Go Deep: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Bella Love-Wins

  “Checking if Slade made it to practice. He wasn’t in class this morning.”

  “What the hell is going on with you two? That shit the other night was awkward.”

  “It’s complicated,” I admitted.

  “How complicated?” Every once in a while, the Goth front she put on would slide, and I’d see the real Miranda, the Miranda who has obviously cheered in high school and hadn’t wanted to give it up when she came to college. That was the same Miranda who was letting the pink dye in her hair wash out because we weren’t supposed to do stuff like that as cheerleaders.

  “You have no idea.”

  “I bet I can guess.” She raised her eyebrows, and her face took on the glow of someone who’d just heard a tasty piece of gossip.

  I rolled my eyes. I wanted to tell her not to say a word, but not seeing Slade these last few days was starting to eat away at me. What I should have been doing was apologizing for misjudging him all this time, instead of hiding behind my outdated façade, the one that abhorred jocks, especially him.

  After practice, I headed out onto the field. The boys were still out there practicing, and I got a glimpse of Slade running drills and passing the ball. I smiled. They’d probably decided to do passing drills until he was sick of it, after that loss a few weeks back. I walked over to the bleachers and sat to watch him, keeping a respectable distance from the football groupies who assembled daily to wait around in hopes of being acknowledged by the star players.

  “It’s pretty sad, isn’t it?” It was Miranda. She’d snuck up beside me somehow.

  “What’s sad?”

  “These chicks.”

  “What about them?”

  “Well, look at them, in this position. They’re so in awe or in love or in need of these guys’ attention that they have precious little else to fill their time.”

  “Hmmm.”

  So why did it feel like that was exactly what I was doing?

  Mind you, I had other reasons for waiting on Slade than trying to get into his pants.

  “How come you’re here?” Miranda was curious.

  “I don’t know. Checking in on him about the lecture he missed.”

  I wasn’t ready to tell her I needed to apologize for how I’d treated him the other night.

  “You know you can send him a text, right?”

  “Um, yes. I just figured since I’m here, and he’s almost done with practice…”

  “I know what you’re doing, Cassidy.”

  “What?”

  “You’re sending a message to those chicks.”

  “What? No I’m not.”

  “Like hell you aren’t. I think you’re showing these bitches that you’re together, or something close to that.”

  “God, not you too.”

  “You want them to know you’re a part of his life and not just a one-night-stand waiting to happen. Admit it.”

  “Christ, Miranda. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  “Sure. But I’ve seen that look before. Not on you, but I’ve seen it. That’s the look that’s meant to tell people to keep their hands off your man, that you may be a cheerleader but you’ve got fight in you… that all these chicks want is a piece of meat and the bragging rights that comes along with it.”

  “With what?”

  “You know? So they can sit around one day holding it over their average husbands’ heads that they’d once slept with the star quarterback, and if they had just tried to make more of it than just a one-time thing, they would have been happily married with a beautiful family. These girls are the type who’ll spend the rest of their lives wishing they’d done it differently.”

  “How… how did you get all that from the way I looked on the football field?”

  “Easy. I’m psychic…and by the way, it all makes sense now. Before all this, you were trying to not date him, probably because you knew how good you’d be together.”

  “That’s just ludicrous,” I protested, although it was probably true.

  “I know you too well, Cass.”

  “Stop talking, Miranda.”

  We watched as practice ended, and Miranda excused herself to go to some event or another. The groupies cheered as Slade walked over. I saw the shock that registered when he got closer. He hadn’t come over here for me, apparently.

  “Hey, Cassidy,” he said flatly. “Did the squad practice outside or something?”

  “No, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “That’s nice. Well there. We just did. Thanks for that.”

  Ouch. That kinda hurt. I guess I deserved that cold shoulder.

  “Got a second?” I started, not wanting to say too much around the other girls.

  He held out an arm, and two of the girls moved to him, one on each side. They were like little sex slaves who’d been perfectly trained to come when summoned by their master. It was unreal how willing they were, but it helped me to understand why Slade was the way he was. He was used to these girls being there and throwing themselves at him to be used and discarded. They didn’t care to keep him around anymore than he cared to keep them around. They just wanted to say they fucked Slade Clark. Well, I had fucked Slade Clark as well. I grew up with his cocky ass, and I was best friends with his brother. Or, I had been.

  “What’s there to talk about?” Slade asked. “Everything’s fine with the project, right?”

  “It is.” That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about, dammit, and he knew it.

  “Good. Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got plans tonight.” He let the girls start dragging him off. “I’ll text you when I can meet with you again about the project,” he called back over his shoulder.

  I stood and watched as he wandered away with the two girls on his arm. I wondered if he’d try to sleep with both of them at the same time. It was every boy’s dream. Hell, I even wondered what it would be like to share someone with another woman. I just never went through with trying it out, and probably never would.

  I felt the eyes of the few remaining girls on me. They knew what had just happened. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Slade had just blown me off after I’d been waiting to have the chance to talk to him.

  Now I was seething. I narrowed my eyes at them and turned to leave.

  14

  Slade

  I felt bad for blowing Cassidy off and pretending I had plans with the football groupies after practice. I actually sort of felt bad for misleading the girls, too. At the beginning of the semester, before I set my sights on Cassidy, their tight little asses would have looked nice bent over the side of my bed. The thing was, I had no intentions of sleeping with those girls. I’d just used them as a cover for what I really had going on after practice.

  Work.

  Bussing shit tables at a shit restaurant.

  The landlord was still riding my ass, using me as slave labor for the after dinner shift on most nights. I didn’t want my coach, Cassidy or anyone else to know what I was doing. I was finally starting to get the hang of the long days too, so practices were better, and as long as I got a decent six hours of sleep, I could handle sitting in lectures and focusing. Unfortunately, that did mean having to cut a class every once in a while to catch up on sleep. I didn’t mind a few missed classes if it meant I’d do better at our games on Saturday night.

  I got to the restaurant today, and was grateful again that I wasn’t waiting tables or working in the kitchen. The place was always packed, so the kitchen and wait staff were always busy. All I had to worry about was making sure the tables were clean after the guests left. I wasn’t on the clock, and I wasn’t on the books. Still, when I made it down here, I was on the floor, and I had to earn my keep so the landlord wouldn’t make life difficult.

  The only thing that bothered me about the job was how popular the place was. It wasn’t exactly upscale, but everyone ate there, including college students. It was strange how wearing a certain uniform made people shut off and forget where they knew me from. Tha
t was probably the reason no one had called me out yet, but the chance was always there. The only people who knew were my frat brothers, and they were doing a much better job at keeping my job quiet than they were with the bet over Cassidy, thankfully. The humiliation of being found out would stick around until I’d pay for the damages at the frat house and wrap up this gig with a pretty little bow—preferably before Thanksgiving.

  Today, I was sure that all came crashing down.

  “Slade?”

  The voice came from behind me as I was clearing a table of half a dozen beer pitchers. Miranda was sitting at a table with a group I could only guess were from her major, whatever that was. They certainly weren’t cheerleaders. I smiled inside for a split second. They probably thought Miranda was the coolest one among them.

  “Hey,” I said. I could tell by the faces at the table that no one with her recognized me. Thank God for academics and nerds.

  “What are you doing here? Wait, do you work here?”

  “Nah. I’m just helping out the frat house landlord. Actually I’ve got a quick favor to ask.” I motioned for her to come with me. This shit needed to be discussed minus the audience, just in case she blurted out my name or said something stupid.

  “I’ll be right back, guys,” she told her friends, getting up to follow me to the hallway that led to the patron restrooms.

  “You did not see me here, okay?”

  “Okay I didn’t. What’s going on?”

  “That fight at the frat house was expensive.”

  “What fight?” Then it dawned on her, because I vaguely remember her being there. “Ohhhhh…that fight.”

  “Yeah. So I’m working off the damages, but it’s really hush-hush. The Coach can’t know, so don’t breathe a word to anyone, including Cassidy.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “Only if I don’t show up here for the landlord… but that’s not your problem. What will be your problem is if anyone finds out about this, okay? So far you’re the first person to recognize me.”

  “I don’t know, Slade. What if it affects your game? The Coach would definitely want to know. Maybe he can help.”

  It had already affected my game once, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her. I was working as hard as I could to make sure of that. I was rearranging my schedule so that work wouldn’t interfere with my performance, and I was practicing harder so it would take more to bring me off my game. Still, that damn running play haunted me. No one had forgotten, and there was more to do to prove the mishap was behind me.

  “It won’t affect my game, Miranda. And it’s not anything Coach can help me with. In the meantime, I need you to forget you saw me here tonight.”

  She hesitated. Why the hell was she hesitating? I had no time for this crap.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “You just go ahead and do whatever you think is right. I’ve got more tables to bus.”

  I left her standing there as I delivered the dishes to the dishwasher in the back. Then, I was back out on the floor for more. It was pretty obvious that with Miranda now in on my little secret, Cassidy would find out sooner or later. It was bound to come up. To do a bit of damage control, I told her waiter to put their bill on my tab and I’d pay with a credit card. Later on, when I cleared Miranda’s table after they left, I found a note written on a folded up receipt.

  Your secret’s safe with me.

  It worked. I’d been able to buy her silence with dinner. That didn’t happen every day.

  When the restaurant finally cleared out for the night, I was stuck cleaning up the entire place. That fucked up perk was thanks to the landlord, who’d told the wait staff and kitchen staff not to help turn the place down while I was on the job. Part of paying off my debt to him was handling one hundred percent of the job.

  “That’ll teach you some responsibility, kid,” the bastard would tell me every chance he got. There was no use trying to reason with that guy then, and after I started working at his restaurant, I realized it was just a character flaw. No one challenged him. Ever.

  Tonight, after I delivered the last load of dishes to the dishwasher, wiped down every table, placed every chair up on the tables and mopped the floors, I stretched and let out a ragged sigh.

  “It’s not easy, is it Clark?”

  Crap, he’d probably made it his personal mission to never let me live it down.

  “No sir. Not after being at practice all afternoon.”

  I walked off as the exertion of the day hit me. My feet were hurting. My legs were sore. I even felt the burn in my arms and shoulders. I was hurting in places that hadn’t hurt since the first time I’d stepped into football practice. It really was like going to a second practice every day. I just couldn’t let it affect my game or show at practice.

  15

  Cassidy

  Slade finally agreed to meet with me before practice a day this week. He was going to bring me what he’d prepared for our final write-up on the project, and I wanted to let him know that I’d managed to score a meeting with the owner of The Pet Adoption House for our pitch. Thanksgiving was around the corner, and although he was still avoiding me, the movement of time meant I was that much closer to graduating.

  ‘Hey, I’m waiting. Where’s the write-up?’ I texted him.

  We didn’t need a full meeting. There wasn’t anything left to discuss. I just wanted an electronic copy of what he had, and to do one run-through before delivering the pitch. There was still going to be some of the assignment to complete after we talked with the owner, but he’d said he would take care of everything up to that part for me.

  Too bad he didn’t show up.

  And he didn’t text me back.

  It was radio silence.

  I gave up and sent one more message that I’d try to catch him after practice.

  Whatever was going on with him lately was obviously more important than his grades—and what I thought was happening between us. And to think, he’d worked so hard to get me to give him a chance, only to give me the brush off. I was running out of time to worry about it. I packed up my things and left the library for practice. There was a game coming up, and I needed to make up for the slack. I was not letting my senior year go to shit because of Slade Clark.

  Instead of distracting myself from practice with thoughts of Slade, I used practice to keep my mind off of him today. I let myself get lost in the motions and movements, remembering how much I did enjoy the physical challenge of cheerleading, even if I wasn’t a fan of the superficial lifestyle that tended to accompany it. After practice, I hurried over to the field. I wanted to catch Slade before he left for whatever it was that occupied his evenings lately. He wasn’t out there. A few junior staff members were moving the cones they’d used for drills. All the players were gone.

  My frustration was mounting. I wasn’t afraid to finish the project alone. I had no issue delivering the pitch myself too. That wasn’t what was bothering me. It wasn’t about the damn project. This was about us. Slade wasn’t showing up to work on the project because of me. He wasn’t answering my texts because of what I’d said. He was avoiding me because I’d messed with his fragile ego. That’s what I needed to fix. The project was fine. If he didn’t show up to do the pitch, Dr. Taylor could find out, but I could cover for him. The problem was us.

  There wasn’t supposed to be an us. We were supposed to have a friendly agreement not to like each other. We were supposed to always be at odds with each other. We were off limits by virtue of my friendship with his brother. But that hadn’t worked out. We’d gone against the natural order of things by sleeping together. And by almost sleeping together a second time, we really screwed everything up.

  Sex with Slade was just supposed to be sex. He didn’t want anyone to feel anything for him, or from him. That’s why he was keeping his distance. I was breaking a rule. I wasn’t sure how to feel after sleeping with a guy I’d tried so hard to avoid for so many years. I suspect that he was feeling something for me the nigh
t I shut him down. I shouldn’t have done that. Or I should have done it differently.

  I decided to walk over to the frat house. It was really only a mile or so up the road. I got there and found his friend, Evan, the wide receiver. He was sitting outside with a couple of the unknown non-player frat brothers.

  “Well, if it ain’t the Ice Princess herself,” he called out to me. “Cassidy Greyson has decided to grace us with her presence, guys. We should be mighty, mighty grateful.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.” I stood on the bottom step of the house, waiting for him to stop talking so I could ask where Slade was.

  “Your buddy Slade isn’t here, but maybe we can entertain you.” He got out of the chair on the porch and came down the steps to stand beside me.

  “Do you know where he is?” I asked, ignoring his feeble advances and addressing the rest of the guys still on the porch.

  “Nope. He disappeared right after practice, and no one has seen him since.” He stood right behind me now, being a dick as usual. I could feel him brushing up against me. “Maybe there’s something I can help you with.”

  “As if,” I replied, taking a step up.

  “Well, tell me something.” He was right in my ear, whispering. “Have you slept with him yet?”

  Everyone was wondering the same damn thing lately. Had we slept together? I groaned. “None of your business, Evan. Just quit being a dumbass and tell your other dumbass friend to get in touch with me about our project.” I was going to regret insulting Slade later, but hell, I was sick of trying to get him to talk to me.

  “Well, that’s a shame. Hey, do you think you might give him the goods before the semester’s up? I mean, since you’re working together and all?” He looked at the other guys and laughed.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “That’s a yes, boys. You heard it here first. The Ice Princess is considering sleeping with Slade ‘Slaughter’ Clark,” he announced, going back up the steps to his seat.