“Didn’t think you had to practice, Cole,” he says with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thought the plays just ‘came to you’,” he air-quotes the bullshit line I gave some sports reporter. A dumb bullshit quote that they decided to make a headline of.
Man, fuck this guy.
He wants to get bent out of shape because I’m better than him? Fine. Let’s see if he’s still crying when I’m winning him a championship.
“Fuck off, Henderson,” Evan throws over his shoulder as the bigger guy grabs a beer from the cooler and heads back inside. Evan shrugs. “He’ll get over it when we start stomping on fuckers on the field.”
I grin. “Amen to that.”
Jason tosses me a fresh beer and jerks his head back towards the house. “Let’s go, freshman.”
I crack the beer in my hand with a frown as I stand up, “Whats up?”
Evan grins, “Got you a little pre-first-day-of-practice present, buddy.”
I raise a brow, but follow them back into the house, through the first round of party-goers setting up a beer-pong table in the living room, and down the stairs to the team-only hangout in the basement.
“Dude, what-”
“Shut up and get down the stairs, rookie.”
I roll my eyes and jog the rest of the way down to the hangout spot before I just about choke on my beer.
Holy shit.
Three girls - the three girls from my parade float, actually - are laying around the lounge area on couches and cushions.
Totally topless.
There’s a clap on my shoulder as Evan comes down the stairs behind me. “Welcome to the team, brother.”
I raise a brow. “Uh, what is this?”
“This,” Even grins and gestures with his hand at one of the blonde, smiling, topless chicks. “This is Jen, the head of the Kappa house down the street, along with a few of her friends, and they’re all yours, bro.”
Fuck me sideways.
The three of them wave at me. “Hi, Dalton,” Jen says, patting the sofa next to her, winking at me.
I turn back to Evan and he shrugs. “Hey man, it’s our ‘welcome to the team’ present.”
“All of them?”
“All three of us, baby,” Jen says with a giggle, laying back across the couch. “We heard it took three to handle you.”
Fuck. Yes.
I’m into this. I mean, of course I’m into this. I’m a straight, red-blooded male with the chance to fuck three hot, blonde, sorority girls. It’s like something out of a fucking porn movie. I mean, this shit does not happen to mortals, or in reality.
“Guess you don’t have to work for anything, do you Cole?”
I turn at the sound of Henderson’s voice as he stomps down the stairs, beer in hand. Evan flips him off, but he just grins as he brushes past him to throw a meaty arm over my shoulder.
“Starting QB position, a new fucking car, a free ride at school, and now pussy, huh?”
“Dude, what is your fucking problem?” Evan yanks Henderson away from me. “Go jerk off with your fucking tears, man. Give the kid a break, he’s earned every bit of this.”
Goddamn right, I’ve earned it.
I’m naturally gifted, I get that. I was born with an arm that can fire footballs like a fucking tomahawk missile. But I’ve sweated every day to get to this point. I was born good - I sweated blood to get great.
So fuck Henderson, I have earned this.
“Hey hey, I’m just giving him a hard time,” Henderson says, grinning past Evan at me as I stand there glaring at him. “Besides, I thought we already decided what the real prize is this semester.”
I see the evil little glint in his eye, and I know exactly what he’s talking about.
I know who he’s talking about.
Shit.
And just like that, the wind goes out of my sails. Just like that, I’m not thinking about the porno-fantasy in front of me.
I’m thinking about Hailey fucking Garrison - rolling her eyes at me, judging me for even being in the same room as these three meaningless…what did she call girls like this? Skanks?
I frown as they leave, trying to push Hailey’s face out my head.
Why do I even fucking care? Why am I even thinking about uptight, prudish, one-piece-bathing-suit-wearing Hailey and her damn opinions on me banging three sorority chicks?
More importantly, why does the thought of her and the mental image of her peeling that bathing suit off get me vastly harder than the idea of doing damn near anything with these three girls?
Evan nudges me. “C’mon, dude. Do us proud.” He laughs as he starts to shove Henderson up the stairs. “Holler if you need food and water, bro,” he says as he heads upstairs and shuts the door.
Goddamnit. My head’s like this teetering scale, with the untouchable, uninterested, unavoidable Hailey Garrison on one side, and the debaucherous orgy and my lady-killer reputation on the other side.
I frown, trying with the last of my willpower to get Hailey’s judging, eye-rolling, smug face out of my head, before suddenly the idea hits me. I grin and turn back to the girls.
“Ladies, let’s get to know each other first.”
They look at me like I’m nuts for not immediately whipping my dick out and pouncing on them.
Part of me thinks they’re right.
I head over to the bar in the corner of the basement and grab a bottle of some sort of girly fruit-flavored vodka, turning back to brandish it at the three of them. “How about a little game of Never Have I Ever, huh?”
They all slowly start to grin, nodding.
“Sure, Dalton,” one says, batting her eyes at me.
Perfect.
I grin and sink back into the couch full of blondes. I’m not the raging alcoholic some guys on the team are, but I’m pretty sure I can drink three sorority girls under the fuckin table.
Which is entirely my plan.
“I’m gonna start with a cheat,” I say with a wink, cracking the bottle open. “Never have I ever had a dick in my mouth.”
There’s a collective round of groans and giggles as the girls slap my arm playfully and reach for the bottle while I lace my hands behind my head.
Yeah, time to get these girls drunk. And unlike most star-athlete douchebags in this position, it’s not for the reason you might think.
* * *
Three hours later, the plan is working.
Well, sort of.
See, saying “sorry ladies, I can’t fuck the shit out of the three of you in a wildly debauched orgy of bad college decisions” would have been a mistake. It’d have been reputation suicide, and that’s something I can’t have. I mean, I’m fucking Dalton Cole - when the hell have I ever said ‘no’ to pussy?
When Hailey Garrison won’t get the fuck out of my head, that’s when.
Except three hours later, I’m fairly sure not fucking these girls isn’t going to raise any eyebrows.
Actually, it’s fucking them right now that would be an issue, because they are passed the fuck out. Yeah, mission accomplished.
Well, again, sort of. Because college sorority girls apparently have the alcohol tolerance of Irish dockworkers, which is a bit different than the two-drink drunks from high school.
Three hours drinking two bottles of nauseatingly sweet raspberry vodka between the four of us, and they’re finally out cold. Somehow, I’m still standing - barely. But I’m drunk as fuck and I barely manage to stagger upstairs to find the rest of the party passed out in chairs or face-down on the beer-pong table.
Evan’s got his face in some girl’s tits, the both of them seemingly out, but he half-cracks an eye as I stumble past him.
“Atta boy,” he mumbles, raising a limp fist for me to bump. “Don’t forget…” he croaks out. “Practice in the morning, Freshman.” He drops this face back into the sleeping girl’s cleavage. I pat him on the back and teeter out the front door of the house.
Fuck. I’d actually sort of conveniently forgotte
n about practice in the morning - “morning” as in five hours from now.
Jesus, Coach is going to fucking kill me if I show up hung-over and still half drunk. I groan as I stumble towards my Escalade and fish around my pockets for the keys before I stop and roll my eyes.
What the fuck am I even thinking? Coach won’t even have a chance to kill me if I do it first by wrapping my new car around a fucking guard rail trying to drunk drive home. What a clichéd way that would be to end the streak - the drunk, douchebag sports hero that dies in some easily avoided drunk driving accident.
Yeah, no thanks.
I fumble my phone out of my pocket to call a cab, before I realize it’s dead as a brick.
Wonderful.
The idea of finding some beer-soaked couch back in the football house to crash on makes my stomach churn. The thought occurs to me that I do technically have a room - and a bed - somewhere here on campus, but I also realize I’ve never actually been to that room.
Fuck, I don’t even know what Goddamn dorm building I “live” in.
I groan and run my hand through my hair, muttering to myself and gearing up for the world’s shittiest walk back to my mom’s place, when another idea hits me. Because actually, there is another place on campus I can stay.
I grin as I stagger off in the direction of her dorm.
Oh yeah, this is going to be hilarious.
11
Hailey
Books?
Check.
Pens, pencils, binders, notebooks?
Check, check, and check.
I’ve done this the night before the first day of school literally every year of my life since kindergarten. Pencils and pens organized by color and ball-point size, books and notebooks stacked in order of schedule, first day outfit picked out and neatly folded.
It’s tradition, or maybe more-so some sort of superstition. But either way, and even if I’m fully aware of how silly it is, here I am again - the night before my first day at college and going through the same motions I did when I was five.
Forget tradition or superstition, maybe it’s just a comfort.
When everything’s laid out on my bed in its perfect place, exactly how I need it for tomorrow, I finally stand back with my hands on my hips to admire my work.
Perfect.
I’m good like this. I like knowing what’s coming and preparing and analyzing for it.
I’m neat, organized, ready to go, and prepared. Unlike some people.
‘Some people’ being Dalton.
I cringe as his name pops into my head.
I can’t believe I…I touched myself thinking of him.
I scrunch my eyes shut and shake my head, pushing my hair back from my face as I start to get changed for bed. Yeah, I need to get that sort of thinking right out of my head. It was silly, and maybe I was a little drunk, but there will be no dwelling on the shame of that night.
He IS good at worming his way under your skin though, I begrudgingly admit to myself as I slip my jeans off. I fold them neatly over the back of my desk chair. He’s good at planting himself somewhere deep inside - a nagging thought that won’t go away and only burrows deeper the more you try to push it out. I’ve felt that now, and I almost feel some sort of pity for all those girls he’s burned his way through.
Well, almost.
It’s just natural, I try and tell myself for the fiftieth time since that night. It’s just human biology and physiology, that’s all. Biologically speaking, yes, Dalton Cole is attractive on that alpha caveman level, with his muscles, and that strong jaw, and that dominating personality. Biologically, I know he’d be good at fighting saber-toothed tigers away from the mouth of our cave and protecting our tribe.
I roll my eyes. Except this is the twenty-first century, and intellect matters. Deep thoughts matter - reading books, common courtesy and manners matter.
Not being a total jock dickhead and massive manwhore goes a long way too, I might add.
That’s not the only massive thing about him.
I groan and try to push that thought right out of my head again, when there’s a rapping knock at the door to my room.
I raise a brow before looking at the time.
What the heck does Roxie need at this time of night?
I march to the door and start to yank it open. “Hey, what’s-”
And that’s when I suddenly stumble over my words and realize I’m looking right up into Dalton fucking Cole’s smirking face.
“Well, that is definitely one way to answer the door,” he drawls, grinning as his eyes drop to what I’m wearing.
Or rather, what I’m not.
“Oh what the fuck!” I quickly slam the door shut and groan as I drop my face into my hands.
Of course I just answered the door to Dalton wearing nothing but polka-dot underwear and a t-shirt.
“Nice shirt,” he laughs through the door, and I scowl down at the vintage Batman t-shirt I’m wearing to bed.
“Nerd.”
“Screw you,” I hiss back through the door.
He knocks again and I scowl. “What are you doing here, Dalton,” I mutter.
“Well, it’s a funny story really,” he starts to chuckle. “I, uh, I sorta fucked up.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you did. It’s one in the morning the day before classes, and this is a girls’ floor.”
“It’s a coed dorm, isn’t it?”
“A girls’ floor, Dalton,” I mutter again, shaking my head as if he’s standing right in front of me.
“Well, shit, what damn year is it?” I can hear Dalton sigh heavily on the other side of the door as he slumps against it. “C’mon darlin, what happened to suffrage and all that?”
I grin in spite of myself, biting my lip. “Do you have any idea what you’re even talking about?”
“Half,” he says with a chuckle. “I got about half an idea what I’m talking about. Look, can you just let me in? Apparently I’m not supposed to be out here. It’s a girls’ floor you know.”
I roll my eyes as I shake my head and grin.
No, stop that! My mind scolds me. He is NOT funny, he is not CHARMING.
I can’t believe I’m about to say yes to this.
“Okay, fine, you can come in.”
“Well aright then.”
“Only because I don’t need you making a scene. Hang on.” I groan again about how bad an idea this is as I yank on a pair of pajama pants, before I go back and swing the door open.
“And a good evening to you too, sweet-thang,” he drawls with an extra twang in his voice, tipping an imaginary hat.
God, is he drunk?
I frown at him. “Are you drunk?”
Dalton makes a serious face as he clears his throat, swaying just slightly on his feet as he blinks. “Stone cold sober, darlin.” He grins and moves to step past me into the room when an unopened can of beer falls out of his hoodie pocket and rolls across the floor.
“Whoops,” he laughs. “Busted.”
“Jesus, Dalton,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What are you doing here?”
“Okay, okay,” he flashes that damned charming grin at me and holds his hands up. “You got me. I’m a teeny bit drunk.” He holds up his thumb and forefinger, as if that’s some sort of logical measurement of how drunk he is.
“Anyways, wasn’t about to go off and drive home so I thought I’d swing by and say hi to my favorite stepsister.”
I can feel the blush bloom across my face in spite of myself as I shake my head. “Don’t you have a dorm room here?”
He snorts. “Allegedly.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you’ve never been to it.”
“Hey, what can I say? I’ve got other beds to sleep in.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Gross.”
Dalton laughs as he reaches back to shut the door to my room. “At my mom’s house. Jeez, get your mind outta the gutter, Hailey.” He grins at me again. “And give me a little credit, huh?”
> “Oh, I do. I give a lot of credit to your laundry list of conquests the tabloids love to talk about.”
He chuckles again. “My conquests?” He shakes his head and laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “Well that’s just adorable.”
I make a face. “So, again, Dalton, why are you-”
“Here?” He grins and shrugs as he looks around my room. “I need a place to stay.”
I immediately start to laugh before I suddenly freeze. “Oh, God, you’re serious?”
“Super serious, darlin.”
I’m already shaking my head side to side, violently. “Nope, no. No way. Why don’t you just go to your mom’s?”
Dalton pulls his attention from the rest of the room back to me, flashing that farm-boy grin at me like he’s going to win me over with it. “Aww, what, you’re going to kick me out on the street?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
He grins. “A legend? A star? Out on the streets, thrown to the elements?”
I slowly shake my head at him. “Wow, is your head really that big?”
Dalton’s lips curl into a wicked smile. “Hey, I asked if you wanted to see it.”
I cringe, groaning. “That head,” I jab a finger at his face, and he blows me an air kiss.
“C’mon, darlin. Just let me stay.”
“Dalton-”
Am I SERIOUSLY considering this?
“I won’t even steal the covers, honest.”
I bark out a laugh. “Oh, you think you’re getting my bed?” I roll my eyes. “Keep dreaming.”
“So, I am staying?”
I roll my eyes again, cringing even as the word passes my lips. “Fine.”
Pushover. Stupid, stupid, just-like-every-other-girl-he-pulls-this-crap-on pushover.
Dalton grins, like he already knew I was going to give in. “You’re a peach.” He yanks his hoodie off, tossing it over the back of my desk chair and standing there in his jeans and a v-neck t-shirt. “So, where’s my bunk?”
I smile sweetly and point to the floor.
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 32
