Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Irons, Aubrey

  I do like how good it feels to be bad.

  And kissing Dalton Cole is the baddest, hottest thing I’ve ever felt.

  16

  Dalton

  Hailey ignores me for the next handful of days, which sucks for two major reasons. Reason one: getting under her skin is quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

  But the second giant, glaring, fireworks-going-off big red reason would be that kiss.

  I mean, damn.

  The thing is, I’d never actually meant to kiss her that night. The goal had been the same goal I’ve had since she walked into my backyard - to tease her and work her up. I wanted to get her all hot and bothered, because I can, and then leave her hanging just to prove a point

  The point that she’s not immune to me like she thinks she is.

  Except here’s the real kicker - it turns out that I’m the one that isn’t immune to her.

  That sure fucking backfired.

  And now she’s ignoring me, and dodging me, because I pushed things too far - both that night and then running into her after. Hell, I’ve probably pushed too hard every time, and now it’s biting me in the ass.

  But fuck it, right? I mean who cares - I’m Dalton Cole for fuck’s sake. There are literally a combined twenty-eight thousand other female students on this campus with their mouths hanging open for yours truly. There is no point in chasing after some cold ice-queen like Hailey Garrison.

  Actually, there are a number of extremely compelling reasons not to chase after her.

  Like our parents.

  Like her dad - the very famous, very big Coach Jim Garrison tearing me limb from limb.

  Like the gossip mill that would go into fucking overdrive.

  Like recruiters not wanting to touch me with a ten-foot pole once my public sexual shenanigans turned into something past the pale like banging my stepsister.

  I frown as I let the air pent up in my lungs out in a heavy stream.

  Jesus, I need to go get laid.

  * * *

  “A clear head and a clear heart makes winners, gentleman.”

  Coach eyes us over his clipboard. Eighty-five guys sucking in lungfuls of air, eighty-five guys dripping sweat from the brutal day of practice we’ve just been through.

  Brutal, but necessary and we all know it. There’s a lot of hype surrounding me, and with the amount of media attention that’s putting on the rest of the team this year, game one can’t be lost.

  But hey, I’m not worried, I just hope the rest of these guys can catch up to my level.

  “Take a knee, boys.”

  Eight-five guys with muscles burning drop to a knee, still gasping for air. More than a few of them are eyeing me with something between envy and respect.

  Yeah, if there was any lingering theories about whether the freshman superstar was actually going to be able to live up to expectation, I’ve made sure to cut that shit out quick at practice this week. Anyone who still wants to hate on me for being the center of attention on this team isn’t thinking big picture anymore.

  Big picture like me winning them nice big championship rings.

  “Like it or not, gentlemen, we’re under a lot of pressure this year.”

  “Thanks, Cole,” someone in the back hollers out, sending laughter and hoots through the semi-circle of players.

  Yeah, Coach shuts that up real fast. One week of practice, and nobody on this team has any doubts about the abilities of or the respect earned by the “rookie” coach. Because if there was any lingering worry about the high school coach not being able to hang with the big boys in college, he made sure to bleed that dissent out of this whole team this week.

  Maybe that’s one of the reasons Hailey’s dad and I get along so well. I mean aside from the football thing - we’ve both got reputations that stepped onto the field long before we ever did, which means we’ve both got something to prove.

  “Mr. Cole is a hell of a player, but let me make a few things clear,” Coach slips his shades off and eyes us with a serious look. “It means he’s got a big damn target on his ass.”

  Yeah, no shit.

  “And that means we have a big target on our collective asses.” Coach crosses his arms over his chest, jutting his chin out. “Every single person on that field at every single game is gonna want a piece of us, just to prove we can bleed.”

  There are nods and murmurs around the players.

  “Including,” Coach pauses, shaking his head. “Including the ESPN crew that I just found out is going to be following our progress this season.”

  Shit, what?

  “For real, Coach?” Ramirez calls out, shaking his head.

  “The real deal, fellas.” He grins at us before turning his eyes on me. “Probably for some future documentary on our hall-of-famer here.”

  “You sure it’s not just for another underwear shoot?” Someone wisecracks from the back of the group, sending another round of laughter through the team. “You gonna dance around in your tighty-whities again, Cole?”

  “Only if you ask nice, shit-bag,” I call back over my shoulder, and this time even Coach cracks a grin.

  * * *

  We’re winding down for the day, heading back towards the locker room, when Coach nods at me. “Hang back, son.”

  I pull my helmet off, raising a brow. “Yeah, Coach?”

  “I’m serious you know,” he eyes me with a solid look. “You’re gonna have a lot of eyes on you right now, and I need you to behave.”

  I swallow thickly and clear my throat. “Coach?”

  “You know what I mean, Dalton.”

  For a second, a cold chill runs through me as Hailey’s face and the thought of that damn kiss flashes in my head.

  Fuck, he knows.

  But then, the second the thought hits me, I’m aware of how ridiculous it is. Bullshit, if Jim Garrison knew half the crude shit I’d been saying to his daughter - not to mention me fucking kissing her, he’d have strung me up by the balls by now.

  I think he’d take that over a championship season any day.

  “Your antics, Dalton. The partying, the girls, the making a spectacle of yourself.”

  I can feel my heart drop back down to normal pace. Jesus.

  He spreads his hands. “Hey, I’m not judging, son,” he laughs. “I’m just saying keep smart. There’s going to be a lot of cameras and eyes on you just waiting for you to screw up and prove all the naysayers right.” He looks sternly over the top of his sunglasses at me. “One scandal, one DUI, one getting caught with the wrong girl-”

  Fuck.

  “Look, I know your life seems charmed, Dalton, but one screw-up and they will eat you alive, I’m telling you.”

  I nod, and for once, I’m actually agreeing with an authority figure instead of just going through the “yes sir” motions.

  Like I said, maybe there’s a reason he and I get along so well.

  “I get you, Coach,” I say with a solemn nod. “I’m not going to let anyone down this year.”

  He nods and claps me on the back again, and I start to head to the showers when he stops me again.

  “Oh, and do me a solid, Dalton.”

  “Yeah?”

  He shrugs. “Keep an eye on Hailey for me, would you?”

  I can feel the cold sweat break out on my neck again as he looks at me sharply, my damn tell-tale heart about to beat out of the front of my fucking jersey. “Sir?”

  “I don’t know,” Coach shakes his head. “I’m worried about her not really making any effort to be social or find any friends this semester, since she’s dead set on following through with that damn deferred acceptance thing with Columbia in the spring.” He holds my gaze. “Just do me a favor and spend a little time with her, check up with her, make sure she’s not sitting in her room glued to that damn computer.”

  Yeah, WAY ahead of you, Coach.

  “You bet, Coach,” I say with a smile, trying to swallow the guilt.

  Because it just so happens, checki
ng in on Hailey Garrison is also one of my new favorite pastimes.

  17

  Hailey

  I’m soaking wet and freezing by the time I manage to trip my way through the side-entrance to the gym. It’s dark inside, and I shiver at the chill of the air conditioning against my skin, drenched from the fall rain outside. Goosebumps break out on my arms as I hug them across my completely soaked t-shirt, and I drip my way down the hallway towards my dad’s office, leaving puddles in my wake.

  I’m muttering, cursing my biology professor for rescheduling last week’s lab for so late tonight. Heather’s house really isn’t far to walk from the academic buildings, but the idea of dashing all the way across campus in the pouring rain in flip-flops with all my notebooks did not sound appealing.

  Hence, dripping through the halls of the athletic center, hoping to God that my dad’s still around for a ride home.

  “Dad?” I puff my way into his dark office, pausing to catch my breath from the run and dropping my soaked books and notes onto his desk.

  I step out of his office into the football team locker-room, grabbing a towel off a shelf and using it to squeeze rain from my hair.

  “Dad? Hello?”

  Silence. Silence and darkness.

  I groan, my shoulders slumping as I realize I am going to be walking to Heather’s house after all.

  It’s the sudden clanking sound from the other side of the door labeled “weight room” that has me about jumping out of my skin. I whirl, clutching the towel to myself in the semi-darkness of the locker-room as the sound comes again - sharp and rhythmic, followed by a grunt.

  I hate horror movies because they stick with me forever. And it’s that scaredy-cat part of me that freezes in the dark locker room, thinking of all the grizzly ways that - what is clearly - an ax murderer could chop me into little pieces.

  The sound comes again, and this time I roll my eyes, shaking my head at my own absurd imagination. Obviously, it’s just one of my dad’s meathead football players getting a workout in.

  And seeing as I’m the coach’s daughter, I’m pretty sure I just found myself a ride home.

  “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but do you-”

  I freeze at the sight of him as I step through the doors to the gym.

  Goddamnit.

  Ninety-something idiots on the football team, and of course the one person I run into, alone, in the dark, is Dalton Cole.

  A very shirtless, very sweaty Dalton Cole.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the guy’s locker room, you just came out of, darlin.” He grunts as he lowers the thick bar laden with weights onto the rack behind him. He gives me another look-over and grins “What’d you do, take a shower?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s pouring outside. I was looking for my dad for a ride home.”

  “He left a little while ago.” Dalton shrugs. “I can give you a ride as soon as I’m done.”

  I frown. “Eh, it’s okay, I’ll walk.”

  “Thought you said it was pouring outside?” He grins at me, running a hand through his thick, wild hair. “Look, hang for a few and I’ll drive you, alright?”

  I make a face. “Fine.” Dalton rolls his eyes at me and picks up a barbell, curling it up and down with his biceps as I stand there trying to look everywhere and anywhere but his very sculpted, very bare rippling abdomen.

  I finally take in our surroundings and raise an eyebrow as I realize the only light in the weight room is coming in through the reinforced windows that look out onto the indoor volleyball court.

  “Is there a reason you’re working out in the dark?”

  Dalton chuckles, puffing as he drops the weight back on its rack again. “Helps me concentrate.”

  “It’s a little creepy.”

  “Says the girl that just burst out of the men’s locker room looking like she just came out of the pool?” Dalton winks as I smirk at him.

  He picks up the barbell with his other arm, grunting as he starts to curl it. “So, you coming to game one this Friday against Virginia?”

  “Sort of have to,” I shrug.

  He laughs, dropping the weight again and shaking his head. “There’s the team spirit.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m coming out to support my dad, not the team.”

  Dalton grabs a towel from a bench and wipes it over his neck and chest. “So, let me get this straight. Despite growing up with one of the best coaches in high school football history, you’re really not into football at all.”

  I shrug. “Guess not.”

  “Nice enthusiasm.”

  “What, so I’m not into big sweaty men tackling each other over a ball.”

  He grins. “You know, that is exactly what most girls I know are into.”

  “Guess I’m not most girls you know then, cause that doesn’t do it for me.”

  “Guess not.” He grins, “So what does do it for you, Hailey?”

  I swallow thickly in the sudden silence of the darkened gym, breathing in the smell of sweat, and men, and oiled weights and machines. Normally I’m quick with the witty comebacks, but there’s something distracting about Dalton without a shirt on.

  Something very distracting.

  “I take it Paul isn’t much of a football guy?”

  I can feel the blush creeping into my cheeks. “Uh, no.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dalton grins at me as he moves closer, and I’m somehow frozen there to the spot by the curling machine, my pulse racing and my eyes tracing over the sharp shadows of his abs.

  “So I’m guessing he’s more of an online gamer? Orcs and knights and dragons and all that shit?”

  My cheeks burn hot as I trip over my words, suddenly much more flustered than I should be. “I- he…maybe.”

  “That sounds immensely satisfying for you,” Dalton says, suddenly somehow standing right in front of me.

  “You have no idea what satisfies me, actually,” I toss back.

  “No, but I’ve got a pretty good idea what would.” A wicked grin creeps across his face as he glances down at the front of his gym shorts and raises a brow suggestively.

  I bite my lip, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself not to look down.

  It’s just a damn rumor anyways, he’s just trying to mess with you.

  And yet just the same, I can feel the heat, and the wicked, illicit pull of temptation trying to drag my gaze down.

  God, why can’t he have a shirt on?

  And shirt or not, why am I still standing here, alone, face-to-face in the near dark with Dalton?

  My gaze dips down to his chiseled chest, and to the big Roman numeral “X” worked into the tattoo across his shoulder. I roll my eyes - I mean, there’s bravado, and spreading rumors and myth, and then there’s getting a damn tattoo of it.

  “Wouldn’t get the tattoo if I was lying now would I?” I jerk my eyes up to his cocky grin, his eyes looking right into me like he’s reading my thoughts.

  “I- I already told you,” I say quickly, feeling my pulse beat like drums in my ears. “I have zero interest.”

  “Sure you don’t.” He grins again, but this time, there’s something less casual and more hungry about that smile. He leans into me, shifting his weight to one side as his hand goes up to lean against the machine behind me.

  “Are you seriously always this cocky?”

  “Usually,” he says with another cowboy grin.

  I roll my eyes. “And this works? On girls I mean?”

  I suddenly inhale sharply and quietly as he moves even closer, his masculine scent invading my senses as he licks his lips. My eyes hover over the dimples in his strong jaw, the easy smirk lingering there in the hollows of his cheeks.

  “You tell me, darlin,” he says, his voice dark and low as he moves even closer against me. I can feel my pulse racing, my eyes blinking quickly and the room starting to spin around me as his hand suddenly slides to my hip, resting there.

  I whimper quietly as his hand tightens and slides over my hip before he pul
ls me close against him. I can feel the heat of his skin searing through the wet chill of my t-shirt, and his hand creeps just under the back and slides over my skin.

  “I- I should go,” I say quietly, my eyes darting across his.

  “You don’t want that ride?”

  “Oh, is the ride contingent on this?” I tease awkwardly, biting my lip as he grins.

  He leans into the crook of my neck, his breath hot across my skin there. “You can leave anytime you want, darlin,” he growls, moving us both back until my back is flat against some sort of workout machine that smells like grease and metal and sweat.

  God, why does that does smell so damn hot right now?

  “I can?” I whisper out, and before I know what I’m doing, my hands are leaving their place frozen at my sides to creep up to his bare arms. I’m biting my lip, feeling my blood roar in my face as I slowly and tentatively trace fingertips over his hot, bare skin. His biceps flex and ripple beneath my touch as I slowly slide my hands up his arms, his breath hot against my neck.

  “Go ahead and leave, I won’t stop you,” he growls. He moves himself flat against me, and I gasp at the thick bulge in his shorts pressing against my thigh.

  “But if you stay,” he whispers darkly into my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine and pure heat pooling between my legs. He pulls back, his lips barely an inch from mine and his eyes burning right into mine. “But if you stay, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

  Oh God yes.

  I whimper. It’s nothing I can help, just the sudden and unstoppable sound that’s the result of this swelling and surging need welling up inside of me.

  And it’s the only answer he needs.

  I gasp when he kisses me, my body almost overwhelmed by the sudden heat and force of it. His lips sear hotly across my own, and he growls as I moan and open my mouth for him. His tongue is demanding and insistent, and I yield to him, losing myself and feeling the world spin around me as he pushes me hard against the metal at my back, claiming my mouth.