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

by Claire Adams

  However, peer pressure is a tough thing to resist — especially when it's coming from someone like Chris who doesn't seem to understand that politely declining his invitation should mean the conversation is over. So, with Chris egging me on, I downed yet another shot of Jägermeister. I shuddered as the fiery, medicinal-tasting liquid burned its way down the back of my throat and added itself to the sloshy mix of booze already in my stomach. I was feeling more than a little nauseated.

  To my right, the biting annoyance of a shrill cheer reverberated in my head. Melissa.

  “Woo! Way to go, Emerson!” she shouted, her grating voice caustic in my ears.

  She tried to drape an arm around my shoulder, but I slipped away of her hold, mumbling that I wasn’t feeling so great. I didn't give her the chance to complain about it; instead, I just hurried off to the bathroom as fast as I could, stepped inside, and locked the door behind me.

  Once inside, I closed the toilet seat lid, sat down, and put my head in my hands, resting my elbows on my knees for support. The night was turning out to be a real shit show. The friends Melissa had brought along were even more vapid and annoying than she was — something I didn't think possible. Then again, there they were. It seemed I was wrong.

  Sitting there, trying to avoid Melissa’s advances, I was beginning to feel worse and worse. I wondered if it was the booze or if I was actually coming down with something. Whichever it was, the beginnings of what was sure to be a bitch of a headache started to throb behind my eyes and my throat was scratchy and raw. I hoped it was the Jägermeister. With a new semester starting in a couple of days, I couldn't afford to get sick. I really wanted to nail the upcoming semester, especially seeing as I had failed to do that in the previous few semesters — most likely because of Chris, Melissa, and the relentless partying I couldn't escape, at least not while I lived with Chris.

  A knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts.

  “Are you okay in there, Emerson? You're not throwing up or something are you?”

  Oh God. Melissa. She was harder to get rid of than herpes.

  I paused before replying. I was about to say I was okay, but maybe if I said I was throwing up, she'd leave me alone.

  That strategy, however, could totally backfire…and I mean totally. I raced through the possible scenarios in my head. The worst being that she might insist on staying to “take care of me” while I was feeling sick, thereby, setting up the exact situation she wanted — me alone with her while everyone else went out to the club.

  That wasn’t a chance I was willing to take.

  “I'm fine. I'm not sick,” I called out. “Just, uh, there's a lot of beer in me that's all trying to, uh, get out at once, you know? Sometimes these things can take a while, if you know what I mean?”

  A half-muffled giggle sounded through the door.

  “Alright, sexy,” she said, her voice slurred with drunkenness. “I'll be waiting for you with an ice-cold beer when you're done! Don't keep a lady waiting too long now, huh?”

  “Uh, yeah. Alright.”

  I shook my head and sucked in a deep breath. There was no easy way out of it. I was going to have to go out there, get smashed, and hope I retained enough composure to keep Melissa away from me as much as I could for the rest of the evening.

  I sat in the bathroom considering that it might be time for a change. Thinking that I may need to start checking out other apartments, or more specifically, other roommates. An instant pang of guilt stabbed at me the moment the thought flew through me. Chris and I had been friends for most of our lives. He was like the brother I never had. Growing up in the suburbs with parents who both had full-time jobs and no siblings to do things with after school had made for a pretty lonely childhood. So, when Chris had moved into the house across the street from ours when I was seven years old, he had been a godsend. He and I had just clicked. We'd grown up together, been best friends. So, of course, it had been a natural progression for us to move in together when we both got into the same college.

  Lately, though, I felt like we'd been outgrowing each other. Our priorities were different. We were growing up, turning into different people. People who didn’t see life the same way like we once had. It wasn't that I'd been a nerd when it came to school — I certainly had not. My grades had always been sufficient, but they hadn't been nearly as good as they could have been if I'd actually put a little effort into my schoolwork. But I’d never found anything in school that really interested me. That is, until last semester when I’d taken my first physics class. I changed my major because of that class. It had unearthed a passion I had felt had been lying dormant in me for years.

  Chris, on the other hand, had always loathed studying and anything academic, really. Being in college seemed to only amplify that hatred of books and learning. He was at the extreme end of the partying spectrum. I didn’t feel like I was at the other, but I was tired of the constant parties. There had to be a balance.

  I suddenly thought of the new girl next door, Brooke. Maybe she was the other extreme.

  She didn't look at all like Melissa or any of her airhead friends. There was nothing about Brooke that was textbook superficial — tanned, toned, curvy and full only where it counted and slim everywhere else. Very artificial. Brooke was gorgeous. She had a natural beauty that was far more subtle than Melissa's. That fact alone made her more appealing in my eyes. Not only that, she seemed smart. Not just book smart, but she seemed to be genuinely intelligent, which is something that absolutely nobody could make the mistake of saying about Melissa and her friends.

  But she came across as almost robotic. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever let loose like we’re expected to do as college students. So, even though the appeal was there, I found myself hardening toward her. Because, as attractive as she was, Brooke seemed cold. I'm talking ice-cold. Yes, she was smart, but I had to wonder if she had any personality whatsoever. To be honest, aside from the quick glimpse I’d gotten of her laughing at the dumpsters earlier, all I'd seen from her was an aloofness that could only be described as stuck-up. And just thinking about that kind of canceled out anything that may have been stirring inside me. Even though I wasn’t into partying like I had been, I didn’t want to be robotic. Like I said, there had to be a balance. I just needed to do less partying.

  But less would be the key word. Less, not none. I mean, come on! College wasn't only about expanding your mind and working hard for a degree. It was also about expanding your social circle, trying new things, and having some fun before you got into the routine of work and having a real job and real responsibilities.

  Didn't Brooke get that?

  Maybe not. She was, I guessed, one of those strait-laced prudes who did nothing but study during their college years. The kind of girls who turned their noses up at guys like me, guys who actually liked to cut loose, have a bit of fun, and live a little once in a while.

  I shook my head.

  It was ridiculous to think there was even a possibility there might be something between her and I. We were just too different. Regardless of any attraction that might have existed between us, it wasn’t enough.

  I stood from my seat in the bathroom, pushing all thoughts of Brooke out of my head. After I washed my face with a little cold water, I wandered back to join everyone laughing and drinking. I grabbed another beer from the fridge, popped the top off, and took a deep swig of the crisp liquid. The night was really getting started so I figured, screw it — might as well go along with it and enjoy the ride.

  ***

  “One more shot, E, one more! C'mon, bro, you can do it!”

  My knees started to buckle beneath me. I was wasted. My vision was definitely getting more than a little blurry around the edges, too. Still, I wasn't about to let Chris stay ahead of me in the shots race. I was three behind and I needed to catch up. Melissa was hanging all over me again, only at that point I was too drunk to care. I picked up the shot glass filled to the brim with Jägermeister, stared at it for a w
hile with a goofy grin pasted across my face, and then opened my mouth and chucked the shot in, sucking it down immediately.

  As soon as the booze vanished down my throat, I felt bile rising up in reaction. I gritted my teeth and forced the bitter liquid back down. I wasn't about to puke and ruin the evening.

  “Alright, bro, ladies, are y'all ready to hit the club?!” Chris shouted, his deep-toned voice drowning out the pumping tune ripping through our speakers.

  “Woo!” the girls shrilled.

  I heard the strange sound of my own voice, raspy and harsh, joining the chorus of approval coming from Melissa and her friends.

  “Yeah! Let's do it, then!” bellowed Chris. “An Uber driver is on the way; c'mon, yo, downstairs, downstairs!”

  Melissa hooked her arm through mine as we stumbled out of the apartment, but I didn't really care. As wasted as I was, I knew nothing was gonna happen between us. I was determined, even in this state, not to let anything happen. At least she was as drunk as I was, and I knew she couldn't hold her liquor too well. The way I had it figured, after another drink or two, she'd just pass out anyway, and then I wouldn't have to worry about her. I still felt kind of queasy, but I also felt amped to dance; the energy drink I'd slammed twenty minutes earlier had boosted a hefty dose of caffeine into my veins.

  As we were stumbling past Brooke's apartment, I couldn't help but pause and listen for a moment. I thought I heard something I recognized — the opening theme for Game of Thrones, my favorite TV show.

  I couldn't help wondering who was watching it — Leslie or Brooke?

  Did Brooke actually have more of a personality than study nerd? Was it possible that we actually had more in common than we thought we did? I didn't know anyone besides myself who was crazy interested in Game of Thrones as I was. Hell, I'd even read the books – and I'm not really one for reading books.

  I didn't have too much time to think about it because I soon felt an impatient tugging on my arm.

  “Emerson,” whined Melissa, “come on! What are you doing just standing there? You look like you’re in a different place.”

  “Um, I just, uh, I just thought I heard something I recognized.”

  She paused and listened.

  “Oh yeah, I've heard that song before. That's that show about demon hunters, right?”

  “What?” I shook my head.

  “It's uh, I've heard it… Wait, wait, don't tell me.”

  “You don't know this.”

  “I do! Just give me a second to try remember.”

  I waited, rolling my eyes as she wracked her brain trying to place the song.

  “What's that called again? Vampire something. No…Supernatural?”

  I shook my head and sighed.

  “Game of Thrones, Mel, Game of Thrones.”

  She grimaced with distaste.

  “Oh my God, yeah. The one with swords and medieval shit. God, what a dorky show! Who watches that crap? Ugh, it's like so…complicated. And you've got to be some sorta uber-nerd to go for boring, lame-ass stuff like that. I mean, seriously, dragons and swords and like old-days boringness? Puh-lease. Your new neighbors must be total losers!” she laughed.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head again.

  “Yeah. They’re the losers, all right. Come on. Driver is here.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Brooke

  Hangovers. The exact reason I rarely drink hard liquor. I woke up the next morning with a dry mouth and a bit of a headache…and that was from drinking wine. I’m such a lightweight. I really should have had a tall glass of water before hitting the sack after all the wine I drank.

  The sun was already peeking through the cracks between my curtains. And based on the angle of the shadows, it was already getting fairly high in the sky. That meant it was way past my usual wake up time.

  “Ugh, wine…I love you, so why do you do this to me,” I muttered as I pulled a pillow over my face. “Can't live with you, can't live without you. Sheesh, it's almost like we're married.” I tossed the pillow aside and pushed myself up to sit on the edge of my bed. It took me a moment to get motivated. I stood and stretched my arms and legs, glancing around my new bedroom. There were still a few things I wanted to do, like hang pictures and paint one wall to give the room a splash of color, but all in all, it felt as much like home as any place could after one night.

  I picked up the empty wine glass from next to my bed and was just about to head to the kitchen to whip up a hearty breakfast. Food always seemed to help when I had a mild hangover and I was in dire need of some energy to get me through everything I needed to accomplish before classes began Monday morning.

  First, I ambled over to the curtains and threw them open, basking for a few moments in the warm sunshine that flooded through the window. I even slid a window open and just listened to the sounds of the birds. It was a lovely morning and the view from the window in my bedroom was nicer than I had expected considering we were in an apartment complex. Thankfully, we had an end unit that faced a park. Right outside my window grew a tall, sprawling oak tree that seemed to be full of birds, judging from all singing and tittering of their morning song. It was a beautiful moment until…

  I heard it. Again.

  The heavily-muffled, but nonetheless audible, sound of voices — a guy’s and a girl's — grunting, groaning, gasping, and moaning while what I assumed was the bed thumped against the wall between our rooms at an accelerating, intensifying pace.

  “Oh. My. God. Seriously?!”

  I hurried out of my room, dropped the wine glass off at the kitchen sink, and then rushed over to Leslie's room where I knocked on the door.

  “Hey, Les, you up?”

  “Yeah, girl, gimme a sec, I'm just getting changed.”

  Leslie opened the door a few minutes later, looking refreshed and sprightly.

  “Morning, Brooke!” she said with an ear-to-ear grin. “I slept so well last night! I feel like a million bucks! How about you, did you get a good night's sleep?”

  “I did, kinda. Although I think I had a bit too much wine last night after you went to sleep.”

  “Oh yeah? How much more did you have?”

  “Umm. I finished a bottle.”

  Leslie threw her head back and laughed. “Wait. Are you serious? Wow, you might need to tone it down a bit, you little alcoholic, you!”

  I blushed. “Alright, Mom,” I said. “I'll try to be a good girl from now on, okay?”

  We both chuckled, but then I got back to my original reason for knocking on her door.

  “Okay, enough about my wine addiction. There's a little bit of a problem. It's my room.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “For real? What's wrong?”

  “Come on, I'll show you.”

  We walked over to my room and stepped inside. Leslie started looking around with a slightly confused look on her face.

  “What's wrong, Brooke? Everything looks fine to me. Please, please don't say that this place is haunted or something...”

  “No. Well, depends on how you look at it,” I said. “Just keep quiet for a minute and listen.”

  We both stood in silence and I hoped I hadn’t waited too long. Sure enough, the sounds of what was happening on the other side of the wall started to echo through. They weren’t as loud and clear as before, but they were audible enough to be easily recognized. Leslie's eyes widened as she covered her suddenly-gaping mouth with one hand.

  “Oh my God, Brooke! Are they… Surely they aren’t… You know!”

  I folded my arms across my chest and nodded. “Oh yeah. They are.”

  “Oh my God, it sounds like a porno.”

  “Yep. Right next to my bed. Literally a foot or two away. Nothing but this feeble excuse for a wall separating what's going on in that room from us.”

  She scrunched her face in disgust. “Eww! I mean…just…ewwww!”

  Then we both paused, kept silent, and listened again. It seemed like it wasn't going to end any time soon. We shot each oth
er an uncomfortable glance and then both burst out laughing. It was the only way we really knew how to deal with the weird, awkward ridiculousness of the moment.

  “Good Lord, Brooke, did you hear this last night, too?”

  “Yep. I had to use my earphones just to be able to fall asleep.”

  She shook her head, her mouth still hung half-open with an expression of disbelief and more than a little amusement.

  “Do you think it's Emerson?” she asked.

  A rush of something flashed through me again. I didn’t want it to. There was no reason for it, but the thought of him tangled with that awful bimbo doing ungodly things, his gorgeous eyes focused on her, on her of all people made me want to punch something.

  “I don't know,” I sputtered a little too quickly and harshly.

  I blushed as Leslie shot me a knowing gaze, smiling subtly at my reaction.

  “Or…maybe it's Chris,” she said slowly, still staring at me to gauge my response. She knew me too well for my own good sometimes.

  “Um, yeah,” I replied, blushing furiously. “Yeah, ho-, who knows, maybe it's Chris.”

  Jeez, I couldn’t believe I almost said, “hopefully it's Chris.” Hopefully? Seriously? Why should I even care if that self-absorbed idiot jock, Emerson, was getting down and dirty with his skanky, plastic girlfriend? It wasn't any of my business.

  Although, the sound of it coming through the walls into my place did kind of make it my business. Leslie stared at the wall with her hands on her hips, listening to the still-intensifying sound.

  “We brought that softball bat from your parent’s place, right?” she asked.

  “Um, yeah, but-”

  “I'm gonna beat on the damn wall with it, let those two fools on the other side know we don't appreciate being the audience for their little porno flick.”

  “No, no, come on, Les, you can't do that! That'll make it… Jeez, I dunno. It'll just make the whole thing even weirder and more awkward than it already is! We have to pass these people in the hall, ya know.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t have the right to just…do that and make us feel uncomfortable in our own house!”