Tackled

by Sabrina Paige

  "Shut the fuck up," Sable says before I even speak, looking up from the sofa. "That's his shirt!"

  "Don't say anything," I warn her. "I already had to sneak out of the athletic center wearing it. I'm not at all in the mood."

  "Did you do it?" she asks anyway. "Did you lose it? Was it good? You have to tell me, you know."

  "I don't want to talk about it." I blow through the living room and down the hallway to my room. I close the door to my room behind me with force, then lock it and sink against it.

  A small knock makes the door makes the door vibrate at my back. "Cass," comes Sable soft voice. "Nothing…bad happened, did it?"

  Bad? Only the fact that Colton King kissed me. And ripped off my shirt.

  And made me so horny that I'm still throbbing, even now.

  "No," I tell her

  "Because if he… you know… forced you, or something…"

  I sigh loudly. "Oh my God, Colton didn't rape me, Sable," I say firmly.

  "Well, that's good."

  "But I don't want to talk about it."

  "Okay," she adds. "Because if he hurt you in any way, I'll kill him."

  I stifle a laugh. I actually kind of believe her.

  "I have a concealed carry license," she points out.

  "You have a gun? In our apartment?" I ask, my voice rising.

  "I said I had a license, not a gun," she calls. "I'll be in front of the television watching a bunch of crazy girls fight over one moderately-attractive man, if you want to join me."

  But I don't. I stand there, leaning against the bedroom door, my hand on my chest, feeling my heart beating almost as furiously as it did when I was with Colton in the student center.

  What the hell just happened?

  One minute I was sitting there across from him, totally normal and about to start the session. The next minute, I was making out with him and shedding my clothes, consequences be damned. Well, technically he was ripping off my clothes.

  And there would be serious consequences.

  I have to remind myself of that, because the throbbing between my legs is so insistent that it threatens to eclipse every rational part of me. Colton King is off-limits for so many reasons, the least of which is the fraternization thing.

  He had to have been coming into the session with the expectation that I'd put out because he got an A. Total pig. He's a player. Sable's right; he's probably slept with half of the girls on campus. Hooking up with him would be a disaster.

  The way he kissed me, though...

  It wasn't like anyone else who's ever kissed me. It’s not like I have lots of experience in that department for comparison, but still. Colton kissed me fully, passionately, the kind of kiss where you lose your sense of reason and give in to whatever happens. In that moment, I wasn't thinking about consequences. Which is probably why what happened, happened.

  Who rips a girl's shirt right off her body, though? No normal guy does that. That kind of thing only happens in the movies or in romance novels.

  The way his lips felt against my skin, the way his tongue felt as he ran it over my nipple again and again... Even now it sends a shiver through me.

  But this is the same guy who brought over a dick bouquet to my apartment. He's not an appropriate choice. I shouldn't continue tutoring him. I obviously can't trust myself not to cross that line with him.

  I should tell the coach it didn't work out. Or trade players with one of the other tutors at the center.

  I should stay away from him.

  The thoughts ping-pong back and forth in my head, one right after the other, a war between the rational and irrational parts of my brain.

  When I'm lying in bed later, it's impossible to get thoughts of him out of my head. It's impossible to forget the way his hands felt on me, the way his lips felt against mine, his tongue practically warring with mine as he kissed me.

  And it's impossible to forget how much I wanted him to do what he promised, to bury his face between my legs and lick me until I could only cry out his name.

  * * *

  I skip the next session with Colton. I tell myself it's a completely reasonable decision, considering what happened. Except I feel like trash for skipping it. Colton shouldn't be punished for my inability to control myself around him. Especially not when he's been doing so well.

  To make matters worse, I work on my thesis during our session time. That just makes me feel doubly guilty, like I’m somehow using Colton as a research subject without his knowledge. I’m not writing about Colton, though – I’m just reviewing the literature on sports and masculinity. I tell myself that it has absolutely nothing to do with Colton. If he knew what my thesis was on, he probably wouldn’t even care.

  That doesn’t make me feel any better.

  When Sable comes home and sees I’m in the apartment writing, instead of tutoring Colton, she gives me the stinkiest of stink eyes ever, her arms crossed over her chest. "You're supposed to be tutoring right now," she says, her voice accusing.

  "Thanks, mom, I wasn't aware of my schedule," I snip at her.

  "Did you quit?"

  I exhale heavily. "I didn't quit. I took a day off."

  "Oh?" she asks. "Does Colton know you took a day off?"

  "Lay off with the guilt trip already, Sable. I'm a grownup. I think I can manage my own schedule."

  Except that even as I protest her nagging me for not being at the tutoring session, I feel guiltier.

  "Are you going to tell me what happened with him?" she asks.

  "Nothing happened," I lie. "I already told you that."

  Sable clucks her tongue and looks at me with narrowed eyes. "Yes," she says. "I heard what you told me. But remember, Cassie, I've lived with you for a year now."

  "So?" I hear the question, my abrasive tone, and I know I sound like a petulant child. But I can't stop myself.

  "So, I know that something happened with you and Colton, and whatever happened freaked you out. That's why you're sitting here pouting instead of tutoring him."

  "First of all, I'm sitting here working. I’m not sitting here pouting because there’s nothing to pout about. There’s nothing to be upset about.”

  Certainly not the fact that Colton King made out with me and whispered the filthy things he wanted to do to me, an expression of my unspoken fantasies, because he was trying to get me to put out as a reward for his A.

  I don't want to tell Sable that. It's humiliating.

  “Right,” she says. “You’re working on a thesis about sports.”

  “Masculine identity.”

  Sable sighs. “You like him. He likes you. The two of you just need to bone already.”

  "He does not like me," I protest.

  Sable rolls her eyes. "If you are too dense to see that, there's something wrong with you. That boy has shown up here twice now like a lost little puppy dog."

  I can't help but laugh. "Colton King did not show up here like a lost puppy," I say. "He showed up here like a horny football player looking to get laid. And gave me cock lollipops."

  Sable grins. "That was funny. And the lollipops were pretty good."

  "I'm his tutor. There are rules. Even if I wanted to hook up with him – which I most emphatically do not — I can't. I'd get fired, I could get in trouble with our department."

  Sable rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Professor Richards is the department chair. You really think he's going to get his panties in a wad over something like that? I heard that in the seventies, he was sleeping with half of the female grad students that came through the Sociology department."

  "Why did you tell me that?" I ask, grimacing. "Now the next time I see him, I won't be able to get that horrifying image out of my head."

  Sable shrugs. "I bet he was pretty hot back in the day, actually. Like a young Robert Redford. I might have done him back then."

  "That's not making it any better," I say, laughing. "Besides, that was the seventies."

  "You're really going to tell me you have no interest
in Colton King?"

  "None at all." I force my expression to remain blank. Nonchalant. Totally disinterested. I pop a pretzel into my mouth.

  "Then you won't mind if I hook up with him," Sable says. "I mean, I've been wanting to fuck a football player, and I hear Colton is great in the sack."

  Yep, I'm totally casual. That's me. I'm not at all seething at the mere idea of Sable hooking up with Colton.

  I call her bluff. "Nope, wouldn't mind," I say, popping another pretzel into my mouth. "I think it's a great idea."

  "Argh. You're such a liar! Obviously I'm not going to screw him. Why can't you just admit you want him?"

  "I do not want to fuck Colton King."

  "You should practice saying that a thousand more times," Sable suggests. "Then maybe it'll sound more convincing."

  15

  Colton

  "An A!" My mother's voice is so loud over the phone that I have to take it off speaker just to spare the ears of my roommates, and they’re not anywhere near my room, as well as spare myself the embarrassment of hearing my mother screeching about my grades. "I'm so proud! The tutor, she's been really helping you, then?"

  Helping me.

  More like contributing to the biggest set of blue balls any man has ever had. I'm like the world record holder for blue balls.

  Helping me jerk off more times than I can count over the last few weeks.

  Yeah, I don't need to think about that when I'm on the phone with my mother. Actually, scratch that. I don't need to think about Cassie at all. She ditched the tutoring session last week. That sends a clear message about what happened.

  She's just another girl. Easy come, easy go.

  "It's not that big of a deal," I say.

  "Not that big of a deal?" she shrieks. "Listen to yourself. You're not only not going to be off of probation, you'll be on the damn honor roll!"

  "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, mom."

  "I'm going to call your brother and tell him."

  "Do not call Drew."

  Because Drew is going to know I have a hard-on for my tutor immediately. He's got a sixth sense about these things. Twins' intuition.

  And he'll give me a ration of shit for it.

  "Not a big deal," she says. "Are you kidding? I'm coming down this weekend. I'll bring cake! I’ll make spaghetti."

  "Mom, you really don't have —"

  "Nonsense." She cuts me off. "I'm driving down. Your roommates still like chocolate chip cookies, right? I’ll bring a basket of muffins. Oh, I'll make my cinnamon rolls while I’m there. Are you eating enough?"

  "I'm eating enough, mom," I say, exasperated. "The guys, though — they're probably going to be —"

  "Partying, I know," she says. "It's summer. Kegs and half-naked girls. I've seen boobs before, Colt. In fact, I have my own pair."

  "Thanks, ma. I'm going to vomit in my mouth now."

  "Oh, hush," she says. "I know there's going to be half-naked girls and you boys will be doing stupid things. I made it through your teenage years, didn't I? Remember when you and Drew tied that mattress to yourselves and jumped off the roof over at the high school? Just don't jump off any roofs there."

  The mattress thing was pretty awesome, I'm not going to lie. We didn't even break anything. I make a mental note not to steer my mother away from the backyard and from seeing the roof slide.

  "You can't show up with a basket of muffins at a house party."

  "I'll see you Friday night," she says. "And I'll cook up some hangover food for you boys the next day."

  "Mom..." I groan. I make a mental note to tell the roommates to move the party to Saturday night. It's easier to move a huge party than it is to move my mom's plans.

  "I know. You're welcome."

  * * *

  "You showed up here to quit," I say flatly. Cassie is wearing a sleeveless blouse that buttons up the front just like the one she wore before, and a skirt and heels.

  She's standing here at the house wearing the same goddamn thing she wore to that tutoring session.

  It's all I can do not to rip her shirt open again.

  So I stand there with my hands clenched into fists, not because I'm angry – okay, maybe I'm irritated that this girl has me so horny I can't see straight — but because I'm afraid that if I unclench my hands, I'll want to rip that shirt open and pull that skirt up and fuck her right here against the wall.

  I'm starting to lose my mind.

  She inhales deeply, her breasts rising, and I tell myself not to look at her cleavage.

  Don't stare at her tits.

  I stare at her tits.

  I imagine trailing my tongue down her soft skin, the way I did before, except this time I’d go farther, down to her navel and then —

  "Colton," she says firmly.

  "Huh?"

  "You're staring at me," she whispers, "and your roommates are staring at me."

  I turn to see Emmett and Jack – obviously, we call him Jack-off — in the living room kicking back on the sofa and watching television. Emmett waves at me and wiggles his eyebrows.

  "Damn it," I grumble. "Come up to my room."

  Cassie hesitates. "I don't —"

  "Unless you want my stupid roommates," I yell, emphasizing the words for their benefit, "leering at you, you should come up to my room."

  Jack-off yells back, "I'm undressing you with my eyes right now."

  "He's just being dumb," I assure her.

  He's totally thinking about her naked. I flip him off. I should punch him right in the balls for saying that.

  "Okay, up to your room," she concedes.

  She doesn't say anything as we walk upstairs, and even when we're inside my room, she stands there without speaking. "It's very ... footbally."

  "Thanks.”

  She opens her mouth a couple of times, like she's trying to say something but can't get the words out, so I jump in before she speaks.

  "I wasn't trying to collect on a bet the last time I saw you," I insist, my version of an apology. Except I'm not sorry at all for