Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  But it’s also that she’s actually inexperienced and innocent. She’s not used to this - “this” meaning “interactions of an adult nature”, like last night.

  Like sex.

  I shake my head as I jerk my locker open.

  “Dalton.”

  I freeze at the sound of Coach’s voice from behind me. Slowly, feeling my pulse skip, I turn to see him standing in his office doorway, his arms crossed over his barrel chest and a dark look on his face.

  “Coach?”

  “In my office, son,” he says gruffly, unblinking, unemotional.

  Fuck.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I swallow, my feet moving in slow motion towards his office. He moves back behind his desk easing his frame into his creaky leather chair as I step inside. He slowly shakes his head before looking up at me with a piercing look.

  “Dalton.”

  Oh holy shit, he knows.

  The fear lances through me, and for a second, I wonder if he’s still got it in him to chase me if I make a break for it.

  He knows what I did with Hailey last night, and he’s about to kill me.

  “Coach, I-”

  “I want to talk about Hailey, son.”

  He crosses his arms across his chest again, leaning back in that chair and keeping his eyes locked on me. “What the hell were you thinking last night?”

  My heart’s about to explode right out of my chest, and I can feel a cold sweat break out across my back.

  “Fuck, Coach, I-”

  “Language, son.”

  Coach is old-school like that - considering some words to be ‘cuss words’ not appropriate for his locker room.

  I’d grin or laugh about it right now, if I didn’t think I was about to get buried in a shallow grave.

  “Sorry, Coach,” I say, clearing my throat. “Last night-”

  I take a deep breath before I look him right in the eye. Fuck it, if I’m going down, I’m going to go down like a Goddamn man, no sniveling for forgiveness.

  “Sir, she was-”

  Coach holds up a hand and stops me. “She was there at that party.” He shakes his head. “I’m mad enough about that, don’t let me tell you otherwise.” He leans over the desk towards me. “Listen, Dalton. I just want to say-”

  ‘I just want to say that your career is over, your life is forfeit, and I’m going to take pleasure in cutting your dick off before killing you.’

  “I just want to say I really appreciate what you did for my daughter, Dalton.”

  Hold the fuck up…what?

  “Coach?”

  He chuckles - he fucking chuckles. “I mean knocking that shit-bird on his ass, son.”

  Oh that.

  My legs wobble as the adrenaline floods through me.

  “I don’t know what I would’ve done - or what she would’ve done if you hadn’t been there to set things right.”

  I smile weakly, blowing air out through my lips as I run a hand through my hair.

  “But Dalton, you’ve got ESPN coming today. We can’t afford to have them on T.V. talking about you knocking teammates out.” He grins, “However heroic.”

  I grin back. “I mean, Coach, it was pretty heroic.”

  He chuckles. “I bet it was, son. I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t have minded seeing you knock that little turd on his ass. And again, I don’t think me or my daughter can thank you enough.” He leans back in his chair, fingering his mustache. “I’m serious, by the way. I honestly can’t think about what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. But you’ve gotta rein it in a little. I need that energy on the field, not off.”

  I frown. “So, I should not hit the piece of shit who’s creeping hard on the innocent girl next time?”

  Coach’s eyes narrow. “You know that’s not what I’m saying, son. But it’s about perception, and you’ve gotta think about that when you act. You’ve got a long road ’til the NFL, Dalton. We can get there, but I need you focused.”

  I nod, and his look softens into a grin. “So, you ready to bring that same hurt down on the Tigers in a few days?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He blows out a thin stream of air as he eases back in his chair and grins at me again. ““Good, cause I just kicked my veteran power forward with the broken noses off the team.”

  It’s later, when I’m doing some strength conditioning in the weight room - yeah, that weight room - that Coach’s words really sink in.

  Stopping a piece of shit from assaulting a girl is certainly one thing. But the press I could get for beating the shit out of the guy is another thing altogether. They say there’s no such thing as bad press, but that’s bullshit.

  There’s no such thing as bad press, until you get bad press.

  I grunt as I muscle the bar bell up from my chest and back onto the bench press rack, and then it’s the other lingering thought that trickles into my head.

  Hailey.

  Specifically, the terrible way she reacted this morning. Sure, it was her dad almost walking in on us that got her spooked, but it was more than that.

  It was me. It was that fear and suspicion in her eyes at it being me in that room and in that bed when she woke up.

  I scowl as I sit up from the bench. I reach for my cell on the towel next to me, and I’m about to fire off a quick text to her when I roll my eyes at myself. I groan as I drop back onto the bench.

  For fuck’s sake, who the hell do I have myself confused with? Am I insane? I don’t fucking text girls after spending the night, especially girls who scowl and curse at me in the morning.

  Yeah, no way.

  Coach is right, the last thing I need are distractions when I need to stay focused. Clingy, confused, consuming distractions like the inexperienced and unprepared Hailey Garrison.

  So that’s my plan, I decide as I grab ahold of the bench bar and muscle it back off the rack. This whole back and forth with Hailey has to end, for both of us.

  I grunt as I lower the bar to my chest, feeling my muscles tense.

  I need to let her down easy, and then move on.

  She’ll be fine.

  I’ll be fine.

  I’m always fine.

  25

  Dalton

  Well, shit.

  You know what they say about “the best laid plans”?

  Yeah, they’re right.

  I head directly to Hailey’s dorm room after practice, ignoring the annoying shrieking, giggling and camera clicks of girls on her floor as I make my way to her door.

  There’s no answer to my knocking. I frown at the door and try about five more times, before the door next to hers opens and Roxie pokes her head out, scowling. “Dude, she’s not-” She blinks as she recognizes me and then grins. “Oh, hey there, Tyson.”

  “Tyson?”

  Roxie steps out of her room. “Yeah, you know ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee’?” She dances on her toes, throwing fake boxing jabs at me.

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, right, the fight. I think you mean Mohammad Ali.”

  Roxie’s fists drop. “Who?”

  “The whole float like a butterfly, sting like- okay, yeah, forget it,” I say, seeing the bored look on her face. “Look, do you know where she is?”

  She shrugs and smirks. “I mean, it’s Saturday, and we’re talking about Hailey, so the library maybe? Is there a gaming tournament somewhere?”

  I grin. “Very possible.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  Way better after I sent her into fucking orbit last night with my fingers.

  “She’s good.” I swallow the rest of what I want to say.

  “Who are you talking to?” The door to Roxie’s room opens behind her and a blonde girl I vaguely know from the Hawks cheer squad pokes her head out.

  I also vaguely know her as straight, but I’m guessing that might be up for re-evaluation judging from her sex hair and oversized t-shirt as she stands there in Roxie’s doorway.

  Her eyes go wide and her face
goes bright red as she notices me, and she makes this little “peep” sound before she ducks back inside.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Roxie shrugs. “Anyways, check the library.” She grins, “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a girl who swore off men last night I have to tend to.” She winks before ducking back inside her room, leaving me chuckling in the hallway and shaking my head.

  Contrary to popular opinion, Hailey isn’t in the library when I go check. She’s also not in the science building, the student center, or any of the half-dozen “study areas” around campus.

  After that, I give up and decide to head home to change, and that’s when my plans start to fall apart.

  Because I get about five steps from my car, heading back to my apartment above the garage, when I happen to glance back at the pool, and that’s when I spot her.

  Holy shit, do I spot her.

  She’s out sunning herself on one of the pool chairs.

  In a damn bikini.

  Damn. I’ve never seen this much skin on her.

  I mean, I made this girl come last night with her shirt pulled up, her panties around her knees, and my fingers deep inside her pussy. But it was dark, and it’s not like either of us could see much.

  This is way different, and I fucking like it.

  I immediately detour from the garage door towards the pool, my eyes locked on Hailey’s stretched out form in the chair.

  It’s not even a particularly sexy bikini either. It’s not scandalous or some sort of slutty thong or anything I’d expect see around the sorority houses. It’s just a plain bikini - green, which contrasts nicely against her freckled white skin and red hair.

  But fuck, I’m hard in seconds seeing the way the material of the bottoms disappears tantalizingly between her legs, or the way the curve of her tits push at that top. I move like someone in a trance until I’m standing right in front of her, my eyes drinking her in as they roam over her body.

  She’s wearing sunglasses, and I can tell she’s napping by the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest. It’s fucking hypnotizing, and I fall more and more under her trance as I let my eyes wander over her.

  Jesus, I want to run my mouth over every fucking inch of that skin. I want to taste it while she’s soaking up the sun like that. I want to peel that suit from her body, sink my tongue deep in her sun-warmed pussy, and taste every drop of her.

  I can feel my cock starting to throb inside my pants.

  “Creep much?”

  I jerk my eyes from the place where the bikini cuts across her exposed hip to her face. Her brows are raised behind shades, and there’s the faintest hint of a smirk on those lips.

  Busted.

  I grin, shrugging. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting burned.”

  She takes her shades off as she rolls her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure.”

  “Need some lotion?”

  She fixes me with a look, and I grin as I shrug it off.

  There’s a moment of silence as we stand there staring at each other, like what happened last night didn’t.

  Or maybe like the meltdown of this morning didn’t happen either.

  Finally, I clear my throat, running my hand through my hair. “So listen, I was thinking about last night.”

  Hailey sits up, looking at least somewhat sheepish. “Yeah, same.”

  I nod slowly, clenching my fist and getting ready to rip the band-aid off.

  It’s going to suck no matter what, so just let her down easy. Let her know it’s not her, it’s just that you-

  Hailey suddenly makes a face, her lips curling into a grin. “Oh my God.”

  I frown. “What?”

  “Your face.” She brings a hand up to her mouth before she starts to laugh. “Oh my God, Dalton.” She rolls her eyes, “Were you about to ‘let me down easy’?”

  I scowl as I look away. “No.”

  “Dalton, I thought I told you I wasn’t one of your little groupies, and last night-”

  “Yeah, Hailey, about-”

  “Last night was a just a thing, Dalton.” Her shoulders rise in this casual shrug. “I don’t know what came over me, but I never should have-” She shakes her head. “It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.”

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  I blink, feeling my head spin a little.

  Did a girl just let me down? I almost want to laugh at the way this conversation has gone, but somehow, I can’t seem to muster that sort of emotion.

  “Uh, yeah, same,” I say haltingly, shrugging as I run a hand through my hair.

  “Look, it’s not about you or anything, and I’m sorry for being weird this morning. I just need to focus on my work for a while,” she says with a shrug, biting at the ends of her sunglasses.

  Holy fuck, this has never happened before. A chick just gave me “the line” - the “it’s not you it’s me” line. I grin as I look up at the sky and shake my head.

  Fucking hell, karma is a bitch.

  “Look, Dalton, it’s not like-”

  I do laugh then. “Don’t flatter yourself, darlin,” I say, forcing the grin to my face as I casually shrug. “Could’ve been anyone in that bed last night with her hands on my cock.”

  Hailey’s face goes dark as she glares at me, her lips in a tight line.

  “I mean, no offense,” I toss in, for good measure.

  She says nothing as she puts her shades back on and lies back in the chair. “You’re in my sun.”

  I turn and head towards the garage. “Don’t get burned,” I throw back over my shoulder.

  “Look who’s talking,” she whips back.

  Ouch, darlin.

  26

  Hailey

  For having a football coach as a dad, there’s not a whole lot of “go team” type altruisms I’ve picked up along the way.

  But there’s a few, and “don’t dish what you can’t bring to the table” is one that’s been floating around my head the last few days.

  Basically since I decided to take the “it’s just fooling around, what’s the big deal” approach with a man like Dalton. Me - wildly inexperienced, wears her emotions on her sleeve me. Dalton goes through one night stands and flings like most people go through Netflix episodes, and there I was trying to play the “no big deal” card.

  I’d have made less a fool of myself if I’d walked onto the football field during a game and tried to tackle him or something.

  I’ve been talking more game than I can actually bring around him, trying to play it cool and act like what’s happened between us is no big deal. But the whole time, I’ve really just had front row seats to the whole thing blowing up in my face.

  Because for all my big game talk, I’m almost sure a guy like Dalton doesn’t buy it for a second. It’s like he can see right freaking through me, and read my thoughts. Because every time he looks at me, it’s like he knows just how inexperienced, and just how awkward I really am.

  It’s like he knows he’s the only damn thing running through my head, all the damn time.

  Well, him and one singular, repeated line: I can’t believe I did that.

  I can’t believe I did any of it at all, really, but especially with him - terrible, gross, dickhead Dalton Cole.

  Of course, all the mean words in the world won’t change the fact that one night of just hands with Dalton is about a million times hotter than the one night of actual sex I had before.

  Literally, a million times.

  …Which still doesn’t mean I can believe I did that.

  “Hey, there’s my girl!”

  My dad’s voice calls out from the kitchen over the sound of a Tom Petty record as I close the front door to Heather’s house behind me.

  Our house. I should really start working on that.

  I mumble back some sort of a non-English reply and start to make for the staircase.

  “Hey!” Dad pokes his head around the corner with B
easley slumped over one arm and a spatula in his other hand.

  Whatever my current mood, I can’t stop the grin that cracks across my face. Both my Dad and Beasley are covered in flour - it’s on mustaches and whiskers, on eyebrows and furry ears. Dad looks psyched - Beasley looks like he wants to poop on something.

  “What’s up with you, sour grapes. How was class?”

  I frown, peering closely at my dad. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m great, kiddo,” he shrugs, like him coming out of the kitchen covered in cooking supplies is in any way normal for him.

  “Are you…?” I trail off, my eyes dropping back to Beasley as I lose it again. “Are you cooking?”

  Dad shrugs again, frowning. “Yeah, no big deal.”

  “Dad, when have you ever cooked something that didn’t involve a toaster or a microwave?”

  He looks up and winks at me. “Alright, busted. I’m trying to make dinner for Heather tonight.”

  “Good move.”

  Beasley yawns, and my dad peers into my face again. “Hey, you okay, sport?” He frowns. “Still a little shaken about the other night?”

  My face feels tight as I shrug and move to sit on the bottom step. Dad puts Beasley down, who growls and scampers off, before he walks over to put his arms around me.

  “Talk to me kiddo, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing, its fine.”

  Truth be told, having someone to talk to about…well, whatever is going on right now with Dalton would be great.

  My dad is probably the single last name on that list.

  “Ahh, right, right,” Dad takes a step back to look me up and down with a concerned look on his face. “Girl stuff?”

  I almost laugh - almost.

  “Yeah, Dad, girl stuff.” I stand and turn to head upstairs.

  “Girl stuff going to get in the way of homemade sage ravioli in half an hour?”

  My stomach grumbles, and I stop. “I guess not,” I mumble as I turn back.

  “There’s my girl,” he says with flour-caked grin before his eyes go soft again. “You know, Hails, you can talk to me.”

  I can’t, but it doesn’t mean him saying it doesn’t have me flopping back down the stairs and putting my arms around his neck. “I’m good, Dad, just…” I sigh. “Just life.”