Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  And Dalton.

  I shiver at the thought.

  “Oh, not for a little while,” Dad says, smiling. “We’ve got things to plan, I’ve got a team to take over, and Heather’s got a University to run.” He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We’ll move in next week and start to get settled-”

  I whirl back to my dad. “Wait, here?” I stab a finger at Heather’s big brick house.

  Dad grins. “Hailey, I’m an engaged man. Of course I’m moving in. And hey, tell me this isn’t a way better spread than that crappy rental in Weston?” He says, referring to the tiny house we’ve been living in while Dad’s been looking for places closer to campus.

  I mean, he’s right. Heather’s house is gorgeous - this old brick-style mansion owned by the college and set aside as a residence for the Dean.

  Dad chuckles. “Hell, this place is big enough for the whole damn team to move into.”

  I cringe at the idea.

  “Wait, am I still living on campus then?”

  “Of course, kiddo.” Dad puts an arm over my shoulders. “If you want to, of course. You’re in college now, you’re eighteen, you’re growing up, and yeah, I get that you need your space. You’ve got your dorm room, but if you ever want it, Heather’s put aside a room for you here.”

  I look up at the house, growing dim in the darkening evening sky.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me about it, Dad,” I mumble, shaking my head.

  “It just sort of happened, Hails. I asked her at dinner last night when we were out, which is why we wanted all of us to get together tonight so we could tell you both.” He chuckles, “Guess Heather jumped the gun with telling Dalton.”

  Yeah, guess so.

  “Anyways, I saw the play and I went for it, kiddo,” he says quietly.

  Dad and his sports references.

  You have to feel bad for the guy sometimes. The big-time, gung-ho football coach, and he gets one daughter who has zero interest in it.

  “Look, Hails, I know this caught you off guard, but it’s gonna be a-okay. It’s a great school, and its only one semester, right?” Dad grins as he ruffles my hair. “And hey, I get to keep my little girl around a little longer before she gets traded to New York.”

  I smile in spite of myself as he gives me a hug. “Let’s go eat, huh?”

  Inside, the sound of Heather singing along to a Talking Heads record drifts out of the kitchen before she sticks her head around the corner.

  “Hey you two,” she says with a big smile. “Dinner’s about ready.”

  Her eyes move past my dad to me, and she grin. “Hailey, honey, would you mind going out to the guest house above the garage and grabbing that son of mine for dinner? He’s not answering his phone.”

  I’m about to protest having to go fetch a clearly drunk Dalton for dinner like some sort of handler, when my dad ruffles my hair again like he does and gives me a smile.

  Ugh, fine.

  He and Heather follow the sound of David Byrne’s voice back to the kitchen, and I frown as I turn to head back outside. I look up as I go, raising a brow at just how huge this house is - the towering ceilings, the swooping staircases, the fact that it has wings. Dad and I have always had what we needed, but this is just ridiculous.

  I roll my eyes as I trudge past the pool and across the backyard to the old carriage house which has apparently been converted to a guest house, grumbling to myself.

  I hate to admit it, since I’m still pouting, but Dad’s right. It won’t be that bad here. I’ll keep my head down, I’ll do the work, and I’ll count down the days until I leave Georgia, and football, and frat-jock menaces like Dalton Cole behind.

  I climb the staircase just inside one of the open bay doors of the garage that leads up to Dalton’s apartment, and I stop in front of the door at the top.

  I mean, how hard can one semester here be? I take a deep breath as I start to open the door - yeah, this is all going to be fine.

  The door swings open, and I shriek as I jump back.

  Because right there, sprawled across a couch and still wearing nothing but those damn soaking wet briefs is Dalton.

  He’s shirtless, shameless, and spread-eagle, and he grins at me as I walk into the room.

  “Well hey there, darlin,” he drawls, that magazine-ad smile flashing at me.

  I’m trying not to stare at the rippling muscles of his chest, or the flash of those cool blue eyes, or the way his abs and the grooves up his hips carve down into the waistband of his jockeys.

  Or the obvious, scandalizing, and infamous bulge between his legs.

  Oh my God, stop that.

  My cheeks burn hot as I look away, but I can feel his eyes just dripping over me. I look up in time to see a little grin teasing the corners of his mouth as if he’s sizing me up - as if he’s amused by how ruffled I am by his behavior.

  “I think you might be a little overdressed for it, but you can sure join this party if you want to.”

  And then he winks at me again.

  Yeah, no, this is not going to be fine.

  This won’t be “not that bad.”

  Dalton flashes the cocky, arrogantly smug smile at me as he pats the sofa next to him. “Pull up a chair, I don’t bite,” he says with another wink. “Unless you ask me polite-like that is.”

  This is going to be awful.

  3

  Dalton

  The look on Hailey’s face as she stands there hovering in my doorway is somewhere between wariness and contempt. She wrinkles her nose and gives me this look like there’s something offensive about me.

  I’m pretty buzzed, but not buzzed enough where I don’t get that it’s probably got something to do with the fact that prudish, school-teacher looking Hailey Garrison just walked in on me sprawled out in my jockeys.

  Hey, some chicks would PAY for this, darlin.

  Of course, I’m well aware that Hailey Garrison isn’t “some chick” - aware like I’m aware that the winter is typically flu season.

  I’ve obviously heard all about the Coach’s daughter from my mom. The book nerd, the science geek, the chick that does model U.N. or some shit. Yeah, and I’ve heard all about her sob story about not getting into Columbia. Hailey Garrison, the girl who wants to be a doctor or whatever - the girl who somehow isn’t a football fan, despite her dad being the legendary Coach Jim Garrison.

  Who the hell doesn’t like football?

  I narrow my eyes as I give her another once over, standing there in her boring black skirt, her very un-flattering blouse, and her gingery-red hair up in librarian-looking bun.

  “Drink?” I hold up the beer - the one that up until recently, I was planning on enjoying after I made an evening out of fucking those two sorority girls at the same time.

  She wrinkles her nose. “Um, no, not a chance.”

  Of course not.

  I shrug and bring the bottle back up to take a swig.

  “Um, dinner’s ready,” she says quickly. It sounds less like an explanation and more of a self-rationalization for her being here. “That’s all.”

  I grin as I raise an eyebrow at her. “That’s all?” I say, stretching back on the couch with a hand behind my head. “Anything else you needed?”

  Her face flushes and her eyes dart around the bare room, as if trying to look everywhere but at me.

  Her eyes suddenly move back to my face, and she swallows quickly as she realizes I’m just grinning at her. “Anyways, bye,” she blurts out awkwardly as she turns to leave.

  “So, when are you moving into the dorms?” It’s random, I know. But for some reason, I have this urge to keep her here with me.

  She stops in the doorway. “After the weekend, I guess?” She turns to me, that initially furtive and embarrassed look turning more into bored disdain.

  For me, of course.

  “How about you?”

  “I’m not.” I smile and shake my head. “No shitty dorms for me.”

  Hailey rolls her eyes. �
��Let me guess, fraternity?”

  Yeah, right.

  Frats are for douchebags who need to be part of a club of other douchebags to get pussy. Me? I don’t need their membership card to get laid, because I’m already the damn King of that campus before I even step foot on it.

  Technically, I have to live on campus in regular housing - college-ball rules and all that. And there is a house for football players, but you’ve gotta be at least a Sophomore to live there.

  “Uh, no, definitely not.”

  Hailey shrugs. “Huh, figured you for a frat boy.”

  I grin at her. “You figure a lot don’t you.”

  “I didn’t think it was much of a stretch of the imagination,” she says, raising her eyebrows and looking at me patronizingly.

  “Frats are for douchebags. And anyways, I’m going to be living here,” I spread my arms wide. “Welcome to mi casa.”

  She rolls her eyes. “At your mom’s house?”

  I shrug. “Hey, it’s a guest house, darlin, and a sweet one at that. Plus, Mom pretty much lets me do what I want.” I let my eyes dip up and down her body again, and I can see this adorable pink glow bloom across her collarbone and into her cheeks.

  Oh, riling this girl up is almost going to be too easy.

  “Plus, those dorm beds are fucking terrible. The California king I’ve got here is a lot better for my game.”

  She raises a brow, taking the bait just like I knew she would. “How is a bed better for football?”

  “Oh, I mean for girls,” I say with a big grin. “That game.”

  Hailey wrinkles her brow behind those glasses, making a face. “Eww?”

  I’ve only just met Hailey, but I can already tell it’s such a predictable response from a girl like her. I can see right past her “well-read” hipster glasses and her stuck up, holier-than-thou attitude. I know exactly the kind of girl she is just from watching her shift uncomfortably there in the doorway.

  She’s the “better than it all” type - the kind of girl that hides behind snark and witty little comebacks. She’s the type that hates football not because she actually gives a shit, but because everyone else likes it, and liking what “everyone else” likes is just so uncool.

  I roll my eyes as I take another swig of beer. I let my eyes wander over her, still standing there, still doing her damnedest not to let her eyes drop to my jockeys.

  Oh yeah, I’ve got Hailey Garrison figured out to a damn T.

  Except…

  I let my eyes move over her bare legs beneath the skirt, and up over her tight curves, even as hidden as they are with that awful top. I let them trace up over the slender curve of her neck, up to her pink cheeks, the freckles, the full, pouty pink lips, the gingery-red hair pulled back in a tight bun.

  Except there’s something about the way she blushes, or squirms, or adjusts her glasses and looks away when she realizes I’m shamelessly checking her out.

  And it’s something kinda weirdly sexy.

  I frown at the thought.

  What the fuck?

  This girl is nothing like the chicks I usually go after - blonde, big tits, the I’ll-say-yes-to-anything lips. The girls whose panties I don’t even have to try and get into, because they’ve already left them at home knowing they were after me.

  Girls who watch football, and cream themselves every time I throw a pass.

  Girls who are nothing like the red-haired, bookish, nerdy chick named Hailey Garrison standing in front of me.

  So why are you still staring at her?

  “Look, your mom asked me to come get you. Will you please just put some damn pants on and come to dinner?”

  “You want to help?”

  She rolls her eyes as I smirk at her. And for some reason, that damn sassy, utterly bored look of hers starts to get me hard as a rock in my jockeys.

  It’s a damn weird thought, because - well, yeah, her dad and my mom. Add onto that the fact that she’s basically the opposite of any girl a guy like me has any interest in, and it gets even more confusing. Plus she clearly wants nothing to do with me, or football.

  I frown - maybe that’s it?

  Maybe it’s the fact that she’s not gushing over me, or begging me to take a damn selfie with her, or throwing herself at me.

  Maybe it’s because she’s clearly just not interested.

  Maybe it’s because that feels like a challenge, and I love a good challenge.

  I love a surprise victory.

  A real come from behind win.

  My eyes dip over the curve of her hips and that tight little ass.

  I’d love to win HER from behind.

  “I think you can probably manage yourself.”

  “Yeah but where’s the fun in that?”

  She squirms under my gaze before I slowly stand from the couch, stretching and flexing my arms behind my head. She quickly looks away with that scandalized look on her face.

  “I’m leaving, see you in the house.”

  I watch her stomp out and down the stairs with a little huff, and the grin spreads wide across my face as my eyes dip over her ass.

  Oh yeah, I’m going to enjoy getting under her skin.

  I’m going to enjoy making her squirm.

  Hailey Garrison thinks she’s immune to my charms.

  She’s very, very wrong.

  4

  Hailey

  Well, it’s bigger than the room I’d have gotten at Columbia.

  It’s a debatable silver lining, and I frown as I stand in the doorway of my new dorm room. My new single room, at least, which is the second iffy silver lining there.

  There have to be some perks to my dad being the new star coach and my soon-to-be-stepmom being the freaking Dean.

  Just one semester, I tell myself for the one millionth time. One semester, and then I’ll nail my admittance interview, and then I’ll be off to New York.

  I drop my single suitcase and my box full of books onto the bed and look around the room. Most of my other things - like my computer and some furniture - are still being moved from our old house to Heather’s, but I’ve got my essentials for the first week or two of class.

  Out in the hall, the din of students and parents moving threadbare couches and IKEA dressers filters in, making me feel like some sort of refugee, alone with my two measly pieces of luggage.

  In my single room, without a roommate, at a school I didn’t even know I was coming to until a month ago.

  A month ago, before I found out about the marriage.

  A month ago, before Dalton Cole was anything more than a name I vaguely associated with the game of football.

  Before he was anything more than a devastatingly handsome, if not cocky-looking, face on a damn billboard, or in magazines.

  I roll my eyes at the blush that creeps into my cheeks at the thought of that first meeting - that first very shirtless, very revealing meeting.

  I mean, I get it, sort of. I’m only human, and I do get why girls - or at least certain types of girls - get all mushy about him. Girls who are into that alpha-macho thing, and the showiness, and the ego, and the eye-rolling bullshit that comes with it.

  I am not one of those girls.

  I know exactly the type of guy Dalton is, because I’ve seen a hundred versions of him over the years from my dad coaching. The cocky arrogance, the chest-thumping Neanderthal attitude, and the unbelievable entitlement of being God’s gift to women that comes along with it.

  Yeah, not my thing, sorry.

  I’m into guys who think, not plow into each other over a stupid ball. I’m interested in culture, and art, and intelligence, not seeing who can drink, or throw up the most, or get the most venereal diseases possible.

  I read books, not scoreboards. I dress sensibly, not suggestively. And even with my dad being who he is, I have zero interest in sports - or the man-children who play them.

  How about chiseled jawlines, and muscles carved out of marble, or dangerously alluring farm-boy smiles?

  I fro
wn at the thought, quickly shaking my head and scowling as I start to unzip the suitcase and begin to unpack.

  “Hey, neighbor.”

  The girl at my door has short brown hair and a punk-rock tank-top.

  “I’m next door,” she sticks her hand out. “Roxie.”

  “Hey, Hailey.”

  She smiles as she looks around my bare room. “Damn, a single, huh?” She shakes her head. “I’m a sophomore and I had to beg for one of these.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess it freed up, I was a late admit-”

  “You’re Coach Garrison’s daughter, right?”

  Yeah, I better get used to that.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

  Her voice instantly goes up a notch as her face goes wide with a smile. “Oh my God, you must be so excited for the season! Go Hawks!” She says, pumping her fist in the air.

  I clear my throat uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, super excited,” I mumble, my voice basically the literal opposite of ‘super excited’.

  Roxie raises her brow. “Wait, are you not a football person?”

  I make a face. “Not really.”

  “Oh thank fucking God,” her voice drops to the more normal tone from before. “Same, and I’m not sure how much longer I could’ve kept that up.”

  I laugh, grinning at her.

  “So is it true though? About your dad and Dean Cole?”

  “Oh, yeah that one’s true.”

  Roxie nods, arching a brow. “Wow, so Dalton Cole, huh? What’s he actually like?”

  I raise a brow as I sit on the edge of my new bed. “I thought you weren’t into football?”

  “Oh, I’m not, or men actually, I’m just really fascinated by stardom.” She laughs, “You know there’s already a fucking list somewhere of girls who want to get in line to bang him? How fucking gross is that?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s pretty gross.”

  “I mean, he’s hot, I guess. Objectively speaking, and if you’re into guys. I know he did that famous ‘bulge’ underwear ad and everyth-”