Rush

by Shae Ross

  A door opens, spearing the corridor with light, and two police officers move in. The taller one is Officer Decker. He’s the one that questioned me after the EMT looked me over. He nudges his friend’s shoulder and dips his chin to me. “You know who this is?”

  “Hey, you’re SEU’s quarterback. Preston Rush, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say, perking up.

  He reaches in to shake my hand. “Brad Phillips. I went to SEU. You’re awesome. I think you guys are going to sweep the Big Ten this year.”

  “That’s the plan.” I nod, looping my arms through the slats. Sure as shit can’t hurt to make friends here. We talk football—speculating on whether we’re going to end up in the Big Ten Championship with Iowa or Nebraska—and after listening to them relive their own football glory days, I make my move.

  “Hey,” I say, nodding to Peep. “My girlfriend isn’t feeling well. Can we get some water, maybe a blanket?” The taller officer steps out for a minute then returns with the goods.

  “Appreciate it,” I say, taking the handoff through the bars and setting the loot on the floor beside Peep. “How long you think we have to be in here?”

  “We can check you in an hour or so. Once your alcohol level drops you’re free. It’s going to take longer for your girl, though. She doesn’t weigh as much as you—she’ll likely be here ’til morning,” he says, looking her over.

  Not good. I wonder if she’s fallen asleep through our chatter. Her head is still tilted, lying on her forearms, but from my vantage point, I can see her lids squeeze tight. “Can I wait with her?” I ask.

  “Well, it’s not the usual way we do it but, when they come to test you, just refuse the test until she passes hers.”

  “Got it, thanks.”

  He drops a farewell pat on the bar and strolls out.

  Exhaling, I rest my hands on my hips and feel fur. No wonder I’m hot—I’m still wearing half of my monkey suit. I fumble with the buckle on the ammo belt. It springs open and drops to the floor with a high-pitched clatter.

  Her head snaps up, and she gawks at me. “What are you doing?” she asks as I dip my thumbs into the waistline.

  “Shedding this hairy beast,” I say, shoving downward, stepping on one foot, and wrestling the opposite leg free. “Sweats,” I say, winking at her apprehensive expression. “Way too itchy to go commando.”

  “That’s entirely too much information,” she mutters.

  “Why don’t you move to the bench. You can lie down.” She ignores me as I kick the shell of my costume to the wall. “C’mon. You’d be more comfortable, and you can sleep.”

  “Why’d you tell them I was your girlfriend?”

  I pause, scratching my jaw and thinking. “I thought it might help.”

  “Well, I’m not your girlfriend, and you don’t have to wait for me. I’m fine on my own. I don’t need any help, especially from you.”

  My jaw hardens, and I stare down at her. She’s a wilted circle of shredded fabric. Dirt stains slash across the bodice of her dress. One of her sleeves is ripped and dangling by a thin strip of lace. She looks as if someone’s dragged her across a parking lot—technically, that someone was me. I scrub my hand over my face and my determination solidifies.

  I walk to where she’s sitting, and she looks up with a tense expression. Little Bo Peep needs some tough love right now. I kneel and pan a long, slow gaze over her, pausing to appreciate all the best parts—the low cut neckline that exposes perfect curves of pale skin, the cinched waist, and long, shapely legs. Jesus. What was my point here? Tough love.

  I knock my knuckles on the eye-patch circles of dirt covering her knees and speak slowly. “I don’t know what you were thinking, walking into a biker bar dressed like a bad decision, but I’ve got some news for you.” Her brows shoot high as I continue. “Your Little Bo Peep costume has taken a hard detour off of Mother Goose Lane and veered straight into Peep Show Alley.” I lower my chin, pinning her with an intense look. “There’s not a guy in this building who could look at you and not think about it.” Fuck. I’m thinking about it. Her lips slide until the bottom consumes top. I think she’s hearing me.

  “I’m the one that got you into this mess. I’m going to make sure you get out of it. And if that chaps your ruffled ass, I’m okay with that, because right now, you need all the help you can get.” Her arms tighten over her chest as I grab a water bottle and flip the end toward her. She hesitates, then closes her fingers around it and twists.

  Small ripples cascade down her throat as she drinks, stopping abruptly to wince. Instinct raises my hand to her chin, and she stiffens, shifting a wary gaze to me. In the low light, I hadn’t noticed the redness invading the side of her jaw, but I see it clear as day now, and disgust coats my stomach. “Jesus. Did that pirate hit you?” I slide two fingers along her jawline, angling the side of her face into the dim light. Not only is it red, it looks swollen. “I’m going to ask for some ice,” I say, starting to rise.

  She lurches forward reaching for my fingers. “Preston, no. Please don’t. I’m fine.” I hesitate, looking over her cheek again, but the combination of my name on her voice and her pleading look breaks my resolve.

  I flip the unopened water bottle in my hand and hold it against her jaw. “Let me do this at least,” I say, as she sucks in a breath.

  “Cold,” she says, letting go of a small shiver. I turn my back to the wall and sit on the floor beside her, holding the bottle to her cheek. We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before she blinks and raises her hands to cover mine on the bottle.

  “I got it,” she says. My grip loosens, and I reluctantly relinquish my nursemaid role, stretching my legs out and watching her.

  After a long minute, she casts a sideways glance. “Why are you staring at me?” she asks, and the only answer that comes to mind is why wouldn’t I?

  She’s more than just cute as hell—she’s beautiful in an effortless, natural way. Her face is innocent. She’s the kind of girl that you look at and think she’ll always carry that natural beauty. It’s just there. I can tell by the way she speaks and the way she watches me, she’s a smart girl…perceptive, quick, and brave. Tonight she was too brave.

  “You feel okay?” I ask.

  She rolls the bottle against the corner of her mouth. “I’d feel better if you stopped staring at me. I hate that,” she murmurs, looking away.

  A short laugh escapes. “You’re a college athlete and you hate being stared at?”

  “It’s not me people are staring at, it’s the game.”

  “Wrong,” I say.

  “What?” She casts me an incensed look.

  “They’re looking at you, Priscilla—the guys are anyway.” I close my eyes and lean my head against the hard concrete.

  “Whatever,” she says, but I can feel her watching me, and after a beat, I turn, arching a brow.

  “So who were they?” she asks.

  “Who were who?” I say, leaning my head back. The fabric of her dress rustles as she shifts, angling closer.

  “The guy that was kicking your ass,” she says in a “don’t bullshit me” tone, and when I don’t answer her right away, she adds, “and the one that backhanded me across the face.” Heat rolls up my chest as I stare at her jaw. God, if I ever get my hands on that guy, I’m going to choke him to within an inch of his life.

  “Don’t you think I deserve an answer?” she asks, prodding me back to reality.

  “Yes, you do. But I don’t have answers. I don’t know who they were. I went out to my truck to check my cell and cool off. The pirates came out of nowhere and jumped me.”

  It’s not a lie. I don’t know who those guys were. I have my suspicions about the whole thing—none of which I could tell her—but I didn’t know those pirates. I turn a shoulder to the wall and match the angle of her body. “I’m sorry that you got caught up in my mess, Peep. It never should have happened.” I raise the backs of my knuckles to her jaw and brush gently.

  Her gaze skim
s my features, and she speaks slowly, with a warmth in her eyes that spreads through me. “If you didn’t know them, and they came out of nowhere, why are you apologizing to me, Rush?”

  My stomach tightens. She’s looking at me as if she sees something deeper, and I feel it when I look at her, too. Beyond the frustration of our current circumstances, there’s something calm and warm and admirable about her.

  I’m certain she’s the kind of girl that could handle the truth, but even if I wanted to tell her what I suspect that bar fight was all about, I couldn’t. It would threaten her athletic status and expose her to the dirty underbelly of the athletic department. I don’t want to lie to her, either, so it’s probably not a good idea to strike up a friendship. I need to pick her up, dust her off, and send her in the right direction—away from me.

  We’re silent for a moment, watching each other. My mind stills as I think about what she did, rushing in to help me.

  “Why did you do it?” I ask.

  “Do what?”

  “Help me.”

  Her level look pierces me.

  “Because it was the right thing to do.” She speaks in a breathy whisper, and a heated sensation passes over me—she’s like a flash of energy, or the sun in my eyes, blinding and comforting at the same time.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. If tonight causes you any trouble, I’ll fix it. Will you trust me?”

  Her brow pulls tight, as if the thought of trusting me causes her some sort of pain. Despite her bravery and her smart mouth, something about her seems fragile, vulnerable. Her voice is smooth as she speaks, her look dissecting. “I don’t see that I have much choice.”

  “Not exactly a vote of confidence,” I say, chuckling.

  She’s silent a moment, and her gaze lowers to my mouth. “The only thing I’m confident about right now, Rush, is your ability to get me in trouble.” A surge of blood hits me where I feel it most. Her voice is a sexy whisper, full of sass, and I want to kiss her. Actually, kissing her is the least of what I want to do, but I’d settle for one kiss.

  My eyes drop to her mouth, wondering if she’d let me, and another memory drips into my senses. It’s the vision of her hovering over me. I think that’s what woke me. I replay it in my mind, narrowing on her as my smile grows. “Were you trying to kiss me, Peep?”

  Her face lights up, and she straightens. “No,” she says, looking sheepish.

  I tilt my head. “Your were thinking about it, though, weren’t you?”

  She flinches, and her eyes widen. “Well…sort of.” Her fingertips massage her forehead. “My roommate has been hounding me about…well, about not dating anyone in awhile, and I just thought if I kissed you, I could tell her I kissed a guy tonight.”

  I’m laughing inside. She thinks she’s offended me. If she only knew what a complete turn-on it is. I can feel the heat growing down below.

  “It wouldn’t have worked. It’s not really a kiss unless both people are participating, Peep.” Her chin tics up, and she looks skeptical. My hand rises slowly to touch her neck. Silky strands brush my knuckles. “You’ll have to try again, if you’re going to tell your roommate.”

  She doesn’t move toward me, but she doesn’t pull away, either, and I see the slightest invitation glimmering in her eyes. I move cautiously closer, lowering my mouth onto hers. I kiss her, gently at first, making an effort to avoid the left side of her jaw. She returns my kiss, pressing shyly, and I breathe her in. She smells like summer air and something else faintly floral. I angle my head, parting her lips with mine, and move my fingers deeper into her hair. She balances a small hand on my thigh, which I feel like the brand of an iron. I tug at her bottom lip with my teeth and slide my tongue over the spot I’ve offended. She follows my lead, catching my tongue with hers.

  A groan builds low in my chest, and I flex my fingers and tighten my hold. She arches against me. The urge to fall over and pull her on top of me courses through my muscles. She pulls back, and reality surfaces. An innocent kiss is one thing, but there’s no way I can go any further with her. Not today. Not ever. I’m already way too involved with Little Bo Peep, and I’m not the kind of guy that has anything to offer a girl like her—other than the opportunity to experience my problems with me. Humph. I’m sure she gets that after tonight. I drop my forehead to hers, and sultry green eyes soothe my heart. My thumb traces the line of her bottom lip, and I smile as I speak.

  “You can tell your roommate, now—because that just happened.”

  Chapter Three

  Priscilla

  One Week Later

  My head is pounding, and the walls in the room are shifting, closing in on me. I grip the sides of my seat. I’m sitting in front of the athletic board, and they’re going to disqualify me. I can feel it. They’ve been drilling me with questions about my arrest for the last thirty minutes. I turn my head to the back of the room and stare at the double doors—still closed. He’s not going to show.

  My sole witness—the only one who could support my self-defense claim—is a no-show. My stomach sinks into my feet.

  By the time I left that jail cell, I was convinced Preston Rush was Mr. Everything—sweet, caring, kind, and hot as hell. More importantly, I was convinced he’d show up for me. His words echo through my head. I won’t let anything happen to you—if it causes you trouble, I’ll fix it. I had actually let myself believe that. He was right—I am a dumb ass.

  Just before we were separately escorted out of the jail cell, he asked for my number and I yelled it to him. I failed to get his in the commotion, but he yelled back that he’d call me next week to check on things. I didn’t expect my hearing to be held within days of my arrest.

  When Coach Howell told me it was scheduled for Friday, I went to the football practice arena on Wednesday and waited for him—and waited, and waited. I wrote him a letter, asking for his help in the kindest way. One of the assistant coaches noticed me outside the locker room and told me he’d take my envelope right in and hand it to Preston. I’m an idiot to have trusted someone else with something that important, but I had committed to do a Girls on the Run 5k with the track girls I coach. If I had waited any longer, I would have missed it. In hindsight, I should have just barged into that locker room and called him out.

  His statement would have helped me claim self-defense on the disorderly conduct charge. That would have taken me from two strikes to one. I let out an exhausted breath. Our University has a two-strike rule, and with two counts against me, it’s likely I won’t play the rest of the season. My senior year will be done. No warning. No probation. No playoff games. No chance at the championship. Oh, God.

  Coach Howell is sitting next to me, a bead of sweat running into his beard. I cast a pleading look over my shoulder at the double doors again, willing them to open. My vision refocuses on the solemn faces of my teammates sitting in the last two rows of the large room. They’ve come to support me, but in some ways it makes me feel worse. I’ve let them all down. I want to throw up. I’m their captain. I’m also the lead scorer on the team, and we’re two games away from winning our conference and advancing to the NCAA finals.

  I look at Jace. She raises a Hook ’em Horns sign and gives me a “fight ’em” look. I can hear her voice in my head. Screw them, Priscilla—I got your back, girl, and we’ll get through this. She’s sitting beside our roommate Marcus. The gentle, laid-back expression he usually carries has disappeared. His features look drawn, worried. He knows, too. I’m done.

  “Priscilla,” my coach whispers, laying his hand on my arm. I snap my head back to the stares of the athletic board.

  “I’m sorry. What was the question?”

  “The police report stated that you pulled the fire alarm. Is that true?”

  I hesitate. “Yes.”

  Coach Howell drops his head and smooths a bushy eyebrow. He has the same look I’ve seen on his face when another team scores on us with minutes left in the game. Frustration. Disgust. Utter defeat. The lead examiner clea
rs his throat.

  “Miss Winslow, you have a solid two strikes against you and no witness to support your version of the events.” He stares over the rectangular spectacles perched at the end of his nose. “The police report speaks for itself. South Eastern’s athletic guidelines provide for an immediate suspension—thirty days for each charge.” He hesitates at the eruption of moans from my teammates and then keeps reading. “Suspended athletes may still attend athletic events and participate in team practices…all athletes are offered an opportunity to file an appeal…” His words fade out and his face blurs. I’m hearing every other word, trying to recover from the kick to the gut.

  Game over. What am I going to tell my mom? And what about my scholarship? I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it sticks, and I choke out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. My coach raises his arm to my back and speaks in a consoling voice, but I can’t hear him.

  Seconds later, I’m standing on numb legs, watching my team come toward me. They look like someone just died. Their arms link, and the light dims as they huddle around me, whispering sympathetic phrases. It could have happened to any of us Sil. It’s only sixty days.

  They’re trying to find the silver lining, but they know as well as I do—sixty days takes me out for the rest of the season. The only silver I see is the vision of Preston Rush’s eyes, smiling at me.

  I’m going to hunt Chewbacca down like he’s the last trophy in a big game grand slam and kick his fury ass into hyperspace.

  Chapter Four

  Preston

  “Great game!” I high-five Zander on my way out of the shower and head to the lockers. The guys are fist bumping and hooting around me, celebrating our twenty-seven to seven win. We’re approaching the end of our season undefeated.

  I open my locker and search the pocket of my jeans for my cell. Thumbing through the slew of congratulatory messages, I find my mom’s text. Her MS has gotten so bad she can’t make it to the stadium anymore. I text her after games to make sure she feels included.