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

by M. E. Carter

  I’m not surprised the news was passed around so quickly. With that many witnesses, it was inevitable. I’m sure my “night” with Heath has also been shared with interest and delight. Somehow, though, I doubt the almost beat-down Con got at the hands of Southeast Texas State’s most eligible athlete has been talked about. Funny how that works around here.

  Putting a disinterested expression on my face, I look up at Ellery. “So?” Twisting my body, I reach out to the middle again, stretching my arms as far as I can in front of me, lengthening my spine.

  “So?” She mimics, sporting a look of horror and her stretch somehow gets deeper as she tries to get closer to me. “So, everyone knows you had sex with Con. Doesn’t it bother you that, that… he told people?” Ellery whispers that last part like she is shocked and appalled on my behalf. Clearly, she has her own issues when it comes to sex, but I do appreciate she is worried for my virtue instead of trying to make me feel bad. Maybe I underestimated her before. Maybe she’s not as much like everyone else as I thought.

  “It’s just sex, Ellery,” I lie, because there is no way I’m letting my guard down in this gym. Even for someone who comes across as loyal and kind as Ellery. “Everyone has it.”

  I sit straight up, put my legs together, one knee bent, and position myself to push into a backbend, but Ellery’s expression stops me. Relaxing my posture, I lean in closer to her this time. “Ellery.”

  “Hmm.” She doesn’t look at me, but even at this angle I can tell her face is as red as a tomato.

  “Ellery, you’ve had sex, right?”

  She whips her head over to look at me, eyes wide, mouth sputtering. “Of course… why would… I…” Her breathing picks up and she can’t get her sentence out.

  It appears I’ve touched a nerve and she may hyperventilate if I don’t backpedal a bit. Holding my hand up, I stop her from speaking. “Ellery. Stop. You’re going to pass out.”

  She’s still breathing heavy, but at least she’s not trying to talk through it now.

  “It’s okay not to have sex, Ellery.” Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything else. “Your body, your choice. If your choice is to stay a virgin, there is nothing wrong with that. I actually find it admirable.”

  Ellery blinks a couple of times in disbelief. I know people think I’m a loose cannon sometimes, but geez. Do they think I’m out trying to convince everyone to join me on the promiscuous dark side?

  “I… I thought you’d make fun of me.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugs. “Because everyone else does.”

  People are such dicks. It’s one thing to talk about me and try to make me feel shitty about myself. I’m sure there’s some psychological diagnosis on why I make sure to be an easy target for hate. Something about always dodging barbs means I’m never surprised when a new one is lobbed my way. It sucks and gives me anxiety, but I’m used to it. It’s a different level of low, however, to attack someone like Ellery who never says a mean word about anyone and is sweet as can be.

  “Your body is yours, Ellery. If someone wants to make you feel bad about your choices, fuck ‘em. They don’t have to live with your decisions. You do.” Having given the only advice I have on how to deal with shitty people, I push into my backbend and straighten my legs, stretching my shoulders as far as I can get them to go. I don’t mind chatting with Ellery, but I’m done with this particular conversation. It’s putting me in a bad mood, and I need to focus my energy on nailing my landing, not worrying about brushing off any snide comments I’m sure to hear for the next three hours.

  Thankfully, Coach stays out of what he calls “immature drama” and is ready to get started.

  “Let’s go!” He yells with a clap of his hands. “Guys, Team A, let’s get the vault set up. Team B, head to pommel. Ladies, Team A starts at bars. Team B, head to floor.”

  Easy to do since I’m already here, so I take my sweet time pushing my legs to the sky and myself into a handstand, watching as my fingers flex on the floor, the only part of my body touching the ground as I adjust my balance. Slowly, I straddle my legs, keeping my knees tight and toes pointed. Leaning forward slightly, I rotate my shoulders and lower my body into a solid planche position, holding it for a few seconds. When my upper body muscles begin to ache, I shift my hips and rotate again until I’m holding myself off the floor in a straddle sit.

  Feeling sufficiently warmed up and knowing my coach isn’t going to wait much longer for us to start tumbling, I push up and trot over to the edge of the floor to strip out of my sweats. The air feels frigid against my skin considering I’ve been snuggled in my favorite oversized Aerosmith sweatshirt and fuzzy socks for the last hour. I’m sure my nipples are poking through my sports bra and brightly on display, even though I opted for black which conceals. Just what I need—more reason for some of these assholes to chide me.

  Fortunately, except for a few glares and disgusted glances down at my chest, floor warm-ups are relatively uneventful.

  Round off,

  back handspring,

  back handspring,

  back handspring,

  back handspring,

  rebound,

  back in line.

  Round off,

  back handspring,

  back handspring,

  back tuck,

  rebound,

  back in line.

  Round off,

  back handspring,

  back handspring,

  back layout with a full twist,

  rebound,

  back in line.

  Four or five rounds of skills, each building on the next to get our minds and bodies ready to throw the hard skills. The ones we must perfect to win.

  Ellery is up first with a triple full she’s been working on. She’s got the skill itself down but wants to make the landing more solid to match the feel of her music.

  Cassidy Graham is next with a double back as an extra warm-up. She’s taking a few extras since her skill is so much more difficult. Not that she has anything to worry about. She’s been chunking that double back with a double full for at least three years.

  My turn. Stepping into the corner, I take a couple of deep breaths, focus on my goal and launch.

  Five running steps,

  Hurdle,

  round off,

  flip flop,

  PUNCH…

  Pulling my arms in, I twist as I turn in the air, landing my double full plus half just slightly too far back. It’s enough that I have to take a huge step backward instead of forward like I need for the punch front.

  Dammit!

  Jogging my way back in line, I don’t look at my coach. It was my first attempt. I’ve got time before he starts getting frustrated with me. I just need to remember to open my eyes and look for the ceiling until muscle memory kicks in and my body naturally holds tight until it’s time to release…

  “Hey, Lauren.”

  Con’s voice catches me off guard. I didn’t realize we were on speaking terms, nor do I know if I want to be. I’m not sure what the protocol is on conversing with the guy who had sub-par sex with you, then kicked you out of his room after forcing you to get dressed in front of his friends. What I do know, however, is it was fun and somewhat empowering to watch him squirm last night. I’m not going to undo all that by giving him the satisfaction of knowing how earlier yesterday made me feel.

  “Um… hey?” I make sure to put extra confusion in my voice, like speaking during practice isn’t something we’ve been doing for months.

  At the sound of the pound of the springboard, Con looks off that direction. He’s not ending the conversation. It’s obvious he has something to say, but he’s having a hard time looking me in the eye. Good. He should be having some guilt over treating me like dirt.

  After a few seconds of silence, he takes a breath and turns toward me. “Who was that guy you were with last night?”

  Ah. So that’s what this is about. It has nothing to do with humiliating me and making me t
he laughingstock of the team I’ve worked so hard to be part of. No, this is about jealousy. Or more accurately, being a sore loser.

  Playing dumb to his real intentions, I look to the side, pretending to be confused by his question. “You mean Heath? The guy I’m dating?”

  “You’re dating him?” Con asks it a little too quickly and with a little too much surprise, completely losing the air of cool he was going for. I won’t make that same mistake. As much as I hate playing games like this, indifference is the only way to get guys like Con off your radar. Weakness equals prey to assholes like him.

  “We were on a date. Heath told you as much.”

  Con looks away again and fidgets more, seemingly oblivious to the whispers around us. I notice them, but not in a “I wonder what they’re saying” kind of way. It’s more like a hum of bitchiness that I’m ignoring.

  “Anyway, it’s almost my turn.” I begin to walk away, when Con turns quickly and grabs my arm.

  “I just don’t understand how you ended up dating him after leaving my bed that same morning.”

  Slowly, I look down at my arm and then back up at him. I’m not sure when we went from him treating me like a plaything to feeling like he can grab me whenever he wants, but now I’m pissed. I may struggle with knowing my own value, but even I know I’m worth more than being manhandled.

  Seething, I yank my arm out of his grasp, barely noticing that the hum of bitchiness has stopped. If it weren’t for the sounds of the springs in the equipment and the pounding of bodies tumbling, the room would be silent.

  Regardless of who can hear me, I’m not one to back down in a situation like this one. Not only did Con trick me, but he also discarded me, he grabbed me, and now he’s declaring some sort of possession? Oh. Hell. No.

  “I happened to run into Heath on my way back to my dorm. Unlike some people I know, he was gentlemanly enough to make sure I got home okay. And on the way, we hit it off and decided to go out. Even better, we had a great time at the club and plan to do it again. But I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it, considering you… what was it you told Heath? Oh yeah. You won’t respect me until I’m respectable.”

  “Lauren!” Coach yells, tearing me away from my confrontation. “Whenever you’re done chitchatting and would like to join us, you’ve got a skill to perfect.”

  I know Coach is using sarcasm to deflect his annoyance, but I’m so angry at Con I don’t even care. Instead, I stalk over to the corner of the floor, trying to see through the red haze of anger as I focus. Then I launch.

  Five running steps,

  hurdle,

  round off,

  back handspring,

  PUNCH,

  Pulling my arms in tight, I twist my body and release when I see the ceiling for the second time, landing with just enough forward momentum to punch again, tucking my body and flipping forward. I land with my arms in the air—completing my connection element for the first time.

  “Whoo!!” Coach yells across the gym, clapping his hands. “Atta girl, Lauren! You got it now!”

  I feel the tiniest bit of vindication over sticking the landing as I strut off the floor, not even looking in Con’s direction. If I can stay this pissed off at him all the time, I might knock Cassidy out of the running for that finals spot after all.

  EIGHT

  Heath

  Business economics is my least favorite class this semester. Possibly of my entire college career so far. Unfortunately, it’s also required for my degree… one I hope I don’t actually have to use in the future.

  Sure, I need all this information and understanding to make sure I can negotiate my own contracts and manage my own finances, but if the worst happens and I don’t make the NFL cut, I’ll get stuck working in an industry I hate.

  That’s not going to happen, though. I refuse to think I could get this close to my dream, only to have it snatched away. I will make it into the pros. I will. And when I do, I need to be prepared to alleviate the financial stress off my parents, while planning on my own long-term future. So here I sit, reading about the global economy and how it works with, and for, various organizations.

  It’s boring as hell.

  The good news about this class being reading-intensive is it gives me a chance to ice the knee I tweaked in practice. I was pissed when I felt the strain after a particularly hard hit between me and a freshman running back. That kid is big and fast. And he’s barely nineteen. I’ll be keeping a closer eye on him. Not only for practice purposes but because he’s up and coming. The pain in my knee is proof of that.

  Fortunately, it’s only a small injury and should only take a day or two to heal. Until then, ice and tape will be my best friends.

  And reading-intensive classes like this one.

  Drumming my fingers to the music coming through my favorite Beats headphones, I almost miss the sound of pounding. I’m not sure if I’m hearing things, but I know for sure it’s not my music, so I slide the headset back to figure it out. That’s when I hear it again.

  “Heath!” It sounds like Lauren yelling. “Heath! I need you! Open the door!”

  More banging.

  Tossing my book aside, I hobble to the door, leg wobbly from my knee being numb. That’s not important though. Whatever is causing Lauren to panic has me on edge already. Is it possible to have PTSD from someone else’s trauma? Because my heart rate sure does pick up quickly these days when Lauren sounds alarmed.

  I fling open the door, ready to jump into action.

  “What…” I’m quickly distracted by her scantily clad body so my thoughts change gears. “… in the world are you wearing?”

  “I just got done with practice,” she says by way of explanation and pushes her way past me into the room, dropping her bag and sweatshirt on the floor in a heap. “I need to talk to you.”

  Shutting the door behind her, I opt to address the issue glaring me in the face first. “No really. Why don’t you have any clothes on?”

  “I always wear this to practice. Focus! I need you to be my boyfriend.”

  I hold my hand up to stop her. “We’ll get back to that weird statement in a second. I’m still trying to understand why you’re practically naked in my dorm room.”

  Practically naked and asking for me to be her boyfriend. Because boyfriends and girlfriends do some very naughty things when they are practically naked and that’s all I can think of at the moment, which is not ideal while I’m trying to figure out what the hell she’s talking about.

  Lauren huffs like I’m exhausting and puts her hands on her hips. The movement only puts her body more on display, nipples clearly feeling the effects of the cooler temperatures outside. It’s not helpful for my focus at all.

  “This is what I wear to practice every day, Heath.”

  Not sure what I feel about her dressing like this in front of that Conrad-shithead and his equally disgusting buddies. Not that it’s my business. “It’s in the fifties outside, which we’re not at all equipped for being that we live in South Texas, and you don’t have a car. I assume that means you walked here.”

  “I ran. I needed the extra work out and didn’t want to use a treadmill when I have places to be. Come on, Heath,” she whines, frustrated that we’re still on the topic of her spandex. “I need your help.”

  Rubbing my hand down my face, I take a second to stop thinking of her stripping that sports bra off and tossing it across the room. Instead, I remind myself that she didn’t come over here offering a one-night stand. That would have been a whole different conversation and admittedly, one I would have highly considered jumping all over. I don’t trust many women, but Lauren is an athlete. The last thing she wants is to get trapped herself.

  But she didn’t offer sex. She asked me to be her boyfriend.

  I don’t get it.

  Limping my way back to my chair, I sit and toss the ice pack back on my injury. “Let’s start this conversation over. I feel there’s a punchline I’m missing.”

&nbs
p; She makes herself comfortable by grabbing Jaxon’s chair and pulling it toward me, straddling it and leaning her arms on the back. “Con started talking to me at practice today.”

  I grimace, partially from the pressure of ice on my knee; partially from hearing that she had to interact with that guy again. “Do I need to kick his ass this time?”

  “No. Although maybe eventually. He was all mad I was with you last night and gripped my arm kind of tight when I tried to walk away.” The nonchalant way she says he grabbed her and hurt her pisses me off. But not nearly as much as just knowing he put his hands on her at all. Even a gentle touch would send me into a weird rage. But this is so much worse.

  “What?” She can see the menace in my eyes because immediately her hands go up like she’s trying to calm a caged animal.

  “Before you get all ragey, I shut him down. Don’t worry about that.” Fat chance of that happening. “And after I told him to leave me alone, I cranked out the double full and a half with the front salto.”

  Now she’s completely lost me. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

  “It means,” she says excitedly, “that I need to keep all this rage, at least until that pass becomes second nature. Which is why I need you to be my boyfriend.”

  “Still lost.” And I am. She keeps saying these things that should have meaning, but I feel like I’m missing a huge part of the puzzle. At least I’m not about to fly off the handle and squish that shorty on her team anymore.

  Lauren rolls her eyes like she shouldn’t have to explain this to me. It’s one of her signature moves that used to piss me off. But I feel like we’ve turned a corner in our relationship, or whatever you call this, and it doesn’t seem to bother me anymore. Maybe she should wear tiny shorts around me more often. It obviously puts me in a better mood.

  “Let me see if I can dumb this down.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at her.

  “Poor choice of words,” she responds quickly. “What I mean is I’m going to try to explain this without having to start all the way at the beginning. I’ve been working on this skill I’m required to have for my floor routine, and it hasn’t been going well. I just can’t get enough power behind it to land how I need.”