Matters to Me: A Football Romance (The Hart Series Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  “You tell me.” Holding my gaze, we end up in a staring contest. Now I know for sure she has ulterior motives, and I have a bad feeling it has to do with my walk of shame this morning.

  The guilt of hiding this wretched love life of mine makes me the first to look away, but if she knows enough that she wants to take me to a club to make me feel better, there’s no telling what else she’ll figure out if she looks at me long enough. Annika is one of only two people who can read me like a book sometimes. The other one, thankfully, doesn’t live here.

  Lying back down, I pull Pinterest up again and continue my hunt for some kick-ass knee-high boots. Boots and I have a great relationship. I love them by wearing them with pride, and in return, they love me back by making my legs look longer. They are the true loves of my life. “I went out last night, so I’m just tired,” I lie, making it a point to not look at her.

  Annika huffs and mutters something about “that damn Aerosmith t-shirt” and grabs her own phone, typing something out. Good. She better stop harping on the love of my life, Steven Tyler. Wearing his picture on my chest always makes me feel better. Although, admittedly, I thought it would be harder than that to throw her off the trail of my heartbreak.

  “Hello?” a familiar voice says through the speaker of her cell and my head whips over, eyes wide. Son of a bitch! She’s not off the trail! She’s going to tag team me!

  “Hey Kiersten, it’s Annika.”

  “You bitch!” I yell and sit back up on the bed, the wide neck I cut out years ago falling off my shoulder. If there’s one person who knows me well enough to get inside my brain from hundreds of miles away, it’s my best friend, Kiersten, which is why I haven’t called her yet. I don’t want her picking through my thoughts and emotions. They’re too fresh.

  Completely unaffected by my name-calling and continual grumbling, Annika continues being the traitor she is and feeds Kiersten more information. “Something’s wrong with Lauren, and I think it’s about a guy.”

  “How did you get Kiersten’s phone number? I never gave it to you for a reason.”

  Annika rolls her eyes which she seems to do a lot with me these days. “I’ve had it since freshman year. Someone has to make sure you ladies are safe when you go out on the town.”

  Guilt runs through me. I know she doesn’t mean to make me feel that way. But I have never forgiven myself for not tracking her down and instead, assuming she went home with someone the night she was raped. I’m not sure I ever will. It broke her. Hell, it broke me. It’s not something I would ever wish on my worst enemy, but to see your best friend go through it because you weren’t living up to the girl code of watching her back? That’s not something I think I’ll ever get over. Yes, Annika is fine now, but she still carries the scars. She always will. So will those of us closest to her.

  “Ohmygod, Annika,” Kiersten says through the phone, probably feeling the same guilt I do. “I’m so sorry about that night—”

  “Stop!” Annika holds up her hand like Kiersten can actually see her. “We’re not talking about that night. I’m fine. Trial’s over. He’s in prison. Moving on to current problems—Lauren got home early this morning in yesterday’s clothes and makeup, and now, she doesn’t want to go dancing tonight.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. The other person who can read me like a book doesn’t even have to be in the same room to do it. She just has to have my traitorous roommate give her enough information to put two and two together.

  “Lauren, what’s going on?” Kiersten’s tone leaves no room for argument. Either she’s already figured things out, or she suspects enough to not let it go until we talk it out.

  While Kiersten’s concern is appreciated, she already knows too much about me. Which means, she’s going to figure out all the sordid details of last night, and I’m not ready to talk about it. Hell, I don’t even want to think about it. I just want to lick my wounds in peace.

  “Nothing happened,” I say with as much normalcy as I can muster. It’s worth a shot. “I went out last night, so I’m tired. That’s all.”

  “She did the walk of shame this morning and Heath brought her home. Said she was acting strange in the car.”

  “I was not!”

  Annika ignores me and keeps talking as if I’m not sitting right here. “They don’t even like each other, Kiersten. If Heath is worried, something is definitely wrong.”

  I shake my head, pissed that this conversation is even happening. I understand Annika’s good intentions, but I’ll talk about this when I’m ready. Or never.

  The room stays silent for a few moments, just long enough for me to steel myself before Kiersten says exactly what I expected her to say.

  “Lauren. Honey. This isn’t Blake Salado again.”

  Just the sound of his name feels like a spike right through my heart.

  “Wait.” Annika shakes her head. “Who is Blake Salado?”

  No one says a word until Kiersten asks, “It’s not my story to tell. But I think she should know, don’t you?”

  “Sure. Why the hell not?” I say with a humorless huff. Then, I close my eyes and try to block out the memories as Kiersten tells Annika the story of the asshole who took my virginity in someone’s master bedroom at a high school party. Blake Salado was the super cute basketball player. He was tall and trim. Had brown curly hair. And his smile was an open invitation to anyone to strike up a conversation. He wasn’t the hottest guy in school, but he was the boy next door and he charmed me. He charmed everyone.

  Blake and I had been dating for weeks and were falling in love. Or so I thought. But as soon as his orgasm was over, and my hymen was forever broken, he got dressed, went back down to the party and walked up to his friends sing-songing, “I got some puuuuuuusssy. I got some puuuuuuuussy.” I heard all about it at school on Monday. That, and how someone’s parents were pissed when they got home and found my blood on their sheets. As if I wasn’t humiliated enough, the evidence of my virginal status was one of the high points of the story that went around the school.

  Blake never spoke to me again. Not even to say sorry when his friends started heckling me in the hallways about the different ways my flexibility could be used to their advantage.

  The harassment didn’t last long, fortunately. High schoolers have the attention span of gnats and some other scandal came along to delight their love of drama. But the scar on my soul was permanent. I fell into the downward spiral of closet drinking and self-loathing. I cried nightly and rarely slept. I lost weight I didn’t have to lose and stopped going to practice. No longer was I the girl who had dreams of finding the love of her life. From that point on, I was the girl who wasn’t worth more than a roll in the hay. The guys in the hall made sure I was fully aware of that fact.

  Kiersten was the only person who made an effort to pull me out of my funk. She ratted me out to my parents about the vodka under my bed. She fed me tater tots and Diet Coke for lunch every day. And after a couple of weeks of moping around, she convinced me to go back to practice and gave me advice on how to ignore anyone who tried to throw my mistake in my face.

  It took time, but I finally pulled myself out of the depression I had fallen into. It’s also when I started taking meds. The drugs don’t stop my anxiety which can spiral into more if I’m not careful, but it gives me a boost so I can rearrange my thoughts to get back on track.

  From then on, I decided there would be no dating anyone who had an affiliation with my school because no guy at my alma mater deserved my attention. In fact, there was no dating at all. One-night stands became my norm. No strings. No emotions. No hurt. It helped me take my power back and perfect my give-no-fucks attitude. By the time I stepped foot on my college campus, I was stronger and more sure of myself. No one could bring me down. Sex couldn’t be used as a weapon against me and neither could ugly words. I was free to enjoy life behind my false bravado and keep those more intimate feelings to myself.

  Unfortunately, the only one from my old life who knows how b
ad off I was is the one person Annika has decided to rally. There’s no getting away with small talk now, no matter how hard it hurts.

  “You’re stronger now, babe,” Kiersten continues, even though I don’t want to hear this right now. “So, you liked him, and he wasn’t honest about what the night meant. It sucks so bad, and I know it’s triggering some of that old stuff.”

  I chance a glance at Annika who looks devastated to hear this. As soon as she sees me looking, she starts to stand up.

  Holding my hand out, I stop her. “Do not come over here and try to hug me right now, or I will break your arms before they wrap around me.”

  Annika’s mouth drops open while Kiersten laughs. “So. Feisty,” Annika mutters, but sits her ass back down.

  “That’s how you know she’s going to be okay. If she’s back to being bitchy, it means she’s already starting to move on,” Kiersten announces through her giggles and then gets serious again. “I know this hurts, Lauren. But I have to ask. You haven’t stopped taking your meds, right?”

  “No,” I mumble and pick at my fingernail.

  “Then you just need to get out of your head. Go out tonight with your friends. Dance it off. Stand in the middle of the dance floor, make ‘come hither’ eyes at all the hotties, and then tell them to scram before your bodybuilder girlfriend rips their balls off. Take back your control again. Hell, take it back again tomorrow. And the next night. And the next. Whatever it takes to make you feel strong. And whatever you do, next time you see him, if he says anything, tell him the same thing you finally told Blake Salado. Remember what that was?”

  “Your athletic prowess doesn’t extend into the bedroom, and you’re bragging to people about it?” I say in my best Kiersten voice.

  “Exactly. It worked right? He got stuck in a dry spell for at least a year after that,” she says with a laugh. When her giggles finally subside, she asks, “Are you going to be okay? And don’t bullshit me Lauren or Annika will let me know, and then I’ll be knocking on your door.”

  Suddenly feeling pissed off again, I exclaim, “Yeah! What the hell is this double-teaming me about? Since when do you guys work together to make me feel emotions and shit?”

  Annika gives me a look that says she wasn’t born yesterday. “You always feel emotions and shit. You just don’t like letting us help you through them.”

  I hate that she’s right. But in a weird way, I do love that it’s working. I’ll never admit it, though. I need to have some sort of pride, even if it’s in front of the best friends I have.

  Taking a deep breath, I shake my arms out and stretch my neck. Kiersten is right. I’m strong. I have value. I have worth as a person. So, what if Con doesn’t see that? That’s his loss and not at all my problem. Or at least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself until I believe it.

  “Okay fine. I’ll go out tonight.”

  “Yay!” Annika yells, a huge smile on her face.

  Crinkling my nose, I look at her and deadpan, “Seriously. You need to calm down. This role reversal thing is weirding me out.”

  “Me, too,” she announces. “You know how much I hate clubs. But if it helps you get over this douchebag, I’ll do it.”

  I point right in Annika’s face. “I knew you didn’t really want to go.”

  “Of course not. But it’s too late now. Jaxon is picking us up at eight-thirty. And I’m pretty sure Heath is coming too.”

  I groan. Great. Just great. The one time I need to be away from everyone I know so I can reset my façade, the one person on campus who saw me at my worst is going to be there.

  Why can’t I catch a freaking break?

  SIX

  Heath

  I really didn’t want to come out tonight. It’s not that I’m a homebody or anything. I enjoy a good kegger as much as the next guy. Clubs just aren’t my thing. They’re loud. They’re crowded. And people act like idiots. It all feels very meat market to me.

  Sometimes I wish I could enjoy the occasional hook-up with a stranger. I am in college and the best athlete here. Hell, I’m probably the best athlete in the state if you take out the pro teams. Even then, I’m probably better than half those guys. That’s not arrogance. It’s what I’m banking on to relieve some of the financial stress off my parents in the future. That goal always leads back to football, which is why I’m very, very careful with anything that remotely comes to sex.

  I always have been, but last year, that point was driven home when one of our star linebackers found out shortly before he was drafted that a failing condom meant his life was about to change in more ways than one. The ink was barely dry on his new contract, and he was already saddled with a fiancée and baby on the way. He remained tight-lipped about his new family, but we all knew he didn’t have a girlfriend. And he still ended up with a wife.

  That’s not going to happen to me. Yes, I could easily take advantage of my super athletic status and how it just happens to come with a few perks of the female variety. Yes, it would be nice to have the stress relief that goes with meaningless sex with someone who could care less about anything more than bragging rights for banging a football star. But not at the expense of my current sanity, and certainly not at the expense of my future. Next time I’m with someone it’s going to be because we’re going to build a future together. Clubs like this are not the place to pick up women like that, even if I was looking.

  A hot piece of ass ogling me from the dance floor is a prime example of someone I try to avoid. She’s been watching me for a while now. Her skintight tank top shows off a very voluptuous chest. Just a small tug and a couple of inches separate my eyes from her peaked nipples. That part I can already see. Gyrating to the music, she makes no secret that she’s dancing just for me. The intense stare in my direction isn’t hard to read. What is hard to read, however, is if she’s the kind of girl who wants to trap me or the kind of girl who wants to get to know me. And that’s why I haven’t reciprocated.

  So, I’m sitting alone at a table off to the side of the bar. Being here is giving me a headache already. The beat is thrumming so loud, you can’t hear anything unless you yell. Thank God my friends are on the dance floor so I’m not having to strain to hear them talk.

  This is where Annika wanted to come, though, for reasons I can’t figure out. She’s been avoiding loud, crowded businesses like this since last year. Maybe coming here is part of her healing or something. Maybe her therapist suggested she take this last step. Who knows? I won’t ask because it’s not my business. We all have our demons, so it doesn’t matter anyway. She’s my friend. If this is where she wants to be, I’m here.

  It’s odd, I know. For as irritated as I am about being here, there is no way I wouldn’t join my friends. Not because it’s fun. It’s much more calculated than that. We’ve fallen into this weird “safety in numbers” thing and now, it feels like the norm to tag along wherever the girls want to go. Lauren and Annika don’t go out to bars or clubs without us guys anymore. Ever. Even if they’re having a girls’ night with ten other people, we’re on the other side of the room, doing our own thing but always on watch. Ridiculous, maybe, but you can’t unlearn the kind of lesson we all learned last year. And frankly, we care about our friends too much to not keep an eye on each other.

  Yes, even Lauren.

  I look over at the dance floor again to check on her. She’s moving to the music like she owns the place. Her small hips sway seductively as the tiny skirt she’s wearing rides up even higher. Any more movement and she’ll be flashing the room. Fingers crossed she’s not going commando. Not that I would mind getting a sneak peek.

  Lauren thinks I don’t like her, but that’s not it at all. I just don’t… well, gravitate toward her. I tolerate her flirty and inappropriate comments. I appreciate her love for Annika. And I have mad respect for her sport and the work she does to compete. She’s just not someone I enjoy shooting the shit with. I’ve tried many times to figure out if it’s just a personality conflict or if it’s because I alwa
ys feel like she’s hiding something. Or because she comes across as exactly the kind of girl I try to avoid. I just can’t figure out which one of those possibilities is the truth.

  Shaking my head, I sip my water and continue watching her move. If nothing else, she is a hot little number. Her body is totally cut. Every time she raises her arms, her shirt rides up and I get a glimpse of her abs. I’d be lying if I said the six-pack she’s sporting wasn’t a total turn-on. Not at all like the other girl who is making her sexual prowess obvious. No, Lauren is more subtle. She cares less about other patrons noticing her and more about finding a good beat. Interesting. I would have thought she’d be more responsive to having an audience.

  As I watch her dance, Lauren is approached by some guy. He’s short, barely taller than her. I snicker to myself. We’ve never been at a club together, but Lauren is usually pretty picky about who she flirts with. This poor sucker is about to make a fool of himself.

  Without bothering to turn around and get a good look at who she’s gyrating against, she smiles and backs up into him, trying to find their groove. Hmm. It seems her standards may have changed. She raises her arms, exposing that tight stomach again. I watch as she practically melts into him and he leans down to say something in her ear.

  That’s when her demeanor does a complete one-eighty. She stiffens and her face takes on a pained look. I immediately sit up straight, paying closer attention.

  Lauren shrugs the guy off her, face scrunching up like she’s disgusted, or distressed. I can’t put my finger on it, because it changes so fast into a look of anger. Still on alert, I scrutinize the scene as it unfolds. I want to race out there and squash whoever the asshole is like a bug, but I know Lauren won’t appreciate it. She likes being invincible to people. That much, I’ve figured out on my own. So, I’ll let her fight her own battle. But if it looks like she’s about to lose, she won’t be able to stop me from getting involved.