by Celia Aaron
“Whoa.” I darted to her left so I didn’t trip all over her.
She reached out and ran her fingertips along the black padding at the base of the goalpost as we passed. “Try and keep up,” she said over her shoulder, her amber eyes taunting me.
My heart sped up a beat at even the hint of competition. Athletes, from the lowliest third-stringer to the top quarterback, have always thrived on competition. To beat another person at something that person thought they were good at? Nothing better. To see that competitive glint in Cordy’s eye? I knew I’d need a cold shower after the training was over.
I stayed at her elbow and fought the desire to smoke her to the opposite goalpost. We reached it at the same time and spent a few moments catching our breath.
I pointed to the turf. “Stretch.”
She widened her stance and bent over at the waist.
Don’t stare at her ass. Don’t stare at her ass. I did the same, stretching along with her to keep me from doing exactly what I was telling myself not to. We went through the regular positions—yanking our heels to our asses, loosening our shoulders, and finally ending up on the ground, legs spread in front of us while we pulled on our toes.
Making a very diligent effort not to follow the line of her legs to her pussy, I got to my feet. “Ready?” I offered her my hand.
After a moment of hesitation, she took it, and my heart swelled from that one tiny bit of trust.
“Yes.” She stood and trotted over to the ball holder, a three-legged contraption that held the ball upright for her to kick it.
I picked it up and set it on the ten-yard line, right hash. Once the ball was in place, I backed away to watch her form.
“This would be about the distance you’d have for the point after touchdown. Show me your usual set up, but don’t kick. Stop right before your foot impacts the ball.” I tried to turn off my appraisal of her body—the way the t-shirt clung to her breasts and how her shorts gave me an excellent view of her thighs. Instead, I focused on her posture and balance as she lined up behind the ball, took three steps back, then two steps to the left.
She took a deep breath and started with long striding steps toward the ball, stopping right before kicking just as I’d instructed. Like any right-footed kicker, she stopped her forward motion by landing on her left foot to brace, then swinging with her right.
I walked the few paces to her and dropped down to my haunches. The smooth curve of her left leg called for my fingers, but I kept my hands to myself. This time.
“You’re planting your left foot wrong, for starters.” I pointed. “Your heel should be in line with the ball, about a foot away. You’ve got the distance right. There’s a foot there, but you’ve lined up with your laces next to the ball. That little bit of difference can cost you a lot of lift once the ball comes off your shoe.” I peered at her kicking foot. “This is good, turned to the side perfectly. But”—I gripped her heel and pulled her foot down an inch—“if you could make contact with the ball lower, then you have a better chance of getting it over the defenders.”
She put her kicking foot down and placed her fists on her hips. “Coach Carver always told me to line the ball up with my shoelaces. And he always put a two-inch tee under the ball for practice.”
“You’ve been using a kicking tee?” How in the hell did she ever manage to get it off the ground on Saturday?
“Yeah.”
I stood. “You don’t need a kicking tee. It’s a crutch. You have to learn to kick from the ground, not on a tee. Got me?”
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Yeah. I guess Coach just never thought I’d actually have to kick, so—”
“So he went easy on you. I won’t. Your posture needs work, your balance is atrocious, and first we need to get your feet set correctly. Now do your setup, and stop again before kicking. I want to see that heel planted even with the ball or you’ll have to do a lap.”
“What?” Her mouth opened, her pink lips glistening in the sunlight. I wondered if she’d taste the way she did two years ago—like fruity gum.
“You heard me.” I adopted the same stern expression I used during the high school quarterback camp I guest-taught during the summer.
She glowered right back, but marked off her backward steps, then took two more to the left. Taking her long strides, she stopped right before making contact with the ball.
I knelt down and inspected her left foot with a smirk. “Even with the laces. Take a lap.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
CORDY
FOUR HOURS AND TWICE as many laps later, I finally planted my heel even with the ball each time I set up to kick. Though, during the entire afternoon, Trent had yet to let me actually make contact with the pigskin.
Landon had eventually grown bored and come over to lie in the grass next to us. His light snores became the background music to Trent’s criticism.
After I set up perfectly ten times in a row, Trent ran a hand through his dark hair. “I think your approach is as good as it can be.”
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. The sun sat low on the horizon, casting an orange glow on everything and lengthening each shadow to monstrous proportions.
Trent leaned over and grabbed the ball and the holder. “I have team practice in the morning and classes right after, but I can meet you out here at three. Sound good?”
“Yeah. I can do that.” Despite my athleticism, my legs were sore and my back ached from the posture corrections Trent had instituted. I needed a shower and some rest.
“Why don’t you ever come to team practice?” He followed me over to Landon.
“I don’t have to go, and I’d rather do other things.” And you’re always there.
“Wake up. Time to go.” I toed Landon’s side.
“Good. I’m hungry.” Landon sat up, then rose to his feet before brushing all the grass off his jeans. “I may have dozed off for a second. Did he touch you?” He lowered his mirrored sunglasses and glared at Trent.
“A second? Try two hours. And no, he didn’t touch me.”
“Then I won’t kick his ass.” Landon slung his arm around me, even though I was sweaty and pretty certain I had that ‘just worked out’ smell. “Can we do tacos?”
I laughed. “Not again.” Landon would be content if he ate nothing but tacos for the rest of his life. Me, not so much.
He pulled me along with him toward my dorm. “Come on. It’s buy-one-get-one-free night at MegaTaco. I’ll pay and everything.”
Trent walked on my other side. “I’ll take her for a real dinner. She needs protein and plenty of fluids.”
Landon tensed, but kept walking. “And I bet you’re just the guy to give her fluids, right?”
“Ew.” I disentangled myself from Landon and walked out ahead. “I’ll just shower, hit the caf, and take the food back to my room. I’ve got reading to do for class.”
“You sure? Did you hear the part about MegaTaco?” Landon pouted.
“I did, but I’m just not down for taco night. Can you pencil me in for Tuesday? Taco Tuesday?” One taco night a week was my limit.
He shrugged. “I guess I can make that happen. Let me walk you to your room.”
A white car parked along Campus Circle chirped and lit up. It was some sort of Mercedes, but identifying hood ornaments was the extent of my car knowledge.
Trent headed for it and placed the ball and the holder in his trunk. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
A pang of something sparked in my chest. Disappointment? It grew as Trent dropped into the driver’s seat and started the engine, a smooth purr cutting through the cooling air.
“Rich guys.” Landon shook his head and led me toward Hope Hall, my dorm.
I didn’t let myself watch Trent drive away. Even so, the familiar feeling of abandonment rattled around inside me. Of course Trent left. That was his thing. Like a catch phrase or a signature style. If Trent Carrington had a calling card, it was that he always walked away first.
The
knock on my door shocked me from sleep. It was dark outside, and I was still wearing a towel. What time is it? Then I remembered. I’d taken a shower and laid on my bed to cool, but fell asleep. The kicking practice had taken more out of me than I’d thought.
The knock came again.
“Hang on!” My roommate was out. Maybe she’d forgotten her key again.
I rose and stretched, my damp hair hanging down my back. Pulling my towel tighter around myself, I opened the door.
“Shit!” I slammed it closed.
“Ow.” Trent’s voice filtered through the wood.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry. Hang on. Just a minute, okay?” I turned and dashed to our small closet. Tossing my towel on the floor, I donned some underwear, a tank, and athletic shorts, then returned to the door. I opened it and saw Trent again, his hands full of take-out and drinks. “Come in.”
I backed up, and he walked in, glancing around the room before going to my desk and laying the food out.
He gingerly wiggled his nose back and forth.
“Oh no.” I walked to him and stared up at his perfect nose. “I didn’t break it, did I?”
“No.” He smiled, his eyes warming as he looked down at me. “You gave it your all, though, and I can respect that.”
I backed up until my legs hit my bed, and I sat in a whoosh. My knees felt like jelly, though I blamed my lack of food. It wasn’t Trent’s presence in my room or anything.
I cocked my head at him. “Wait, how did you get in here? This is a girls-only dorm.”
“I know Brandy at the front desk.”
I couldn’t stop the frown that tugged at the edges of my mouth. “I’m sure you do.”
“No, not like that.” He shook his head, then bobbled what looked like a container of hummus. He set it on the desk and turned around. “I’m going about this all wrong.” He dropped down, sitting on his haunches like he had on the field earlier. It put him almost at eye level with me. “I know her from a class. I came in, hoping to bribe whoever was at the desk so that I could come up and see you, but Brandy was there, so it all worked out.”
Why did my heart lighten at his explanation? I shouldn’t have cared who he was with. It was none of my business. Any chance we had together was long since passed. My stomach grumbled, and I winced with embarrassment.
He glanced to my middle. “Exactly. I figured you might have been too tired to make it to the caf, so I brought you some stuff.” He rose and began separating out the food. “Here.” He tossed me a blue energy drink.
I caught it, practically ripped the lid off, and chugged it. My gaze traveled from Trent’s dark hair, down the thin material of his t-shirt to the waistband of his jeans, and stopped on the perfect expanse of ass beneath his belt. Holy shit.
When the last of the drink was gone, I wiped my mouth on the hem of my purple tank top and tossed the empty bottle into the small wastebasket.
“Another.” He held the bottle out behind him.
I took it and drank more slowly this time. “How did you know this was my dorm?”
He froze for a split second, then turned around and handed me a paper plate laden with food. “I just guessed from the way you and Landon were heading after practice.” He looked away as I took the overloaded plate.
“Okay.” I wanted to investigate further, but the smell of freshly grilled chicken with Mediterranean seasoning almost turned me into a ravenous wolf. I set the plate on my lap and dug in with the plastic ware. Chicken, salad, rice, and hummus beckoned.
“Where did you get this?” I asked around a mouthful of food.
He pulled out the chair from my desk and turned it around to face me. He ate with me, though not half as rudely. “There’s a little deli on the south side of town. Pita Stop. Best hummus in the city.”
“You aren’t kidding.” My manners were sorely lacking, but Trent didn’t seem to mind.
We ate for a while, both of us chewing instead of making conversation. When I got to the point where I couldn’t eat another bite, I cleaned up for both of us before plopping back down onto my bed.
I met his eyes and realized he’d been watching my every move. Warmth seeped into my cheeks. “Thanks for the food.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence fell, and it truly dawned on me that I was alone, in my room, with Trent Carrington. The “oh shit” bells began ringing, but it was too late. I couldn’t just kick him out after he fed me.
“So, are you ready for the Tigers on Saturday?”
He smirked, that one little move that had every girl in school at his feet. I pushed my shoulders back. Every girl in school but me.
“I think we can handle them as long as we have a great kicker.” He rubbed a hand along his square jaw, the stubble there making a whisk sound against his palm. What would it feel like against me? I let my gaze slide down the length of him and then back up to his face.
He’d matured in the two years since we’d spent time together. He’d been big then, but now he was NFL-sized. And he’d filled out, his face more angular somehow, and his voice a notch deeper. There were other differences too—a certain reserved nature about him that he didn’t have before. At least he seemed reserved on the surface. Underneath, I could sense him simmering, thinking, watching. My nipples tingled and hardened at the thought of him simmering for me. I crossed my arms over my chest to hide it.
He licked his lips, the silence doubling between us like dough in a warm bowl. I needed to remember the Trent who’d abandoned me, the one who’d never called, never even acknowledged my existence. I wanted to ask him, demand he tell me why he’d acted so horribly. But I wouldn’t lower myself to bring it up. My pride wouldn’t allow it. I deserved an explanation without having to ask for it.
I shook myself inwardly. This man before me seemed different, but deep down, he was the same. We both knew the score. Our history wasn’t erased by a few kicking lessons and some food.
He rubbed his palms down his jeans. “I should go.”
“Yes, you should.” I said, more sharply than I’d intended. I rose from the bed to follow him.
He took a step toward the door, then stopped and turned.
We were standing close, too close. I held my breath and stared up at him. He is the same. Don’t fall for it. His eyebrows rose slightly, but then his eyes darkened, and I could sense he wanted more from me. Things were sliding out of control in the space of a moment, and that look of his made me want more, too.
He leaned toward me. “Fuck it.” In a smooth movement, he put his palm to my cheek and claimed me in a kiss that took my breath away.
He wrapped one arm around my back and crushed me to his hard chest. My eyes fluttered closed as his firm lips took my mouth. A giddy sensation, like the first tinge of alcohol in your system, rushed through me. He moved his hand into my hair and tugged gently, craning my neck back. He licked along my lips, sending a chain reaction of heat skating down my body all the way to my pussy.
I put my hands on his chest to push him away, but my fingers clutched at him. He felt so right, but I knew everything about this was wrong. He was going to use me and throw me away. Again.
I opened my mouth to protest. Bad idea. He ran his tongue along mine and let out a masculine groan that curled my toes. My body melted for him, and my mind was soon to follow. Had I ever been kissed before Trent Carrington? His tongue caressed mine, and I answered, tasting him and venturing into his mouth as he clutched me to him. I gave in and wrapped my arms around his neck, savoring the feel of him against me, the past be damned.
We kissed until my breath belonged to him. I’d never been so hot, my panties sticking to me, and my skin oversensitive to every point of pressure from his touch. I ran my fingers through his soft hair, the strands like silk. His five-o’clock shadow scraped against the tender skin around my mouth, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, just like I’d wanted him two years ago. But this time my want had matured into something greater. I didn’t just want him. I needed him.
My body craved his touch, and the thought of him on top of me had me moaning into his mouth.
He broke the kiss and traced a scorching path to my neck. His lips moved over me like lava, burning me and thrilling me all at once. I opened my eyes and took a full breath as he nipped at my collar bone and moved one hand to my ass.
I can’t see you anymore. I’m just not interested. His voice, two years younger, came out of nowhere like a blindside punch. I thought that specific memory was long gone, but it was there, haunting me.
I froze and pulled away. “I can’t.”
His eyes were wild, and I’d managed to give his hair the “freshly fucked” look that male models would kill for.
“What? Why?” He didn’t release me, his eyes flickering to my lips.
I ignored the deep ache he set off inside me, the skittering sensation of pleasure rushing through every nerve in my body, and the hungry way he looked at me. “Please.”
His grip on me softened, and he gave me some space. “I’m sorry. I got caught up—”
“You can’t touch me like this. You can’t kiss me… I-I—you should go.” My breathy voice shook, because I wanted his hands on me again.
“Right. Sorry.” He turned and walked toward the door, tension written in the stark lines of his shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow. The practice field.”
“Three o’clock.” I didn’t walk him out, just stood as he swung the door open and stepped into the hall.
He turned to me. Under his stare, I felt naked, as if his kiss had exposed the me I kept hidden from men like him.
“Three o’clock. See you then. Sorry again.” His tone spoke of regret, but his eyes still had that predatory glimmer that turned my insides to mush.
It’s an act. He’ll just get what he wants, and then he’ll walk away. I steeled my spine and walked over to him. “Good night.” With a firm touch, I shut the door.
His footsteps retreated down the hall.
The boy who’d stolen my heart and then trampled on it two years ago was gone. In his place, there was a man who kissed like the devil and made me stupid with just a look. I bounced my forehead on the door, trying to knock some sense into my brain since my heart sure wasn’t listening.