Sacking The Player

by Glenna Maynard

  If the open floor is crowded for our practice, I have permission to use one of the smaller studios. I’m sure whatever asshole I’m stuck with would love the privacy, but the thought of watching them trip over themselves with an audience is tempting. I’m not that evil. Though I’m sure my ex would beg to differ. I don’t know what I saw in him in the first place. He’s shallow and egocentric. Sure, he’s good looking, but he also cheated on me with some bimbo freshman at a fraternity party.

  We didn’t even have anything in common. I love scary movies and Keith was a complete wuss puss when it came to any kind of gore on the screen. I don’t want to think about him though. I’ve moved on with my life. He was just a small blip on my map. I don’t need a man, and I sure as hell don’t want one. They’re nothing but trouble.

  Chapter 3

  Tate

  I

  watch her perform from the hallway, afraid to interrupt something so beautiful. Her body moves so fluidly. I’ve never seen anything like it—like her, Amaya. Her feet glide across the floor in perfect harmony to a song that only she can hear. She doesn’t even need music.

  Amaya moves with a sensual grace that has me seeing her in a new light. The morning sun is spotlighting her as she continues to perform. Right now, she’s only dancing for herself. It’s breathtaking. Her feet move so swiftly as her body twirls seamlessly.

  I continue taking her in. Her dainty legs are covered in these toeless socks that come up to her thighs. A pair of briefs and belly shirt that hangs off her shoulders covers her womanly assets. It’s hella sexy. I can’t take my eyes off her, until she opens her mouth.

  “You’re late!” she snaps at me.

  I shrug. “Got lost on my way here.”

  “I really don’t care. If you’re late again, I’ll just have to inform your coach that I won’t help you. I don’t give a shit how much I’m getting paid for doing this.” And there goes the sexy, what a bitch. “Just because you think you’re the king on the field doesn’t mean you’re shit when you step onto the dance floor.”

  I sit my bag down. “Sorry I’m late, really,” I say, not really meaning it.

  I hear her mutter, “Fucking jocks.”

  Wow, judgmental much. I shake my head. This is getting off to a rough start. I don’t need this shit from her. She doesn’t know me.

  “Look, I don’t want to be here anymore than you do, so cut the bitch act and just help me.” Her eyes widen in surprise. “You don’t see me muttering about you being a stuck-up bitch that probably is anorexic, so I don’t appreciate being called a fucking jock. Stereotyping me is really lame.”

  “Fine,” she grits out. Her eyes roam over my clothes with distaste. “You’re gonna have to change. You can’t wear jeans in dance.”

  “Well, I’m not gonna wear fucking tights.”

  She laughs, and holy shit, I feel that laugh in my dick. And her smile…damn, it’s like the sun warming me all over. “I don’t think they make tights in your size big guy, but shorts will work, a tank top, tee shirt, whatever. The tighter the better.” She gives me a wink when her eyes travel up my stomach, chest, and then to my face.

  Wait, did she just flirt with me?

  I pull my sweatshirt off and strip down to my boxer briefs. I’m not shy about my physique. I know I look good. Her eyes sparkle with appreciation for my body and she has to look away. I like the blush that is creeping down her neck and across her cheeks. There is something so innocent about her demeanor, but her minx smile says wild. My heart rate speeds up as she takes a drink of water.

  “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me or are we going to dance?” I wink.

  She nearly spits out her water.

  Folding my discarded clothes, I place them on a chair near the wall.

  Amaya takes her water bottle and puts it on a chair far away from where I’m standing, as though she is avoiding me.

  “Do you have any experience with dance?” She’s back to all business.

  “Not really, but as you can see…” I wave my hand over my abs and say, “I spend a lot of time in the gym.”

  She cocks her head to the side and rolls her eyes. “Do you throw a football with those spaghetti arms?”

  I’ll let that slide this one time. She clearly has a stick up her ass and a jaded view on athletes. Probably because of that loser, Keith. Looks like he really did a number on her. Another reason I know I don’t want a relationship—baggage. I don’t want to start my professional career off tied down.

  “What’s first, Twinkle Toes?”

  Her jaw clenches and releases. Tiny dancer has a temper. Interesting.

  My inner asshole can’t help but want to piss her off just to watch her squirm. “Get on with your class, Teach. My time is precious too.” I tap my wrist like I would if I were wearing a watch.

  She balls her fist and releases it with a deep breath. “First, we stretch. Gotta loosen you up a little.”

  I start to make a wise crack about being loose but bite my tongue. I don’t think my crude humor will win her over. But it’d almost be worth the trouble to hear her laugh again. The way her lips part and her breath hitches in her throat is intoxicating.

  She seems to lick her top lip when she’s concentrating, it’s cute. I can’t take my eyes from her. There’s something about her that draws me in and makes me want to spend more time with her despite her cold shoulder. It’s a defense mechanism. Her walls are up, but I want this to at least be somewhat enjoyable. I’ll win her over with my Tate King sex appeal one way or another. She’ll see, I’m not just an average jock.

  She bends over touching her toes. Damn, the way she loosens up is about to give me hard on. I start doing some lunges and strain my head in the other direction keeping my eyes from her delicious ass.

  We go through a few more stretches and she shows me some basic moves that focus on balance. She’s not bad once she gets the stick out of her fine ass. We make small talk about our workout regiments.

  The girl is focused and goal oriented. She has pride. I can respect that.

  My cell phone starts ringing from the pocket of my jeans. I cross the room and retrieve it. Amaya gives me a death glare, takes my phone from my hand, and shuts it off without a word.

  “What are you doing?” I reach for my phone and she twirls away, holding it closer to her chest.

  “No phones. Does your coach let you on the field with it?” She cocks her hip to the side as she holds my phone out.

  “No,” I grit out. Who does she think she is? I shake my head as she continues to smirk with satisfaction.

  “Good, next time you come to my floor you’ll leave the phone off.”

  “Got it. But I expect the same respect from you.” I step into her invading her personal space.

  She takes a step back and I follow. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Well, sweetheart, you aren’t here to just stand and look pretty.” I take my phone and put it back on my clothes pile.

  “All right, wise guy. Let me see your freestyle.”

  She can’t be serious. I cross my arms over my chest. Twinkle Toes sashays across the room to a small table and turns on some music.

  She smiles brightly as she dances her way back to me. She’s swinging her hips moving completely different from before. She’s really getting into the song. I continue to stand, frozen in place as she twirls around me. She comes up behind me and trails her fingers across my bicep, before kneeing me in the rear. “Show me what you got, hot shot.”

  I snort. Not happening.

  She taps her foot waiting.

  I stand still.

  “Fine. You don’t dance. I’ll call your coach and tell him you refuse to do the work.” She shrugs and starts walking towards the table.

  “Fine,” I call out. I feel stupid. My face is flamed in embarrassment. This chick is eating my humiliation up. I start moving my feet from side to side and swinging my arms out. I close my eyes and pray no one else is seeing this. It will
ruin me if word gets out. I can’t dance.

  “Oh God, please, stop.” She’s shaking her head. I knew this was a bad idea. She giggles that musical laugh and it’s infectious. I have to laugh too. “Come here.” She motions me forward with the hook of her dainty finger. My hand would swallow hers.

  I step forward and she takes my hand in hers. Yup, I have bear paws compared to her skinny digits.

  Amaya instructs me on how to stand and demonstrates the proper way to hold my arms. Dancing is way more technical than I ever gave it credit. I step on her toes at least three times. I’m like a big dumb lug. It’s pathetic. Five songs later, I’m dripping in sweat and ready to die from dehydration. Amaya shares her extra water bottle with me, and I have to refill it twice.

  “I think we can call it day. Time slips away from me when I dance,” she says sheepishly.

  “Thanks… for doing this. I’m sure this wasn’t how you planned to spend your free time.”

  “It’s not so bad,” she admits. “The money isn’t either,” she teases with an airy laugh.

  “Yeah,” I agree. She’s not too bad and she’s easy on the eyes. Her hair has come loose. A few strands are framing her face, she’s sort of gorgeous. I resist the temptation to brush the tendrils behind her ears so I can stare at her a moment longer.

  Instead, I get dressed. Her heated gaze warms my back as I step into my jeans. She can’t deny that she enjoys checking me out too.

  Chapter 4

  Amaya

  T

  ate King, “The King” of the field is my student. Unbelievable. Courtney will just love this little tidbit, if I tell her. Knowing her, she will want to tag along to all my practices so she can ogle him. I’ll admit he has a nice body. He’s kind of perfect in that All-American way—brown spiky hair that’s messy, takes no effort to style, because you know he rolls out of bed looking that good.

  So maybe I was checking him out. He’s built like an Adonis. I can appreciate that he takes pride in conditioning his body. The guy stands a good six-feet tall. He’s built and he is attractive. Really attractive.

  Damn him.

  I wasn’t expecting him to be so driven. Guys like Tate have the world eating out of their palm. When he started telling me about his workout routine and how dedicated he is to his sport, it made me admire his determination.

  He falls instep next to me as I cross the street to McClintock Avenue.

  “Are you following me?” I stop on the sidewalk, but he keeps walking past me, making me feel stupid. Ugh.

  Maybe I was a bit rough on him in the beginning, but how was I to know he’s not a complete douche.

  “Uh no, I’m heading back to my dorm.” He’s walking backwards now as he talks.

  I cross my arms, glaring at him, trying to ignore the fact that he’s sexy, even when he’s not putting forth the effort. “Bullshit, you live in the frat house.” Although having a guy looking like Tate following you around isn’t the worst that could happen. At least he’s pretty.

  He shakes his head. “I might be part of a frat, but I don’t live there, otherwise I wouldn’t get any studying done, and I’d just be drunk twenty-four/seven.”

  Huh? Well, that’s a surprise.

  I give up the stare down and continue walking. I try to speed up, but he keeps up with me. “Seriously, you don’t have to walk with me, dance class is over, we don’t need to be near each other.” I probably smell like a sweaty pig.

  He spins back around facing the correct way. “Yeah, and you are a tiny person, and probably don’t know how to defend yourself. You really think I’m gonna let you walk home, alone—in the dark?”

  It’s nowhere near sunset, but I don’t point that out to him. “I can handle myself.” I seethe at him. Who the hell does he think he is? I do this walk every single day.

  “You probably can, but if I have to walk this way too, may as well walk together. Oh hey, did you know we’re both in Professor Reynard’s Sports Medicine class?”

  Of course I knew. “Why are you taking that class?”

  “It’s my fall back. Accidents happen. Injuries can end careers before they even begin. I just want to be prepared in case…” Something tells me he knows all too much about how damning an injury can be.

  Well shit, that’s mine too. He doesn’t need to know that though. We have enough in common as it is.

  “Amaya!” I freeze hearing that high pitched voice—Keith, my dick of an ex-boyfriend.

  We dated for two years before I found out what a jerk he is. I never really went to his frat parties or after game parties, but one night I did. It was the year end bash, and I decided to just go for it. I shouldn’t have, I should have stuck to my room and focused on packing up. I recognized a few of the guys because I had briefly met them before, but none seemed to know who I was as I walked through the house looking for Keith. When I finally said that I was his girlfriend, they started laughing, saying Keith didn’t have a steady girl.

  I brushed off their comments and went to find him. Sure enough going up the stairs, the first room on the left, there he was, door open and pounding into some brunette. To say I lost my shit would be an understatement. I threw a trophy from the hall at him. He looked over to me and instantly started his spiel of being so damn sorry. I didn’t care to hear any of it. Cheating scumbag. It was at that moment, with his groveling, that the music turned off, and the house went silent. Everyone was just staring at us from the bottom of the stairs in shock. They all seemed floored by the fact that Keith did indeed have a girl.

  Whatever. I’m totally over it. But doesn’t mean I want anything to do with him now.

  “Fucking prick, I can’t believe he’s still trying to talk to me after what he did,” I mutter under my breath.

  Tate’s thick arm goes around my waist. I’m caught off guard, but I have to say, the warmth and strength his hold provides is inviting. And he is keeping Keith at bay. He sort of scares me sometimes with how possessive he gets. Any time a guy tries to talk to me, he goes crazy on them and they run the other way. I’ve lost a few friends thanks to him and his antics. I have even thought about getting a restraining order on him.

  I whisper to Tate, “Uh, what are you doing?”

  “Just go along with it,” he encourages with a devilish gleam in his blue eyes. I hesitate, afraid of the scene I know my jerk ex-boyfriend will make, but this is Tate King. Keith wouldn’t dare go toe to toe with him, surely.

  Maybe I’m wrong. His face is angry as he charges toward us.

  “What the fuck?” Keith growls when he gets closer. His blond hair has been buzzed off and he’s lost weight. There’s a tattoo of a half-naked woman on his arm, that wasn’t there last time I saw him.

  I’m having an extremely hard time remembering what I found so attractive about him as I stand next to Tate and his Godly sex appeal. I have been trying to avoid Keith at all costs since school started back up. Sometimes, I even change my route from my dorm to my classes so he can’t creep up on me.

  “What’s up, man?” Tate asks him.

  “What the hell are you doing with my girl?”

  I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Keith? You cheated on me, we’ve been broken up for months, I’m not your girl, you made that pretty clear when not one friend of yours even knew you had a girlfriend.”

  “If you would just let me talk to you, then we could fix this…fix us”

  “There’s nothing left to fix!”

  I start to tell him off, but Tate speaks over me. “Man, no one knew you had a steady girlfriend, not until she showed up at the yearend party. And after that, all you did was bitch about her.”

  Shit, I wasn’t expecting to hear that. It stings but I’m not surprised really. Keith had me fooled way too long for me to care now. He hurt me, but he didn’t get the best of me. He’ll never get those pieces of me again. I’m saving them for a man who will love me, a man who will cherish me when the time is right. And now isn’t the time. I’ve come too far since I nearly blew it.<
br />
  “Well of course, I wasn’t gonna get razzed by the guys about what went down.” He lets out an annoyed breath as if he can’t believe Tate isn’t with him on this.

  Jerk.

  “Learn how to treat women better.” Tate squeezes my waist, and I’m just wow, in shock right now. “Come on, babe, let’s get going.” He pulls me along, totally manhandling me in a protective manner. It’s kinda hot. I don’t want to like Tate. Despite his actions, he’s still a jock and a frat turd.

  Once we are inside the building and away from Keith’s glare, I pull away. “That really wasn’t necessary but thank you. He’s been bugging me since our breakup,” I confide.

  “He keeps bugging you…let me know. That guy’s an ass.”

  “Sure, I guess. I figured Keith would be one of your followers,” I tease, wondering what his endgame is. Tate doesn’t seem like a guy who would do something for nothing.

  “My followers?” He scoffs, rocking back on his heels with his fingers laced behind his head. His shirt rides up revealing those impeccable abs.

  Yummy. I hope I’m not drooling.

  We’re standing by the elevators and an audience is forming. Tate King is a guy who attracts attention wherever he goes.

  I shake my head and push the call button for the elevator. “See.” I wave my hand around at the gawkers.

  His cheeks redden as he catches my drift. Tate being bashful is endearing. Who would’ve thought?

  The doors to the elevator open, and I step inside with him on my heels, only he doesn’t enter. He’s holding the doors open with a charming smile that has even me falling under his spell for a moment. He starts to say something but stops when a girl taps him on the shoulder, and he turns his attention to her letting the doors close.