I start shaking my head. This whole thing feels off, and it’s late as hell.
“Look,” she says. “It’s late. I have class in the morning. I’m so sorry I worried you, Bax, but I need to go to bed.”
There’s no way I’m leaving Olive alone after all this. She’s a small girl, and she’s not used to alcohol. Who even knows how big a shot Justin pushed on her. “You’re staying with me tonight,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward my building. She drops her mouth open to say something, and I stop walking. “Olive.” My heart is still racing. I close my eyes. Get it together, Morgan. “Come stay with me so I can make sure you’re ok when you wake up.” Her brown eyes are huge in the street light. She bites her lip. “Please?”
We’ve had sleepovers before. We slept together in that hammock for years. This is nothing new. Ok, so I’m usually on the couch these days. But I’m not even thinking of Olive that way. Not tonight. Tonight I just need to make sure she’s safe. She nods and I hug her close, walking her toward my place.
When I unlock the front door, the guys have all gone to bed. Shit, it’s really late. We have to be in the weight room in a few hours. I’m going to be wrecked in the morning. “Come on,” I nod my head toward my room. I hang Olive’s backpack on the hook in my closet and rummage in my drawer for a pair of sweats for her. “These will be huge, but they’re comfortable as hell.”
She shakes her head and sighs, but ducks into the bathroom to change. I strip down to my boxers and t-shirt and climb into bed, waiting for her to slide in next to me. When she climbs in bed, she scoots all the way to the far edge of the mattress like I’m going to let her sleep all the way over there. My breath catches in my throat as I pull her in close. She smells so fucking good. Like leaves and fresh air and my deodorant. We shared for awhile when we first went away to school. Olive told me she liked the smell of it and mine worked better than women’s deodorant. I take her word for it. I like that she walks around smelling like me. Maybe it sends a signal to other dudes to keep their hands off.
I rest my chin on her shoulder and feel her body begin to relax. “I’m so sorry I worried you, Bax,” she whispers. “I got caught up. Maybe I’ll just set my phone to Do Not Disturb next time…if you call it would come through since you’re my favorite.”
It’s been a long joke between us that, while I’ve got my coaching staff and my advisors saved as favorites in my phone, Olive has only me. I like being her favorite. “That’s a good idea,” I tell her, giving her soft body a squeeze. God, she feels good. But I need to control myself. This is Olive. Not some random girl I take home to meet my primal needs.
She rolls to face me and we fall asleep curled together.
I’m ripped from my recurring nightmare—the dream where I plead with my mother to stay with us, with me, after my brother died. It’s still dark in my room, though, and it takes me a minute to figure out what woke me up.
It’s Olive, and she’s moaning. I take a few breaths to let my heart rate slow down and observe what’s happening here. She seems to be rocking and groaning in her sleep. Maybe she’s having a nightmare, too?
But then, as my eyes adjust to the dark, I look at her. Her shirt has ridden up and I see the creamy white skin of her soft belly. I see her hips rocking in her sleep. “Oooooh,” she says in her sleep. “Yes, Bax.”
Fuck. Me. Olive Hampton is dreaming about me. Not a nightmare. That kind of dream. My dick jumps to attention and I have no idea what to do. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to pull her close, let her grind those hips against me until the friction gives us both what it seems we need right now.
“Shit,” I mutter. This isn’t right. I feel like I have invaded some privacy screen. Olive can’t help what she dreams. She’d probably be horrified if she even found out.
But I can’t fall asleep again, not with my cock standing stiff against my stomach and Olive moaning and writhing like this. I slip out of bed and go out to the couch. It seems like a few minutes later when Scotty shouts in my face. “Morgan! We gotta go.”
I groan, because I barely slept a single second. My god, now I know what Olive’s face looks like when she’s about to come. The urge to dive in there and finish the job, take her over the edge and have her screaming my name—fuck!
But Scotty is standing over me in the living room. “Give me a minute, ok?” He nods and heads off down the hall. I head into the room, where Olive is asleep in my bed. I murmur against her ear, “I have to go to the weight room. Let yourself out whenever, ok, Liv?” She nods and pulls the covers up to her nose. I plant a kiss on the top of her head and meet Scotty in the hall.
“I thought it wasn’t like that with you guys,” he says, offering me a granola bar.
I snatch it and tear into it, shaking my head. “It’s not,” I state, emphatically, hating that it’s true. I’m starting to wonder how long I can last this way.
CHAPTER FIVE
Olive
I stay in Baxter’s bed for another hour or so, but I can’t sleep. I’m enveloped in his scent, remembering the rush of his breath on my cheek as he whispered in my ear.
And then I had to go and dream about him. Those dreams are the worst, because I wake from them wanting, so hungry for his touch, knowing I cannot have it.
Baxter is so clear that he’s got just one focus: making it to the pros so he can move on with his life. He won’t make time for a relationship. He says so repeatedly, when he calls me after screwing some nameless fangirl. When he grabs me for lunch in the athletes’ dining hall. Over and over, he repeats: No relationships. No complications. Train, lift, watch film, and smile for the cameras.
The arms he drapes around my shoulders on the way in to social events are brotherly for him. He makes this clear all the time and besides. As soon as we get anywhere, he immediately finds a conquest, disappears with a woman. He usually dispatches a freshman from the team to walk me home.
I sigh, neatly folding Baxter’s sweatpants and setting them on the foot of his bed. His room is sparse and tidy. He has almost nothing personal in here except two framed photographs: one of him and his brother Brody taken shortly before Brody died. I smile at the picture and shoot Bax a text. Love that pic of you and Brody. Thinking of him today!
Sometimes I wonder what our relationship would be like if Baxter’s brother hadn’t died and Baxter’s mom hadn’t taken off. Overcome by grief, she withdrew until she couldn’t bear living in their house another second. I don’t think Bax has heard from his mom in years. What if he’d had two allies at home? Maybe then…I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t do any good to think about what if.
The other picture on his dresser is of the two of us. It’s from prom night—he went with a cheerleader, of course, and I went with a group of kids from my English class, but he pulled me in for one slow dance, and someone took a pic.
I remember the feel of my palm on his chest, my other squeezed tightly in his hand, the light pressure of his fingers on my lower back. I rested my head on his chest as the live band played Into the Mystic and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could feel him aroused through the layers of his tux.
“Dance with me, Livvy,” he’d said. “Just this one time.” As if I’d turn him down.
The other girls in my dorm have their doors open as I slink back in to change. I see them standing at their mirrors with curling irons, talking to each other as they eat yogurt at their desks. I smile at the two girls who live across the hall and offer a small wave.
One of them, Elyse I think her name is, wags her eyebrows at me, noticing me coming IN at this time of day. I don’t have time to correct her misconception, so I dash into my room and quickly change.
When my classes are done for the morning, I head to the athletic building. The football team has their own training room, but it’s across the hall from the facilities used by all the other athletes at SCU. This lets Justin shift the staff around easily, depending on which sports are hurting the most.
And today
, evidently, it’s the swimmers who are hurting. Football practice is just starting, so we won’t see any acute injuries from collisions for a little while. Justin waves me over to a table where he’s stretching out a lanky swimmer lying face down. The swimmer groans and clutches at his back.
“Olive,” Justin says, a cool look in his eye. “I assume you made it safely through the night?”
I bite my lip and nod, then gesture toward the swimmer. “What’s up with this guy?”
He pauses and motions for me to step in. “What do you think?”
I squat down to make eye contact with the swimmer while Justin observes. “Hey,” I say to him. “I’m Olive.” I place a hand on his lower back. His skin feels warm. He groans again. “What’s your name, dude?”
“Tim,” he hisses. “My back is killing me. Jesus.”
I ask him to roll onto his side, thinking that might ease some of the pressure he’s feeling, and his breathing calms. “Is it ok if I check you over, Tim? You’ll feel my touch on your legs, ok?”
He nods, eyes closed. His hamstrings are tightly coiled. I tell him we are going to work on some gentle stretches to loosen him up, and then I fall into the trance that always comes over me when I get to work with an athlete. I breathe along with Tim, moving his legs, stretching his tight muscles. Sometime later, I’ve got one of his legs pressed against my shoulder and he’s talking easily. “I broke my own personal record at least,” he says, gritting his teeth as I try to loosen up his long leg.
Evidently, he pushed himself doing the butterfly. One mis-timed kick started off a spasm that wouldn’t quit. “Does it feel better now?” I ask, while I help him into a sitting position.
I hear a cough and I jolt, remembering that Justin has been here observing. I just handled Tim’s entire case—didn’t even ask for permission or advice. Justin stands with his arms crossed, frowning. “You seem like you’ve got things under control here, Hampton. What are you thinking next?”
I prod Tim to roll onto his stomach. “I’m thinking ice and stim.” Tim groans as Justin hands me the equipment to hook up to Tim’s back so we can send gentle, eletrical pulses to contract and release Tim’s muscles. His mood lightens. Justin pats me on the shoulder and walks off to take care of the other athletes who need help.
I get Tim connected to the unit and walk off to prepare some bags of ice for him. He sighs as the pressure increases. Most of the athletes say it hurts so good. Once I get Tim situated and on a timer, Justin summons me into his office.
“You did really well today,” he tells me.
“Thank you.”
I keep waiting for him to say “but,” since I know I overstepped with Tim. I’m just an undergrad work study. I start shifting my weight. The football team will be here any minute and Bax likes me to stretch him out, even though I’m not supposed to do that, either.
Justin doesn’t look up from his notes, his pen flying along the page. “I’m assigning you to swim this semester.”
“Swim? Justin, I thought—”
“You’ll be with Tim and his lanky friends and you’ll get real hands-on work assessing injuries and carrying out treatment. The football program won’t allow you nearly this level of access as an undergrad.”
I bite my lip. He’s right, of course. I’m allowed to touch Bax, of course, but the football players are too valuable. A misstep could be devastating to the program if a player got injured. But Bax is a pretty big diva when it comes to me being there for him and that’s a big deal, too. “Does Coach Burns know?”
Justin again doesn’t look up. “Just let me worry about that, Olive. Why don’t you go finish up with Tim?”
I step out of his office and reach for my phone to turn it on and at least give Bax a heads up, but Justin shouts, “Tim needs to come off the Stim, Olive. Now.”
CHAPTER SIX
Bax
Practice was fucking brutal today. I’m definitely feeling my lack of sleep after a full session in the weight room and tackle drills on the turf. I can’t wait to get stretched out and sink into an ice bath. Scotty and Finnegan and I walk into the training room, stripping off our shirts like we own the place. Because let’s face it. We do.
We’re bringing this school millions of dollars in TV coverage and ticket sales. So do I act like a bit of a princess insisting that I have Olive with me when I need her? Yeah. I fucking do, and so you can imagine how I feel when I look across the hall and see her leaning all over some skinny dude wearing only shorts.
“Easy, buddy,” Scotty says, putting a hand on my shoulder when he sees me bunching my hands into fists. Slim Jim is talking up a storm to Olive as she runs her hands up his back, disconnecting electrodes. I feel a sudden urge to barge over there and hook them up to his nut sack.
“Olive, what’s going on?” I climb up on my usual table and sit, waiting for her to come over with the foam roller. She looks across the hall at me and bites her lip.
“Justin has me on a rotation with the swim team,” she says, nodding her head toward Slim Jim.
“Thank god,” the asshole says from the table, groaning in relief as she pulls off the last sticker. That mother fucker doesn’t even have any hair on his damn legs.
“Like hell you’re working with the swim team,” I grunt. Another trainer comes over to me, some girl with dark hair and a beauty mark.
“Hey, Baxter,” she says like she knows me. “I’m going to roll you out today, ok?”
“No!” I’m shouting now and everyone in the room turns to look. “Olive always works with me.” Olive flushes as Justin steps out of the office. I know what this is about. I cock blocked that squirmy jerk and he’s pulling a power play. I’m very familiar with men who like to pull shit like this when they feel threatened.
“Is there a problem here, Mr. Morgan?” He walks up to the table and stands with his arms crossed, like he’s not half my size.
“Yeah. You can’t switch trainers on me.” I’m not going to be polite. I know what I’m worth in this program. “Get Coach Burns in here.” I’m not going to fuck around with this guy’s power trip. I’m going right for the big guns.
But Justin leans forward and gets in my face. “I could do that,” he says. “Or you could be reasonable. Working with the swim team will allow Olive the real, hands-on experience she needs to get accepted into a graduate athletic training program. With funding,” he adds and glares at me. “Do you really want to deny her that opportunity so she can rub a foam roller on your legs every afternoon?”
Son of a bitch. I hate this fucking guy. I can’t think right now, so I flop on my stomach and glare at him while whats-her-name gets working on my back.
“Hey,” Scotty says to me from where he’s sprawled on the table next to me getting worked on by another trainer. “Be happy for Olive. This is a good opportunity for her—right?”
I don’t say anything. On the surface, this looks like a win for her. But I’m uneasy, because I know what I saw last night. I don’t know what Justin’s game is here, but I don’t fucking like it. Plus now I have to figure out how to make it clear to the swim team that my girl is off limits. This year was supposed to be easy for me outside of football.
Lift hard. Hit hard. Run hard. The rest is supposed to be cake. I just have to make it through the draft combine this spring with no drama.
I sigh and try to relax, except Beauty Mark goes a little rough on my hamstrings.
After I get stretched out and given the green light, I catch Olive’s eye. She waves at me while she’s checking out someone’s arm. I hate how much she has to have her hands on all these shirtless dudes. They’re not stupid. They know Olive is hot as hell, even if she has no idea. She’s all blonde waves and soft curves.
Curves that no guy here—including me—should fantasize over.
Olive doesn’t need me destroying her dreams. I’m not the only one with goals. She left her parents behind to drink themselves to death and hasn’t looked back. She’s applying to the best graduate program
s in the country and she’s always talking about what experiences she needs to look good for earning funding.
But fuck if I’m going to be functional right now. I’m too worked up.
“Scotty,” I shout over the noise in the locker room. “I need to get laid.”
“Yeah, man, you fucking do.” Scotty claps me on the back and we head to the bars. I need to clear my head or I’m going to burst. Or hit someone. I try not to think about Olive’s confused face as I blew out of the training room—I know she heard me say that I’m on the prowl. I’ll check in with her tomorrow and everything will make sense again.
Finnegan and JT are already at the bar when Scotty and I roll in. The guys from the team are sprawled around a table near the bar, and word has gotten out that the SCU football team is in the house. The place is packed, and it seems like everyone is trying to come up to us. With his injury, JT has attracted double the number of jersey chasers looking to nurse his wounds. In no time, I’ve got a drink in my hand and a girl on my lap—some redhead in little shorts who wriggles around too much.
I wouldn’t even need to try to get her to go with me into the bathroom. It’s what I usually do. It’s what I came here for. But something just feels off. I don’t know if it’s because I didn’t get enough sleep last night or if I’m just pissed that Olive will be with the swim team this season instead of with me where she belongs. With me…I don’t even let myself think about her that way.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say to the girl on my lap. “Can I get you to shift over to a seat? I think I really hurt my leg today at practice…”
She doesn’t get the hint. She coos up at me and starts trying to massage my leg with her tiny hands, poking at my thigh. I excuse myself to use the restroom, and as I’m coming back to the table, I see she has moved on to someone else.
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