Katlyn’s voice slipped through my haze. “Just so you guys know, I’m not making anymore.”
“Thank fuck!” shouted Nicky. A chorus of applause and hollering ripped out around the room.
“Baby…”
I cracked open my eyelids, looking down at Kit. She was practically on my lap. I ran my hand along her bare thighs and lowered my head to accept her kiss.
“Bro.” Drift was reaching over the coffee table to pass me the last of the freshly made blunt. Kit took it from him and pressed it between my lips. I inhaled, tipping my head in the other direction, fading curls of smoke drifting to the ceiling. I offered the joint to Kit but she shook her head.
“Suit yourself,” I said, and toked the last of it, crushing the bud into the ashtray.
Dan, the team’s linebacker, slipped in through the door holding hands with a redhead whose boobs were bigger than her head. He sat down in front of the fireplace and the girl positioned herself in-between his legs. “What do you guys think of coach lately?” he asked, looking at us all.
“Which one?” asked Drift.
“Who do you think?” said Dan. “Head, you fucking douche. O’Hara. You know, the one who looks like he should be in a boyband. The one who’s fucking coached us for the last two years?”
Nicky grunted. “He could resurrect the backstreet boys. Im’a throw the suggestion at him next practice. I’d manage them if he asked nicely.”
“Why?” I asked. “What’s up with O’Hara?”
“Man, something has to be. He’s acting like someone took his mom’s virginity right in front of him—yesterday. He’s unbearable.”
The redhead piped up. “Apparently his daughter goes here.” That was interesting. “Different last names, though.”
“How do you know that?” I quizzed her. After two years I’d never heard him mention any daughter. Or kids in general. If he was a family man, he didn’t act like it.
She lifted her shoulders, looking bored. “I work in the office a few days a week. I heard Mrs. Fischer talking about it with the dean.”
“Maybe we should organize a team gang-bang to welcome her in.” Nicky smirked, ignoring Katlyn’s possessive glare.
“Angel,” said the redhead, her finger snapping. “That’s her name.”
Kit sat up straighter, the same time that my spine snapped to attention. “Angel,” she repeated, looking at the redhead for clarification. It didn’t get any clearer than Angel. My fucking ears were ringing.
“Yeah.” The redhead nodded, admiring her silver nails. “Sounds like she wants to keep their relationship on the QT. She doesn’t want the entire campus to know she’s his kid.” She raised an eyebrow, an awkward expression on her face. "Don’t think he wants to headline her arrival either.”
“Way to keep her secret,” I praised sarcastically. The forewarning was useful, though. Messing with Coach's daughter was sure to go down as well as Ebola.
“Julian’s already met her,” Kit announced to everyone. “Today, at Players. I invited her tonight, but she didn’t come.” Kit turned to me. “Did you know she was coach’s kid?”
“No.”
Nicky cocked his eyebrow. “Fooling around with the coach’s daughter already? Man, you work fast.” His grin was fucking dangerous, but he never brought up the bet.
“I spoke to her. So what?”
“I know you, Seven. We all fucking know you, you seem to forget that. You’ll be boning her by the end of next week.” He winked at me and I slammed him with a cold look. He better not say anything. If this got back to coach… I had no idea what he would do to me, but I was in no hurry to find out.
“Bullshit,” I called. “You’ve been in more holes than the whole team put together.”
“Julian would not!” Kit lashed out. “He wouldn’t risk his career like that, would you?” She looked up at me triumphantly, her eyes daring me to say anything other than ‘no’.
Yeah, actually, I would. But not for the reasons you are thinking.
“I’m sick of this.” Like I said, same old shit just a different day.
I threaded my fingers through Kit’s and she stood up, leaving the den with me. In her room I tugged off my beanie and threw it down onto her dresser. I caught sight of Kit in the mirror, sliding her skirt over her legs, her thong see-through in the thin slither of moonlight.
I turned around and lifted her shirt over her head, my hand wasting no time in unclipping her bra. I used the whole flat surface of my palms to smooth the straps off her arms, her nipples hardening as the fabric brushed the stiff tips.
Kit had amazing tits. They looked fake but they were as real as the rest of her—full and firm in my hands. I walked her backwards to the end of the bed and pushed on her shoulders until she was lying on top of the covers. I lay my body over hers, supporting my full weight on my forearms, and watched as she disappeared under me. I sucked her nipple into my mouth, grazing the puckered skin with my teeth. I sucked harder when I felt her fingers tug at my hair, dragging me closer. My other hand slid down to her thong and Kit lifted her ass off the bed, shimmying her hips as I slid the red lace down to her ankles. Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist and my mouth still sucking greedily on her nipple, I lifted her higher up the bed then pulled down my sweats, my hard-on rising to meet me.
Angel, the coach’s daughter. I couldn’t believe it. What kind of shitty luck was that? She was a no-go of the highest fucking order. I grabbed my dick while kit rolled on a condom like a pro. There would be no foreplay tonight. I wanted this over quickly. Kit’s fingers released the condom, the end barely rolled to my shaft, and I thrust into her. She winced at my brutality and I kissed the dip in her neck.
“Sorry, baby,” I muttered, bracing my hips to hold back on crushing her.
She smothered all hopes of that when she lifted her own hips and clasped her knees at my sides. She bit down into her lip, her eyes heavy-lidded and I knew what she wanted.
We’d done this too many times.
I dragged her ass closer and sat back on my knees so she could throw her legs over my shoulder. I gripped her waist in both hands, using her body to set the rhythm. Her tits were going wild, and I found better use for my hands, squeezing the firm flesh in my fingers, rolling my thumbs over her solid nipples. Kit’s body was made for fucking, with all those curves. I sank in deeper, her wetness bringing me home. It didn’t take long, not with her willing body and the thought of getting into Angel’s forbidden pants, fueling my dick like a torpedo. I grabbed Kit’s ankles as I unloaded inside of her on a deep grunt, not giving a shit if she had come or not. In fact, I knew she hadn’t, I was too quick and greedy.
“I hope you are going to finish me off,” she fumed, propped up on her elbows, staring at me.
I tied up the used condom and threw it in her trash can, pulling up my sweats. I would normally never leave a job unfinished, but tonight was different. I was here purely to release frustration, not get Kit off.
“I need to get home,” I said. I was already pulling out my phone and texting Kristina.
“Really? You’re just gonna leave?” Kit huffed, dropping onto her back. “Fine. I’ll get someone else to fuck me. Properly.”
Fine by me. She wouldn’t, we both knew it. But she meant the malice behind the threat. I wasn’t proud of myself for the way I’d just used her, but I’d repay the favor another day.
I stuffed my beanie in my back pocket and leaned down, covering her pouty mouth with mine until she softened into the kiss. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Her eyes flicked to the corner of the room and she sighed in resignation. “You better, Jules. Because right now I feel like a fucking prostitute.”
“You are too sexy to be a prostitute.” I nipped at her nipple with my teeth, satisfied when she gave into a reluctant smile
An Internal battalion of opposing sides trooped through my head, seeing her lying spread naked. I half wanted to stay and get back inside her, but my headache called it time to go.
I smiled and promised to call her, even though there was little chance of that happening. She would call me first. And then I trudged outside the same time as Kristina pulled up. Street lights reflected across the windshield, but I could see her face and she looked pissed.
Jesus Christ, what now?
3: Angel
I DROPPED MY BAG onto the couch and slumped down next to it. I swiped my hands along my face, and when I opened my eyes my dad was standing in-between the open French doors, watching me.
“What?” I said.
“Been skating?”
“Anyone would think so, what with my bag and skates.”
My dad huffed, getting bored with me already. “You don’t need to have this attitude.”
“It’s not an attitude, Dad. It’s me.”
“Ah, living up to the stereotype, I see.”
“Why do you hate her so much?” I stared him down: his golden-blond hair neatly combed over, and his sharp blue eyes. His crisp black shorts and ironed baby-blue polo that I was sure he wore for the sole reason it matched his irises. No one would ever be as good as, or as perfect as him. It was an impossibility. Even his sneakers were too white. Those things would blind you if you looked directly at them. Were football coaches even supposed to look this put-together?
“Who said anything about hate?”
“You hate that side of me.”
“I do not hate anyone. I barely knew the woman, not the real woman. I also won’t stand here and lie. I don’t like her one bit, and I’m sure even you don’t need to question why. But I certainly do not hate you.”
“So stop acting like you do. You couldn’t have been happier when Movida died, that’s the only reason you paid for her fancy care. With pops money,” I dropped in.
“That’s where you are wrong.” My dad grinned. “I’d have brought Movida here with you, and then I wouldn’t be washing my own dishes.”
I got up off the couch. I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. “That was an asshole thing to say.”
“Angel, it was a joke!”
Well, Dad, you are anything but funny.
I locked myself in my room and rived at my clothes, throwing everything into a heap on the floor. Sometimes, I really couldn’t stand him. He was unbearable. I spent the next fifteen minutes almost burning under a blazing hot shower. It would never wash it away, though. It never made a blind bit of difference. I would get out, my skin would cool down and I would still be a part of the same messed-up family, living out every day as one huge farce. It was inescapable—he was inescapable. He had too much inheritance and sickly charm, exactly like a spoiled teenage kid. Well I was eighteen now, and I’d meant what I said to him; I was going to move into the dorms. He could stick his fancy house and his racist attitude. He could stick it all up his shiny and polished ass. I smiled uncontrollably while I brushed the knots from my hair.
<>
The first thing I done Thursday morning was lug everything I needed to my new home and left my dad a note pinned to the fridge. Oh how I would have loved to be a fly on the wall to see his face when he got home to read it.
Marilyn was in class when I turned up, leaving only her roommate, Mia, to welcome me with wide-open arms.
Or not.
Mia was… different. She didn’t speak and she didn’t appear to be thrilled that I was bunking with them. I tried more than once to start a conversation—mostly out of politeness—but she wasn’t having any of it, and so I gave up, resigned to the fact that she was a mute and hadn’t fully acquired the correct skills to act human. It was cool, though. If anyone understood the need to be left alone, it was me. Together we were a perfect pairing. At least until Marilyn came back.
Forgetting my iMac at home, I threw some pens and books into my backpack and rushed out to my first lesson, Sociology. I wasn’t late and I found a space near the end row at the back of the auditorium. I took out my book and a pen, idly scrolling my name waiting for the class to fill up. I sent a quick message to Marilyn: Mia is a pip! Why didn’t you say so? x
And then I heard him, my smile falling to the floor.
He lingered in the doorway, joking with two other guys of near enough the same build. They looked like they could be some of his teammates. When they disappeared and he turned to come into the class, I put my head down, praying he wouldn’t see me. I rubbed my fingers over my hairline, shielding all view of myself. A whole minute had passed and I ruled it safe to look up.
“Hey.” He was sitting right next to me, a wicked smile on his face.
There was no way to hide my frustration and I sighed in contempt. “Did you follow me again?”
“Nope, ‘fraid not. This is my class.”
“Of course it is.”
“But I admire that big opinion you’ve got of yourself. I love a girl with confidence.” He leaned in close. “It’s sexy.”
I wasn’t going to respond to that and play right into his hands, but I could feel his mocking gaze pressing into me. I exhaled loudly, letting him know he was irritating me. “What are you looking at?”
He trapped a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “Are you going to strip this?”
“You’re asking me about my hair?”
“I hate it.”
“Well I happen to love it.”
“You’re hiding yourself under peroxide, why?”
“God!” I turned in his direction. “Will you stop? Please, just stop. You are exhausting.”
I was relieved when the professor quieted the class and started the lesson. “Good morning, lovely students of BU.”
There was an unenthusiastic murmur of, “Morning, Professor,” from a handful of students.
Professor Lucas made a soft noise of disappointment. “Please, how many times, people? Inside these walls, call me Marcus. We’re all adults here, first name basis only.”
“Dick,” Julian muttered under his breath.
I narrowed a look in his direction. He was slouched low in his seat and obviously didn’t take classes serious. I let my gaze wander lower down his body and his legs spread wide under the bench. He was wearing sweats ripped off at the knee and that damn base layer that I was starting to think had been made especially for him and his physique. His cap was now pulled forwards, the bill shading his eyes. He gave the impression he was about to embark on a nap.
“I can see you looking at me.” His face was relaxed, and even with his eyes closed he looked smug.
“Your eyes are closed.”
“I can feel you.”
I stuck my tongue out at the side of his head before concentrating on the class. This was my second Sociology lesson but my first time noticing that Julian took the same course. However, I liked Marcus and his enthusiasm for teaching enough not to let a small thing like the asshat to my right bother me.
But then I hated him.
“I want you to turn to the person sitting next to you and introduce yourselves to your partner for our first ice-breaking assignment. You will find out everything there is to know about that person in the next eight weeks, and there will be a final presentation. I want personal facts and I want a conclusion. Who is this person? What do they bring to society? How are they important and how have they evolved from your initial first impressions? I want it all, folks. So go on, say hello to your new best friends.”
Julian pulled the bill of his cap even lower, only the tip of his smirk on full display. “Howdy, partner.”
When the lesson was over, I gave it my best shot at ignoring Julian, but he was making it painfully difficult. He wasn’t someone you could easily ignore. “So when do you want to do this?”
“Do what?” I took hurried steps out of the auditorium. I had the next few hours to myself, but I absolutely did not want him to know that.
“Get to know each other better.” He said it like we getting ready to go on our first date.
“I think we should ask Marcus if we can switch partners.”
Julian whistled. “No way.”
“I’m asking.”
He stepped in front of me, his body crushing mine against the solid wall of the crowded hallway. Papers tacked to the notice board behind me rustled against my sweater as he hovered over me. His blue eyes darkened in our shadows and his voice was low. “What are you scared of?”
“I’m not scared,” I said, maintaining a steady voice. “I would like to pass, that’s all, and I can’t do that if you are my partner.”
His cool breath was all over me, prickling my skin and heating me from inside out. His lips were too close, his whole body was too close. He was practically on me.
“There’s not a chance I’m letting you get out of this. I’m dying to know everything there is to know about you.” His eyes slid down my body in a lazy exploration. “Every. Single. Thing.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. I was showing major weakness, letting him get to me like this. And judging by the look on his face, my reaction was everything he was hoping for.
“You’re blushing. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not blushing. You are embarrassing me.” Julian had spared me a meager fraction of space, and I used it to check we hadn’t attracted anyone’s attention.
“Yo, Seven!” One of the guys who Julian was joking with earlier was squeezing through the crowds, a whole head taller than most other students. These boys knew how to stand out, that was for sure.
Julian didn’t even so much as look up. “Gimme your cell,” he said to me.
“No.”
“Okay. No biggie.” He squeezed his hand into the pocket of my jeans and pulled it out for himself. The intrusion caught me so off guard, my fingers were too slow to stop him.
“Hey,” I protested, reaching to snatch it back, but he was already tapping the screen with two hands, holding my cell high above my head, out of reach.
“Here. Call me.”
“Like hell.” I speedily retrieved the new contact and deleted the number. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and glared at Julian and his cocky smile. “Get yourself another partner,” I said. “Because there is no way I am working with you.” I barged past him, head lowered as I side-tracked his friend.
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