Balls: The Complete Players Collection (Sports Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  “Like, ‘like’ like?”

  I roll my eyes. “And there he goes.”

  He pauses, preparing himself for something. “Hey, what about we hang out later? If you’re looking for a little more truth, that is.”

  My instant reaction is ‘hell no,’ but the longer I wait to reply the more the idea grows on me, the prospect of spending time with this man-god. Call it an experiment. “You, Asher Slade, ‘Slugger,’ want to hang out with me? What about your bad boy reputation?”

  He waves it off. “Fuck that. I don’t care what people think of me.”

  Lie. “Do I look like the partying type?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Who said anything about a party? I’m talking you and me. That’s it.”

  My insides are tightening up like a freakin’ rubber-band ball. You and me. “You’re talking about a date?”

  He plays it cool. “Call it what you will.”

  The old Willow is jumping up and down screaming ‘Asher Slade wants to go on a date with me!’ It’s borderline ridiculous how easily I’m letting myself be pulled into this trap. I mean, there’s practically a neon sign above his head blinking, ‘Stay away! Do not capitulate!’

  “I can’t.”

  He sits back sheepishly, head falling. “Okay. I’m disappointed, but I respect that. I won’t bear a grudge. Besides, I’ve got other plans, I—”

  I can almost hear the glurrrrp-ing sound of the way he’s sucking me in.

  Don’t do it. “Yes,” I yelp.

  He cups his ear. “What was that?” He’s smiling. He knows he’s got me.

  I swallow, once, and reply, “Sure. Yes. Whatever.”

  Now you’ve done it. Universe imploding in three, two…

  He smiles. It’s a genuine, smug, ‘of course you were going to say yes’ grin. “Pick you up at seven?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  And it’s done. In six hours, twenty minutes I’m going on a date with the Slugger himself.

  God help me.

  *

  As per usual, the first thing Mom wants to know about when I call her is my grades.

  “Yes, Mom,” I drawl. “I’m studying hard. No one studies harder than I do.” Least of all Asher. God, why can’t I stop thinking about him? “How’s Jersey?”

  “Jersey is Jersey,” she replies, short. “Are you making friends, enjoying yourself? Because you should. I don’t want you to feel like you have to box yourself away all day. Why don’t you join a book club, or what about bridge? I bet they’ve got a fine team at Penbrook.”

  I don’t think Mom’s quite up to date with my generation’s definition of ‘fun.’ “Sure, Mom. I’ll think about it.”

  “Willow?”

  Crap. Mom’s onto me. I haven’t said anything and I can almost see her peering down the line, eking it out of me.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  She’s bluffing. “Nothing, Mom.”

  “Is it a boy?”

  Bluff. Bluff. Bluff. “No. Of course not.”

  “You can tell your mother, Willow. I’m not a prude.”

  Ha! “I’m not seeing anyone.” Until five minutes’ time.

  She buys it. “Well, just stay safe. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “What about you? Did you manage to sort out your email problem?”

  “Oh, you know me and technology, baby. We don’t get along. Simple as that, but once you’re a respectable doctor I’m sure you can pay someone to come over and have a look at your poor old mother’s computer.”

  “Mom…”

  “I’m just saying, Willow.”

  “I know what you’re saying, Mom. I’m on top of it. Trust me.”

  Maybe you’ll be on top of him next time she calls…

  I scald myself internally. “I— I’ve got to go.”

  “Yes, I can hear those textbooks calling.”

  It’s actually my roommate trying to get in. No doubt she lost her key again. “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, honey. Stay safe!” she slips in.

  I hang up and head to the door, pulling it wide.

  It’s him.

  Asher Slade is standing in my doorway in a tight V-neck tee and jeans that should be illegal he fills them out so well. I almost want to reach out and check he’s not a wax figure. He wedges an arm into the corner of the doorframe, bicep bulging. “Well, are you going to invite me in or should I stand out here in the hallway?”

  I find my voice, opening up to let him through. “Come in. I wasn’t expecting you to—”

  He looks around the room, all two-hundred square feet of it. “Come up to your dorm room?” he finishes.

  I lean against the wall. I need something to prop me up given my legs feel like they’re going to give out at any moment. “This is the girls’ dorm. How did you get past Linda at the front desk? How’d you even know which room was mine?”

  He picks up one of Amy’s bobbleheads and examines it. “One, there are few places on campus I don’t have access to, and two, I asked around. I’m nothing if not resourceful. You look amazing, by the way.”

  It’s been a while since I wore a dress. I had to borrow this one off Amy, a simple halter in black. I feel naked in it. It’s like he’s looking right through it. I brush it down. “This? It’s nothing.”

  He places the bobblehead down and looks over Amy’s posters. “Can’t say I took you for a K-Pop fan.”

  “No. That’s not—”

  He turns smiling, hands sliding into his pocket. “I’m kidding.” He focuses his attention on my side of the room. “I figured this—” pause for emphasis “—functional space was yours”.

  “I like a clean desk,” I say, somewhat defensively.

  He runs a finger across the surface of my desk. “Doesn’t seem like it’s ever seen anything dirty.” This is followed by a wry grin in my direction.

  That rubber-band ball somewhere in my center twists tight again. I swallow. “Should we go?”

  He straightens up, walking over and placing his hand against the small of my back. It burns there like a hot iron. “We better. The roast should be done by now.”

  “The roast?” I stammer. “You didn’t come here and leave the oven on, did you?”

  He laughs like it’s no big deal. “Sure. Why not?”

  Here I was thinking we were heading to some fancy restaurant for dinner, but no. He wasn’t kidding about this being a private affair. “How much cooking do you do?”

  “I can’t say I host many dinner parties.”

  “We better get going then.”

  Heads emerge from doorways as we walk down the dormitory hallway, everyone keen to see who Asher Slade is taking home tonight. I avert my eyes, unused to the attention, but I have to admit that deep down it does feel kind of good. It feels like a former life.

  Yeah, take that, I think, eyeing off a bottle blond who always laughs when I walk by. If only I could snapshot the look on her face now.

  It’s a short, breathless drive to Asher’s place just outside of campus. He was in a frat house for a year or two, but got kicked out after an incident with a vibrator, a drone, and the female swimming squad. So, he moved into an apartment the college personally arranged for him. I’ve heard they even subsidize his rent.

  I take off my helmet, all that hard work I put into straightening my hair down the toilet. His apartment complex comes complete with its own moat and fountain. You have to step across small river stones to access the courtyard. “Impressive.”

  He helps me off the last stone, my tiny hand engulfed by his. “Wait until you see the size of my floor lamp.”

  Asher’s apartment is on the top story of the complex and I feel his eyes on my ass as I climb the stairs. I should be pissed off, but in a strange, deluded way I am enjoying the attention. Like, really enjoying it.

  Asher leads us to the door at the end of the hallway. “Home, sweet home.”

  I stop by the door, hands in front of myself, sniffing th
e air. “Do you smell something?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  ASHER

  Gordon Ramsey I am not. Mom’s always been the killer cook in the family. Even Dad could put together a mean Sunday dinner, but my roast? Like a log dragged from the bottom of the fire.

  Willow looks it over it in hysterics while I swat at the smoke alarm. She prods a blackened potato. “I suppose it’s not that bad.”

  I finally manage to switch the alarm off, clearing the smoke with my hands. “What are you talking about? It looks like a lump of coal.”

  This sends her into another fit. She collects herself, smiling. It’s the best fucking sight in the world. I’d burn a hundred roasts to see it again. “I appreciate the effort, though.”

  She looks incredible bending over the stove. I bet she borrowed that dress, but it shows off her curves perfectly—something her usual sweater-and-jeans combo would never allow. I wonder what she’d do if I was to come up behind her and run my hands up the back of her thighs until they were full with her ass, my rigid cock hard against her back, my lips against her ear telling her all the ways I’d fuck her silly tonight.

  Calm down, soldier. Breathe. “There’s a little restaurant downstairs, Italian. How do you feel about carbonara?”

  She turns, smiling. “Pretty good.”

  I swipe the keys off the kitchen table. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”

  I sit downstairs waiting for the food. It’s a good thing I cleaned up earlier, because there’s no doubt she’ll be snooping around, trying to infer my true intentions by the state of my bedroom, bathroom. There’s nothing incriminating save for a box of sex toys I stashed under the bed. Then again, maybe her finding that wouldn’t be so bad. At least then she’d know what she’s in for.

  I return fifteen minutes later, placing the food down. “Bon appetit.”

  We sit at the kitchen table, our meal lit by candlelight. The lingering smell of charcoal isn’t exactly romantic, but she seems to be appreciating the effort all the same.

  She places her fork down. “Is this your usual play? Burn the roast, causal dinner, candles?”

  “My play? What’s to say I’ve ever done this before?”

  She rolls her eyes, brushing her hair out of her face. “Come on. Be honest with me.”

  I twist spaghetti onto my fork. “I am. The whole ‘date’ thing isn’t usually required.”

  “Girls just fall into your bed, I suppose.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “You’re openly admitting that?”

  I stop. “You wanted honesty. I’m an open book. I don’t typically have to go to these kinds of lengths to get laid.”

  “I see.” I can’t tell what she’s thinking, the thoughts stirring behind those amethyst eyes.

  I catch her looking around. “Something take your fancy?”

  “I’m just checking out the size of this place.” She pauses. “No, still not big enough for your ego.”

  “We can skip this part if you like, go straight to third base.”

  An eyebrow lifts. “I thought you were all about the home run?”

  I smile, enjoying this flirty Willow so different to the one I see at the home. “I never strike out, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  We watch each other, the candle flame flickering. My cock’s about to up-end the table I want her so bad.

  She breaks the silence, her shoulders shifting back as she dabs at her mouth with a serviette. “So, what’s for dessert?”

  Oh, the many wonderful ways I could answer that one, but I restrain myself. “What are you in the mood for? Something sweet, something hot?”

  “What’s on offer?”

  I’m thinking about whether that smattering of freckles extends to her chest, her breasts, the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. I wonder what her pussy will taste like when I press my tongue inside her. I stand. “Let me have a look.”

  I return with two bowls of strawberries and freshly whipped cream. If that isn’t a combination to strip away inhibition, I don’t know what is.

  We settle into the couch side by side watching our own dark reflections in the TV screen.

  “Mmm,” she moans, placing a spoonful into her mouth, her eyes closed. “That’s delicious.”

  More lines pop into my head, but I let them go. It’s scary how natural they come to now, how comfortable I’ve become in this skin. I don’t think I’ve even realized myself the complete conversion that’s taken place over the last couple of years, the weak, pathetic boy I knew long gone. “You should wear dresses more often. They suit you.”

  She places the bowl down into her lap, head turning to face me. “Thanks for the compliment, but my goal here isn’t to look good.”

  “You’re here to study. I know. I know.”

  She appears lost, thinking something over, mulling it back and forth in her head. She brushes her hair back and inhales. “Do you want to know the truth?”

  I place my bowl down and turn sideways to match, my arm hanging over the back of the sofa. “Sure. Shoot.”

  She looks so shy and sheepish. God, I want her. “I wasn’t always like this.”

  “Beautiful?” I offer.

  She smirks, shaking her head. “No, a… nerd.”

  “Nerds are all the rage. Don’t you watch Big Bang Theory?”

  She places her bowl to the side, hands folding together in her lap. “In high school I was actually a real party animal.”

  I act shocked. “You’re fucking with me.”

  She shakes her head again. “I’m afraid not. I was the cool kid, the one everyone wanted to be around at lunch, the girl who’d be the first to play Flip Cup. That girl.”

  “I can’t picture it.”

  “It seems like forever ago.”

  “What happened? To Cher Horowitz, that is.”

  And here it comes.

  Her shoulders hunch forward. “There was this party. It was a really big deal. This guy’s parents were away on business. They owned this massive Tudor house in the hills, the kind of place with animals on the walls and rooms full of fine China.”

  “I take it this party didn’t go so well?”

  She nods, meek. “You could say that. I got very drunk, did some drugs. What, I don’t know. I can’t remember it all that well.”

  “Hey, we’ve all been there.”

  “In a puddle of puke with your pants around your ankles, pissing yourself? Because that was me. Here, look.” She pulls back her hair to reveal a thin scar running just above her hairline. “That’s what you get trying to jump off a two-story house. I damn near killed myself.”

  “Shit.” It seems Leon didn’t provide the full, gory details.

  “That’s one way of putting it. I took it too far, and I can’t make excuses, but I was going through a rough time at home. Dad was laid off, again, I was about to flunk out of school altogether, and I wanted to forget it, forget it all. So I did, and it ended up costing me everything. You don’t live that kind of thing down, not when everyone has a camera in their pocket. I bet you could still find photos and videos of that night if you looked hard enough, but you’d never recognize me. I’m not that girl any more. I made damn sure of that.”

  “You had a bad experience. God knows I’ve done things I’m not proud of. You could fill a fucking book with them.”

  “You don’t know what it was like,” she continues. “The cruelty. I had to change schools, and that’s when I decided to go straight one-eighty, draw no attention to myself whatsoever, just concentrate on studying. I’d always been smart, but being popular had become more important, you know? I’d let my grades slip deliberately, but not at my new school. I spent a whole year in the library, a ghost, and I liked it. I liked being invisible. I doubt anyone in that class even remembers my name.”

  I sit back. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I appreciate you telling me this, really.”

  “You do?”

&nbs
p; “Of course. You’re putting your trust in me.”

  Willow pulls her hair together in her hands, runs it over her left shoulder, the soft side of her cheek glowing, begging for my lips. “I suppose I am. Maybe I want to have fun again, live just a little.”

  I try to lighten the mood. “So Roman orgies and crack dens are out then?”

  She throws her head back in laughter, lets it rest on the back of the sofa. “I don’t know. I just want to experience a little of what college life should be like. I sound so stupid, don’t I?”

  I take the opportunity to shift closer, place a hand between us. “If we’re being completely honest here, I should tell you I’ve heard this story before.”

  She pieces it together. “Leon told you, didn’t he? Damn him.”

  “He did.”

  “I bet he didn’t sugar-coat it.”

  “Not really, though he neglected to mention the fact you tried this Evil Knievel stunt with your pants down… and the puke… and the pissing…”

  She looks away. When she turns back she’s beet red. “Enough, enough. It was bad. What can I say? And I suppose the two of you are going to hold this over me somehow? I wouldn’t put it past Leon.”

  “Not at all. Your story reminds me a lot of myself, in fact.”

  “Getting your stomach pumped, your head split open, and wetting yourself?”

  Here goes nothing, the big gamble. Go big or go home. “On occasion, but, like you, I was different in school. I was the nerd.”

  She narrows an eye at me, pulling back. “Nice try.”

  I put my hands out. “I’m serious. Everyone thinks my grades are bullshit, but they’re real. I hand in my assignments like everyone else.”

  She’s still eyeing me with suspicion. “Okay, let’s say you are for real, when do you have time to do them?”

  I tap the side of my head. “I have a photographic memory, but shhh, don’t tell.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You’re studying pre-med, right? I flicked through this epic book on anatomy once. Ask me anything.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  She sits up, thinking. “Okay. Um, what’s the soft connective tissue between the cranial bones at birth called?”