“I know. We’re going on my bike.”
“What? I am not riding on your handlebars. I’m not ten anymore.” She huffs and I can’t help but burst out in a deep belly laugh. Her naiveté is amusing. She looks more annoyed.
“That’s my bike.” I gesture toward the Harley parked near the walking path we’re on heading out of the complex. I am just praying she doesn’t feign being scared like most girls. That annoys the hell out of me. Or they beg, practically on their knees, to ride on my bike. I’ve never given anyone a ride on my Harley. This should be a rule. Rule number six: Don’t give girls rides on your motorcycle. The physical contact, badassness, and vibration make them insane. Let’s just break that rule the day I make it.
Her face lights up. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You have a sick truck and this?” She motions toward my motorcycle. She’s not the typical girl from the bad rom-com who swoons over the bad boy on the motorcycle and then pretends to be scared to ride on it. Thank you, again, God.
I went out and bought black half-helmet with a chin strap in the off chance Kiernan would someday ride on it with me. I never had the need to have a second helmet until now. Bateman thought I was going insane at the time, but now I’m glad I didn’t listen to him. I hook the strap under her chin. I grab my helmet, which is a Revolver EVO with a dark smoke sunshade, put it on, and start the bike. It roars and echoes through the complex. “Ready?”
“Hell yeah!” she shouts. Her mood has done a 180 – she seems like she’s back to normal. She squeezes me with her thighs and wraps her arms around my waist. I put my hand over her hands and I shout, “Hang on tight, gorgeous!” I can feel her grip tighten again and she presses her cheek against my back. My body is burning – I’ve never felt this way before.
I flip the kickstand, shift the bike into gear and hit the throttle. We zoom out of the parking lot. Goodbye rule number six. This is my new happy place.
Chapter 10: Kiernan
Riding through the streets of Woodbury on the back of Brooks’ Harley is freeing. The wind in my face, my body clutching his body. I wish we could drive forever, but soon we pull up to Cha Chi’s Cantina.
I know I’ll have to explain my behavior. Brooks was so kind to wait for me for almost an hour, and now he’s taking me out for “cheer up nachos.” That’s usually Blaire’s job after my dad shows up somewhere. She’ll grab me some nachos while I watch a movie on the couch and work myself out of my funk.
Cha Chi’s Cantina is a small Mexican restaurant in downtown Woodbury. The sign outside has a picture of a jalapeño wearing a sombrero. The inside is decorated like a quaint Mexican village. The ceiling is painted like the sky and the walls are painted like the outside of cute houses with arched windows and doorways. Dark wooden booths line the walls with larger tables scattered throughout the middle. Each has a brightly-colored table painted in either green, blue, pink, yellow, or orange. I always choose a booth with a blue table when I come here. The hostess seats us at a blue table with a single orange light hanging above.
“Your server will be right with you,” she says as she hands us our menus and stares wide-eyed at Brooks. I wonder if that ever gets old for him.
“Thank you,” we reply simultaneously.
Just a beat later, our waiter comes over and asks what we would like to drink.
“Water for me, please.”
“Same, thank you,” Brooks replies.
After our waiter leaves, Brooks looks at me. Here it comes.
“So, why nachos? Tequila is a mood enhancer.” He smiles.
“Well,” I begin and then pause. Wait, what he did he ask? He’s not asking me about my dad. I appreciate that he’s trying to not make me feel uncomfortable right now. “It’s the best food really. Meat, cheese, chips. Ooey and gooey. Delicious. It is just the happiest and messiest thing to eat when you’re feeling shitty. And tequila is absolutely disgusting.” I laugh. He’s charming.
“Interesting. I usually gorge on Chinese food. I can eat about a dozen egg rolls on my own.” He smiles.
“Okay, here’s the determining factor on whether or not this is going to work.” I don’t know what I mean by this. “Do you like soggy nachos or crispy ones?”
“What is a soggy nacho?” he asks with a puzzled expression on his face.
“You know the ones at the bottom that sit in the all cheese and goo. They are floppy and smushy.”
“I’ve never heard such a detailed description of nachos before,” he laughs and pauses in thought for a moment. “Um, I guess if I had to choose, I would be a crispy nacho guy. Is that the right answer?”
“Yes!” I practically shout. “We can officially be nacho buddies. Thank God. I was worried I would have to fight you for the soggy ones. Those are my favorite. Just a soggy mess of cheese and yum,” I smile at him.
Our waiter returns and we order the large plate of chicken nachos. We make small talk while we wait for our food. He returns a short time later with our nachos.
“You first,” he offers.
“Okay, but there may not be much left,” I say with a wink. I fill my plate and he follows suit. I decide as I’m chewing on my first couple bites that I’ll get ahead of the John Kelly thing. He was polite enough not to ask, but it isn’t fair to keep him closed out. I remember what Watts said about letting him know all of me. I know if I want anything with this guy, I’ll have to open up eventually. Why not over a plate of delicious nachos? At least then if he decides I’m not worth this headache I’ll at least have had some good food.
“So, you met my dad today?” I say.
“Yeah, Bateman introduced me after the game. I had no idea John Kelly was your dad,” he replies. I’m anticipating some sort of response along the lines of he’s the greatest of all time, he’s so much bigger in person, you’re so lucky to have him as your dad. Nothing. Maybe he isn’t star-struck because Rhett is his dad and he grew up like I did. In the shadow of an NFL god.
“Yeah, we don’t really spend much time together anymore, but I hope he was nice to you. He’s not always that way,” I reply.
“Really? I totally get that. He seemed like an ass. I would love to know more about you and your family, but I don’t want you to get upset again. I saw how down you were when you came out of the locker room. After the games you had, you shouldn’t have felt that way.”
“It’s okay. I need to learn to get over it, but it still bothers me when he shows up,” I begin. ‘He’s not here for me. He’s here for the cheers and the attention from the crowd. When he retired and he wasn’t a one-man highlight reel on ESPN anymore, he took it hard. He lives for the spotlight, so he tries to turn it on himself any chance he gets. If I’m playing well and news outlets want to interview me, he’ll insert himself into the process. Then because he’s John Kelly, they’ll shift the focus of the interview away from softball and more to him. I feel bad for my teams when that happens. So I’ve learned to just wait it out. I don’t care if I’m interviewed after our games, so I just sit in the locker room. He’ll only ever stay thirty minutes. Any longer and he looks desperate – his words, not mine. Plus, he’s a complete ass to my mom.”
“I know a thing or two about having a dad living vicariously through you who is an ass to his spouse.” He offers a smile. I’m still in awe of this man sitting in front of me. We’ve only really known each other for about a month, but I am oddly comfortable around him. I trust him.
“Hey, Brooks,” I say, “call me KK. That is what everyone who knows me well calls me.”
He smiles a big smile and his dimples pop in his cheeks. Christ, he’s gorgeous. “Okay, well, you can call me Mac. That’s what my closest friends call me.”
Chapter 10: Brooks
Nachos apparently have magic powers. Kiernan is opening up to me in ways I never thought she would. She’s being raw, and I’m really seeing a side of her that no one sees, except probably Blaire. It helps explain so much about how she can be so dominant and confident on the field and so shy and reser
ved in real life.
“Wow. If I can be honest, John Kelly was one of my all-time favorite players growing up. He’s the reason I’m a quarterback and not a receiver like my dad, but he had that arrogant pro athlete vibe today. My dad has it too. I don’t want to insult your dad, because he was nice to me, but he was eating it up that my boys were asking for autographs and shit.”
“Yeah, that’s how he is. I hate the attention he brings on me. I’m sorry I never told you who he is. I’ve tried so hard since I got to Cambria to hide it. I can never tell if people like me for me or because they want Pats tickets.”
“I hear ya, 100 percent. Having Rhett ‘The Threat’ McCarthy as your dad has its perks, but it also comes with the constant questioning if someone likes you for you or not. I totally get it.”
“You’re so different than I imagined,” she blurts out.
“Oh, yeah?” I say as I raise an eyebrow to her. “You assumed I was a dumbass jock, here on a full ride because of my ability to throw a football over sixty yards or because of who my dad is?” I get that a lot. People assume I’m stupid and got into Cambria solely because of my football ability, or because Rhett is my dad and it looks good for the school to have me here. It stings a little more that she would assume that though.
“No, I follow football and I have class with you, I know you’re not a dumbass. Confession time, I did assume you were like the other guys. Besides football, all you do in your free time is fuck girls and drink beer. I’m sorry I assumed that.”
Ouch. I know that male athletes don’t always have the best reputations for the way we treat women. We do use our status on campus to get laid. I don’t know if I should tell her that I am like that. Was like that. I’m not as bad as some, but I’m no angel.
“Well, since we’re in confession mode,” I begin, “I am like them in a way.” She winces and I can feel my smile fade. I don’t want to lie to her though, and I'm sure she’s heard rumors about me. “I’ve been with my fair share of females on this campus, but I’m safe. I promise you that. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.”
“Oh,” is all she can manage. My heart is breaking a little bit. I don’t want to scare her off or have her thinking less of me because I couldn’t keep Little Mac in my pants.
“So, full disclosure and then you can decide if I’m someone you think you can be with,” I offer. I need to tell her how I’ve operated up until this point. Do I want to change for this chick though? My gut and my heart are screaming at me, yes! But my brain is replaying my rules over and over in Rhett’s voice. Fuck it. Here it goes. “I live by a pretty simple set of rules about relationships that my dad enforces. Rule number four, I’ve never slept with the same girl twice. Some will think you’re ready to wife them up if you sleep with them more than once. He said it’s hard to tell who the genuine girls are and who the jersey chasers are. There are girls who just want to trap an athlete. We’re like their retirement plan. They see fame and dollar signs. Some will lie about being on birth control and try to get pregnant on purpose, so rule number five, I have never had unprotected sex in my life. Also, rule number three, I never have sex in my own bed. I don’t want them to think our few hours together is anything more than what it is. Just casual, consensual sex. How’s that for a full confession?”
“That’s more than I bargained for.” She smiles, but she seems stunned and slightly disappointed in me. It makes me nervous. I don’t like the disappointed look in her eyes. It hurts, actually. “I appreciate your honesty. I have a couple questions though.” Uh oh. “How do you set that expectation? Don’t they freak out the next day? How do you pick the girl? Wasn’t having that conversation with your dad super awkward?”
I laugh. She’s so inquisitive and so naïve. “This is going to sound horrible, but picking the girls isn’t too hard. Most girls are more than willing to jump into bed with me. Just a perk of the position I guess. Before we leave the party, I tell the girls straight up what my expectations are. You can come home with me for one night only, or not. It’s their choice. I’ve never been turned down, and most girls know by now since I’ve been here three years that they aren’t sleeping over. So there’s nothing awkward the next day. They leave the same night. I’m a gentleman though and pay for their Uber home.”
“Huh. So, why didn’t you tell me that when we were at the party? I’m not your type, I assume.”
Is she insane? She’s perfect in every way, and I would fuck her brains out if she’d let me. I’m getting hard just thinking about the opportunity. But Bateman told me to tread lightly because she may be a virgin. I don’t want to pressure her to do anything she isn’t ready for.
“Quite the opposite actually. You’re so much my type that there was no way I was going to fuck up what was happening now that I finally got you alone. I honestly just like being around you. The sex, sure, I’d love to sleep with you. I’ve thought about it a lot... a lot. I’m thinking about it right now.” I smirk. “But I don’t want whatever this is to end because of one night in the sack.”
She smiles and I have no idea what’s coming next. “So, what about your dad? His rules are why you don’t date?”
“Yeah, that talk was super awkward because at that point I was still a virgin. I’m grateful for his advice though. He lived through several paternity scandals. Some even in college. None of the kids were his though.” My honesty is starting to feel therapeutic. I’ve never discussed my dad in this depth with anyone. Or my mom. To my own surprise, I keep talking. “He’s anti-dating. Girls are a distraction that we can’t afford. I say we because he’s living vicariously through me now that he’s retired. I’m his second shot at the NFL. Second round of fame. He was super disappointed when I picked Cambria over LSU. I just didn’t want to follow him to the SEC and be Rhett’s kid my whole life. Plus, I really liked Coach Hayes and the campus. Unfortunately, Rhett followed me Cambria, so I’m still just the son of Rhett McCarthy.”
“You’re a lot more than just the son of Rhett McCarthy, Mac. I’ve seen that. Do you even like playing football?”
No one has ever asked me that question before. Huh. I’ve never thought about it. Her words “You’re a lot more than just the son of Rhett McCarthy” are ringing in my ears. Am I?
“I do. Football is in my blood, sure, but I do play for me. I love the game. The speed. The feeling of throwing a fifty-yard bomb to Bateman. It’s a rush. My dad pushed my brothers and me into it, and there was never a doubt since the time I could walk that I wouldn’t be drafted one day.”
“What about your mom? Did she want you to play?”
“She didn’t have a choice. It was always Rhett’s plan. She was the one who drove us to practice every day. Packed us game day lunch boxes ‘cause we were always hungry. She never missed a game when we were little.” I pause. Not sure if I should go on. She did though, so I continue. “After my brothers and I grew up though, my mom didn’t have much to do. Rhett was off being Rhett and she was bored. Now she drinks herself to sleep every night. It’s depressing, and I hate seeing her that way, so I haven’t seen her in a long time. She hasn’t come to a game sober in years. I don’t blame my dad, she makes her own choices, but he doesn’t give a fuck. He does his own thing, regardless of anyone else’s feelings. His focus is me and my future, which is really him and his future.”
Silence. Too much for the first date. This is why I don’t date either. I’m bad at it. I should not have broken rule number two.
“Okay, well my turn I guess,” she says in a low, meek voice. “John Kelly is an asshole. I’ve stayed quiet about him my whole life because if his public image were tarnished I don’t know what he’d do to my mom. He’s not physically abusive, but he drives my mother insane with his mental fuckery. She also drinks herself stupid to numb the pain of his words. He needs absolute control, and she just lets him have it. Divorce isn’t an option for good ‘ol JK because that would mean he failed, publicly. We were very close when I was younger and he’s obviously the reason I love spo
rts, especially football. But I was a huge disappointment not being John Kelly, Jr. So, between my dad’s lust for the spotlight, my mom’s drinking, and my overly-manly image I’m not really a catch. And as a result I’m a virgin at age twenty. So, there you go. You learned more about me in thirty minutes than most people have in my whole life. I’m sorry for rambling on.”
Holy shit it’s true. She’s a virgin. The thought is terrifying and exciting. She also has some major issues with her dad. Just like me. That’s why she hid his identity from me.
“There is no way that’s true,” I reply with a smile. “You could have any dude you wanted at any time. How is it possible that you’re a virgin?”
She laughs. “I am glad that was your takeaway from what I said.” Shit. She was opening up and my stupid male brain went straight to sex. “Well, that’s not true,” she continues. “I told you that I’ve never even been on a real date until now. I’m not sure what you and my friends think you’re seeing. Plus, there’s just never been anyone I’ve wanted to do it with. I’m not scared, and I’m not waiting for the perfect moment or anything. I am just waiting for the perfect someone I guess.”
I want to be her perfect someone. I don’t think I have had sex with a virgin. If I have they never told me. When I was a freshman, I fucked one girl who claimed after the fact she’d been a virgin. She went stage five clinger on me, said I owed her for taking her virtue and she should be my girlfriend because, well, she loved me. But it actually turned out to be a lie – she had fucked one of our wide receivers the week before. Rhett’s theory holds true most of the time.
“That seems reasonable,” I say.
“How old were you?” she asks.
“I was fifteen and a sophomore in high school. Shortly after my dad’s speech. A senior girl wanted to have sex with me after our homecoming football game. I was the starting quarterback, she was the homecoming queen. It was totally cliché, but we did it. It wasn’t anything special. I had no idea what I was doing. She bragged to all of her friends after, which was weird. She must have told them I was better than I was because they all got in line. I bagged a lot of girls that year.” I flush when I see her grimace at my words.
Exception (Cambria University Series Book 1) Page 12
