King of the Court

by Melanie Munton

  “Did you want another free show?” he grated out. “Because getting the full frontal this time might cost you.”

  I was pissed off that my body reacted to those words. Lord, save me from the athletic underwear models of the world. He’d basically given me the cold shoulder all through practice, and now he was going to act all chummy when we were alone? No, no. That wasn’t how this was going to go.

  Carefully, I maintained an unimpressed expression. “Actually, I’m very familiar with the human body. In my line of work you kind of have to be. And I got to say, once you’ve seen one penis, you’ve seen them all.”

  Instead of scowling and huffing away in offense like I’d expected him to, he stepped forward, bringing his massive body too close to mine. I should have known a man like him wouldn’t walk away, wouldn’t give up the upper hand so easily. I couldn’t put any distance between us because there was a wall behind me. And when I lifted my chin, his face was right there.

  “I don’t know what you’ve been looking at, sweetheart,” he said in that smooth way he had. “But what I’ve got down there is a cock. And when you see my cock, it’ll be the only one you can remember.”

  What an arrogant bastard.

  My body, the traitorous hag, went up in flames at his speech. And my pulse raced.

  That didn’t mean I still didn’t want to twist his balls off with my bare hands and watch him cry like a little girl. Because I so did.

  “Too bad I have absolutely no interest in seeing it,” I said through gritted teeth.

  His mouth tipped up in satisfaction. “Tell that to the blush on your cheeks.”

  Dammit. Why did my body never listen to my brain?

  “Are you imagining what it looks like?” he whispered.

  Yes.

  “How big it is?”

  I already had a pretty good idea about that.

  His eyes drifted down to my lips. “How hard it can get?”

  Okay. I had to put an end to this. Talking about hard dicks was just asking for trouble.

  “Anytime you want the locker room uncensored version,” he continued, “all you have to do is say so.”

  I pursed my lips. “I don’t think that falls under my job description.”

  He snorted, meeting my eyes again. “Neither does peeping on naked guys, yet you felt compelled to do that.”

  I sucked in a breath, dozens of expletives on the tip of my tongue. “For the last time, I didn’t know anyone was going to be in there.”

  A pleased gleam flashed in his eyes. “Sure you didn’t.” He backed away slowly, smugness radiating from his features. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Reese.”

  He disappeared into the locker room before I could come up with a snappy retort. I fell back against the wall, mimicking a tire that just had a giant hole poked through it.

  I take it back.

  Working for the men’s team was going to be a real bitch.

  4

  Cam

  Unbelievable.

  She was Coach Bradley’s daughter.

  Why? Why did the first girl who’d managed to capture my interest—ever—have to be off limits?

  Wait. Maybe she wasn’t totally off limits. Maybe Coach Bradley was a cool dad who wouldn’t be too overly protective of his daughter, and who might actually be okay with one of his players dating her. Maybe he wasn’t that involved with her relationships. Maybe he wouldn’t make a big deal of it if I went after her.

  Yeah, right.

  I’d been photographed with over a dozen different women last year alone. Granted, I’d been with each of those women for one night and one night only. I hadn’t made them any promises or commitments. They’d known the score and were perfectly fine with it. They’d treated bedding Cam Donovan like a novelty, anyway, so they weren’t bothered by my aversion to enter into a relationship.

  But you didn’t read any of that on the internet.

  The fact that I hadn’t shown any interest in becoming someone’s boyfriend wouldn’t help my cause with a girl’s father. Considering my track record, I supposed any father would have a right to question my intentions.

  But despite our little squabble out in the hallway—which admittedly, had been kind of fun—I still found myself wanting to try with Reese. Besides, the only reason I’d even stopped her in the hallway was because I’d wanted her attention. Vaughn had been spouting off his corny pick-up line shit to her, and she hadn’t exactly told him to go to hell. She’d reciprocated. Even smiled at him.

  And I hadn’t fucking liked it.

  It was ridiculous. We’d only just met. But I couldn’t seem to control these sudden impulses. I only wanted her smiling at me. Flirting with me. Matter of fact, I didn’t want her giving any of my dumbass teammates the time of day. So, I’d done the one thing I knew would get her to focus on me. I’d riled her up. Got her all hot under the collar. I’d even brought up my cock in hopes that she remembered what I looked like naked.

  Fuck. I was talking about getting in good with Reese’s father—my coach—in order to weirdly seek his approval. But I had a distinct feeling I wouldn’t even have her approval at this point.

  This wasn’t going to be easy.

  I fell onto the stool in front of my locker and slowly removed my shoes and socks. Absentmindedly, I rubbed my right knee, right over the five-inch scar. That was usually where it throbbed the most. At the moment, the pain was like a dull ache. But I knew I had to watch it closely and take care of it so it wouldn’t get worse. I couldn’t sit out for even one game. There was too much riding on this year, and my team needed me.

  My biggest fear was letting them down.

  I could remember exactly how it’d felt when my patella tendon ruptured four years ago. That sickening popping sensation when I’d come down from a rebound and landed all wrong. It made me nauseous just thinking about it. Every time I went in for a drive to the basket or chased a rebound, I worried I would feel that agony again. The resounding pop, followed by excruciating pain that went all the way up my spine.

  Holy shit.

  Was that what Reese had meant by me playing timid? Was I playing…scared? Backing off because I was afraid of getting hurt again? No. Surely not. That wasn’t my game. I was known for attacking the rim, no-holds-barred. I didn’t play like I was afraid of anything. She didn’t know what she was talking about. Although now that I thought about it, the things she’d said certainly made sense now that I knew she was a coach’s daughter.

  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, sweetheart?

  Though it didn’t appear that Reese and Coach had a super close relationship. In fact, it seemed kind of chilly at times between them. Or at least those were the vibes Reese had been giving off. Coach had just acted like he was walking on eggshells around her. That might need more exploring later.

  “So, the new trainer is pretty damn hot,” Jesse said from my left.

  He and his brother, Colt—the Lancaster brothers—along with Boyd, had become my closest friends on the team. Granted, I liked all of my teammates, but these were the guys I clicked the best with. Jesse and Colt were cool and laidback and had just about as much tolerance for the press as I did. Which is to say, none.

  Boyd was a country farm boy who was as good-natured as they came. Despite being one of the top players in the country, Boyd had no ambitions to play at the next level. His plan had always been to move back home after college and take over the family farm.

  I shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “She’s not bad.”

  Boyd snorted from his locker to my right. “I might not whip out my dipstick as much as you man-whores, but even I know that girl is finer than the sweetest molasses in North Carolina.”

  I hid my grin so they wouldn’t give me shit about how accurate I thought that assessment was.

  “It was a little hard to discern through all that backward hill talk,” Colt chimed in from the other side of Jesse, “but I think Jed Clampet down there is right. Reese is a dime.”

&nbs
p; “And Rafferty thinks he stands a chance with her?” Jesse said, chuckling. “Fucker wishes.”

  “Yeah, ‘cuz I’m thinking she might like some dark chocolate in her life,” Colt added, waggling his eyebrows as he flexed his ebony biceps. “You know what I’m saying?”

  Jesse scoffed, puffing out his chest. “Please, bro. Why the hell would she want to play with a puny colt when she could ride the Black Stallion?”

  “Finally settle on a porn name, Lancaster?” Boyd asked, causing Colt to burst into laughter and Jesse to glare.

  I listened in silence, tamping down my frustration. I had no justification for the possessive urges I felt sparking to life inside me, making me want to slam my fist into my friends’ faces for even talking about Reese. I had absolutely no claim over her.

  But after two conversations and only minutes’ worth of talking to the girl, I already felt like I had put my stamp on her. Marked her as my territory. Territory that these assholes were getting dangerously close to encroaching on if they kept up this “Reese is hot” shit.

  “It’s all irrelevant, anyway, isn’t it?” I said, needing them to shut the hell up.

  “What do you mean?” Jesse asked.

  “She’s Coach’s daughter,” I answered. “Doesn’t that automatically put her in the hands off category?”

  Boyd responded with, “Probably” at the same time Colt said, “Not necessarily.”

  I took turns looking at both of them, waiting for explanations. Boyd threw his hands up. “I wouldn’t want to risk pissing Coach off. Why chance sitting the bench half the season just for a quick roll in the hay? ‘Cuz you know that’s what you dumbasses would do. Bed her once and then put her out to pasture.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to disagree with him, but I swallowed the words. None of them needed to know about the bewildering reaction I was having toward her. They wouldn’t understand it because I didn’t even understand it.

  Jesse grunted. “Dude, you need to stop with all the farm metaphors. And please for the love of God, watch another movie besides Varsity Blues.”

  “All I’m saying is that Coach and Reese didn’t seem very tight,” Cold said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Maybe he won’t give a shit. He can’t control what she does, anyway.” He met my eyes and winked. “Or who she does.”

  I fisted my hands in my lap.

  Calm the fuck down. She isn’t yours.

  “You don’t think it’d be breaking some kind of code if—”

  “I need everyone’s attention for a second.” My words were cut off by Coach’s booming voice filling the locker room.

  We all turned around to face him, the guys in the showers peaking their heads out to hear the announcement. I was expecting it to be about the practice schedule for the rest of the week, or our weekly reminder about not being total morons and partying it up all weekend with booze and girls.

  Most of the guys didn’t listen to those warnings, anyway. Coach didn’t have a strict no-alcohol policy during the season because he knew how difficult that was to monitor for a bunch of college guys. Especially well-known ball players who got invited to every party on campus. But he did have a strict no getting into trouble policy. That meant no getting into fights, no failing your classes, and especially, no getting into trouble with the law. If you were caught doing any of those things, your ass was immediately suspended from games, if not kicked off the team altogether.

  Other universities might have become pretty lenient with their athletes. Coach Bradley hadn’t. And because he was such a successful and popular coach who made more money than the Dean himself, the school board supported his rules and backed his team policies.

  But Coach’s face was too grim for his usual lecture on behaving ourselves.

  “I didn’t want to say any of this around Reese,” he said, meeting all of our eyes. “But you’ve all now met her, and you know she’s going to be with us for the entire season. And because of that, I’m adding a new team rule to the list. An unofficial one, but one I’m taking just as seriously as all the others.”

  Shit. This didn’t sound good.

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it…

  “Keep your hands off my daughter,” he growled.

  And yes, it was a growl. There was a lethal edge to his voice, his tone acerbic. There was no arguing with that voice. The room had gone deadly silent, and no one dared move a muscle. Coach had never spoken to us like this before. Sure, he’d gotten pissed at us when we didn’t run plays right, or we were shooting like shit.

  But this was something else.

  And somehow, we all inherently knew to listen to every word he spoke. To ignore him I feared would be the equivalent of chopping off my own balls.

  “That goes for everyone in here,” he continued. “I don’t care who you are or how valuable you are to this team. If I find out any of you have gone anywhere near Reese, your ass will be nailed to the bench for the rest of the season. No exceptions. It was hard enough trying to get her to take this job in the first place. The last thing I need is for a schmoozing attempt gone wrong from one of you to screw it all up.”

  She hadn’t wanted to take this job? That was interesting. Why? Because she and Coach didn’t have a good relationship? Or was it something else? And why the hell was I suddenly so curious? I shouldn’t give a damn.

  “Do I make myself clear?” he demanded loudly.

  A chorus of “Yes, sir’s” sounded throughout the room. He stared all of us down with a piercing glare for a few more seconds, and then curtly nodded before stomping back to his office. Everyone let out a collective breath once he was out of sight.

  I hadn’t even done anything—except have wicked dirty fantasies about his daughter—but I felt like I’d just been caught red-handed.

  “Well, I guess that answers that question,” Jesse muttered.

  Colt sighed wistfully. “Unfortunately. But the thought was sweet while it lasted.”

  Unfortunately, indeed. Because I wasn’t sure if I could easily erase all the thoughts I’d been having about her. The naughty scenarios I’d imagined. The pictures I’d erected in my mind—erected being the operative word.

  But I had to forget it all.

  I had bigger problems to worry about. Like a knee injury that was threatening to destroy what I had left of my college career. I wasn’t about to allow that to get in my way, let alone a girl I’d just met. No matter how marvelous her ass was.

  If I wasn’t going to let my knee get the better of me, then I wouldn’t let Reese Bradley, either.

  Which meant that from now on, I had to make sure I had my fucking pants on around her.

  5

  Reese

  I entered my apartment to the sound of an ear-splitting scream.

  And I smiled.

  Screaming and yelling were commonplace in this apartment that I shared with my two close friends, Sydney Stratton and Gemma Underwood. Partly because the three of us couldn’t have been more different from each other, so we rarely agreed on anything.

  But mostly because we pranked each other. A lot. Most of the time, it was Gemma and I pranking our uptight accountant roommate, Sydney. It was too much fun ruffling her feathers. Every now and then, though, Syd would come back at us with a lame attempt of her own.

  Today was not one of those days.

  “A fake tarantula on my loaf of bread?” Syd screeched from the kitchen. “Are you serious, Gemma?”

  I walked into the kitchen to see Syd holding the giant, plastic spider in Gemma’s face. Slender Sydney, with her shoulder-length raven hair that was always straight as a pin and crisp pantsuit that made her look more like our mother than our friend. Fitting, since she oftentimes acted like our mother, too. I swear I would die of shock if I ever saw the girl wearing something like acid wash jeans or a studded leather jacket. Or really anything fun.

  Gemma, on the other hand, was like a walking fashion experiment. If it had fringe, velvet, beading, or suede—preferably all on on
e garment—she was wearing it like a little bohemian flower child champ. She’d once told me that if Sydney would wear it, she would not. I think that was her general rule of thumb with clothes. Half of her outfits reminded me of one of those Magic Eye pictures, though I still applauded her efforts and admired her boldness. Plus, she was one pale beauty, with her strawberry blond hair down to her waist and delicate feminine features. She could pretty much pull off any look without making it look too ridiculous.

  Gemma stood in front of Syd, hand on hip, maintaining an innocent expression. “How do you know that was me?”

  Syd rolled her eyes and flung the tarantula at the floor. “Please. Toy bugs have your critter-loving, PETA member name written all over them.”

  Gemma’s shoulders fell in disappointment. “I’m becoming too predictable.”

  “I don’t know,” I said to her, plopping down on one of the counter stools. “For days she thought I’d been responsible for those caramel-covered onions-on-a-stick at Halloween.”

  Gemma’s eyes gleamed. “Those were epic.”

  “Oh, hello, Reese,” Syd said with a scowl. “You’re just in time to see me stick Gemma’s head in the toilet and flush.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Like a swirly? What happened to noogies?”

  She glared at Gemma, who calmly blew her an air-kiss. “Noogies were last week. We’re not five years old anymore.”

  “Clearly,” I muttered, shaking my head. I held up the box in my hands. “I come bearing gifts.”

  That got Syd’s attention. She eyed the box with interest. “Is that from Cheater’s Treats?”

  I nudged the box across the counter. “I got all your favorites.”

  Syd was usually a health nut, but sweets were her one vice. Which Gemma and I used to our every advantage, usually when we needed to get out of trouble. Needless to say, the doughnut place down the street, Cheater’s Treats—whose slogan was, “Where it’s okay to cheat and treat”—was our go-to locale for getting back into her good graces.