Filthy Forward : A Hero Club Novel

by Kelsey Cheyenne

  Filthy Forward Copyright © 2020 by Kelsey Cheyenne. All Rights Reserved

  Filthy Forward is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Cocky Bastard. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Editing by Kristen at Your Editing Lounge

  Cover designed by Harlow Layne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website at www.kelseycheyenne.com

  To all the girls who kick ass and take names…

  And the filthy men we love

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More by Kelsey

  Chapter One

  Bria

  “Ladies, bring it in,” Coach Paxton calls from the sideline and the team jogs into a semi-circle around him. I take point in the center, taking the opportunity to use this break to stretch my aching quads.

  “This year the University is hosting a guest coach. He’ll act as my assistant coach, training you and focusing on your weak points and how he can make them stronger. I think you’ll recognize him as the top scorer and star forward for the LA Elite.”

  Tatum Trevino jogs out onto the field as if on cue. When he stops to shake Coach’s hand, I notice he’s wearing one of his practice jerseys with his name and number twenty-two on the back.

  “He’s the top scorer all right. With chicks. Have you seen him all over the internet? He gets laid more than an entire frat house combined.”

  “Who cares? He’s hot. I’d let him do whatever he wants to me.”

  I scoff and move away from my teammates who clearly have no self-respect. Whispers fill our half-circle as all my friends start to gossip and obsess over this guy. The only thing I care about is his soccer skills, not his bedroom skills.

  He is hot, if you’re into dark, luscious hair, caramel brown eyes, rugged scruff, a full sleeve of tattoos down one arm, and a tall, perfectly built body I’ve seen grace the pages of several charity calendars.

  But his ego could rival Kanye West’s. Talk about a major turn off.

  He has the rest of my team bewitched already and I can’t help but roll my eyes. As if they need any more distractions.

  “Ladies,” Coach is beaming, proud of acquiring the star player for our tiny college club, “split into two teams. We’ll have a small scrimmage to help Coach Trevino assess your talents and target your weaknesses.”

  “Hey, guys. I’m excited to be here with you all this season and hopefully we’ll get all the way to the championships.” His deep, rich voice has every girl around me all but moaning.

  “Why aren’t you playing with your team?” The words burst out of my mouth before I have a chance to filter them.

  He clears his throat and raises his brows at me. “Hip flexor injury. I’m out for the season and thought I’d put myself to better use than sitting on a bench.”

  “I wonder how he got injured.” The innuendo is clear.

  “Isn’t it normal policy to have to sit on the bench though? Even with an injury?” I push and our new coach looks uncomfortable. Lucky for him, Paxton steps in.

  “Ladies, I’ve heard enough. Those of you on my left, put on the blue pinnies from the bag. On my right, take your usual spots on the field.

  I jog to the field, grateful I don’t have to wear a stinky pinny. On the field, I stand at the halfway line, waiting to determine if we’re starting with the ball or if the blue team is.

  Coach rolls me the ball and I take it to the center of the field with the other forward on my team, one of my best friends, Lindsay. The whistle blows and she taps the ball to me and I’m off.

  I race down the field, dodging the players whose goal is to stop me. I take a shot, but one of our goalies, Sydney, stops the ball. She punts it down the field and I race the other way to get on defense.

  I’m hovering around midfield, waiting for someone to get me the ball. My coach is behind me with our new assistant hotshot.

  “Number eleven is Bria Campbell. She’s our captain and star forward.”

  My chest puffs with pride overhearing my coach brag about me.

  “The tiny one with the blonde ponytail? Does she even have any fight in her?”

  I sprint away as the ball makes its way up the field, which means I can’t hear the rest of what Coach Trevino says about me. He wants to see if I can fight? I’ll show him a fight.

  “Kelli, ball!” I call toward one of my midfielders once I get an opening. I push my way through the defenders, shoulder checking whoever gets in my way until I’m one-on-one with the goalie. I shoot and I score, and my team rallies around me. How’s that for some fight?

  We reset at midfield, but before we start I’m called off the field, I bet for some praise.

  “Campbell,” our new assistant coach calls my name and my teammates turn to watch. “You need to watch yourself. Some of those hits would’ve gotten you carded.”

  “They were totally clean.” This guy can’t be serious. “What’s your problem with me?”

  “I don’t have a problem with you. I don’t even know you.” He’s amused by my attitude. I guess he’s realizing I have more fire in me than he thought.

  “Get back on the field.” Coach barks and I run to my spot.

  We scrimmage a while longer and my team wins three-nothing. I took a lot of my anger out on my teammates and I think a few of them are miffed at me.

  “Ladies, great work. Go stretch and head home. I’ll see you guys at practice tomorrow.” I lead the team in a cool down and some stretches, working out my aching muscles.

  Although it’s called a cool down, my temper has not followed suit. It hasn’t helped seeing all of my teammates ogle our new assistant coach and making dirty comments not-so-under their breaths. After five minutes of it, I can’t take it anymore an
d make my way off the field. I’ll take an ice bath if I have to.

  The rest of the team follows as I head into the locker room to grab our things. We all live in the soccer house right off campus and most of us carpool together. My roommate, Morgan, drove me and two other girls this morning in her SUV. The moment I spot her, I beeline for her and urge her to hurry up. I want to get the hell out of here and into a hot shower before everyone else gets home.

  As we’re walking down the hall, we pass Coach’s office where Paxton is talking to our new assistant. I roll my eyes as we walk by, but I don’t get too far.

  “Bria, can you come in here for a minute?” Coach calls from behind his desk and the girls who are around us stop dead in their tracks. They look at me with wide eyes, half of them full of envy for getting to be in close quarters with Tatum. Any one of them could happily take my place.

  I sit down across from Coach and throw my bag on the chair beside me. Maybe he’s about to tell me he’s reconsidered and this new guy isn’t a good fit for our team and he wants me to break it to the rest of the girls. I can only hope.

  Tatum shuts the door after I sit down, which puts me on edge. What the hell is all of this about?

  “I’ve been told you’re the star of the team. The captain and top goal-scorer.” Why is the assistant running this meeting? I look at Coach, but he’s looking at Trevino.

  I lift my chin as I answer. “Everything you’ve heard is true.”

  “Maybe so, but I think we could make you better.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Bria, hear him out,” Coach Paxton reassures me, but I only see him as a traitor now. Though reluctant, I turn my attention back to Tatum.

  “We think it would be a good idea for me to work with you one-on-one before or after practices to really hone your skills.”

  “My skills are just fine how they are.”

  “Is that all you want to be? ‘Just fine?’ You can do better than fine and I want to help you get there.”

  I grit my teeth as the questions come out. “What would this extra training entail?”

  “Lots of conditioning—running and weight training. We’ll focus on footwork and playing clean.” He’s referring to my shoulder checks from earlier which were perfectly legal. Asshole. “We don’t need you getting injured while trying to take someone else out.”

  “Are you going to train the rest of the girls this same way?” Why is he focusing on me?

  “When I see fit. But you’re the star player. I want you to not only maintain your reputation, but to surpass it. With my help, you can go above and beyond. You’ve got a lot of raw talent, but you don’t know how to work with it. I’m not saying it’s your fault, but if you want to take this career to the next level, I will be the one to help you.”

  “Like, playing professionally?” I never even considered going pro. I mean, as a child with a Mia Hamm poster up on my wall, sure. But I didn’t think I was Alex Morgan-level good.

  “What else would I mean?”

  I ignore him.

  “Bria, I want you to know, this isn’t voluntary. It’s mandatory. You will start training with Coach Trevino first thing tomorrow morning.” Coach Paxton drops this bomb on me and it takes all of my willpower to not stomp my foot.

  I grab my bag off the chair beside me and storm out the door. When I get to the parking lot, I don’t know what to expect. I’m not sure if Morgan and the girls left me to walk home, but I should’ve known better. They’d want details; of course they waited for me.

  Hopping in the passenger seat, I brace myself for the onslaught of questions bound to be tossed my way. Before I can even close the door, I’m bombarded.

  “What did Coach want?”

  “Did you talk to Tatum?”

  “What does he smell like?”

  “Are you pregnant just from being in the same room as him?”

  “What?” They shoot questions at me so fast I can’t tell who said what. I shake my head. “They want me to do extra training to get better. More conditioning and foot skills, that kind of stuff.” I make it sound as un-fun as possible, knowing the second I bring Tatum into the mix, the girls will flip.

  “Oh. Ew. Are we all going to have to do that?” Morgan asks, pushing her oversized sunglasses onto her face.

  I shrug. “I have no idea. It was sprung on me out of nowhere.”

  “Well, I don’t envy you.” Not yet, anyway.

  The rest of the drive is spent with Sydney, Lindsey, and Morgan obsessing over our new assistant coach. I’m going to have to pull some major captain strings to get the team to shut up about this guy.

  Arriving at the house is no less painful than the car ride over. The second I enter the room, everyone’s eyes narrow and the rumors start to fly.

  “Omigod, I heard she was alone with Tatum.”

  “Why does she get special treatment with him?”

  “I could totally be captain if I wanted to be. Then I could work with Tatum one-on-one.”

  The hardest part of living with twenty girls is the gossip. And having to share three bathrooms between all of us.

  “Okay, enough. Team meeting!” I yell and march into the living room. I turn off the Kardashians and a bunch of groans follow. “Listen up. I’m not going to deal with the rumors or have our new coach come between us. Yes, remember, he’s our coach and I know you all find him hot, but he’s off limits. You know the rules. Now, no, I am not dating Tatum. I was not alone with him and I didn’t request special treatment. Coach Paxton wants me to train harder which is why I’ll be doing extra conditioning. I don’t even know if Tatum will be involved.” It’s a lie, but it’s a lie for the greater good. “So, stop with the whispering. We’re a team and we have a championship to win this year.”

  I’m not sure I have everyone convinced yet, so I pull out my final tactic. “Okay, how about we order pizza and have a team bonding night?” A little carbo-loading never hurt anyone.

  That night, I lie awake in bed, watching the time tick by. In a few hours I have my first training session with Tatum. Tatum Trevino, hotshot forward with foot skills and a scoring record I could only dream about. If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be completely useless tomorrow. But how am I supposed to sleep with the reckoning on the horizon?

  I toss and turn for hours, and by the time I fall asleep, it feels as if my alarm goes off six minutes later. My roommate grumbles as I roll out of bed at five-thirty on the dot.

  I throw my hair up into a pony and pull on the first pair of shorts and t-shirt I can find. I grab my bag and I’m out the door within ten minutes.

  I get to the field five minutes later and there he is, juggling the ball, bouncing it from his feet, knees, and head and back again. He bounces the ball in the air off his knee before jumping into a scissor kick and scoring on the keeper-less goal. Show off.

  He grabs another ball from the bag as I drop my bag on the sideline and join him on the eighteen.

  “I’ve been here fifteen minutes already waiting for you.” This is not how I wanted to start my morning.

  “I thought we were starting at six.”

  “Five thirty. I’d be happy to start at five, but you don’t seem too keen on that idea.”

  I will not let him get to me.

  He rolls the ball under his foot and I have an idea. I tighten my ponytail and rest my hands on my hips. “I have a proposition for you, Coach.”

  Chapter Two

  Tatum

  “A proposition?” Where the hell does this girl get off challenging me? I thought she didn’t have any fight in her, but I think she might be a little too full of spitfire.

  “Yup, call it a bet, if you will.”

  This ought to be interesting. I can’t tell if she’s flirting with me or if she hates me. Usually, it’s the former, and though Bria Campbell is hot, she’s a little young and a lot immature.

  “A bet. What makes you think I’m interested in making any kind of arrangement with you?”

  �
��Hear me out. I’ll start training with you at whatever time you damn well please and I won’t even complain. All you have to do is beat me at a scrimmage. One-on-one.”

  She can’t be serious.

  I laugh because there’s no way this girl is beating me. I could pick her up with one arm and snap her in half. She’s quick, but she’s unfocused and one misstep, one second of not paying attention, and it’s game over for her.

  But I’ll humor her. “What are the limits?”

  “We play half field for thirty minutes.” I don’t bother to ask her what she wants if she wins because we both know she’s not going to beat me.

  “You have a deal, Campbell.” We place two cones on the half line so we don’t have to drag one of the goals all this way. Then we meet in the middle. “Here, I’ll even let you start with the ball.” She rolls her eyes but takes the advantage anyway.

  This is a good way for me to gauge her skill level and what she needs to work on.

  Her footwork is good but could be better. She’s quick and her small stature gives her an edge. She’s not afraid to be aggressive and she puts up a good fight.

  But I still kick her ass.

  I offer her a high five to commend her on her work because in five minutes she’s going to hate me.

  “Good game. You have some real skills, kid.” I watch her eyes narrow with the nickname. Everything about me pisses her off and it’s fun watching her get riled up. “Grab some water while I set up.”

  She jogs to the sideline and digs her water bottle out of her bag, taking a generous gulp. After setting the bottle down, she lifts the hem of her t-shirt to wipe the sweat off her forehead. I try to glance away, but the glistening sweat pebbling on her impressive abs surprises me. The girl is insanely fit.

  I glance away before she notices and set up a row of cones opposite the goal box. She jogs back over to me and stretches. Since her muscles are nice and warmed up now, I’m going to push her to her limit.

  “On the line.” She obeys, though her eyes say it’s killing her to do what I say. “When was the last time you ran the beep test?”