I can’t help it. Even with a giant needle headed toward my arm, I’ve got a raging hard-on.
“Hey, Bax,” she says. “Don’t look at the needle. Just look at me.” I’m not sure which is harder.
“She’s right, son,” Doc says, flicking the syringe. “Ease up now for me. Come on.”
I try to tune him out and look into Olive’s eyes. Her face is so beautiful, even when it’s etched with concern. Neither of us ever had parents we could turn to with something like this. Something like physical pain or just reassurance. We only had each other. Could I throw caution to the wind and bang Olive Hampton? Probably. But look what I’d be risking to do that.
I’m sure we’d have a good time—I always make sure ladies have a good time. But this means so much more to me. I bite my lip as the doctor inserts the needle and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Just breathe, Bax. Breathe with me and it’ll be over soon.” Her breath is cool on my face and it smells like butterscotch. She must have been eating candy with Scotty’s mom. With the guys’ families.
Someone forgot to tell my dick about Olive being off limits. For the millionth time, I have a fence post in my pants just from thinking about her, and having her hands all over me is not helping at all. I guess it’s good I’m still wearing my cup.
“You should be good to go, son,” Doc says. “I agree with Justin’s assessment and treatment plan. I’ll get it written up and sent to Coach Burns.”
“It was Olive, sir,” I tell him.
“Come again?”
“Olive figured out what was wrong. That Justin fucker brushed it off and—”
Olive places a finger over my lips and I stop talking. Doc looks confused and clicks his pen open and closed a few times. “Want me to make note that Ms. Hampton provided valuable insight?”
“Just make sure her name gets in there,” I tell him. “Hey, can I go shower?”
When I get dismissed, I tell Olive to wait for me in the hall, and I spend a half hour just letting the scalding water roll off my body. The shot is supposed to take awhile to be effective, so Doc gave me painkillers.
“Morgan, you coming out with us?” Scotty and Alex are dressed for the club, with slicked back hair and too much cologne. I should go out. It’s my senior year. I should celebrate a W.
“I think I gotta go sleep this one off,” I say. “I jacked up my shoulder.”
“You need someone to help you get home?” Scotty looks like he wished he hadn’t offered.
I shake my head and shut off the tap. “Olive is here.” They seem relieved. She’ll take care of me. She always does.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Olive
I can tell Bax is really hurting when he finally finds me in the hall. I snagged another bag of ice from the training room while he was showering. “Looks like you and I have a date with the Roku tonight,” I tell him, shaking the bag of ice at him. “Let’s get you home.”
Bax doesn’t say much as we walk to his car. I can tell he’s really in pain because he lets me drive his beat up old pickup. “Didn’t Doc give you some pain meds? You really should take something,” I tell him.
He studies me for a minute, and fishes a pill bottle from his sweatpants pocket. I hand him my water bottle and he swallows the pills as I’m parking outside his building. “Let’s get you comfortable,” I tell him.
By the time I have Bax on the couch with the bag of ice strapped to his shoulder, he’s drowsy and loopy from the pain meds. As he dozes off, I order takeout and perch on the edge of the couch.
My timer goes off to remove his ice, and as I’m pulling the plastic from his skin, his eyes fly open. His pupils are dilated and I know the meds have kicked in. “Liv,” he says. “Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are?”
I blush. “That’s awfully nice of you to say, Baxter Morgan. Thank you.” I tug the bag of ice free and toss it on the coffee table. “Let’s get your shirt back on.”
But he yanks me against his chest with his good arm. “No,” he says. “I want to feel you, Livvy.” His speech is slurred and I know he’s not thinking clearly. But god, it does feel nice to have my hands pressed against the warm, muscled expanse of his chest.
His good arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me close against him. I wriggle around a bit, not wanting to hurt him, and I realize his muscles aren’t the only thing that’s hard right now.
I can’t help myself. I glance down at his sweatpants, where he evidently has a baseball bat stashed in his boxers. “Want you so bad,” he mutters, and then he thrusts his hips up against me.
I flush from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes. This is everything I’ve fantasized about, except he’s messed up on pain meds and has no idea what he’s saying. “Bax, why don’t you let me get up and get you a drink, ok?”
But he doesn’t let me get up. He rolls his hips against my jeans, moaning a little and when I meet his chocolate eyes, they’re molten. “Always want you,” he says, his tongue thick from the medication. His hand slips from around my waist and he takes my hand in his, bringing it to the stiff, throbbing erection under his sweats.
I suck in my breath. He’s so hard. So hot. He presses my hand against his dick and groans with need. “Olive,” he says. My breath comes fast and shallow. I can feel my heart beating in my ears. I have no idea what to do, except I know that this can’t happen. Not now. Not when he’s messed up like this and has no idea what he’s even asking me.
He lifts his head from the couch and captures my mouth in a gentle kiss and I feel a moan begin deep within me, escaping into his soft lips as they press against mine hungrily. How many times have I fantasized about kissing Baxter? Oh god, I’m kissing him back now, my tongue searching and roaming over his teeth. This is so wrong, but it feels better than almost anything I’ve ever done before.
“Delivery!” I hear a knock at the door and I spring up from Baxter’s grasp. My heart is racing and his head drops back down on the arm of the couch.
I open the door and snatch the food bag, thanking the delivery guy, and I set everything on the counter. I stand in the kitchen, catching my breath, smoothing out my hair. He won’t remember any of this, I tell myself. This is all the pain meds.
“Think you can eat, Bax?” I stick my head around the corner to the living room, and I see that he’s sound asleep on the couch, still shirtless.
I pick at the food and put it away, never taking my eyes off him. He doesn’t stir. As I stare at his crotch, I notice with mixed emotions that his erection has gone down, too. Eventually, I toss a blanket over him and turn off the television. Not wanting to leave him alone, I decide to crawl in his bed, just so I’m close by if he needs me.
I wake up sometime in the middle of the night and Baxter is in the bed with me, his chin nuzzled against my shoulder, his good arm draped around my waist.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bax
I wake up with Olive in my bed, like some fucking fantasy come true. She must have brought me home and taken care of me last night. I can’t remember anything past the car ride when she told me to take my meds. My shoulder hurts less this morning—more of a dull ache than an acute, stabbing pain.
I think Doc said I was supposed to come in this morning to start rehab stuff. My stomach grumbles and I realize I’m fucking starving. Olive starts to stir so I do what any good friend would do, and I flick her. “Hey,” I whisper. “I’m going out for bagels. You want one?” She nods and rolls over.
I pat her on the shoulder and close my eyes, fighting back the urge to drop a kiss on the skin of her neck, right behind her ear where I bet it’s soft as silk. I dreamt last night that I kissed her, that she wanted to kiss me, too.
As I slide into my sneakers, I remember the dream, me telling her how much I want her, Olive hesitating, but then returning my kiss and running her tongue along my teeth. I felt so safe, so natural, so happy. Definitely the best damn dream of my life.
In the living room, I see
the melted bag of ice she must have been putting on my shoulder, and my shoes are neatly arranged by the door. Shit, she must have really taken care of me last night. I owe her a lot more than a bagel.
When I get back, she’s still asleep, so I write her name on the bag and open the fridge—where I see she has neatly arranged takeout containers from last night, too. What did I even do to deserve this girl? There’s no fucking way I’m ever going to have a girlfriend who treats me this well.
I sure as shit don’t deserve this much kindness after I run off my mouth the way I do to everyone who gets on my nerves. And that’s everyone. Except Olive.
It’s important for me to remember that these fever dreams of grinding my dick against Olive? Those have to stay what they are: fantasies.
I whisper to her that I’m going to the training room and she nods. She’ll let herself out later, I guess. Hopefully she will get some sleep while I’m out.
The dickhead Justin isn’t in this morning, thank god. The girl Olive knows—Julia I think—has me strip to my shorts in the training room and start out with a deep tissue massage, which is fine by me after a game like yesterday. I’m in my own world, hooked up to the stim, when I feel someone slap my ass.
“Hunh?” I turn over to see Kevan grinning, hopping up on the table next to mine.
“How’s the shoulder, dude?”
I grunt in response. He recounts the finer points of our victory yesterday while getting his own massage and I try to pay attention. Kevan isn’t that bad a guy, now that I realize he’s not trying to get in Olive’s pants. “You had a good game at QB, dude,” I tell him.
But then I turn my attention back to my massage and I sort of drift off on the table until I feel him kick my leg.
“What?”
“I said I wanted to ask you a favor. You got a minute?”
I sit up, realizing I’m all done, massage over. Free to go. That was one hell of a treatment session. “Yeah,” I say, grabbing my shirt. “I guess I do.”
He follows me outside and then that fucker asks me on a date.
“Wait, what?”
“I asked if you’d go with me to the banquet next week. Just as friends.”
“You want me to be your date to the athletic association donor’s banquet?”
He shrugs. “Were you going to take someone else?”
I blink at him for a minute. “I usually bring Olive with me to that.” It’s nice seeing her dressed up a little, showing her off. I flush, feeling guilty that I always leave with another girl for dirty sex I never remember after. I’m a pretty terrible date, actually. Why does Olive agree to go with me?
Kevan draws back, looking smug. “Way I hear it, Olive’s already going with someone else.”
I feel my face twist in confusion. What the hell is this guy even talking about? She would have mentioned it if she had a date to the banquet…hell, she’s fucking asleep right now in my god damn bed. It’s been like an hour since I saw her last. I drag my hands down my face. I’ve got to go find her. We already had a lot to talk about, and now this. “I gotta go, Kev.”
“Let me know about the banquet, ok?”
I shoot him a thumb’s up as I walk back toward my suite, where I hope like hell Olive is still in my bed waiting for me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Olive
I always thought I’d feel elated if I ever kissed Baxter, ever heard him express feelings that matched my own. When I wake up in his bed, alone, I just feel empty.
Drugged out of his gourd, he told me the words my soul longed to hear. By the light of day, he’s back to his solitary focus in life: football. He can’t take time to linger in bed with me, even with an injury. He doesn’t even remember what happened last night—just knows that he’s hurt and needs to get to the training room so he can be in shape to play by next game.
He needs to stay focused to make his dreams come true. Neither of us has the time or spare energy to create a relationship. I know this, and this morning, I feel it more than ever.
I slip out of his suite, careful not to wake his roommates, and head home for a quick shower before I’m supposed to be in the training room for the end of morning swim practice.
I don’t even have time to process all this or share with Tia and Elyse to get their take. I decide I’ll visit them later to see what they think, even though I know they both really think my sole focus this year should be having sex with Baxter to see how it shakes out.
Emily is in the training room when I arrive, bending one of the swimmers practically in half as she stretches out his long arms. She smiles as I check the roster.
Soon enough, Tim lumbers into the room, all lanky muscles and hairless limbs. “How’s the back?”
He grins. “So much better,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “You’ve been an awesome help.”
“Well, that’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I say, laughing and patting the table. I get started stretching out his legs first, helping him to use the foam roller on his hamstrings.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” he says, looking at me from underneath his arm.
“What’s up?”
“Would you want to go with me to the banquet next week? You know, the donor banquet?”
I freeze.
Tim is asking me on a date? I’m always Baxter’s date to the banquet. I sit with him during the dinner, smile at his side while he talks to the rich people supporting the athletic programs, and then watch from the sidelines while he leaves with a gymnast or a volleyball player.
He always makes sure one of his roommates walks me home…but the evening is generally a mixture of humiliation and sweet torture.
I’m close to Baxter, in public, but I’m not the one taking him home at the end of the night.
All the same, I usually go with Bax, and I know he’s probably expecting that I will this year. Though he hasn’t asked me yet… What would he think if I agreed to go with Tim?
Bax could just as easily take one of his fangirls and save himself having to find me a chaperone later.
Would it be fun to go to the banquet with someone actually excited to be there with me? Maybe Tim and I can have fun there together as friends. I shift my weight around, realizing I need to respond to Tim in some way or he’ll think I’m being rude.
“Just as friends?” He asks, raising a brow hopefully at me.
“You don’t have friends from the team who are dying to go with you?” I tease, stalling. But Tim shakes his head and explains that most people on the swim team are already paired off. He looks around the room—we’re the only ones still in here apart from Emily and the other trainer. “The person I really want to be my date…I can’t ask.”
Well, I certainly know how that feels.
“Ok,” I tell him. “Just as friends. Maybe we should grab a coffee now that your back is loose. I don’t really know much about you other than you have tight hamstrings!”
Tim laughs and asks me to wait for him while he changes in the locker room. I see him pull out his phone to fire off a text, and I smile, excited that someone is so excited to go on a date with me.
I wander over to Emily. “You hear any of that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. You know I know all the dirt about all these kids. I know exactly who is sleeping with whom on the swim team, soccer team, and lacrosse team thanks to my knee research.”
“What did Tim mean about not being able to ask the person he really wants to ask to the banquet?”
Emily doesn’t answer right away. She studies my face for a minute and sighs. “That’s not my story to tell,” she says. “Go on and get coffee. I’ll see you back here tomorrow before they all hit the weight room.”
I give her a fist bump and meet Tim outside. As we walk to the coffee shop, he tells me a bit more about his plans after graduation. He seems pretty set up to get a job right away in his field: finance. It shouldn’t surprise me that he has a whole 5-year plan mapped out. Work, MBA
, promotion. All the athletes at SCU have to be disciplined and organized or they wouldn’t be competing at this level. It makes sense that this carries over to other aspects of Tim’s life.
“You don’t want to continue your swimming career,” I ask. I’m not used to this perspective, since all I’ve ever heard about from Bax is how football is his means to a different end.
Tim shakes his head. “There’s no future in swimming unless you’re heading to the Olympics or something. I mean, I’ll probably always swim to keep in shape.” We get to the front of the line and Tim orders his coffee black.
“Oh my god, how can you drink it that way?” I pour in 2 sugar packets and enough skim that my drink is more like coffee-flavored milk.
He shrugs. “Our nutritionist would spit fire if I started adding sugar to anything.” I say a silent prayer of thanks again that my college funding isn’t attached to anything I’m doing with my physical body.
“Thankfully I can still stretch out an athlete without a balanced diet.” I get quiet then, thinking about how often I had to fend for myself at home, making boxed rice or canned pasta for meals. Anything I could get from the corner store with the change I’d pull from my dad’s pockets. He and mom never seemed to get around to making grocery trips more than once a month, and they both seemed to drink all their meals. Coffee with all the sugar and milk I wanted—that was always available. My parents drank it strong to get through work each day.
I smile at Tim, trying to pound back those unwelcome memories. “So tell me who you’d rather ask to the banquet.”
Tim flushes. He fiddles with his coffee cup. “My family wouldn’t approve,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s putting it mildly.”
Sensing there’s more to the story, I try to get Tim to open up by confessing one of my own secrets. “My family doesn’t approve of anything, anyone, and most especially me being at college.” I tell him about the last fight to end all fights—when I needed them to sign the financial aid paperwork after I’d been accepted on a full scholarship to SCU. All that stood in my way was one of their signatures, even though I was 18. That first year, I needed them to sign off because I was still their dependent, for tax purposes.
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