Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  “Yeah, no, I know,” I say quickly, making a face. “Anyways, no, I am very much not into douchebags like Dalton Cole.”

  Roxie grins. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Avoid him?”

  She laughs. “Well, good luck with that. He’s the new king of campus, in case you haven’t heard. And classes haven’t even started yet.”

  “Oh believe me, I’ll do my best.”

  “Well, might want to put earplugs in then.”

  I frown, “Why?”

  “Because of the parade before the welcoming commencement stuff?”

  “Oh shit!” I jump off the bed as my eyes dart to the clock.

  Shit. The parade. The one I promised to go to, even if it is a dumb football thing. But I know it means a lot to my dad for me to be there for his first public appearance as head coach, not to mention for Heather’s commencement address to the school afterwards.

  The parade that starts in five minutes.

  I’m about to bolt from the room when I freeze and turn to Roxie, wincing even before I ask it.

  “Uh, you don’t have any…” I roll my eyes and make a face. “Do you have any football stuff?”

  She raises a brow.

  “I mean something I could wear with the- the…what the hell is the team animal?”

  Roxie laughs. “Holy shit, you really don’t do football. I think I’m going to like being your neighbor.” She grins, “The ‘team animal’ of the Hawks is…drumroll please.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks,” I mutter sarcastically. “Yeah, never mind. I just wanted to do something to show a little effort for my dad.”

  Roxie grins. “I, uh- I do actually.”

  I shoot her a dubious look. “Seriously?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah, there’s this chick on the cheer squad I, uh, know.”

  I frown, glancing at the time again. “Okay, does she live on this floor or som-”

  “No, dude, I mean that I know - like, she’s left clothes in my room.”

  Oh.

  Roxie laughs as I go red. “You and me, Garrison, I think we’re gonna get along great. C’mon next door, she’s about your size.”

  5

  Dalton

  Well hell, I could get used to this.

  I’ve got a beer in my hand, two sorority girls on my lap, and a third at my feet, all draped across me as the crowds cheer.

  Oh, and I’m sitting on a throne - a literal throne - with an honest-to-God crown on my head.

  I’m the fucking king of the damn University, and I’ve gotta say, it feels fucking fantastic.

  The commencement parade the last weekend before the semester starts is an annual tradition, apparently. And like every year, they’ve got the marching band out, the crowds going nuts, and the whole damn team out hyping people up for the season.

  …I’m not sure the big float with the throne and the new Freshman quarterback and this harem of sorority girls is an every year thing though.

  I mean, people love it, but I can also look around and see the jealousy in the eyes of some of the other players walking alongside my streamer-festooned float. I see the scornful looks of resentment at the underclassman that’s stealing all their thunder - not to mention their girls.

  Fuck ‘em.

  I know they’ve all watched the tapes of my games all over ESPN, but wait until they get me on the field. Wait until I win them games, get them laid, and get them glory and limelight.

  Yeah, welcome to my world, fellas.

  Wait until I win them championship rings, then we’ll see who’s jealous and resentful.

  One of the girls in my lap lets out a whooping scream to the crowd that has me wincing before she snatches the beer out of my hand with a grin and takes a sip.

  “Boy, they let you football guys get away with anything, don’t they?” she says with a wink, taking another sip of my beer. The girl on my other knee laughs and takes the cup from the first girl, slugging it back as the marching band blares around us.

  A lot of big schools courted me, obviously. I mean the records I smashed back in school had so many college recruiters coming to my games that they filled half the damn seats. But after the ESPN interview? Forget it. After that, I was the hottest acquisition in the damn country. After that, every school wanted me. And after the interview came the marketing guys and the national underwear ad. Yeah, after that every chick in America wanted a taste of yours truly.

  And I hate to disappoint my fans.

  Of course, the posturing about that damn ad sure didn’t hurt - all the internet and media speculation about “stuffing” the front of the jockeys for the shoot.

  Yeah, nope.

  That shoot and the “stuffing” was all me, baby. And all it took was a couple of gossipy models who’d had some first-hand experience with it blabbing to the magazines, before my cock was maybe more famous than me.

  So, yeah, you think football guys get away with a lot of shit? Darlin, I want to say to the girl on my lap holding my beer. I’m Dalton “Ten” Cole, my mom is the damn Dean and my stepdad’s the head football coach.

  I’m going to get away with fucking murder here.

  “Hey! Dalton!” There’s a crowd of reporters and camera guys from ESPN and a handful of other stations surging up towards my float, shoving microphones and cameras in my face.

  “Dalton, my man!” A guy I’ve never met beams at me with a big-ass camera in his hands. “How about a picture with you and your girlfriend?”

  I grin at him - that half-cocked, arrogant smile that’s landed me on half a dozen magazine covers in the last few months.

  “Girlfriend?” I shrug exaggeratedly for the cameras. “You know, they’re all so great, I’m not sure I could pick just one!”

  The three sorority girls erupt into giggles in my lap and at my feet, the crowd around us whoops and hollers while the cameras flash. The girls shriek as I stand, lifting two of them up in my arms while the third kneels at my feet, her hands right at the waistband of my shorts and her lips pressed to my happy trail for the pictures that’ll be all over every sports publication in the country by tomorrow.

  I’m sure her parents will be real proud.

  The float moves on, and I drop back to my seat, taking a big slug of my beer as the girls laugh and pose for more pictures draped across my lap.

  Yeah, a guy could get very used to this.

  I’m grinning as I sit back and drink my beer, reveling in my moment when the float comes to a stop. There’s a grandstand set up in front of the athletics center where my mom’s going to be giving her welcome speech, and I groan and begrudgingly get up from my pile of girls.

  Time to be the face of the team.

  I’m still laughing with the girls, pushing hands away from me and promising to call them when I turn and immediately lock eyes with Hailey.

  I’ve got a beer in my hand, a goofy fucking smirk on my face, and three half-naked, half-drunk coeds literally hanging off of me.

  Shit - not exactly the impression I was looking to make.

  But then I frown at the thought. What the fuck do I care? What the hell do I care about what little Miss stuck-up, too-cool-for-football thinks of me and my antics? I can see that bored look, like I’m such the cliché in her eyes.

  Whatever.

  My mom is hand-in-hand with Coach Garrison as she waves at the crowd and steps forward for her address. And I’m happy for her. Jim Garrison is a great guy, and I’m pumped to be playing for him.

  But his daughter? Shit, I don’t need book-nerd Hailey Garrison’s approval. Hell, I don’t even need her to like me.

  I’m Dalton fucking Cole. I’m the damn king of this campus, and I don’t need a damn thing from her.

  Except, there’s that little look of hers again. That look that says quite clearly that she thinks she’s “above” all this. As if being anti-sports and wearing “anti-cool” black-rimmed glasses and that fucking hipster beanie, and not a single stitch of Hawks blue-and-white
despite this being a Hawks football event makes her “better” than all this - more “evolved”.

  It doesn’t.

  And I decide right there - with the sorority girls clinging to my arms, the beer in my hand, and the crown on my head - that I’m going to make it my damn job to make sure she gets that.

  I grin right at her, ignoring the eye-roll she shoots my way as I raise my cup to her.

  Cheers, darlin.

  “Thought you weren’t into football.”

  Hailey jumps a little as I lean down and whisper the words in her ear. My mom is going on about something to do with the “promise of a strong future” and “eager young minds”, but I’m not really paying attention. I mean, I’m half-buzzed and I’m still half-cocked from the pile of sorority girls that up until recently were squirming all over my dick.

  But they’re not here, and I’m fresh out of beer, which means uptight Hailey Garrison is now the object of my attention.

  She turns and shoots me a glare, like it’s the worst thing in the world for me to have just interrupted this meaningless speech.

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, c’mon,” I whisper again. “No one’s actually listening to this.”

  “I’m listening, actually,” she hisses at me before turning back around. “Besides,” she tosses back over her shoulder. “I’m here supporting my dad.”

  I grin. “And your star quarterback?”

  “Uh, no, not so much,” she says with another thin, withering smile before she rolls her eyes and turns away again.

  I scowl at the back of her head, her hair tucked up under her beanie and those dark-rimmed glasses perched on her ears. She’s wearing this baggy hoodie which makes me frown because holier-than-thou “boo-sports” attitude aside, little Miss prude at least had a pretty bangin body on her the other night at dinner.

  She perplexes me, because it’s perfectly clear that she’s not playing any sort of game with me. I mean, I’ve had plenty of girls play “hard to get” - models, cheerleaders, that one actress from that T.V. show - but they’ve all done it in that utterly bullshit way. It’s that teasing, “make him work for it” Cosmo magazine shit, and I can see right through it anyways.

  Because in the end, they aren’t playing hard to get at all. In the end, they just want to tell themselves they are, because it makes them feel better about it when they wait a whole three hours before dropping their panties and spreading their legs for me.

  Except Hailey Garrison isn’t playing any damn games, that much is pretty clear. She literally isn’t interested in me, and that has my interest.

  I wonder briefly if she’s a lesbian before the cheer of the assemble crowd signals the end of Mom’s speech which I’ve managed to entirely miss.

  “Hey, lookin’ good up on that float, boy!” Coach Garrison grins at me as he claps me on the back.

  Mom hasn’t really seen many guys since dad, but they’ve mostly been losers. Coach Garrison though? I grin as some guy in a fraternity shirt I don’t recognize roars my name and passes me a fresh beer.

  Yeah, Coach is alright. More importantly, I think he gets me and what makes me tick, and I think we’re going to get along just fine.

  I grin as I raise the fresh beer at him. “To a great season, Coach.”

  He flashes me another smile before he reaches out and plucks the beer from my hand. “How about to a fresh healthy start to that season, huh?” He arches a brow at me, “I’m not against having fun, Dalton, but let’s try and balance the partying and the work this season alright?”

  I frown at my suddenly missing beer, before I begrudgingly nod. Fair enough.

  Coach looks past me and beams. “Now doesn’t she look great in blue and white?”

  I turn, and suddenly I’m doing a double-take as my jaw drops a little bit.

  She’s lost the hoodie, and… damn.

  Hailey’s wearing a Hawks tank top that just clings to her body and those damn near perfect tits. She’s wearing these smokin’ hot jean cut-offs too that I didn’t even notice with that bag-lady sized sweatshirt she was rocking earlier. Top the whole thing off with some knee-high Hawks-blue-and-white socks that I also somehow missed, and I’m at a total loss for words as I feel my cock twitch in my shorts.

  “Yeah, uh, she-” I clear my throat, trying to keep myself from drooling all over Coach’s daughter right in front of him. “Way to show a little spirt there, sis.” She wrinkles her nose at that last bit, and it makes me grin.

  “Thanks for coming, kiddo,” Coach says, putting his arm around Hailey and beaming at me.

  “Anytime,” she says, arching a brow only I can see.

  “Oh, by the way - the moving truck rolled up as soon as you left this morning. Had them set aside a bunch of your things I thought you might want for your room and figured I’d have some of my boys bring it over later today.”

  Hailey frowns, “Oh, I can get it, Dad. That’s fine.”

  Coach laughs. “It’s a sofa, honey, not to mention all your clothes and that big fancy gaming computer of yours.”

  Did he just say ‘gaming computer’?

  I can feel the corners of my mouth curl up in a devilish grin as I watch Hailey’s face quickly turn a bright shade of crimson.

  “I’d be happy to help, Coach,” I say with a big smile, looking right at her.

  Oh this is too good.

  This chick plays computer games and she’s giving me shit about football? This is almost going to be too easy.

  Hailey glares back at me, addressing her dad. “No, that’s really okay, I’ll just grab it some other time.”

  “I’ll talk to the guys right now, Coach,” I say quickly. “We’ll swing by in a little bit.”

  She glares at me, and I grin right back.

  Because she might think she’s too good for a state school, and football, and me for that matter. But like it or not, she’s here, in my court.

  And the King is in session.

  I lock eyes with the bafflingly intriguing girl who’s completely uninterested in me - the one who’s skin I can’t wait to get under - and I smile.

  Yeah, this is going to be way too much fun.

  6

  Dalton

  An hour later, I’m lugging this flowery love-seat thing along with some boxes of her shit into the dorms with a few other guys from the team. I grimace as I look around the fluorescent lit hallways, the grey carpeting, and the shared bathrooms of the dorm.

  Yeah, fuck all that.

  I silently thank my lucky stars about my status at this school. Again, technically I’ve got a room attached to my name somewhere here on campus, but that’s just to satisfy college ball regulations. If I have my way, I won’t be setting foot in one of these shitty dorms unless it’s for some tail.

  “Thanks,” Hailey looks up from the intense looking computer she’s setting up on her desk as Evan - the star running back - and I set the love seat down by the window in her room.

  I raise a brow at the dual-monitors and the sizable, sleek-looking tower and turn to grin at her. “Nice gaming computer,” I say with a grin.

  Hailey’s face goes red as she adjusts her glasses on her face, looking Goddamn adorable with how flustered she is. “It’s for school,” she mutters quickly.

  “Sure it is,” I lean in and wink at her as Evan ducks out of the room. “Nerd.”

  “Aww man, a single?” Jason, our full-back, whistles as he steps into the room and looks around. “Must be nice being Coach’s daughter. I spent two years in these dorms and always had some shitty roommate.”

  “Hey you can see the field from here!” Henderson, the power forward, steps in carrying a box and nods at her window. “You could throw some fuckin’ sweet pre-game parties in here, babe.”

  Hailey looks at him like he’s speaking another language. “Yeah, I think I’m good, but thanks.”

  “Naw I’m serious, babe!” Henderson shakes his head, clearly not getting it. “Perfect view of the scoreboard too.”

  Hailey roll
s her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll - uh - I’ll have to think about it.” She turns and steps up onto the chair she was standing on when we first came in, reaching back up to finish hanging one of three damn wall calendars above her desk.

  I’m about to make a crack about it, when I realize she’s still wearing those damn cutoff shorts from earlier.

  All of a sudden, I am very quickly forgetting my joke along with any other thought entirely.

  Hailey stretches up to tape the corner of a calendar, pulling those little jean cut-offs tight across her utterly perfect ass, her lean, creamy legs staining as she pushes up with her toes to reach the tape.

  But then I’m also very quickly realizing that I am not the only one who’s got his eye on Hailey’s stupidly good-looking ass. Actually, as I turn, I realize there’s not a damn eye in the room that isn’t glued to the denim pulled tight across that back-end. And suddenly, I can feel this weird, angry feeling rising inside.

  “Alright!” I clap loudly, snapping everyone’s attention away from Hailey’s ass. “Let’s go get those beers, fellas.”

  “Yeah,” Evan shakes his head, grinning sideways at me as I start to herd everyone out of Hailey’s room.

  “Thanks again,” she calls over her shoulder, apparently utterly oblivious to the show she was just putting on.

  I duck my head back in. “Hey, quick question.”

  Hailey turns and raises her brow. “Yeah?”

  I grin and nod at the computer. “Just out of curiosity, do you play as a knight, or more like some sort of wizard-”

  I dodge the roll of masking tape hurled my way, cackling while I head out.

  We’re barely outside the building when the guys lose it.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit, man!” Jason whistles lowly.

  “Damn, dude!” Henderson shakes his head at me.

  I frown at them. “What?”

  Henderson laughs. “What? Is this guy serious?” He chuckles. “Coach’s daughter, man.”

  My frown turns into a scowl as I glare at him. “What about her.”

  He laughs again. “Dude are you blind?”