Bad Coach (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (Forbidden Romance)

by Claire Adams

  I watched as the first quarter of the game heated up, jumping up and down and cheering as the two teams moved from one end of the court to the other—stealing, rushing to get to the other net, losing the ball, regaining it. Devon was at the peak of his performance, getting shots and assists left and right, stealing the ball whenever there was an opening. I cheered, still not daring to call out his name, but just as excited as the rowdiest fan-girl in the stands watching him. By the time the first quarter ended, the score was 15-12 in our favor, and Devon dashed to the sidelines to rehydrate. I bit my lip, watching him; he was already drenched in sweat, glowing with it, looking as close as he could to the way he had in bed with me the night before—it was as if, for a moment, the crowd around me and the game going on had disappeared. I felt my body heating up, and flashes of memory flitted through my mind at the sight of Devon. He looked up into the crowd and found me in an instant, and held my gaze for a long moment, his lips curling upward in a knowing little smile.

  Devon sat out the first half of the second quarter, catching his breath, throwing me little, flirting glances as the game went on out on the court. Then the coach changed up, and Devon took the floor again, running out and flashing me a little grin as he went into position. It seemed like every time he stole the ball, or scored a basket, or managed to evade the other team’s defense, he managed to find me in my seat and grin at me—as if to tell me that I was the reason he was playing so well. I kept my cheering up all through the second quarter of the game, getting drenched in sweat as I jumped up and down in front of my seat, not sitting down for even a minute. We scored fifteen more points to Northwestern’s eight, giving us a fairly solid lead heading into halftime.

  I slipped away from my seat when Devon and the team left the court to head into the lockers, knowing there was no real point in sticking around for the halftime show. I had seen it so many times before, and if Devon wasn’t there playing—and my throat was already hoarse from cheering and screaming—I might as well take advantage of the break to get something to drink. I bought a soda and a water, deciding on some cheap nachos at the last minute before I hurried back to my place, cramming the food into my mouth so that I would be ready to cheer once more when the teams came out again.

  The second half of the game started, and I was on my feet once more, cheering my head off, jumping up and down. Devon was just as on fire as he had been before, moving fast on his feet, ducking and dodging, passing and taking passes. Within the first minutes of the second half, he and Miles had extended our lead on Northwestern by nine points—making it even harder for the other team to try and even contemplate winning the game. Even better, Devon kept looking for me in the stands, grinning at me, showing off seemingly for me alone—though I knew objectively that he would have shown off even if we weren’t dating, even if we’d never even met before, it still warmed my heart that he seemed to be looking to see how impressed I was.

  The crowd was absolutely wild as Northwestern managed to score another three baskets in the third quarter, bringing the score closer to even—but not quite close enough. The fourth quarter began, and our team shifted into defense; the coach knew as well as anyone watching that as long as we kept our lead, we would win. Devon still managed two solid, beautiful shots—increasing the lead—but for the most part they were playing a defensive game, stealing the ball back, running out the clock. Devon’s moves became even flashier, misdirecting the other team’s players, darting back and forth, weaving his way across the court.

  The game came to an end with our team as the winners, and the entire section lit up—cheering, screaming, jumping up and down until the whole seating area seemed to shake and tremble. The team celebrated out on the court, jumping up and down, high-fiving each other and chest bumping. I laughed at the sight of Devon and his teammates running around, cheering, and accepting their accolades from the crowd. I managed to sit down finally, out of breath and hoarse, exhilarated from the game. I needed to use the bathroom and get to the lockers. More than I had all night, I absolutely wanted to be with Devon as soon as humanly possible.

  Chapter Nine

  I went to the bathroom quickly, threw away my trash, and decided to head for the lockers as quickly as possible. Most of the crowd was starting to come out of the stands, heading for the exits rather than the locker rooms; it was like trying to swim upriver, getting through them and moving against their herd-like steps to get to where I wanted to be. I was already tired, almost exhausted from my cheering; but I knew that I needed to see Devon—I needed to hug him, kiss him, and as soon as possible, I needed to be alone with him in his room.

  When I arrived at the locker room area, I saw that there were more than a few girls who had made their way there, along with some of the local newspapers. Our team was keeping up quite the winning streak—and Devon was the reason why. I stood off to the side, away from the basketball bunnies, fidgeting as the sweat cooled and dried on my skin. At least you’re not wandering around aimlessly looking for him this time, I thought. No chance you’ll miss him. No one’s come out yet, and if Devon had, he’d have found you first. I pictured him in my mind, showering as quickly as he could in the locker room, in just as much of a hurry to get to me as I was to see him.

  The crowd gradually thinned, and while I didn’t know for sure how much time was passing as I waited, it seemed like a long time indeed; the people heading for the parking lot, heading for parties on campus or just their dorms, were trickling out. Some of the fan-girls even started to wander away as the minutes dragged on, and I started to feel anxious. There was no way that I could have missed Devon; I hadn’t taken that long to use the bathroom—and he would have definitely stopped to shower. I wondered if someone might have been injured, I wondered if that someone might have been Devon. He had been showing off—but he hadn’t shown any signs of being hurt throughout the game. He hadn’t taken any falls; he hadn’t been in any fights. I caught up my bottom lip between my teeth and worried at it, looking around for some sign as to what was going on.

  Some of the other players started to come out of the lockers, and my worries seemed to both dissolve and deepen at the same time. I smiled at the players who I’d met at the frat as they came through; the journalists hanging out around the entry to the lockers were asking questions I didn’t quite understand—but none of the players were commenting, except to say that they’d had a great game, and they were going to wait and see about the tournament. I fidgeted, looking around constantly, wishing I had some idea—any idea—of where Devon was inside of the lockers, and what he was doing. Surely it wasn’t taking him this long to shower and change. I couldn’t help feeling like something had to have gone wrong, and I thought back to the last time I’d waited for Devon, when I’d ended up seeing him wrapped in Kelly’s arms, though I hadn’t known it was Kelly.

  The basketball groupies started to filter away, some of them wandering towards the exits with the players who came out. I tried not to feel the panic that was rising up inside of me, the worry that was growing deeper and deeper as I waited longer and longer for Devon to appear. I swallowed against the lump in my throat, counting the number of players who came out, trying to do the mental math to figure out who was missing. Evans talked to me for a few minutes, stopping short. “Hey, Jenn, how’s it going?” he asked, giving me a polite little smile.

  “Pretty good,” I said. I remembered that Evans had been one of the guys playing video games in the living room when I’d visited the Phi Kappa house before. “Is—is Devon okay?” I glanced around, lowering my voice so that none of the few journalists and fan-girls hanging around would hear me. Evans glanced sideways, making a face before he met my gaze once more.

  “Yeah, he’s okay. Should be out soon.” The expression on his face—that little flicker of uncertainty—made me think that I wouldn’t like what would happen when Devon came out. Oh god. Oh god. He’s with some girl in there, just like Kelly said—just like everyone said.

  “Heading back to the f
rat?” I asked, keeping my voice as light as possible. Evans nodded.

  “Yeah—yeah, I’ll probably see you there.” He patted my shoulder and sauntered away after giving me another friendly smile.

  After a few more minutes, the coach came out looking at the journalists. “I’m going to need you all to head out,” the coach said, keeping his voice carefully level. “No one has anything to say about the game you haven’t heard already.”

  “Can we get a comment from Devon Sealy?” someone asked.

  “No ma’am,” the coach told the reporter. “I’d appreciate it if you guys would hit the road. I’ll be sending out a press release about the game tomorrow morning.” I frowned to myself; there was more and more about the situation that I didn’t like, although I didn’t know enough about what was going on to know what it was. Of course the reporters wanted to talk to Devon; he had been the star of the game. Why would the coach get between Devon and the reporters, then?

  The coach brushed past without even seeing me, and the last few players came out as well, pairing off with the girls who had stayed behind. The reporters started to decamp, and I felt pathetic, standing there waiting, wondering if Devon was even in the locker room. If there was something wrong—had someone smuggled Devon out of the locker rooms before the press had arrived, before I had gotten there? I took a deep breath. If he didn’t come out in a few minutes, I would text him and see what was going on.

  There couldn’t possibly be anyone else in the locker room, I thought, counting in my mind. All of the other players had come out, the coaches, the support staff; before I knew it, I would be all alone in the arena except for the cleanup crew. They’d throw me out. I was starting to think that I would have to text Devon—starting to think that I should check on him in the locker room. I took a deep breath, slipping my hand into my purse to take out my phone. There was no message from Devon; I would have to text him.

  Just when I would have sent the message, the door to the locker room opened with a squeak, and Devon came out. Where he’d been absolutely jubilant on the court, flushed with victory, jumping up and down, smiling up at me, he was obviously furious—his brows were low over his eyes, his lips turned down in a frown. “Dev!” I came away from the wall I had been leaning on, hurrying to get to him as he came out of the locker room almost storming through the door. Devon looked around, and in a moment spotted me; I watched the clouds clear away from his face, and he smiled at me—though it was barely a fraction of his normal charming grins.

  “Hey, babe,” Devon said, wrapping his arms around me the moment I came near. He kissed me lightly on the lips, his hands wandering along my curves slowly. “It was good to see you there cheering for me,” he murmured. He smiled against my lips, pulling my body close against his, holding me for a long moment.

  “It was good to watch you,” I told him. The things I’d heard—the expression on his face, the whole situation—tugged at my mind, troubling me. “What’s going on, Devon?” Devon pulled back slightly, swallowing. For a moment, he looked more worried than angry, and then the expression left his face once more, replaced by a ghost of his usual cheerful look.

  “I don’t want to talk about it here, babe,” he said, smiling weakly. He kissed me again. “Let’s head back to the house and we can talk about it there, okay?” I looked up into his eyes.

  “This isn’t—it’s not anything about what we discussed before, right?” I said, holding onto his arms tightly.

  “No,” Devon said, giving me another weak smile. “It’s nothing about anything like that. I promise I’ll tell you everything, okay?” I took a deep breath.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Ten

  The entire time we walked across campus, I was torn between dread at finding out what had happened to Devon and delight at the fact that he was holding my hand. If nothing else, I thought, obviously his problem—whatever it was—wasn’t about Kelly or about me, and it wasn’t about his playing ways. But the fact that Devon was so obviously upset worried me. It had to be something serious for him to be so angry. The questions from the reporters, along with the comments from the coach—that he had nothing to say about Devon, that Devon wouldn’t be speaking to the press—filtered through my mind, giving me a picture of nothing good at all. I wanted to ask him what it was, but while we were in public—and in spite of how deserted the campus was that time of night, it was still public—I knew he wouldn’t want to say anything.

  So I forced myself to be patient. It would look strange for us to walk silently, so I made myself make small talk. Devon and I talked about the game, about Northwestern, about the halftime show that neither of us had seen. “I feel like I played better than ever,” Devon said, giving me a slightly more genuine smile.

  “You were definitely on fire,” I said, moving a little closer to him in the darkness between two safety lights. Devon gave my hand a little squeeze, and I hoped against hope that whatever had happened between when he left the court and when I saw him again, it wouldn’t be something that could ruin our relationship; I had practically not just burned but exploded my bridges with Kelly. I didn’t know how I could handle it to lose both Kelly and Devon within twenty-four hours. It wouldn’t be fair.

  We arrived at the frat house, and Devon said a polite hello to his brothers hanging around the living room. “Great game, man,” someone called out, barely tearing his gaze away from the TV where a post-game commentary was going on. One of the other brothers looked over and grinned, giving me a wave.

  “I saw you down court-side,” he said. “Cheering our boy. You got a good one there, Dev.”

  Devon chatted for a few moments—and I knew that he was anxious to get me somewhere private where we could talk. I kept up my own end of the conversation, smiling and nodding, agreeing with a few comments about the game. I could feel the tension in the room—but obviously no one wanted to talk about whatever was happening with Devon. That made me even more deeply worried; I didn’t know how to feel about something that everyone in the frat knew about, but which no one would talk about. Something that the coach of the team wouldn’t talk to the press about, that Devon wouldn’t mention in public. My heart was beating in my chest as my brain played through all of the possibilities; maybe there had been a death in Devon’s family, or someone had been injured, or he was sick. Maybe Devon had bad grades in one of his classes and was going to be put on academic probation. Any number of things would have happened.

  I somehow managed to keep my anxious self together. After a while, Devon finally managed to beg off, saying that he was tired after such a big game and wanted to get some time with me alone. I grinned nervously, looking around the room; there were a few leers—a few suggestive looks, from guys who were pretty sure they knew what Devon was really after. Some of the other guys in the frat looked at Devon and Me as if they were contemplating an explosion. Devon took me by the hand and led me up the stairs, saying goodnight to the other guys. He gave my hand a little squeeze, and I could see the anxiety in his eyes as he glanced at me.

  My heart beat in my chest, faster and faster, as I tried to decide what the worst possible thing could be. Maybe he knocked someone up; condoms break, the pill fails—it could be that. If he’s not seeing her still, I could be okay with that…I guess…or maybe he took steroids and got caught—though I can’t even imagine him doing something quite so stupid. Maybe he and some other member of the team had some kind of problem—some kind of fight. Oh god, I wish he would just tell me what’s going on. I might die of a fucking heart attack before we even get to his room.

  Devon opened the door to his bedroom and led me through it, and for a long moment we were both silent as he closed the door behind us. I waited for him to tell me—I waited for him to say something, anything. Devon was looking at the floor, staring at it; it made me terrified. Whatever it was, it was obviously a really huge deal. This couldn’t be something minor, not the way that he was wrestling with himself, avoiding my gaze.

  “God, De
von,” I said, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed. “Just tell me. I don’t even care what it is, just tell me. I can’t sit here and keep stewing anymore.” Devon finally met my gaze and looked like he was about to cry.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, taking a shaky breath and licking his lips. “But you have to promise to hear me out—don’t say anything until I’ve told you the whole story.” I closed my eyes; if it was this dire—did I really want to know it? But I had to know now. I couldn’t just brush it off and pretend like nothing was going on. Obviously the guys downstairs knew what had happened; the press knew about it. Everyone seemed to know about it except for me. I couldn’t just stick with ignorance.

  “Fine,” I said, opening my eyes and taking a deep breath. “I—I promise. I’ll let you explain the whole thing before I say anything about what it is. Just tell me.” Devon swallowed and moved across the room, sitting in his desk chair. He took another breath.

  “After the game, coach pulled me aside in the locker room,” Devon said slowly. “He told me—he said that some guys on the academic standards committee needed to talk to me.” I bit my bottom lip to keep from saying anything; if the academic standards committee wanted to talk to Devon—if they had—it had to be something major, indeed. Failing a class, or something that could be grounds for academic probation; something that could get him suspended or even kicked off of the team.

  “Okay,” I said—in spite of the fact that I had promised to say nothing until he finished. Devon closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he exhaled on a sigh.

  “The thing is that they—okay.” Devon pressed his lips together. “Back when I was in high school, I was all about basketball. I was barely making grades—just good enough to keep from getting kicked off the team, right?” I nodded. I wished that he would just tell me; my heart was beating so hard in my chest that I thought it would burst out from between my ribs, or leap up into my throat. What did his grades in high school have to do with anything he had going on now? He was only a few semesters away from graduating.