Right of First Refusal (Radleigh University #2)

by Dahlia Adler

  “I wish you could have too,” he says, sounding tired. “But…I’m proud of you, sweetheart. I know you’ve worked hard for this.”

  He sounds a little choked up, and now I feel it too. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “It’s late over there, isn’t it? You should get some sleep.”

  I glance at my watch. It is getting late—definitely past my usual bedtime—but I hate the idea of him just getting rid of me. “Dad—”

  “Just make me proud tomorrow, Caity-Cat,” he says. “That’ll be the next-best wedding present to you being here.”

  Slight dagger to the heart, but I’ll take it. “Deal. And you…get married well tomorrow. Make sure Matt takes some good pictures.”

  “I will.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too, Caity-Cat.”

  • • •

  Despite the cathartic conversation, I still wake up with a pit in my stomach. It’s hard to think about not being there on my dad’s wedding day, and it’s just as hard to think of him not being here with me. To know that those stands will be empty of support for me sucks, and I have to remind myself over and over as I get suited up that I play for me and my team. Support is nice but I don’t need it.

  Support is nice but I don’t need it.

  Support is nice but I don’t need it.

  I keep this mantra in mind through our warm-ups and pep talk, and eventually, the potent combination of excitement and anxiety fill my brain until I can’t think of anything else. Before I know it, we’re lining up on the field, two parallel stripes of forest green and white, and the announcer is calling out the name of our starting lineup.

  At the sound of “Number 21, Caitlin Johannssen!” the loudest, most obnoxious hooting and hollering fills the air, and I look up at the stands.

  Lizzie. Frankie. And Mase.

  In the bleachers.

  Seven hours away from Radleigh.

  If I weren’t already overwhelmed with emotion, this would’ve done it. I could cry right here on the field, except suddenly I feel Tish’s elbow in my side and then Nora yanking me into position to hear the national anthem.

  As I listen to the familiar tune, I remember standing on the field the day of our first playoff game, thinking I was gonna play as shitty as I could get away with in a misguided attempt to prove how much I care.

  Now I know this is about me doing the opposite, proving staying to play was the right choice. Proving to be worth the trip. Proving that whether or not I deserved the captainship this year, I definitely deserve it next.

  I have sixty minutes of playing time to help make us all legends. And as I circle around Mariana, who’s going up for the draw, I’ve never had less doubt.

  The first draw control goes to Carolina, which puts on a little bit of a damper, but their power lasts for all of five seconds before Tessa intercepts. I cut around the blue-clad defender on my ass, grab Tessa’s feed pass out of the air, and quick-stick it right over the goalie’s left shoulder.

  Beautiful.

  When I take my usual spot on the circle for the next face-off, Mariana jerks her head toward the middle. “Do the draw,” she mouths.

  My eyebrows shoot up. As the tallest girl on the team, I’m a reasonable choice for doing it, and I’ve certainly practiced plenty, but it’s a position Mariana rarely relinquishes. Losing the first one must’ve really rattled her. I swap spots with her, nodding when she murmurs “push draw” in my ear, as if I really needed to be told to take advantage of my height. I gain control easily—the other girl’s a head shorter—and pass it to Mariana, then set up for an invert. She drives it in, and I’m gratified to see the cradling I’ve been helping her with at practice has been paying off. There’s no opening for her to take a shot, though, so I cut down and catch a high pass. The hole doesn’t stay open for long, though, and I dash around the goal, cradling it away from the Carolina girl on my tail, and wrap it low on the underside.

  Goal.

  The screaming from the stands reaches a fever pitch, and my loud-ass friends are audible above everyone. I blow a kiss in their direction with one hand while accepting a slap five from Tish with the other, then retake my spot in the center.

  “Happy wedding day, Dad,” I murmur. And then I raise my crosse for the next draw.

  We are national. Fucking. Champions.

  I’m still blinking at the scoreboard minutes after the game ended, the 10 under Radleigh so beautiful and round next to Carolina’s 7. And six of those goals? Those are mine, along with eight draw controls and two assists.

  It didn’t seem to surprise a single person on the field when I was named Most Outstanding Player, but internally, I’m still reeling from it. I’ve been clutching the trophy like a lifeline since it was put into my gloved hands, and if I can get away with sleeping with it tonight, I’m gonna do it. Not even sorry.

  We’re standing around screaming, pouring water on each other and into our mouths, and hugging friends and family when Brady’s voice cuts into the crowd. “Johannssen, can you come here for a minute?”

  The high from winning quickly mellows as I give Brady a jerky nod and tell the team I’ll see them later. He hasn’t tried to talk to me since naming Tessa captain, and I’m not looking forward to it now. But at least I know he can’t complain about my performance today—not with the trophy still clutched in my hand. “What’s up, Coach?”

  “Nice arm candy,” he says with a smile. “You did great today, Johannssen. You’ve done great every day.”

  The unspoken question hangs between us, and he knows me better after two years together than to think I’ll ask it.

  “I know you want to know why we didn’t make you captain. We did talk about it—you were a serious consideration.”

  “But?”

  “But a captain represents the whole team. Makes decisions for the whole team. This year, we just didn’t get the feeling you were…in the right frame of mind to solidly do that.”

  My knuckles whiten around the trophy. “I chose this over going to my father’s wedding, Coach. I chose this over everything.”

  “I know, Cait. I know. And of course the team and I are grateful that you did, but that’s not the healthiest balance either. If you came to resent the team for the sacrifices you made…” He doesn’t say a word about the game after he announced captain, but my cheeks flame anyway. He knows my natural weaknesses, and they don’t account for my “errors” in that game. “The temper on the field, the one-man showmanship when you’ve got something to prove in apology…it was just too erratic to make you a leader right now.”

  I want to argue, but I can’t; he’s pretty much nailed it. “I’ve been working on all that,” I say sheepishly. “And…I get it. I do. But next year, I’m telling you now—I want it. And I’m gonna do whatever it takes to prove to you I deserve it.” I pause. “I’m gonna win the Fabe, too. And be named All-American. I know those things aren’t remotely in your control, but I just want you to know I’m putting that out into the universe.”

  Brady chuckles. “I have no doubt you’ll achieve all those things, if you want them. And I look forward to seeing you in action.”

  “It’ll be a sight to behold,” I promise. “But for now, I’m gonna make one more choice that isn’t very leader-ly—I’m gonna ride back up to Radleigh with my friends, so knock me off the attendance list for the bus, please.”

  He nods. “I guess this is goodbye until the fall, then?”

  “It is,” I confirm. “Thank you for a great season, Coach.”

  “Thank you,” he says. He extends his hand for a shake, and I take it. After a beat, I reluctantly hand over the trophy, too. And then I turn around and run to my waiting friends and a long car ride of cramped legs and battles over music and nonstop sexual innuendo.

  I can’t wait.

  • • •

  We eat dinner at Mase’s mom’s house, where she shocks me by actually giving me a hug—something she has definitely never done before. Only on
ce we’re completely stuffed do we begin the long ride back to Radleigh, with frequent stops for Mase to stretch his poor legs. Andi’s already gone—her last final was three days ago and she left immediately after—but I go back with Mase to his room anyway. Shamblin’s felt far more like home to me these past couple of weeks, and the fact that Mase has an extra-large bed doesn’t hurt.

  “So proud of you, Caity J.,” Lizzie murmurs through a yawn when she drops us off, giving me the squeeziest hug known to mankind. “I knew you were gonna kick some royal ass.”

  “That’s our girl.” Frankie squishes me next and kisses my cheek with a smack. “Go give her a night worthy of a world champion,” she orders Mase.

  After something like seventeen hours with my friends, I’m pretty sure they’re past the point of shocking him. He just laughs, and we say good night to them and get out of the car, moaning as we stretch our long limbs in the breezy night air.

  “Are you actually in the mood to—”

  “No,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “I am tired as fuck and all I want is to pass out.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come on.” He takes my bag of gear and twines his fingers in mine, bringing me up to his room.

  And okay, maybe we make out in the elevator a little bit.

  The second we get inside, I drop onto his bed and moan again at how good it feels to have a mattress under my aching bones. “I really wish this place had a bathtub.”

  “Can’t offer that, but I’m sure you’ll have your pick of the showers; pretty much all the other student-coaches are gone for the summer.”

  “Mmm, in a few minutes.” I let my eyelids flutter closed and make myself comfortable on his pillows, and a moment later I feel his weight on the bed as he joins me. His warm, solid arm wraps around my waist and his lips brush my shoulder, and I think that if I died of exhaustion right now, I could actually be okay with it.

  “So, I did something I hope you’ll be happy about,” he says hesitantly. “If not, it’s cool—just tell me. But I’ve been sitting on it a couple of weeks until all your other stuff was settled.”

  I turn onto my side to face him and prop myself up on my elbow, trying to read his eyes for clues. “Oh?”

  “You said you didn’t really have plans for the summer yet, and I’m only on board here for the first summer session, so…I called Robbie.”

  “Robbie?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Stone Creek director Robbie?”

  “Yeah.” He reaches out and curls a wayward strand of blond around his index finger. “Asked if they might need a couple of extra hands for July.”

  “And?”

  “And…they do. Or maybe he was just being nice because he was excited to hear our names, but either way, there’s room for us to work as staff for the month if we want to. I figured this way, you’ve still got a month to spend some time in San Diego with your dad, maybe get to know Abigail a little before the baby comes. And then, if it sucks as much as you’re probably dreading, you get a whole month to blow off steam playing in a pretty low-pressure environment, where you’ll basically be the place’s biggest rock star. So…what do you think?”

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thought of returning to the place that brought us back together and holds so many memories for us from a time that feels like eons ago, when we were very different people. But the one thing I do know is that I absolutely, positively want to go, with the guy lying next to me, the guy who traveled many hours to see me today with two girls with him who were basically strangers, just because he knew how happy it’d make me.

  “What about benefits?” I ask, resting my chin on his broad shoulder. “I’m expecting some serious makeout benefits. And I’m definitely going to need a refresher course on those astronomy lessons.”

  “Astro—oh, God, Jo.” He cracks up laughing. “You didn’t think I actually knew shit about the stars, did you?”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Helllll no. I just wanted to impress you. Rick Foster taught me some of that stuff that first day, and I made up the rest. But apparently it worked.”

  “Yeah, it worked, you asshole!” I whack him on the chest. “Here I was, thinking you were all brilliant and worldly.”

  “I’m still brilliant and worldly, just, you know, not about that shit.” He grins. “Did I just ruin it? Have I just totally fucked up my plan to lure you with me this summer?”

  “Alas, it’s gonna take more than a little white lie to run me off this time around,” I say. “I’m in. And thank you. For thinking of it, and for today, and for wanting the best for me, even when it isn’t always the easiest for you.”

  He bends his head to kiss me, and though it was probably meant to be a quick peck, I can’t resist taking more, sweeping my tongue over his, sliding a hand up his Sixers T-shirt to graze all that smooth skin over hard muscle. He takes my lower lip between his teeth and pulls me closer, throwing a leg over mine, and suddenly, my exhaustion doesn’t seem quite as pressing as getting another kind of relief does.

  Only problem is that I feel utterly disgusting.

  Which gives me an idea.

  “How empty do you think those showers really are?”

  He cocks his head. “You serious?”

  “Bad idea?”

  “Best idea.” He kisses me again, then helps me pull my clothing off my aching body and takes his off too. I barely get a minute to appreciate his gorgeous form before he’s wrapping us both in towels, and then he tells me to wait while he makes sure all is clear.

  It is.

  The hot water feels amazing on my skin, as does Mase slowly kissing every inch of my neck and shoulders. “I bet you could use a massage,” he says as he rubs shampoo into my hair.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say no,” I concede, my eyes closing as I relax into the way his fingertips work my scalp.

  “Didn’t think so.” He finishes shampooing, then drops to the floor as I rinse it out, those same strong, able hands working my calf muscles. I shiver as I watch him, and then all thoughts escape my brain as his fingers knead higher and he starts pressing kisses to my inner thigh. I’m reasonably certain that if his hands and mouth come any closer to my body’s newest ache, I will pass out right there in the shower. But he keeps his distance, focusing on my legs, and he presses a kiss—just one—between them before getting to his feet. Then he turns me around and works his magic on my shoulders and back, sucking gently at my neck as he works the knots everywhere else.

  “Mase…fuck.” Every touch is so damn good, but the fact that his cock is at full attention and pressing against my ass is starting to blur all his hard work. “I can barely feel my bones anymore.”

  He nips gently where my neck meets my shoulder. “Good.”

  “Sure can feel yours, though.”

  He skates his hands up to squeeze my breasts, which are extra sensitive under the pelting of the hot shower water, then goes back to massaging. “Also good.”

  “You know you’re making me crazy right now.”

  “This, again, also seems good.”

  So irritating. “How about this?” I ask, taking one of his hands and guiding it to feel how wet I am, having absolutely nothing to do with the shower. “That good?”

  His cock jerks and he takes his hand back, and then the sound of him sucking his finger whispers in my ear. “Very, very good.”

  He spins me around, pressing my back up against the cold tile wall, and fuses his mouth to mine, enough heat in his kiss to boil the water beating down on us. I dig my nails into his back as I pull him closer, closer, as if it were somehow possible to fuse our bodies together into one electric ball of light. I’m feverish with how badly I want him, how badly I can feel he wants me, and when he boosts me up and pins me to the shower wall at just the right height to enter me, all I can think as I wrap a leg around his waist is Yes, yes, fuck, yes.

  “This okay?” he breathes.

  Are you fucking kidding me? I want to yell back, until I rea
lize he means the fact that he’s not wearing a condom. I nod. “Pill.”

  “Thank fuck,” he mutters, echoing my thoughts exactly as he slides his long, thick cock inside me, making both of us gasp against the pressure. It takes a few seconds to find our rhythm against the slick wall, but if there’s one benefit to how much we both work out, it’s the strength to fuck hard and fast, having nothing to grab onto but each other’s bodies. After a minute I’m not even sure who’s saying, “Hold on tight, baby” or “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come,” but we hold together and fuck together and come together and by the time my brain can next form a coherent thought, I’ve collapsed in Mase’s arms and I never want to get up.

  • • •

  When we can finally move, we soap each other up all over again and actually get clean this time, then brush our teeth and throw on T-shirts and boxers before crawling back into bed. I’m entirely out of energy now and halfway to sleep when Mase’s velvet voice rumbles in my ear, “In case I haven’t said it enough today, I am so damn proud of you, my champion girl.”

  He’s said it about a million times, but this one feels different, and it makes me shiver a little in his arms. “Thank you.”

  “And you really are into it? The whole Stone Creek idea?”

  “I love the idea,” I tell him wholeheartedly, turning in his arms to face him. “And I love you for thinking of it. And for a whole lot of other things.”

  He cups my cheek in his palm as a soft smile curves his mouth. “I love you too, Jo.” The smile turns sheepish. “Sorry. Cait.”

  “I’m not picky,” I tease, bringing that hand to my lips for a kiss. “Nothing wrong with a little nostalgia. Especially for things that never really ended.”

  “So you don’t think it’s a step back, right? Going there after getting together here?”

  It hadn’t occurred to me it might be, but now that he’s put it out there, I wonder if it should have. Just as easily, though, I dismiss it. “We met there as kids, and we’re going back as…well…”

  “Kids who know a little better?”

  “Something like that.” I wrap my fingers around his and squeeze. “We’re old, but we’re also new, and what’s happened in between has made us very different people. And those very different people still seem to think they belong together, so.”