“Oh, I don’t mix business and pleasure.”
Hailey laughs as she turns away.
“Hey, I do have standards, you know.”
“Oh, do you?” She turns back and gives me a look, “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Green is a mean color on you, darlin,” I say with a grin, stepping towards her.
“Oh, you wish,” she says with an easy laugh.
“Besides,” I shrug. “I’ll have plenty of other distractions there. I think they even booked me my own hotel room for after the game,” I finish with a wink.
Her eyes flare, and I get a sick little burst of smug satisfaction.
Your armor ain’t as strong as you’d like to think it is, darlin.
“So,” I lean against the doorframe to the office. “What are these plans of yours?”
She smiles coyly, “None of your business.”
“A good book? Some online gaming maybe?” I grin, “Ooo, is Comic-con in town?”
“A date, actually.”
My gut tightens, the gloating, teasing feeling going right out of me. I frown at her. “Really?”
“Mhm.”
“And now what does Paul think about that?”
Hailey’s eyes look up and to the side, avoiding mine. “Oh, we’re taking a break.”
Okay, she has my attention. I still know she’s bullshitting about this made-up boyfriend character, but I’m suddenly wondering if she’s actually going out this weekend.
“You’ve really got a date.”
“Yes, Dalton, I’ve really got a date. We’re going to a party.” She grins, her eyes twinkling as the corners of her lips curl up wickedly. She walks towards me, and before I know it, she’s patting me on the chest.
“Green is a mean color on you, Dalton.”
She winks as I stand there like a total jackass not saying a thing, before she turns and straight-up saunters towards the door.
“Have a good game.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, darlin. I’ll try not have too much fu-”
The office door shuts behind her, leaving me standing there like a dick with that last lame retort hanging in the silence.
28
Dalton
The Tigers game is a fucking disaster.
I mean, we win, but barely. Evan pulls out a last minute interception, and I get one lucky throw that goes wild before the receiver barely manages to get a piece of it in the end-zone.
So yeah, it’s a win, but a fucked up win.
My mind is everywhere but the game, thinking of everything but the plays I’m supposed to be calling or the marks I’m supposed to be hitting.
Well, no, that’s not true. My mind isn’t everywhere else, it’s very specifically someplace else.
On someone else.
I’m thinking of Hailey, of course. Through every damn play, during every damn pass, I’m thinking of her out at this party.
On a date.
My whole thing about not texting girls? Yeah, gone. I shoot her a quick one from the locker room right before we head out.
Have fun with your online gaming party - oh, I mean hot date.
It’s childish, and beta as hell, but I grin anyways as I start to tuck the phone back in my locker.
It buzzes again, and the picture I get back from her has the smirk wiped right off my face and my jaw on the damn ground.
She’s wearing this smoking hot little black skirt in the selfie she sends me. Scandalously short, with a strappy top, and fitted to every fucking curve of her body.
Oh, I will.
It’s followed by a winky-face emoji.
I frown at the phone as I thumb out a reply.
Not too much fun.
Her reply is instant.
Oh you have NO idea!
“Alright, line up, gentlemen!”
I throw the phone back into the locker and slam it shut at the sound of Coach’s voice getting us ready to head out to the field.
* * *
So yeah, that’s where my damn head is when I go out there to play ball - not on the field, or the other team, or the score.
It’s very firmly on the flirty black skirt, and the tight little top, and what I know is on underneath.
So that’s why we squeak out that win, and let me say, Coach ain’t pleased.
He singles me out in his post-game tirade about getting our minds focused and thinking clearly, and not thinking we’re going to coast through a season. And normally, I’d be throwing that shit right back in the authority figure’s face, but not this time. This time, I know he’s damn right.
“You got that!?” His eyes narrow at me, on one knee along with the rest of the sweating, heaving team in the locker room after.
“I got it,” I mutter out. “Sorry, Coach,”
“Don’t you damn apologize to me, son, you apologize to yourself and the rest of this team you almost let down tonight.”
We’re all getting changed and ready to get out later when Evan claps me on the back. “Hey, dude, it’s a win.”
“It’s a bullshit win.”
He shrugs, “Well, maybe, but that doesn’t mean we can’t go celebrate.” He grins, “C’mon, Cole, the Kappa girls bussed over for the game with all of their freshman pledges. Let’s go get your dick wet and get over this.”
Why the fuck not?
“Yeah, let me change.”
Evan grins, “There he is! Get changed man, time to get a taste of victory.”
* * *
The hotel party is a nut-house later, taking up probably half the fifth floor that the University booked out for us. I’m pretty sure the point of having us stay the night up here after the game is to avoid driving back late at night, not to guzzle beer from funnel tubes and take tequila shots off of bare coed mid-drifts.
But you try telling that to eighty-five college athletes hopped up on adrenaline and victory.
“Dude, the world is your oyster, bro!”
Jason is passing a bottle of expensive-looking bourbon my way as house music blasts through the suite. There’s a sorority girl shrieking and giggling on top of the kitchen counter as Ramirez licks a line of salt off her bare nipple before slamming back the shot of tequila nestled between her tits. Some other guy who isn’t actually on the team roars something about “turning it up” as he starts tapping a line of coke across some other girl’s panty-clad ass, and off in the corner, a second-tier lineman is getting his pants unbuttoned by two sorority girls.
Yeah, college hedonism at its finest.
And there are some hot girls here - ready, waiting, and eager for me. Hell, “bedroom eyes” doesn’t even begin to describe the straight eye-fucks I’ve been getting since the second I stepped off the elevator.
But I’m bored by it all. Bored, tired, distracted.
Goddamnit, Hailey.
She’s stuck in my damn head like this little barb under my skin, and it’s slowly driving me fucking nuts. I’ve looked at my phone about nine-hundred times since the game, feeling more and more like a total pussy every time. She hasn’t texted, she hasn’t called, and I’m acting like a little bitch by looking for it every five seconds.
The party rages around me, the music thuds and pulses, and the debauchery catches like fire as the liquor flows. I’m in my damn element here - booze, girls, craziness, and being the Goddamn center of attention. This is all for me, and yet I’m standing there feeling so far removed from it all and so utterly uninterested in even being here, that I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.
I check my phone again, glaring at the blank message indicator.
Fuck this. It’s time to go.
I know I should dive right into the madness around me, get rock-star drunk, break something, and then grab the first little honey that bats her eyes at me and fuck her senseless.
But I can’t. I just do not have any of that in me right now.
“Hey,” I turn to Evan, who’s chatting up the two brunette cuties hanging off his arms. “I’m gonn
a go top off my beer and find one of those new sorority pledges.”
He grins, “Well alright! Shit man, you didn’t look like you were having any fucking fun at all scowling to yourself over there.”
“Yeah, just going over the game in my head.”
“Fuck it, man. It’s a win, and we like wins, right?” He roars at the two girls in his arms who whoop and cheer “go Hawks” as I roll my eyes.
“I’ll catch you later.”
“Have fun, bro.”
Right.
I do refill my beer, and I do pound it down. And I do grab the bottle of bourbon back from Jason. But the groupies and the sorority skanks, and just the madness of the whole thing utterly turns me off.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Before I know it, I’m ducking out of the party and heading back to my own room, alone - bourbon in my hand and a scowl on my face.
29
Dalton
I take a sip of the whiskey in my hand, sinking back in my hotel bed and staring up at the ceiling as I let the liquid fire slip down my throat.
Perfect.
All of a sudden, the phone buzzes in my hand, and I can feel my pulse jump as I glance down at it.
I scowl.
It’s not Hailey, it’s fucking Meredith.
I’m up late if you want to finish that interview.
It’s followed by her room number.
I take another swig and shake my head. Fucking hell, this woman is forward. Actually, a little too forward even for me. I frown into the whiskey. Sure, I could go over there and make that happen. She’s right down the damn hall, and I know I could do whatever I wanted to her - take her any way I please.
Or hell, even with that being the utterly terrible idea it is, I could head back to the party downstairs and find something young and strange for the night so I could fuck Hailey right out of my head.
Damnit.
I’m done fucking around with this and glancing at my phone waiting for a damn text message from some girl.
I’m taking matters into my own hands.
I take my phone out and hammer out a quick text to her.
Better not be having too much fun.
I scroll back up to the picture of her in that dress and scowl. Yeah, a girl that looks like that at a damn meat-market of whatever college party she’s at is going to have no fucking problem at all finding some “fun” if she wants to.
The rage burns like a fuse inside my gut, my eyes narrowing as I grit my teeth and glare into the bottle in my hands. I think of Hailey out at a bar or dancing in some frat house party, and I want to fucking destroy any piece of shit that touches her. I imagine some fucking scumbag fratboy sucking tequila off her bare stomach, chatting her up, dancing with her with his fucking hands on her.
Kissing her.
Fucking her.
I see red mist then as the rage almost comes roaring out of me. I’m going fucking insane with the thought of her like that. I can feel the blood pounding hot like lead through my veins, I can feel the sound of my teeth grinding together, and I swear I could crush the damn bourbon bottle right here in my bare hand.
And that’s when there’s a knock on the door.
“You look a little tense there, big guy,” Meredith is wearing a trench coat and black stilettos, and she grins coyly when I yank the door open.
“I’m fine,” I say evenly, slowly letting the air out and trying to get the rage to subside inside.
She puts on this fake pouty duck-face. “I was worried that you weren’t getting any cell reception in your room, since you never replied.” She arches her brow, stepping into my room and running her hand over my shirt. “You never knocked either,” she husks into my ear as she leans in.
I frown and shake my head before I reach down, grab her hand, and move it back to her side. “That isn’t happening, Meredith.”
She grins and bats her eyes in this way that should be getting me hard as a rock. Except now I’ve got Hailey tangled up and twisted inside my head, and it only pisses me off.
“What’s not happening?” she giggles again before she suddenly pulls at the tie of her trench coat and lets it fall open.
Apparently, she didn’t find anything at all to wear to go with those heels.
My jaw tightens.
She grins as she puts her hand back on my chest and slides it down to my belt as she tries to lean into my neck.
“Keep your fucking hands off me,” I hiss, shaking her off and leveling my eyes at her.
Meredith arches a brow as she makes a face at me. “You’re not a closet case or something, are you?” She shrugs, “I mean, that would make one hell of a story, you know.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “No, Meredith, I just don’t mix my personal and public life.”
“Fine,” she says coolly, pulling her coat shut and tightening the belt. She turns abruptly on her heel and starts walking away. “Your loss.”
I roll my eyes as I shut the door.
My phone buzzes a second later from the bed.
Woudddnt u like to know.. ;)
I start to grin as I re-read the sloppy, drunk-looking text from Hailey. But then another thought hits me, and then I’m growling as I start to wonder who she’s drunk with.
I’m still scowling at the phone, trying to think of something to write back - or if I should even write back - when another one comes through.
Awww…guess u really don’t.
I smirk as my thumb dances over the keyboard.
Color me curious.
I yank my shirt off and lay back on the bed as the phone buzzes back instantly.
OUt. Rlly good crazy party.
I’m grinning as I stare at the phone, trying to imagine her with a boozy glow on her face and a flush to her cheeks as she sends me one-eye-closed texts.
Having fun with your skanks?
I snort.
Oh, loads.
I text her back as I take another sip of booze. The phone buzzes instantly.
I’m hanging out in my room with a cute boy.
I can feel the dull heat thud through my veins as my eyes narrow at her text. I can feel the rage churning inside.
Hang on, he wants to say hi.
I scowl, and I’m about ready to hurl the phone against the wall and head down to Meredith’s room to make some horrible decisions when the picture comes through, and I immediately start to laugh.
The picture is a very drunk looking Hailey, her face flushed and shiny from the camera-phone flash, her eyes sparkling, and her perfect, pouty lips pulled back in a grin. She’s in her dorm room, and she looks fucking amazing in that sinfully hot outfit.
But what makes me laugh is that the “cute boy” she’s with is about fifteen pounds of scowling brown fur.
It’s her dad’s damn cat.
Cute date - didn’t know you were into hairy guys.
I shoot the text back, snorting a laugh.
Yeah he’s a real bruiser. He’s into biting.
I chuckle as I sit on the edge of the bed and scroll back to the picture of her, zooming to cut Beasley out and growling as my eyes drift over her.
She’s flushed and sweating slightly from whatever college dance party she’s just come from, and fuck does she look good in that skirt. Her tits look glorious, her cleavage just pressing up enough out of her top to get my dick stirring between my legs as I drink it in. I zoom a little closer, growling as I focus on the hard little points of her nipples poking through the shirt, and the thought of Hailey’s perfect, bare breasts under that skimpy top has my cock rapidly thickening.
I think you should wear more clothes like that.
I grin as I fire off the text, even if I am rolling my eyes at myself for sitting here like a douche waiting for a girl to fucking text me back.
Lol, I bet you do.
A second one follows.
So wat r YOU wearing, pretty boy?
I laugh - pretty boy? But hey, fuck it. I quickly stand, drop my jeans, an
d kick them off. I hold the phone in front of me and snap a quick shot of my shirtless torso before shooting it her way.
You’re making Beasley jealous. Also I think imm overdressed now.
I grin as my cock throbs hard between my legs. Jesus, she’s straight-out flirting with me.
And fuck if I’m not gonna run with it.
I totally agree. Why don’t you ditch the fur-ball and join me.
I reach down and slip my cock out of my boxers, groaning as I wrap my hand around it and give it a slow tug.
Lol, bored? One sec.
A minute goes by, followed by another and then a third. I roll my eyes as I stand and toss the phone onto the bed - this is ridiculous. Hailey is drunk, and messing with me, and I’m sitting here stroking my cock to fucking text messages.
I’m reaching for my pants when the phone rings.
“Incredibly bored,” I say dramatically when I answer the call.
Hailey giggles. “Awww, poor baby. Are all those skanks just not up to the task of humoring you?” Her voice is quick, like she’s still catching her breath.
“Boring as shit,” I sigh, making her giggle again. “Do you have Beasley at your dorm?”
“Heather went with Dad to the game, and they were worried about him since they’re spending the night.”
“He’s a cat.”
“Well cats get lonely, now don’t they, Beasley-boy?” Hailey finishes in a sing-song voice. She sighs that drunk sort of sighing breath that comes from two drinks too many. “Anyway, I went to Roxie’s dance party next door, and now I’m back, hanging with my new boyfriend.”
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 42
