Deep in the Pocket
Lainey Davis
© 2017 Lainey Davis
Hard Edge
Lainey Davis
© 2017 Lainey Davis
Possession: A Football Romance
Lainey Davis
© 2019 Lainey Davis
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Individuals pictured on the cover are models and are used for illustrative purposes only.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEEP IN THE POCKET
HARD EDGE
POSSESSION
DEEP IN THE POCKET
CHAPTER ONE
I hear the classroom door creak open just before the lecture is supposed to begin. I whip around in my seat, irritated, to see just who dared to show up so late for this class.
I could barely contain myself when I saw Matt Jacobs was teaching a statistics elective at Stone Creek University this semester. He was a fellow with the American Statistical Association for god's sake, one of the most distinguished people in the field…and he's here at my college.
So yeah, it bugs me that Talon Kelly is even here, let alone sauntering in just as Matt is about to begin speaking. Talon "The Claw" Kelly thinks he's god's gift to this school, and that's probably because everyone constantly reassures him that he is, in fact, our savior.
He's the quarterback of the football team, of course. He probably hasn't seen the inside of a textbook since he learned how to read, if he ever learned that much. I remember that he hurt his knee this past fall, and sure enough, he clatters into class with a pair of crutches and some enormous brace. "Sorry, guys," he says, his deep voice smooth and condescending. "I'm moving a little slowly these days."
I look into my notebook, hiding behind the curtain of my straight, brown hair, as he hops down the aisle of desks and into a seat behind me. Matt Jacobs leans into the podium and says, kindly, "Take your time, Mr…?"
"Kelly," he shouts, and I feel his breath on my neck as he leans forward to tuck his crutches under his seat. "But everyone calls me Claw."
With a chuckle, our instructor says, "Well, Mr. Kelly, most people call me Dr. Jacobs, but I was just about to tell your classmates here that this semester, I'd like you all to call me Matt."
My jaw drops at this. I'm really going to have to get over being starstruck, especially when I go to office hours. Matt continues. "This semester, we're going to explore post-college applications of statistics. Everything from sports analytics to biostatistics."
I hang on his every word. I've been a statistics nerd as far back as I can remember. Oh, I know all about Talon Kelly and his football performance. My high school required everyone to participate in sports in some capacity. Having absolutely zero interest in playing a sport, I opted instead to keep stats. I begrudgingly learned the ins and outs of football. I'm not humble about statistics. I'm really good at what I do, and I helped the coaching staff recognize patterns they weren't seeing. I might not like football very much, but I sure did know which defense teams were more likely to cover the open, deep field for a long pass.
I interned in the stats booth here at SCU a few semesters, too. It was good experience for me. I got to work with some interesting new software, and D1 college football is a high-pressure environment to be keeping stats! I probably would have enjoyed staring at the muscle-bound men I was tracking if I'd had time, but the mood in the stats booth was urgent and fierce. I can tell you all about the Claw and his pass completion percentages, and now that I see him up close I understand more about what I've heard about his action stats with SCU girls.
But what I really want to do is study biostatistics. With Matt Jacobs. At Dartmouth. I can't let the Claw distract me from why I'm in this elective. Before I can stop myself, I've drifted far into a fantasy involving Matt and me being honored by the National Institutes of Health for our contributions to the world of infectious disease. I jump and squeak when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"Help a guy out?" Talon lets his hand linger on my shoulder, and I'm stunned by my body's response to his touch. His hand is warm and firm through my sweater, and I feel the blood rush to the place where his fingers rest above my collarbone. I stare at his hand, which is nearly as large as my face.
"Sorry? What?" Class is over and people are filing out of the room.
Talon slides his hand from my back and smiles at me. He's objectively handsome. No, that's not even the right word. Talon Kelly is sexy. I let my eyes linger a moment too long on his dazzling blue eyes. He repeats, "Can you help me out? I can't reach my crutches and I can't bend all the way forward with this brace on."
I look more closely at the yards of padding and velcro immobilizing his leg. Talon raises his eyebrows as I stare at his leg, apparently wondering if I'm completely daft. "Sorry," I mutter, leaning forward to pick up the crutches. Our hands touch as he takes the crutches from me and I feel a sizzle as he begins to hoist himself into a standing position.
He smells clean, like soap and laundry detergent, and he's chewing mint gum in the side of his mouth. He grunts softly as he shifts his weight onto the crutches. I stand up next to him and feel dwarfed by his height. I never realized how very large the players were. From up in the box, they all just look like stick figures.
"See anything you like?" His deep voice jars me, again, from staring. I flush. This is really unlike me. I had meant to follow Dr. Jacobs…Matt…to his office hours, but here I am standing next to Talon and his damn crutches. Talon winks at me.
Gross. I start wondering how many girls he's tried that on before. But then he winces, and I'm reminded that he's actually injured.
"Are you in a lot of pain," I ask, gesturing toward his knee.
He stares into the distance. I think for a moment he's going to crack another joke, but he looks down at me again and says, "It doesn't feel awesome, I'll give you that."
He crutches away and I watch him go, forgetting about my big plans to cozy up with my stats professor
CHAPTER TWO
I'm pretty irritated when the Claw saunters into class late again the next session. Matt just smiles and waves him in, but come on! Can't he get one of the football staff to drive him around in a golf cart or something so he isn't interrupting the rest of us?
Once again, he limps up to the desk behind me. Once again, he sprawls out so that his foot is under my seat and his crutches snag the straps of my backpack. I whip around in my seat and shoot him daggers with my eyes. Talon winks at me again, infuriating me. I'm about to tell him off when Matt begins class.
"All right, folks. Here comes your least favorite part of the semester. Research projects." There is a collective groan and Matt holds out his hands. "With partners. I know, I know. It's awful. But this is life." As people begin to complain, Matt continues. "There isn't a career in statistics that will not involve collaborative research. And there isn't a research project you'll encounter in life where you won't want to fire someone on your project team."
Matt pulls out a jar of slips of paper. He makes a joke about the odds being in our favor, and starts to pull out pairs of names. I don't recognize anyone in this class, so I can't do anything other than calculate the probability of my being partnered with Talon…until I hear him call my name. "Serena Sanders?"
I raise my hand. He nods. "Let's see. You'll be working with…" there's a pause as he rummages in his jar of names. And of course, he says, "Talon Kelly. Well, you're already sitting near each other, so at least you don't have to move!"
A few minutes later, the pairs are assigned and we are turned loose to exchange contact information and make a plan for the research project. I sigh and start smoothing out my hair. It's long and straight, and I usually keep it back in a ponytail while I'm working, but today I wore it down. I wanted to look my best, so I actually blew it dry this morning.
I realize how stupid that is, to get all dolled up for my stats professor, but I can't help it. I'm totally starstruck. I sigh and scoop up my notebook, turning around to face Talon, who is still sitting sprawled in his chair, bulging arms crossed across his chest that seems to be bursting out of his tight SCU t-shirt.
Neither of us says anything for a bit, but eventually he says, "you going to give me your phone number? Invite me back to your place to research, baby?" He winks.
"Jesus, Talon. Does this crap actually work for you? You think I'm going to sleep with you and then do the entire research project myself?"
He laughs. "I know you're going to sleep with me, baby. I've seen you looking at the Claw."
I start stuffing my books back into my bag and huff at him. "You're referring to yourself in the third person now, is that it? Of course I'm looking at you, Talon. You're limping around like the bionic man. You don't exactly blend in."
He reaches out for my arm, his fingertips surprisingly soft on my skin below my own SCU t-shirt. "All right, all right. I'll grant you that. Hey. Why do you look familiar?" He furrows his brow while he looks at me. "Did we already sleep together? Is that it? Is that why you're so huffy?"
"You are absolutely disgusting, Talon Kelly. No. I have not slept with you." I rip a sheet out of my notebook and write down my cell number and email address, and slam it into his chest. "Get in touch when you're ready to get serious about this project. This class is important to me."
He chuckles softly and looks at my info. I hate that I keep staring at the blond-streaked curls sticking out from his backward ball-cap. His hair grows in tight ringlets that I've seen on the jumbo-tron, stuck to his forehead with sweat when he pulls his helmet off during games. I remind myself that nobody that good looking is ever going to be a kind person. I storm out of class before it's over.
I'm halfway back to my apartment before I realize I've missed the discussion and homework assignments.
CHAPTER THREE
My roommate, Alissa, is home on a break between classes when I stomp through the front door. "Bad day with Professor Dreamy?" she laughs, pulling a bowl of mac n' cheese from the microwave.
"Lis, I left before I even got to hear Professor Dreamy lecture today!"
"Woah, girl, what the hell happened?"
I tell her about being partnered with Talon, about his lame pickup lines. She chews thoughtfully and says, "You know what you need to do, right?"
I raise an eyebrow at her and shake my head.
"You need to go to Dreamy's office hours. This is the perfect excuse. 'Oh, Professor Dreamy, I just can't work with that awful jock. I need a real man. A nerdy man like you to guide me, with your calculator--"
"Shut up," I say, throwing a napkin at her. But she's right--I should go to office hours and at least get today's homework, if I can't plead my case for a partner reassignment.
Alissa teases me mercilessly as I recheck my hair and walk back up to campus toward the stats building. I knock lightly on Professor Jacobs's door and hear him say, "Come on in!"
I open the door and he smiles. "Serena…right? I'm not good with names."
"That's right." I sit in the chair opposite his desk. He leans forward, his hands clasped on top of the papers on his desk.
I take a deep breath. "I just have to tell you, I'm such a huge fan of yours. I mean you're an ASA fellow! And you're here at SCU."
He laughs. "You know about the ASA, do you?"
My eyes widen. "Of course. I mean…don't your students usually know your bio?"
He keeps laughing. "Serena," he says, slapping the desk, "my students usually don't give a shit about school."
I feel my face contort as I absorb this statement. Of course I knew I was on the fringe of studious students here at SCU, but I assumed at Dartmouth things would be different. "Really? I just thought…you'd be used to students who were more driven."
He leans back in his chair. "Nah. So what's up?"
I open my mouth to begin, but he interrupts. "Wait! Let me guess." I close my mouth and raise an eyebrow at him. "You don’t want to work with that football guy, right?"
I exhale. He continues. "Serena, you know your professors know that you do all the work on these sorts of team projects, right? Like it's not going to surprise me?"
"It's not that so much as…he's just so conceited. He's a cocky jerk."
Professor Jacobs--Matt--nods and sits forward again. "You want to work in statistics? You're going to be rubbing shoulders with a lot of cocky jerks who try to get in your pants."
I flush, feeling the heat spread from my chest to the tips of my ears. And then I don't know what comes over me. I feel like I'm possessed by some crazed spirit. I tilt my head to one side, lean forward, and touch Matt Jacob's hand. I say, my voice sounding much calmer than I feel, "But it's not his pants I want to get in, Professor…"
The air rushes out of the room. I feel the atmosphere shift. Professor Jacobs stands and walks around the desk. He opens the door to his office, then stands stiffly in the doorway. "Serena, look, you're going to have to work something out with Mr. Kelly. I'm sorry but the project has been assigned. Now, did you have anything further to discuss?"
I feel the shame of what I've done rise in my chest. I fear I'm going to be sick, my heart pounding. I just made a pass at a professor, a professor I want to study with throughout graduate school. What the hell was I thinking? My breath comes in ragged gasps, but the studious collegiate inside me manages to say, "Can you tell me what chapters we discussed in class and let me know the homework?"
I write robotically in my notebook and practically run from his office. I burst into the cold, January air and suck in great gasps of air outside before walking home as quickly as I can. My hands shake so badly I can't unlock the door to my apartment, and when Alissa pulls it open, I fall inside, sobbing against her shirt. "I made a pass at Professor Jacobs!" I shriek. "What am I going to do??"
Alissa pulls me tightly into her chest and rubs my hair. She looks up at the clock and says, "It's 4pm on a Thursday, Serena. We're going to go and drink tequila until you forget this ever happened."
CHAPTER FOUR
It's morning. I can tell that it's morning, but I'm definitely not in my room. My senses feel dull as I try to make sense of my surroundings. I realize I'm not wearing any pants. I shift around a bit and discover I'm lying on a giant bed, covered with a bright white duvet. I open both eyes and I see I'm in someone's bedroom…but whose?
The room smells masculine. Like spicy deodorant, but not body odor. The gray walls have SCU football posters. There's a tidy desk and a dresser. I can see the door to the closet is ajar and there's a coat rack with--
"Shit." I groan. The coat rack has a letter jacket with KELLY embroidered in giant letters. I am in Talon Kelly's bedroom and I'm not wearing pants. I look down. I'm not wearing the t-shirt I started out in, either.
"Oh, are you awake, Sanders?" A deep voice comes from the doorway. Talon walks into the room and I instinctively pull the covers up to my chin. He looks completely normal, apart from the knee brace. Meanwhile, I feel like I got hit by a truck. "Hey, easy. I'm not going to jump your bones. But I do have to go soon. I've got PT in a little while." He hands me a bottle of water from the pocket of his sweatpants and crutches over to the bed.
I ask him, "What happened last night? I…got carried away."
He laughs at this. "You sure did! I never saw anything like i
t. Usually, drunk girls are desperate to get into my bed. You fought me pretty hard."
I drink the water, waiting for him to explain. He starts to tell me how he ran into Alissa and me at the bar after I'd had half a pitcher of margaritas. He and his roommates had come in for a six-pack, and I'd begun shouting at him. "You were blaming me for whatever it was that led you to your sorry state," Talon says, still laughing. "Alissa invited you both up to the apartment to watch Spaceballs with us. She and Smith excused themselves to his bedroom and, well…"
"Talon Kelly, if you tell me you took advantage of me while I was blackout drunk, I swear to God--"
"What? Fuck no." He seems really insulted, and explains that I'd spilled nacho cheese all over my clothes during the movie. "I threw your stuff in the wash and gave you my shirt, gave you my damn bed, and slept on the couch. Knee brace and all."
I feel my flush return. As if to drive home his point, he begins to unwrap something he had hanging from one of his crutches--a grocery bag with my jeans and shirt inside. I feel sheepish, and look down. "Thank you," I say, my voice soft as I try to hide behind my hair.
Talon reaches a hand forward and brushes my hair aside, and I am taken aback by the kindness of his gesture as much as the rush of heat I feel where his skin touched my face. His blue eyes go dark as he asks, "What had you so worked up yesterday?"
I exhale and shake my head. "It's too humiliating."
"What? More humiliating than spilling nacho cheese all over yourself when you could have been banging the quarterback?"
I throw the empty water bottle at his chest and pull the covers over my head. He persists. "Hey, Serena, I am fresh from surgery and slept on a sofa a foot shorter than me. You owe me your tale of woe."
Stone Creek Page 1
