I swallow quickly, pushing down my skirt and feeling the heat in my face as he looks at me with that lopsided, easy farm-boy smile.
No, stop that.
I will not be charmed by this boy. I will not be taken up in his wake like every other girl, or recruiter, or coach he’s ever met. I can see right through his “yes mama” and “that was disrespectful of me sir” bull-crap to the cocky prick behind it all. I’ve met this type before, with my dad being who he is. The cocky, arrogant, sports-type - the type that thinks just because he can throw or catch a dumb ball, he’s somehow better than anyone else, or that he’s God’s gift to women.
I can’t stand the type.
Dalton grins at me despite the vaguely sour look on my face and my arms crossed over my chest. “I don’t know how we managed to not meet yet, but I guess we’re gonna be getting pretty close this year.”
I flash a fake smile right back at him. “Oh, I’m not sure we’re in much of the same classes.”
Because, you know, I can read, and write, and talk in sentences that don’t end in “bro”.
He laughs. “And I’m not sure you’re cut out for college ball, darlin,” he throws back easily with a grin. “But that ain’t what I mean.”
I don’t care what he means. I get that this dinner tonight is important - after all, we’re celebrating my dad’s new position and all. And I like Heather, but eating at her house tonight doesn’t mean I need to make nice with her douchebag of a son.
I’ll sit here at this dinner and I’ll be polite. I’ll avoid or ignore the arrogant jerk with the legendary track record, and the billboard-model face, and the infamous package, and then he and I will never, ever have to see each other ever again.
“I mean what with our parents getting-”
“Dalton-” Heather suddenly cuts him off with a worried look to me and then my dad.
I frown. “What?”
Dad shakes his head. “Honey, we, uh, I mean Heather and I wanted a chance to talk to you about something tonight.”
“About what?” My eyes dart from his uneasy smile, to Heather’s concerned look, to Dalton’s effortless, beaming grin.
Wait, hang on.
I am never seeing Dalton again after this dinner, right? I won’t be at any dumb football games, or being sweaty and gross in the gym, or guzzling beer at frat parties, so I can’t begin to imagine where he and I would ever cross paths.
I turn back to my dad, just as his hand drops to Heather’s, their fingers lacing together. And for the first time since pulling up to the house, I notice the ring.
The very shiny, very elegant diamond ring that I am positive wasn’t on her hand any other time I’ve seen her.
Oh, God.
“Honey, Heather and I have something we want to tell you.”
I can feel my pulse skip a beat, the air around me suddenly getting heavier and harder to breathe.
“I’ve asked Heather to marry me, Hailey.”
I see the flash of diamond on Heather’s hand as the world spins, and as I whirl back to stare at the still shirtless, still grinning, still stupidly handsome, arrogant, manwhore football jock Dalton Cole.
My new stepbrother, Dalton Cole.
It’d be comical if it wasn’t so horrifying.
Never seeing Dalton again after this dinner, huh?
Yeah, right.
Because I am now one-hundred percent sure I will be seeing much more of Dalton Cole than I ever, ever wanted to.
2
Hailey
I’m standing there frozen to the spot with the dripping wet, smirking, practically naked Dalton Cole just grinning at me as the full gravity of this hits me.
I whirl to my dad. “You what?”
He frowns. “Kiddo, maybe we should talk about this later.”
Heather puts a hand on his arm. “Jim, let her talk.” She turns to me and smiles warmly. “Speak your piece, honey, this involves you too.”
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My dad laughs, “Well, I was going to-”
“Dang, I’m sorry, Coach,” Dalton cuts in with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. He shakes his head remorsefully, but when I look up at him, I can see that little smirking glimmer in his eyes.
He thinks this is funny.
I’m blinking rapidly, opening and closing my mouth like a fish as I search for words before finally they just come tumbling out of me. “But- why?”
Dad laughs, “Because we love each other, and that’s what grown adults who love each other tend to do, kiddo.”
Gee, thanks.
Heather’s cheeks go a little pink at my dad’s words, which would be cute in literally any situation but this one. “Well, and also because your dad is an amazing man, Hailey,” she smiles at me as she reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “And we’ve both lost partners, we’re both single parents, we’re both teachers, and we just sort of clicked, I guess.”
“But you’re a coach, not a teacher,” I turn and spit out at my dad, regretting it instantly and realizing how childish it sounds.
Dad frowns and turns to Heather. “Would you, uh- would you give us a minute?”
She nods. “Oh, of course.” She yanks the bottle of tequila out of Dalton’s hand and goes to pull him inside, but he steps forward.
“Coach? I just want to say it’s a real honor to get to play for you this year, and well, if I can just say personally,” he beams that charming, disarming, farm-boy smile. “I’m real glad you’re with my mom.”
You little suck-up.
How are either of them possibly buying this? I’ve never even met Dalton before, and even I know what a legendary little shit he is. Even I know about the trail of models and actresses and any number of football groupies he’s left in his wake of destruction. I know all about his much-publicized party-boy antics - the charmed, gilded, X-rated lifestyle of a sports “star”.
Dalton Cole is a gross, overly-macho, arrogantly pompous manwhore of a human being, but Dad and Heather seem to be eating this “charming southern boy” bullshit right up.
“It means a lot, son, thank you,” Dad says with an easy smile and a firm nod of his head. Dalton stumbles off for the garage - still towel-clad - and Heather and my dad exchange another look before she ducks into the house.
Dad’s smile fades as he turns his attention to me. “Hey, c’mon, Hails!” He shakes his head. “I know I should’ve told you sooner, but you couldn’t have been totally unprepared for this.”
I shrug sullenly. “I guess.”
“Look, honey, I know you’re upset with me for not telling you before I popped the question. And I know your first semester of college isn’t starting the way you planned, but try not to take any of that out on Heather, okay?”
Not starting the way you planned.
Yeah, no kidding.
The plan was Columbia University. The plan was finally getting the heck out of Georgia, and away from football, and finally starting my life as an adult.
Of course, that plan changed with one simple letter - the one that “regretted to inform me” that even though I was “highly qualified” for their pre-med program, they were deferring me one semester due to class-space reasons.
Deferring - that’s college-talk for not “getting the heck out of Georgia”, not “getting away from football”, and not “finally starting my life”.
That’s college-speak for letting you loose in the wild with zero back-up plan about a month before you thought you were going.
So instead, I’ve got a boring state school where I don’t know anyone, a new stepmom, and a new stepbrother who’s somehow nationally famous for football and his…
…Yeah, that.
“Georgia State is a great school, Hails,” My dad runs a hand through his silvered but still full head of hair. “And hey, can’t beat that free tuition, huh?” he says with a sheepish shrug.
Perks of the lauded new head football coach being your dad - and I supp
ose of your new stepmom being the Dean. That is, if you want to call giving up your dream of Columbia University and New York City for a state school in Dixon, Georgia perks.
“How soon is the wedding?” It feels bizarre to even say out loud. Dad and I have been our own little two-person team for so long, it seems strange to think about that expanding to include Heather.
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 wi
th 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.
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 27