Nice Guys Don't Win (A College Sport's Romance)

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “Cold?” He leans in to ask me.

  “No.”

  A waitress appears and we both place an order for drinks, and I ask for an appetizer of something called rattlesnake bites.

  Everyone around me is making conversation, they include me from time to time and I’m present enough to reply, but my treacherous body is homed in on Cole’s arm and his leg that’s now pressed against mine.

  It’s because you haven’t had sex in so long, my brain reasons. You’d feel this way over anyone.

  But a quick fuck isn’t what I want or need. Sure, I love sex, but I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl and I’m not looking for a relationship right now either.

  “Mom!” Teddy calls out.

  “Fido?” I reply sarcastically and he cackles.

  “Dance with me?”

  “Huh?” I can’t hear him and can’t read his lips.

  He cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Dance with me?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Cole’s hand clench into a fist where it’s stretched behind me. Even his leg goes taut.

  “Sure,” I reply, slipping from the booth, heart racing from Cole’s reaction.

  Everyone shuffles around to let Teddy out. He claps Cole on the shoulder before he sits back down. Cole glowers as Teddy walks toward me where I wait. Our eyes connect and his nostrils flare.

  His eyes speak a thousand words but five say everything.

  It’s supposed to be me.

  I swallow thickly, now unsure about agreeing to dance with Teddy. I said yes more to get a breather from the proximity to Cole and not because I really wanted to dance with him. Teddy’s my friend, that’s it, but I can see that Cole is hurt by my agreement.

  Teddy surprises me when he grabs me by the waist, sweeping me onto the dancefloor. He pulls me close enough to whisper in my ear, “Make him sweat.”

  My surprised eyes collide with his and he lets out a low chuckle. “Contrary to popular belief I have a genius level IQ. Yeah, shocking I know. Regardless, it doesn’t take a genius to see that he likes you and that you—” he gives me a spin and when I collide back with his chest, he finishes with “—like him too.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.” I press my lips together. “Look, I’m not one to pry—”

  “Then don’t,” I interject, the lump in my throat growing larger.

  “But Cole’s my friend. He’s been hurt before. Don’t do the same. Dude’s a nice guy and doesn’t deserve it.”

  I glance toward the table, surprised to find my roommate still watching us with an intense gaze.

  “Nothing’s happening with us.”

  “I believe you.” He spins me around the dancefloor. “But I can see you both want it.”

  “It doesn’t mean we’re going to act on it.”

  “Just be careful. Now,” he whispers in my ear, “let’s have some fun with him.”

  The song is an upbeat tempo and I move my hips to the beat. Teddy has surprisingly good dance moves, but not as good as Cole was at the bonfire. I shouldn’t want a repeat performance of that night, but God I do. And as good as it felt dancing with him I can’t imagine how amazing sex would be. I don’t know how but I know with Cole it would be incredible.

  The sad thing is sex with Todd was subpar, achingly bad at times and unsatisfying. To think I was willing to settle for so little when it came to every aspect of my relationship with him. Honestly, the best thing that ever happened to me was catching him cheating on me. I know my mom would’ve never liked Todd, but Cole?

  Dammit, I refuse to let my thoughts go there.

  Teddy leans me back, skimming his soft lips over my throat, but it’s not the mouth I want. When he pulls me up Cole is right there over his shoulder. He grabs Teddy’s arm and pulls him away.

  “Enough,” he growls, his caramel eyes flaming.

  Teddy shoots a wink my way where Cole won’t see and throws his hands up. “We were just dancing, Dad. Jeesh.”

  “And now you’re done.” Cole waves his hand in a shooing gesture.

  Teddy cackles as he grabs another eager dance partner, not at all bothered by losing me. I know what he was doing. Bastard.

  “If you wanna dance, sweetheart, you dance with me.” He’s smoldering at me and I don’t think he realizes it.

  “Is that a threat?”

  He pulls me to him by the belt loop on my skirt, his body moving easily to the beat of the song. I skim my hands up his firm chest, twining them around his neck. Lowering his head until we’re encased in a Cole and Zoey bubble, he murmurs, “It’s a goddamn promise.”

  A shiver runs down my spine, my pussy clenching. I know if I look down my hard nipples will be showing through my thin top.

  Several heartbeats pass, our bodies moving automatically to the music. The way his hips move with mine is erotic and delicious, but I can’t go there.

  Putting my hands on his firm chest, I push my myself away. “I can’t do this.”

  Head down, I shove my way through the crowded dance floor to the opposite side of the bar to where the glowing neon RESTROOMS sign is. I burst inside and have to wait a few minutes for a stall. I didn’t even need to go to the bathroom, just needed a moment to catch my breath and definitely not think about that flash of hurt I saw in Cole’s eyes a second before I ran.

  I pee anyway, and wash my hands, checking my reflection to make sure my mascara hasn’t smeared.

  After one more deep breath, I exit the restroom and make my walk of shame back to the booth. But when I get there, there’s no Cole. My body goes cold with fear.

  He didn’t leave me here, did he?

  “Where’s Cole?” I ask Teddy, shouting to be heard.

  Teddy arches a brow and points behind me.

  I turn, expecting Cole to be right there, but he’s not. My eyes search the crowd, trying to ignore the hurt I feel over the idea of him dancing with another girl. I have no right to feel that way. Not when I keep pushing him away.

  But he’s not dancing anymore. My eyes freeze when I see him on the stage, pulling up a stool to the microphone and sitting down.

  “Hey, guys. Hope you’re having a fun evening. I thought I’d take a stab at this tonight. I made a deal with someone and the only way I could get her to come out was if I sang. Hopefully I don’t make your ears bleed.”

  The crowd chuckles and Cole turns toward the person working the karaoke machine. I didn’t realize it, but I’ve been holding my breath since he started to speak. I haven’t bothered sitting down in the booth, instead I stand in front, hands at my chest as the opening notes of Dan + Shay’s “Tequila”.

  Cole’s voice is not at all what I expected. It still has that deep and husky quality he has when he talks, but it’s smooth and buttery with a slight country twang I didn’t expect at all. I’m not sure if it’s because of the song choice or if his natural singing voice has that country edge to it. Regardless, his voice is beautiful. Couples on the dancefloor rock together to the song.

  But as he’s singing about tasting tequila and still seeing you, his eyes somehow find me in the crowd.

  “Did you know Cole could sing?” One of the girls behind me at the table asks.

  “Yeah,” comes the voice I think belongs to Mascen.

  I don’t focus on them. I only have eyes for Cole.

  You said no falling in love this year, I remind myself.

  The devil on my shoulder whispers sweetly in my ear; You didn’t say anything about hookups.

  But logically I know I can’t use my roommate for sex. That wouldn’t end well. Inevitably one of us would end up hurt or things would be awkward after the deed. It’s not worth it.

  I sway to the song as Cole sings and when he finishes it a lone tear leaks out of my eye at the beauty of his performance.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, I turn around to face the table of his friends. Teddy looks at me knowingly and grabs a shot, holding it o
ut to me. “Drink up. You look like you need this.”

  “I’m not drunk,” I protest as Cole leads me out of Harvey’s. “It’s going to take a lot more than two beers and a couple of shots to knock me down.”

  “Zoey,” his tone is low with warning, “you asked the waiter if he has a fire crotch.”

  “Why’s that a big deal?”

  “Number one, it’s not normal to ask strangers about their pubic hair. Number two, he had bright ass dyed red hair. Not a natural ginger.”

  “I was just curious,” I grumble, his hold on my elbow tightening when I stumble on a piece of gravel.

  “Hey!” A male voice calls out to him. “Yo, Anderson, I heard you’re not going out for the draft this year. What’s up with that?”

  “Draft?” I mumble in my inebriated state. “Like the military draft?”

  Cole looks from me with amusement to the approaching stranger. “Nah, man. I wanna finish senior year and get my degree. Gotta have a backup. After graduation I won’t have to declare, I’ll be automatically eligible.”

  “Cool, cool,” the guy chants. “You’re one of the best basketball players I’ve ever seen. You and Andrew last year were unstoppable. Sad we lost him, but L.A. gained one hell of a player.”

  “Sure thing, man. I’d love to chat, but I need to get her home.”

  “Right, right.” Ugh why does he say words twice? “Nice seeing you.”

  The stranger heads toward the bar.

  I squint at Cole, his color washed out from the bright parking lot lights. “Did he say basketball?”

  “Yeah?” He gives me a quizzical look. “You didn’t know? Could’ve sworn I told you.”

  “You didn’t.” I bite out. “I’m gonna be sick.” I pull away from him and throw up beside someone’s bright red truck. Whoops.

  Suddenly Cole’s there, pulling my hair away from my face and rubbing my back. “Shhh. It’s okay,” he soothes, and I start to cry.

  He plays basketball.

  He’s a basketball player.

  Just like my dad was.

  And if there’s one vow I made with myself that I refuse to break, it’s that I’ll never date a basketball player. Even if I’m trying to mend my relationship with my dad, it’s not an easy mindset to change. I’ve hated all basketball players on principle because of him. I know my dad didn’t cheat on my mom, I’ll give him credit there, but he left us. He left me and I won’t be abandoned by another person in my life.

  “I’ve got you,” Cole says, still rubbing my back.

  I retch again, but nothing comes up. I know I can’t tell him that my sudden sickness has more to do with learning that he’s a basketball player than anything I drank.

  Straightening, I give him a strained smile. “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  He holds onto my arm again, so I don’t fall in the gravel as we finish the walk back to his truck.

  “Let me get you some napkins,” he mumbles to himself, grabbing some from his glovebox and passing them to me.

  I smile gratefully, wiping my mouth. “Can I have a piece of your gum too?”

  “Sure.” He leans into the cab and grabs a piece, passing it to me before he helps me into the truck.

  Once in the vehicle, I lean my head against the cool glass of the window.

  “I told you not to have those tequila shots.”

  I wave my hand at him in a shut up gesture. “Nobody likes a know it all.”

  He chuckles, cranking the truck to life. The engine rumbles loudly and I hold my head, groaning loudly.

  Cole starts the drive back to the apartment complex but before he gets there, he pulls off at a convenience store. “What are you doing?” I ask, a slight whine to my voice.

  All I want to do is get home, strip out of my clothes and climb into bed.

  “Just sit tight.”

  The bright lights of the store flare into the truck and I cover my eyes. “Get Advil,” I beg.

  He chuckles. “We’re around the corner from the apartment. There’s some there.”

  “Don’t care. The sooner the better.”

  He shakes his head, opening the truck door. “The next time I say you’ve had enough, just listen.”

  I give him the finger and he laughs loudly, closing the door behind him as he heads into the Circle K. He throws his hand up at the cashier. I doubt he even knows the guy, but that’s just Cole. He’s kind.

  He’s also a basketball player.

  “Shut up,” I grumble aloud to my conscience.

  Cole returns a few minutes later with a bag and a bottle of something. He passes it to me as soon as he gets in.

  “I hate the taste of coconut water, but I swear by it when I’ve drank too much.” I wrinkle my nose at the bottle now that I know what it is. “Drink up, Buttercup.” He takes out a tiny bottle of Advil and shakes two of the red pills into my palm.

  Spitting out my gum in one of the already soiled napkins, I down the pills, cringing at the tang of the coconut water. “Yuck.” Eyeing the bag with a curl of my lip, I ask, “What else you got in there?”

  “Gum and Cheetos. Cheetos is my personal hangover food so I thought you might want some for tomorrow, which is dumb because of course you’d want something different than what I would—”

  “Shh.” I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. “It’s sweet. Thank you.”

  I don’t move my finger, so he murmurs, “You’re welcome,” around it.

  He’s staring into my eyes, drowning me with the warm dark brown color. I feel so much, things I can’t handle, things I don’t want to think about.

  I break eye contact.

  He clears his throat, throwing the truck into reverse. “Let’s get you home.”

  13

  Cole

  The polished maple floors squeak underneath my shoes as I run down the court, ball bouncing in front of me. Practice doesn’t start for a few more weeks, but my teammate Shawn, a sophomore, asked if I was willing to do some one-on-one work for him. He’s a good guy, hard worker, and genuinely wants to play his best. He’s willing to put in the work. Last year, he confessed to me that he has a son—a four-year-old—when he got his high school girlfriend pregnant. They’re not together anymore, but he said it ended on good terms and he wants to do right by his kid. I admire that about him.

  Shawn snags the ball from me and I laugh, chasing him back down the court.

  This feels good, like the old times when I was small, and this was just a game. Now it’s so much more, the pressure bearing down on my shoulders. But the love and passion are still there. It hasn’t waned, even when doubt nags in the back of my mind.

  “What are you two doing?” Coach’s voice booms across the court from the door that leads down the hall to his office. “Practice hasn’t even started yet.”

  Shawn halts with the ball, tucking it under his arm.

  Lifting the edge of my shirt, I use it to wipe my damp brow. “Just having some fun, Coach.”

  He shakes his head, hands on his hips. “Well, since you’re here I need a word with you, Anderson.”

  I jerk my head in a nod. “See you later,” I say to Shawn, heading off the court after Coach.

  Coach Reynolds. He’s about the same height as me, with dark skin and buzzed hair. He can be a hard ass, he expects a lot out of us since he was in the NBA a few years himself, but he’s always there for anyone on the team. He pushes us hard, but he’s compassionate. Can’t say the same for the coach I had in high school. He was a prick.

  Coach opens his office door and lets me in first, coming in behind me. Sitting down in front of the desk, I smile at the pictures behind it of his wife and children. They recently had a baby girl. Shortly after she was born, they brought her to a practice to meet the guys on the team, and I’ll admit while we’re all a bunch of big tough guys, we go soft for a baby. We were passing her around, trying to see who could make her smile and laugh the most. There’s another photo,
one of him much younger holding a little girl on his shoulders as she dunks a ball into a net. I haven’t noticed it before, but I’m really not in his office all that often.

  He plops down into his chair, crossing his fingers together in front of him.

  “I’m actually glad I caught you today. I was going to call you, but this is better. I know you’re waiting until you graduate to enter the draft, which I totally respect. It’s commendable. I know you could’ve gotten picked up easily last year with Andrew.”

  “Thank you, Coach. I appreciate that.”

  Andrew, a tall—fuck, we’re all giants playing basketball—blond guy with hair to his shoulders did not look anything like your typical basketball player, more like he should be on the runway. Some opponents took to calling him Supermodel but the easygoing guy never let it get to him. But he’s the most talented player I’ve ever shared a court with. Far ahead of me and I know I’m good. There are very few players with as much raw talent as he has. The fact Coach has me ranked with Andrew in his eyes means a whole fucking lot.

  He dismisses my thanks with a wave of his fingers.

  “Anyway, I was talking with one of my old friends. You might’ve heard of him. Jason Caswell.” He waits, letting the name sink in.

  “He used to play for Atlanta, right?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles, pleased that I know. “He’s a scout for them now and he wants to meet you.”

  “Meet me?” My voice squeaks embarrassingly.

  “Yes.” He shuffles some papers on his desk. “He wants to meet for lunch when he’s in town in December. I wanted to let you know so you have time to prepare. Don’t overthink it. It’s just a casual getting to know you, feeling you out to see how you might fit with the team.”

  In other words, don’t get my hopes up that anything will come from this.

  “Thank you, Coach.” I know he must’ve put a good word in for me.

  He shakes his head. “Stop thanking me. You’re talented and a hard worker. Own your accomplishments. You work hard for them.”