fell into place.
Could I really take him back? Do I believe a word he says? Can I trust him to not hurt me again? Can a person really change this drastically in a mere year?
I’m coming around to the idea, though I’m still reluctant.
I don’t want to think anymore tonight. I chug my beer and dance with Ben, enjoying the night and not overthinking every small detail.
When I spin around in his arms to face him, Tatum’s face flashes in my mind and my stomach clenches.
What the hell?
Chapter Nine
Tatum
The drive to Coach Murray’s house is long and riddled with questions. If he’s making me drive all the way out here to talk to me about something, I know it’s bad news. Good news can be said over the phone, but not something that could ruin my life or career.
I pull up to the house I’ve grown to know as a second home over the last several years. Murray is a great coach, but more than that, he’s been like a father figure to the team. He’s held parties and celebrations at this house for us. He’s offered us to stay in the spare rooms if we couldn’t drive and it’s always been a place of refuge. He’s always looked out for our best interests, trying to keep us out of trouble.
And yet, it didn’t help me.
I knock on the large wood door and Coach opens it up right away. The pathetic smile on his face says everything I need to hear and my nerves stop rattling within me. Instead, my heart constricts and I start to sweat. This is bad, but I still need to know how bad it is.
“Tatum, come in.” I step into the foyer and follow him through the house. “How have you been?”
I don’t want to waste my time with small talk; I want to get right to the point. “I’ve been better. The, uh, the team’s been doing good, I see.” It’s hard for me to say. My ego gets in the way because the Elite continue to win without me, which isn’t exactly job security for me.
“Yeah, we’re pulling through. We all miss you though.” I nod and once we reach the large kitchen, I take a seat at the island. Coach grabs two glasses out of the cabinet and walks over to his bar to grab a bottle half-filled with amber liquid. After pouring two fingers worth in each glass, he passes one to me. I down the contents in one sip.
“Spit it out, Coach. What’s going on?” He refills the tumbler in my hand and sighs heavily.
“The story got out.” My heart sputters and for a second I’d swear it stopped.
“What do you mean? How?” I down my second glass of scotch.
“One of the guys let it slip. They were out one night after a game and with some girls. One of the women happened to be a reporter.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is really bad. “Who?”
“Tatum, I can’t—”
“This is my life, Coach. You can at least tell me who ruined it.” You did, my brain reminds me. I did this all to myself. I can’t blame anyone else because without my screw up, there would be no story to tell.
He swallows a gulp of his drink and looks at me. He looks almost as pained as I am.
“Mitch.” This has to be a joke. Of all people, Mitch had to open his big mouth.
“No way. I wouldn’t even be in this fucking mess if it wasn’t for him and now he’s made it worse?”
“I’m sorry, Tatum, but I wanted you to hear it from me. I don’t know how much he told the reporter or what exactly she knows, but she knows something. The story may rip wide open and I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
Son of a bitch. I’m going to kill him.
“Can I ask you something?” It’s a rhetorical question, but I wait for Murray to nod. “You believe me right? You know what’s going on with all of this and with Mitch?”
“Of course. Though reluctant, he confirmed it all, but it’s a stickier situation for him and we both know it.”
“I do, but why is
he being rewarded for being an asshole? He’s still out picking up chicks; he didn’t learn his lesson from last time. Now I’m stuck in the middle of it and he still gets to be on the team and sleep around. How is that okay?”
“I didn’t say his behavior was okay, but I can’t control him. If I benched him, we’d never win a game. What’s happening to you isn’t fair, but I can’t pull him out and have speculation start around him also. I already lost my best player. I can’t afford to lose another.”
“I’m sorry, Coach, but this is a hell of a lot bigger than a soccer game.” I’m fuming. I can’t believe he is condoning this behavior and equating my situation to losing a fucking game.
“Don’t you think I know that?” he bellows. It seems I finally got him to feel as pissed as I do. “I’m in the middle too because none of you guys can keep it in your fucking pants. Even some of the married ones have trouble.” He gives me a pointed stare. “None of this should be happening but it is and now we have to deal with it. What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know. What am I supposed to do?”
“Lawyer up.”
“But won’t that make me look guilty?”
“To the public, yes, probably. And the minute you do, the rumors will spread. But if you don’t, you’ll still look guilty but you’ll also look stupid. You have too much on the line to risk it.”
He’s right.
We spend the next hour going over every possible course of action. We need to wait to see how the story gets released and what Mitch told this girl. Maybe it’s not as bad as we think.
But if it is bad, then we have plans in motion for that too.
I leave the house feeling more confident than I did when I got there, but not enough to throw on a party hat and celebrate. I’m fucking pissed and I want to use Mitch’s face as a punching bag. Still, Coach and I agreed that if I reach out to him at all, if I freak out, it’ll make me look more guilty. So, once again, I keep my fucking mouth shut. I’m going crazy not being able to talk to anyone about this and now I need to find a lawyer, one I can trust to not take my story to the media.
“Do you want to crash here tonight?” While I’ve had a few drinks, I need to be alone right now.
“No, I’ll be okay. Thanks, Coach. I’ll talk to you soon.” I head to my car, but I have no intention of going home.
I spot a nondescript motel I can crash at along the road, and what’s even better is it has an adjacent bar. When I step inside, I walk right up to the bar, grabbing the closest stool available. The bartender waltzes over like a sexpot to take my order. She rests her forearms on the bar top and it’s then I notice the artwork adorning her arms.
“Nice tatts,” she tells me, nodding to my arm full of ink.
“Right back at ya,” I say. Her lips are bright red and her dark hair is curled on top her head. She’s a modern day pinup girl.
“What can I get ya?”
“Scotch, neat.” She pours the drink and pushes it to me.
“I’m Carla. Just call me when you need me.” She leaves with a wink, heading to serve the next patron. I need a distraction tonight and Carla may be my go-to.
I open my phone to see my other options. Alex S. Amanda. Anna. Ashley. Bailey. Becca. Becky. Bella. Bria.
Fucking Bria.
I lock my phone and throw it on the bar, suddenly not in the mood to fuck around. Hell, that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.
“Girl troubles?” Carla comes back over and refills my glass.
“Something like that.” I don’t want to be the cliché who dumps all my problems onto the bartender, but she’s eyeing me expectantly like she’s waiting for just that.
I glance up at the TV hanging on the wall, averting my gaze from Carla’s piercing eyes, and my face falls. Oh, fuck.
Seeing my reaction, the hot bartender turns around to see what I’m staring at. The captions are on the TV since the music and hum of patrons too loud for anyone to hear anything.
I guess I don’t have to tell her about my woes after all. She’s seeing them first hand, with my face all over the screen.
Former soccer star Tatum Trevino has left his cleats on the field. The top goal-scorer for the LA Elite has left the prestigious club team to pursue a career in coaching at Palm Valley University. But the question remains, did he leave on his own or was he forced out? I’m Meredith Hale and this is only the tip of the iceberg with this story.
Fucking Mitch.
“Care to talk about it, Tatum Trevino?” She smirks.
I consider her as I gulp the rest of my drink. “You know what, Carla, I don’t really feel like talking.”
Chapter Ten
Bria
“Did you see the news? Tatum has been all over it.” I’m flipping through the channels when Morgan comes up and plops down next to me.
“It’s all rumors. I’m not going to waste my time listening to gossip.” The truth is, of course, I read over every single article I could find this morning. Our new assistant coach is trending on Twitter and Facebook; I couldn’t get away from the stories if I tried.
“You’re defending him now?” She’s accusatory and I roll my eyes.
“He’s a person. I don’t know what he did to get here as our coach, but until there’s actual facts out there, I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
She eyes me, her green eyes pinched into a squint. “Are you fucking him?”
“What?”
“Shoot me straight, Bri. You’re spending all these extra hours with him, you’re always so sore, and suddenly you flipped from hating him to defending him? You’re obviously sleeping with him.” I stare at her incredulously. Where does she come up with this stuff? “Look, I don’t care, your secret is safe with me,” she smiles, “but you need to give me all the dirt. How’s his dick game? God, it’s probably incredible. You lucky bitch.”
“Morg, I’m not fucking our coach. Don’t be foul.” I shudder.
“Your loss,” she says, but she still eyes me like she doesn’t believe a word I say.
Classes started today and some of the girls are already doing homework. Most of my professors are chill and stuck to the syllabus-only first day of class, thank God. But we still have practice tonight and it will surely be interesting with the news coming out and all the speculation.
When we pull up to the field, we can see Coach Paxton standing by himself. Lately, Tatum has been with him at the start of every practice, but not today. I can’t help but wonder if he’s gone for good.
“Did you guys see what’s being said about Tatum? They’re saying he beat someone half to death. Another source said he failed a drug test. My sister says both are true.”
I whip my head around and come face to face with the queen bitch of the soccer team who loves to tell us about her sister, who is some hotshot journalist or some shit. I never listen to what she says and either way, I’d bet she’s lying.
Samantha is a midfielder, but she sometimes switches to forward. She was dropped back to mid when I took her position as striker. She’s was gunning for team captain this year and has been a super bitch to me ever since I was named captain. It’s only gotten worse since my private sessions with Tatum started.
“What the hell is your problem?” I ask her and she raises her brows at me.
“You might want to bite your tongue.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She smirks. “Don’t think we all don’t know what’s going on between you and our new Coach. It’s no surprise you’re sticking up for him.”
“Why the hell does everyone keep saying that? There is nothing going on aside from training.”
“I’m sure you have to say that. Maybe you should hurry up and marry him. Then you won’t have to testify against him when he gets arrested.”
“He’s not getting arrested and we’re not getting married. You’re crazy.” I huff and tighten my ponytail in anger. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Sam.”
&n
bsp; “If nothing’s going on, then I guess there’s nothing to be jealous of, but I won’t lie. I’ll be first in line to watch what happens when Paxton catches the two of you.”
She stalks away toward the field with her army of bitches in tow.
“Don’t listen to her, Bri. If nothing is going on, there’s nothing to find. Don’t let her get in your head.” Morgan throws an arm around my shoulders as we head to the field.
I know she’s right, but my best friend heard the same rumors about Tatum today too and confronted me about sleeping with him. I don’t know who’s spreading the rumors, but I’m sick of them.
Coach Trevino and I barely have a friendship let alone anything remotely romantic or sexual. But I can’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it…not in a serious way, but when you spend this much time with someone who looks like him, it’s no surprise the thought crossed my mind.
But thinking about it still doesn’t mean it was ever even in the realm of possibility.
“Hurry up, girls. Warm up and start stretching. Coach Trevino is running a little late which means we’re going to start without him.”
I lead the team in a few quick laps around the field before we circle up and stretch. After all this time, it feels weird without Tatum here helping us. He’s become an integral part of the team and since I had this weekend off of training, I kind of miss him.
“Ladies, pair up and work on some one-on-one drills.” I link arms with Morgan and we face up. One of us is on offense, mainly working on foot skills with the defender who tries to take the ball. A few minutes into the drill, Tatum strolls up to practice. He looks like hell.
“I’m a little surprised he showed,” Morgan tells me. Truth be told, so am I.
He looks like he just rolled out of bed. His clothes are wrinkled and I can see the bags under his eyes from across the field.
He and Paxton exchange a few words before our head coach blows the whistle and we all run in.
Filthy Forward : A Hero Club Novel Page 5
