Downed (Gridiron #3)

by Jen Frederick

  “Call me Bubba,” he says. He raises a hand in the air and flags down a waitress. “What can we get for you to drink?”

  “Nothing. I've got a game tomorrow.”

  Bubba smiles. “So you do, so you do. My friend and I will take a refill of the bourbon. Why don't you bring Ace a...?” He pauses.

  “A water is good,” I supply.

  Bubba watches the waitress's departing back for a moment before addressing me again. “Damn shame these places are so stuffy. Back in the day, there used to be men's clubs with real waitresses. Nowadays, these mixed rooms have to have buttoned-up girls lest the PC crowd have kittens because a few titties were showing.” He shakes his head in real dismay that the fancy-pants bar doesn't have stripper poles and pasties-wearing wait staff.

  “How is it that you and my dad came to meet, Bubba?”

  Bubba folds his hands across his stomach. “I'm on the board of the Children's Hospital here and since your dad is in medical equipment supplies, it seemed like a natural fit for me to look him up when I was in Boston a few weeks ago.”

  That seems like a huge fucking stretch, but there's no point in me arguing with either of them. I'll spend a few minutes shooting the breeze and then leave.

  “We're all real excited to have a player with real championship experience on the team. Think you'll make a difference?” Bubba asks.

  “I hope so.”

  “We’re expecting big things from you.”

  “I expect big things from myself.”

  Bubba laughs, slapping the arm of his leather chair. “Damn, I like your confidence. When Coach Johnson signed you up, I wasn’t fully on board, but your experience is something the team needs.”

  I breathe through my nostrils so I don't say something I regret. I've got actual skills other than having won championships at every level. I'm not just a trophy case.

  “It doesn't matter that there are boys behind center that have better arms than Ace; he's got the better brain.” Dad turns to Bubba and taps the side of his skull. “He gets that from me. Both heads are fully functional.”

  Oh, for Christ's sake. “Dad, enough,” I snap.

  Bubba smiles, all lips, no teeth. “Don't care what size head he's got as long as he uses it the right way. What kind of offensive plays do you plan to run?”

  “Yeah, tell us.”

  An alarm bell dings in the back of my head. They want to know what kinds of plays we're running? That's not cool. Those plays are for the team to know and no one else. “Not my place.”

  Bubba shoots Dad a look that I can't read.

  “I hear Coach Johnson scripts the first fifteen plays. Any idea how many are going to be pass or run?” Dad presses.

  “Not my place,” I repeat.

  Bubba stands up. “I'm going to see what's taking so long with the waitress. You two sit tight.”

  When Bubba is out of earshot, I lean forward. “Are you betting on this game?”

  Dad's face flushes.

  “Jesus Christ, Dad. You cannot be serious. You think I'm going to jeopardize my position with my new team by leaking plays to you?”

  “It's a small side bet. How many runs versus how many passes. It's not like I'm asking you to throw the game. I'd never do that. It's just a fact. You have knowledge of the facts, and I'm asking you to share them. The bet's not even that big,” he complains.

  “I don't care if the bet is for a dollar. I’m still not helping you with this.”

  “No one's going to find out.” His tone becomes cajoling. “I'd never ask this of you if I didn't need the help. Business has been slow. Like I told you, I couldn't swing the trip down here to see your game. You know how much I love watching you play.” No, you love telling everyone that you're my dad. “Come on. Seriously. This is piddly shit and doesn't have any impact on the outcome of the game.”

  “I could get banned from college ball. It would hurt me in the NFL.” Just talking about it in public like this is making me sweat.

  He barks out a laugh. “Son, we both know you're not getting into the pros. You don't have the arm for that, which is why we should take advantage of your situation now. You're not going to have a better opportunity to grow your wealth.”

  I stare at him dumbly as a chill creeps over me. “Is that what Bubba's telling you? That gambling can grow your wealth? Come on. Don't fall for that sucker.”

  Dad's face grows hard. “It's not a sucker's bet if you tell me the plays.”

  I get to my feet just as Bubba arrives at the table, waitress right beside him.

  “Leaving so soon?” Bubba smiles and the chill grows colder. “Our drinks just came. Darla’s sorry she was taking so long, aren't you?”

  “Yessir,” the pretty girl parrots.

  “I've got a project due. Nice to meet you, Bubba.” I nod curtly and walk away.

  “Wait a second, son. I'll walk out with you. Give me a minute, Bubba.” Dad jumps up and chases after me.

  “I'm not telling you the plays,” I grind out when he reaches me in the lobby. “You need to stay away from Bubba. It's only going to spell trouble. You can't afford this lifestyle.”

  Dad grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop right before the exit doors. “Forget the plays. You're going to answer something for me, though. What's going on between you and Coach Johnson's daughter? She was here earlier. Bryant?”

  I freeze. What does he mean, she was here? “Why? Why do you ask?” When the words come out, I regret it. I should've said something like “Bryant who?” Instead, I stupidly acknowledge what I don't want people outside the team knowing.

  Dad smacks a hand against the back of my head. “Fuck me sideways, Ace. Didn't you learn your lesson from the last time?”

  I feel my face heat up. “It's not what you think it is.”

  He snorts derisively. “If you're fucking her, then it's exactly what I think it is. Fine, you don't want to tell me the plays. You don't want to help me, then at least help yourself and stay out of that girl's shorts. There’s plenty other pussy out there that you can plow. I don't care if her legs open easier than an automatic door, you don't shit where you eat. Stay away from that girl.”

  Hearing my dad say that crap about Bryant turns my vision red. Bryant’s too special of a girl to be infected by my dad’s taint. Hell, it’s bad enough she’s hanging around me.

  “How about you stay away,” I spit out. “From my team and from Bryant.”

  13

  Ace

  According to Zane, Bryant’s room is on the second floor of the Alpha Omega sorority house. Maybe I would’ve been suspicious of how readily available that information had been to him, if I didn’t know for a fact that Bryant hasn’t been involved with any football player since that Tommy kid who got kicked off the team. Besides, this sorority has a strict no-boys-allowed policy.

  Which is why I’m hiding in the gardenia bushes like a creeper, scanning the upper windows until I pinpoint Bryant’s. Last window on the very left, Zane had said. The house is plantation-style, with pillars around the exterior and a white façade that looks gray in the shadows.

  It’s ten o’clock. I shouldn’t be here. Not because I’ll probably go to sorority jail for breaking their ridiculous rules, but because curfew was at nine thirty. The team stays at a hotel the night before a game, even for home games, and everyone else is at the Radisson right now. Me, I’m scaling an ivy-covered lattice, scrambling up to the balcony that spans the entire second floor of the massive house.

  Filmy white curtains cover her window, but there’s light beyond them. I make out a figure moving around the room. Long hair and a round ass hugged by pink booty shorts. The lust that shoots through me makes me frown. I don’t like how easily this girl gets to me, even when I’m supposed to be angry with her.

  I tap on the windowpane a little harder than I mean to. The entire frame rattles, and there’s a startled cry from inside. When I see her dash toward the door, I call out, “Bryant. It’s me.”

  The shadowy figur
e stops. Then there’s audible stomping before the curtains are ripped aside.

  “Ace?” she hisses through the glass.

  I gesture for her to open the window. She does, but very reluctantly.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispers once the glass is no longer a barrier.

  Rather than answer, I plant a hand on the wooden sill and climb into her room. That gets me a flustered exclamation.

  “Ace. You can’t be here.” Her brown eyes dart to the door. It’s closed, and there’s no sounds coming from beyond it. “If Sadie finds out, she’ll make me vacuum the entire house for the rest of this semester. Do you know how many square feet of carpet there are in this place?”

  I don’t know who Sadie is, and I don’t care. I fold my arms across my chest and meet her frazzled gaze. “Why were you meeting with my dad?”

  Bryant’s mouth falls open. She recovers quickly. “I wasn’t meeting with your dad,” she replies stiffly.

  “No? Because he says you were at the Mansion earlier and it sounded like you two spoke.” Accusation colors my tone.

  “I was there,” she confirms, and her tone is getting angrier, too. “But not to see your daddy, Ace. I was dropping off a sidelines pass to a booster—Bubba Wasserly. I had no idea he was getting the pass for your father.”

  That appeases me. Just a bit. “What did he say to you?” I mutter.

  “Who? Mr. Wasserly?”

  “No, my dad,” I answer through clenched teeth.

  Bryant edges to the door and stands in front of it, as if she’s afraid someone will barge in and she’ll need to barricade it with her body. A frown mars her full lips. “He asked me how my dad plans to use you. And he said he doesn’t think you should be doing option reads anymore.”

  That son of a bitch. He was hitting up my coach’s daughter for intel about our plays, too? “Fucking hell,” I growl under my breath.

  “Don’t curse,” Bryant says immediately, all southern manners, which was goddamned cute when we were fucking, but annoying now.

  “I’ll curse if I want to,” I snap.

  She flinches. I feel bad, but not bad enough to apologize. Truth is, I’m pissed. At my dad for showing up and running his mouth and risking my place at this college so he can win a few bucks. But also at Bryant, for insinuating herself into my life. And for meeting my dad. I don’t want the two of them in the same room, ever.

  “Stay away from my father, Bryant.”

  Her eyes widen, then fill with indignation. “You say that as if I intentionally sought him out tonight, which I did not.” She crosses her arms to match my pose, only on her it doesn’t look menacing. It just causes her ample tits to squish together and her cleavage to pour out of her white sleep tank. “You’re out of line right now, JR. You shouldn’t be in my room, and you have no right to accuse me of…” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what you’re accusing me of!”

  Me neither. Some of my anger dims as I take in her pink cheeks and confused expression. But her next words retrigger the spark of hostility.

  “Your behavior is undesirable. You’re better than this, JR.”

  I gape at her. “Jesus Christ, Bryant! You don’t know what I’m better or worse than. You don’t know shit about me, and you don’t get to judge whether my behavior is ‘desirable’”—I use finger quotes—“or not. From the day I met you, you’ve been treating me like a broken doll you need to fix. Well, I don’t need fixing, baby,” I say mockingly. “I’m Ace fucking Anderson and I can behave any goddamn way I want. I like who I am.”

  “Do you?”

  Her quiet counter makes me angrier. “Damn right I do. I’m the starting quarterback of this college, for fuck’s sake. I’ve won two national championships, which is more than any of those assholes have. I can snap my fingers and any number of hot, willing chicks will be on their knees in front of me, begging to suck me off.” Bryant flinches. I’m panting, though I don’t know if it’s from anger or desperation. “I don’t need you to try to change me, okay? I don’t need your lectures about my behavior. If you really want to put your mouth to good use, then how about you blow me? Otherwise, you can keep your opinions to yourself.”

  I finish with a defeated breath, almost instantly regretting every single word I just said to her. Bryant is staring at me with an indecipherable expression. I think…I think I see pity there.

  Fuck that. Fuck it all. I take a hurried step back to the window.

  “Ace,” she says softly from behind me.

  I hesitate.

  “What are you really mad about right now?”

  Shame roots me to the spot. Shame and an overwhelming amount of self-loathing. I’m an ass, just like my old man. I shouldn’t be in this room with this woman. I feel like I’m dirtying her up simply from breathing the same air as her. If Bryant knew the things I’ve said to other women, the things I’ve done, she wouldn’t want me. That’s how I can rid myself of her. That’s how I can sever this compulsion to return to her time and again.

  I force myself to meet her brown eyes steadily and open my mouth to deliver a mocking, crude rant—and instead, in hoarse, tormented tones, I say, “My father is an asshole.”

  Those cow eyes soften. Her beautiful face isn’t lined with pity, but something that looks like understanding. She marches over to me and takes my hand, tugging me down on the edge of the bed. Her comforter is a pale lavender color, sweet and pretty as the girl who sleeps under it. Her nearness, the soft comfort of her unspoken acceptance, the decency of her spirit…it all draws out words I prefer to keep masked behind insolence and isolation.

  “I love him,” I mumble, pinning my gaze to my feet. “I really do. But goddamn it, Bryant, he’s disgusting. He cheated on my mom. He blew all our savings at the racetrack. He acts like I fucking owe him something, as if he’s solely responsible for me being good at football.” I clench my fists on my knees. “He tried to get me to tell him our scripted plays so he could place bets!”

  Bryant sucks in a breath. “I hope you—”

  “No, I didn’t tell him a thing,” I say bitterly. “Do you honestly think I’d do that?”

  “No. I don’t think that.” She covers one of my fists with her small hand and begins prying my fingers apart. “I was going to say, I hope you know you don’t owe him anything.”

  I blink in surprise.

  “You don’t,” she says firmly. “He might be your daddy, Ace, but you don’t play football for him. You play for you. And just because he’s a jerk doesn’t mean you have to be one, too, or that you’re destined to be one because of some genetic malfunction.” She laces her fingers through mine. “And I don’t think you like yourself at all, JR. I don’t think you want all those girls to get on their knees and blow you, because you know they’re not doing it because they truly like you, but only because you’re the starting quarterback and they’re hoping it will elevate their own image.”

  “That’s not true, I love blow jobs,” I joke weakly.

  Bryant sighs.

  “Fine,” I admit. “Maybe the jock chasers don’t always make me feel good about myself.” I shrug. “But sometimes they do. It’s nice to feel wanted.”

  “Yes,” she agrees. “It is.”

  I stare down at our interlaced fingers. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say gruffly, the simply stated apology only scratching at the surface of the groveling she’s owed.

  Bryant peers up at me with those big brown eyes. “I’m sorry I made you feel like a broken doll. I don’t think you’re broken, Ace. Just a little…dinged.”

  “Dinged, huh?” I crack a smile. “So, what, you just sand me down, slap some new paint on me, and I’ll be good as new?”

  She laughs. “No, you know better. But…” Her voice grows soft again. “I’m not trying to change you. I promise. All I want is to help you become the best version of yourself.”

  “Why?” I demand, searching her face. “Why the hell do you care so much about me? You don’t even know me.” />
  “I know you’re in pain.” She bites her lip. “I saw it the first moment we met and I wanted to take all that pain away.”

  I flinch at her perception, but say, “That’s not your responsibility.”

  “I suppose not. But…” She trails off again. “I like to help people, if you haven’t already figured that out. It makes me feel good.”

  It makes a strange sort of sense. Chuckling, I pull her against me, slinging an arm around her. “I’ve noticed,” I say dryly.

  Bryant rests her head on my shoulder. Her breath tickles my skin right through the sleeve of my shirt. Her feminine scent wafts into my nostrils and I inhale deeply, wondering why in the hell I’m so drawn to this woman. She’s not my type. She’s soft and compassionate and far too patient.

  “You need to go now,” she finally says. “If Sadie finds out—”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know who Sadie is,” I interject, cupping her chin with both my hands. Bryant’s a fireball, but her face is dwarfed by my hands. She thinks her body’s too round for me? No way. I love it. I love the feel of her solid frame. I love the swells of her tits, the curves of her hips, the plushness of her ass.

  My dick twitches in full agreement.

  “She’s the president of AO.”

  “Do I look like I care?” I brush my thumbs against her temples before dropping a hand to slide her ass snug onto my lap.

  Bryant rolls her eyes. “Well, you should. She’s quite nasty when she’s angry, and she’s always angry when someone breaks the house rules. Furthermore—”

  I cut in again. “Furthermore? Go on, Professor.”

  She gives another exaggerated eye roll. “Furthermore, I know for a fact that the team has a Friday night curfew. My daddy will bend you over his knee and spank you silly if he finds out you’re not at the hotel.”

  “I’ve already broken curfew regardless,” I point out, licking the spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. “Doesn’t matter if I’m five minutes over it or five hours. So really, there’s no reason why I can’t fuck you before I go.”