Hunter (Campus Kings): A Football Secret Baby Novel

by Celia Loren

  “Everything okay in here?” a deep voice asks. My head snaps up, and I freeze as I see a hulking shape in the doorway.

  Hunter Phillips is staring down at me.

  Chapter 6

  Hunter

  She kneels on the ground, another girl’s head in her lap. I stare at her quizzically, feeling like I almost manifested her out of my imagination.

  “You coming?” the cheerleader, I already forget her name, asks as she appears next to me, tugging plaintively on my t-shirt.

  “You go on, I’ll join you later,” I lie. The cheerleader pouts, but continues on down the hallway and back to the party. I turn back to the mystery girl and raise my eyebrows expectantly.

  “I, um, well, yes,” she stammers, her pale blue eyes wide. She’s a terrible liar, and she knows it. And what the fuck is she wearing? Did she just come from working out? And unlike every other person at this party, she seems to be stone cold sober.

  “You sure about that?” I ask, nodding to her passed out friend.

  Her little shoulders slump in defeat. “No. I just...I don’t know what to do. Should I take her to the hospital, do you think? I think I should, right? What if she has alcohol poisoning?” she asks, looking up at me helplessly. I step toward her as I see her lower lip start to tremble.

  “Mind if I give something a try?” I ask, shutting the door behind me. She looks a little alarmed, and actually flinches back, but then nods. I take a knee next to her, and take her friend’s face in my hand. “What’s her name?” I ask.

  “Danielle,” the girl whispers.

  I lean down. “Danielle!” I yell, inches from her face, and give her head a little shake. Her eyes blink open. I move my hands to under her armpits and lift her to a sitting position. She flops like a bag of flour. “Hey! Wake up!” She grunts, but her eyes open, and I can see her struggling to focus on my face. “Listen, I’m going to help you feel better, okay?” She nods. “I’m going to need you to stick your fingers down your throat.”

  “What?” the mystery girl asks, sounding alarmed.

  “Trust me,” I tell her. Danielle groans, seeming reluctant. “If you don’t stick your fingers down your throat right now, you’re going to have to go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped, and then I bet your parents will find out because you’re probably on their insurance. Do you want that to happen?” She shakes her head no. “Okay then.” I turn her around so that she’s facing the toilet, and she places one hand on the seat to steady herself. After a deep breath, she reaches one finger toward her mouth.

  “Oh my god,” the mystery girl murmurs, as Danielle begins to vomit into the toilet. I smile.

  “See? Easy.”

  “I, um, thank you,” she says, not making eye contact with me. Strange. I mean, granted, there is a girl puking her guts out right next to us, but this isn’t how women usually react to me.

  “I’m Hunter,” I say.

  “I know,” she replies shortly.

  “So, what? You a State fan?” I ask, referencing our rivals.

  She snorts. “No. That would be...impossible.” I frown. What the fuck does that mean?

  Danielle leans back from the toilet. “Done,” she mutters.

  “Thank goodness,” the girl sighs. “Let’s get you back to the dorm.” She stands up, then reaches down to try to pull Danielle to her feet. I stand up, and watch her struggle for a moment.

  “I got it,” Danielle argues, but she’s lurching so much that she almost knocks her friend over.

  “Need a hand?” I ask.

  “No, I’ve got it from here. Thanks,” the girl says dismissively. Now that she’s not scared anymore, she’s completely closed off.

  “Great,” I reply, but stand there watching them. It’s quite an amusing show, actually. They’re both so little, but they’re really crashing around. “Stop,” I finally say, and step forward. I reach down and pull Danielle up, holding onto the sides of her arms to keep her standing upright.

  “Thank you,” the girl grumbles, wiping her forehead. There’s a curly lock of hair stuck to it, and I have a troubling urge to reach out and brush it off.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I say.

  “What are you talking about?” the girl says, a frown creasing her perfect skin.

  “I assume you also need me to carry her home.”

  “You can’t carry her all the—" she begins, but stops as I bend down and lift Danielle into my arms like a baby.

  "I can bench press over four hundred pounds," I say with a smile, but she just frowns back up at me. "Or would you like to carry her?" I ask.

  "Fine," she grumbles, like she's doing me a favor. "But I live on freshman campus. All the way in Calhoun," she tells me warningly. I shrug, Danielle bouncing slightly in my arms.

  "I know you?" she asks, peering up at me. I wince at the smell of her vomit and alcohol scented breath.

  "Almost definitely," I reply. "After you," I say to the girl, nodding toward the door. She hesitates, but then walks forward and opens up the bathroom door. I follow her back out through the party. Most people are too wasted to pay attention to anything other than the person they're currently grinding up against, but a couple of my teammates give me surprised looks. I ignore them.

  On the street, the girl and I walk next to each other in silence, and I start to question what the hell I'm doing. I glance sidelong at her, but she's staring straight ahead. This kind of charitable bullshit isn't like me at all. I could've just called her a fucking cab. Not that Danielle would've been able to make it up the steps to her room, but still. And this fucking girl doesn't even seem thankful. She seems...pissed.

  "She your roommate?" I finally ask.

  "Yeah," the girl replies. Danielle looks up at me hazily. I doubt she'll remember this in the morning.

  "What's your name?"

  There's a long silence. "Britt," she finally replies.

  "Britt. You don't look like you were intending to come out tonight," I observe.

  "I wasn't. I was studying, and then I was just about to go to sleep."

  "It's a Saturday night. Your first Saturday night at college," I point out.

  "Shoot, looks like I missed out on all the fun," she says, nodding pointedly at her roommate.

  I have to smile. "True. But you don't have to get wasted."

  "I know," she replies with a shrug. "It's just not my thing, I guess."

  "What is your thing?"

  "Um, I like reading. I'm reading House of the Spirits in the original Spanish for the first time," she offers, sounding cheerful and open for the first time. Then she glances at me. "That's a book by—"

  "Isabel Allende, right? I read it for a class sophomore year, I think." She looks mildly impressed. "Thought football players couldn't read, huh?"

  "Sure, you read the blitz," she replies jokingly.

  "So you are a football fan...from something you said earlier I—"

  "No. No, I'm not."

  "Okay, weirdo," I say.

  "I'm not a weirdo!" she gasps indignantly stopping in her tracks. She squints up at my face. "Oh, you're trying to tease me," she says, and keeps walking. "I wouldn't say I'm a fan, I just pick things up here and there," she states.

  "Uh-huh," I reply, as thought that clarifies anything. I see Calhoun dormitory rising up in front of us, and find myself trying to walk slower.

  "So what's your major then?" she asks. Is she trying to change the subject?

  "English Lit," I reply.

  "Really?" she asks, sounding shocked.

  "Yeah. I mean, I figured it didn't really matter what I chose, since I wouldn't be making a career out of it anyway. And I like books, they take my mind off things."

  "And you have time? With practices and everything?"

  "Not really, but I do what I can. I never ace my courses or anything, not that the school cares as long as I stay eligible." I'm surprised to hear a hint of bitterness creep into my voice.

  "That's a shame," she says, shaking her head as w
e make our way through the front door of the dorm and into the elevator. "I mean, it sounds like if you had more time, you'd be able to—forget it," she says, suddenly pressing her lips together. The elevator doors open, and I follow her down her hallway in silence, and wait as she unlocks her door. "Can you put her on her bed?" she asks, nodding to the one beneath all the Vanover paraphernalia. I smile as I recognize a photo of myself on a calendar.

  I walk over and gently lay Danielle on top of her covers. Britt walks to the foot of the bed, and gently removes her heels.

  "You think she'll be okay?" she asks quietly.

  "She'll be fine," I assure her.

  "Well, thanks then," she says formally, and stands there looking at me.

  Chapter 7

  Britt

  Why isn't he leaving? He should leave now. Not that anything about tonight has gone as I expected it to. He certainly hasn't turned out the way I expected him to.

  He turns and wanders over to my side of the room. "So what's your major?" he asks quietly, sitting on the edge of my desk. I feel a nervous fluttering in my stomach. Why does he even care? My goodness, he is handsome up close. No, no. I can't be having those kinds of thoughts. I've already been way too friendly, far nicer than I intended to be. Time to shut it down.

  "It's getting late," I say.

  "I'll say," he agrees with a smile.

  "You know what I meant," I retort pointedly.

  "I did," he agrees, standing up. He towers over me, a solid brick of muscle. "You know, I think this might be the longest conversation I've had with a woman in years."

  I blanch. "That's...horrible."

  To my surprise, he laughs. "You're right, it is," he acknowledges, shaking his head at himself. "You're a very intriguing woman," he says, walking up to me. I have to tilt my head way back to look up at him, he's so tall. I swallow at the hungry look in his eyes, and feel my skin start to ripple with heat.

  "I'm sure there are lots of intriguing girls back at the party," I whisper.

  "None like you," he murmurs. I feel his arms gently wrap around my waist. I begin to tremble...from fear, pleasure, I don't know. My emotions are running so high that I can't tell.

  "Hunter, I—"

  But his head is bending down toward me, his dark, unreadable eyes holding me in place until his lips softly touch mine. I feel a surge of heat rush from the bottom of my feet to my mouth. It's such a strong sensation that it almost carries me off my feet, but here is Hunter Phillips, standing in front of me and holding me up.

  He caresses my lips open with his, and I feel his tongue slide gently against mine. I raise my hands and let them rest against his chest. His skin feels hot against my palms, and I can feel his heart beating. His hand slides from my waist and down my ass, and he presses his crotch into me. Something hard is pushing into my waist... my brain goes fuzzy for a minute as I try to process what it could be.

  I step back with a gasp. "You have to leave."

  He frowns. "What? Seriously?"

  "Yes. That was a very bad idea. Very bad."

  "Felt pretty good to me. And I think it did to you, too," he says, a little smirk reaching his lips.

  I shake my head, even though I couldn't agree with him more. "No. Sorry."

  "Liar. When can I see you again, then?"

  "You're not listening. This, we, or whatever, it's a non-starter," I stride decisively toward my door and open it. "Thank you for helping me with my roommate."

  He stares at me, opens his mouth as though he's about to argue with me, then shuts it again. With a frown, he stalks toward the door, then disappears as he turns down the hallway. I quickly shut the door, and lock it.

  In a daze, I walk toward my bed, kicking off my sneakers as I go. I hear Danielle snoring softly a few feet away as I slide under my sheets and pull them up to my neck.

  Hunter Phillips just kissed me. Holy crap.

  The guy that my father most specifically warned me against. Well, it doesn't matter now, anyway. I kicked him out of my room, and we won't see each other again. Whatever craziness happened tonight, whatever strange impulse inspired him to kiss me...it's over. In the past.

  I shut my eyes, but his face is burned on the inside of my eyelids. Not just his face, that body, too. I mean, I've seen plenty of pictures, and I watch my dad's games to support him, but Hunter Phillips is something else in person. It's not just how handsome he is, and how massive and sculpted his body is. There's something else…

  He's magnetic.

  I can't help it. My hand drifts southward, under my shorts and panties. I'm so turned on, my underwear is practically soaking. I begin to touch myself, imagining what might have happened had Hunter Phillips stayed in my room. His shirt coming off, being able to feel my skin naked against his, and that bulge that I felt on my stomach sliding down and then thrusting inside me over and over again…

  Chapter 8

  Hunter

  My hands clench and unclench in the locker room. We're at the stadium for our home game opener, and it's against our rivals in the SEC, the University of Tennessee. I can hear the crowd from here, cheering for their Tigers to take the field.

  I'm always pumped up before a game, but right now I feel like a fucking rocket that's being held at the launch pad. I fucked four other girls this week, just trying to forget about Britt, but it didn't help. Everyone involved got off, but here I am, still thinking about her. Those breasts, that tiny waist that shook when I put my hands on her, the taste of peppermint in her mouth…

  Fuck! I'm about to go on the field in front of thousands of screaming fans and face off against a bunch of monsters who want nothing more than to grind me into the dirt, and I'm thinking about some girl.

  I am Hunter fucking Phillips.

  I'm probably just thinking about her because she turned me down, and I can't remember the last time that happened. All I need to do to get her out of my head is sleep with a few more groupies.

  Oh, and first I have to win this game.

  We line up in the tunnel. Adam and I square off, pounding our fists on each other's shoulder pads. Fireworks blast off at the tunnel entrance, and we get the signal to go. I lead the charge, running out as the smoke clears between two rows of cheerleaders.

  Eighty thousand people leap to their feet. The sound reverberates in the bowl-shaped arena, but I'm used to it, and my ears quickly adjust to the volume. We win the coin toss, the kickoff returner gets the ball to Tennessee's thirty-five-yard line, and I set up behind the safety.

  I feel a moment of nerves and take a deep breath. This is my final season of college football, and I know the pro scouts are in the stands or watching on ESPN. I eye the defense and call out an audible. My nerves are gone. I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

  I get us to our own twenty-yard line, but a sophomore tight end fumbles and Tennessee almost recovers. I want to go for the touchdown, but Coach McKay calls for the field goal. Swearing under my breath, I leave the field. There's only so much I can do if my receivers can't even hold onto the fucking ball.

  Tennessee answers with a touchdown, and we take the field again. My guys seem to have shaken off the cobwebs, and I throw a perfect spiral forty yards down the field. Adam beats the coverage, and easily catches the rock for a touchdown. Tennessee seems to lose its momentum after that, and we end the half up sixteen to seven.

  There's a lot of celebrating in the locker room, until Coach McKay storms in and practically castrates us for enjoying ourselves. "Game isn't won yet, gentleman!" he yells, then takes out a marker and begins furiously marking up the white board to show the defense all their mistakes.

  "What's up with you?" Adam asks as we line back up in the tunnel for the second half. "You don't seem as pumped as usual. We're killing them."

  "Don't worry about it. Just catch the fucking ball," I growl back.

  "Fuck, what crawled up your ass?" he mutters, and stuffs his helmet back on his head.

  Despite Coach McKay's concern, our punt returner runs in a poor
ly kicked ball for a touchdown, and I can practically see Tennessee's energy sag from across the field. Another drive, and another touchdown. As I head back to the sidelines and pull off my helmet, I hear the crowd roar, and turn to see that the Jumbotron is showing a close-up of me. I smirk, and turn to the bleachers behind me, pumping my arms up in the air until the crowd is whipped into a frenzy.

  I grab a Gatorade and take a seat on the sidelines. There's only a few minutes left on the clock, and a win is all but secured. I crumple the empty paper cup in my fist and turn to toss it into the garbage can. Tennessee's offense takes a time out, and I watch as Coach McKay takes a second to jog over to the stands.

  I squint as a young woman bends over the barrier to exchange a few words with him. Wait...is that? It can't be. What in the ever-loving fuck is Coach McKay doing talking to Britt?

  I turn back to the field, my brain trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. And I'm not the only one who's spotted them. I watch Adam nudge Devon and point to the stands. A few of our other teammates turn to look too, and soon there's a dozen of them looking back and ogling Britt. They whip back around as Coach McKay comes back to the sidelines, but I see them laughing together.

  I frown, feeling my skin prickling with some unknown feeling. I glance back toward the stands, but I only see Britt's back retreating up the steps.

  "Phillips! Wake up!"

  My head snaps back to see our offensive coordinator yelling at me to take the field. Tennessee failed to convert on fourth down and I didn't even notice. I pick up my helmet and put it on as I sprint out. Why was Britt at a game? And how'd she score that front row seat? My linemen form a solid wall in front of me. She didn't even seem to like football. Did she come to see me? The center hikes the ball, and I drop back into the pocket, but I'm getting charged by two huge Tennessee defensive tackles.

  I failed to read the blitz.

  I hit the ground, and feel the air crushed out of me by the six hundred pounds of meat pressing me into the dirt. I groan and hear the whistle, but the fuckers take their sweet time getting off me. I lay on the ground for a second, and then stiffly get to my feet.