Of course he’s impressed. I shouldn’t have worried, even for a second.
Now it’s time for the forty yard dash. I’ve done so many drills in a row today after a long time of not doing much at all. I really should give my out-of-practice leg a rest but I just keep running. And I end up finishing with the fastest time of anyone trying out, while not even breaking a sweat.
If it weren’t for my damn injury, it’d be a piece of cake. This tryout is nothing compared to the warm ups my last coach put us through.
“That’s it, keep going, keep it up,” shouts Coach Thompson. “Next drill. Next drill!”
Now I touch orange cones as I run back and forth on the field. Mobility is a big deal and I know that coaches like to see it seamless— partly bum leg or not.
Coach Thompson nods his head with an obvious mixture of pride and amazement as I continue the drill. I know he’s happy he made the right decision by agreeing to allow me to play for Calton University despite my bad reputation.
There’s never been a football coach I couldn’t impress. Before I was the star quarterback of my last school, Huningdale University, I was the star quarterback of Piedmont High School. And before that, Piedmont Middle School.
And I was even the star of flag football, dating way back to my elementary school beginnings. It’s in my blood. In my genes. My father was almost as good of a quarterback as I am.
I know how to walk onto a team. Just like I know how to win football games. It’s what I do.
That, and fuck up, apparently.
Fuck up to the point of getting kicked off my good football team. And then needing my dad to pull strings so that my coach will strike a deal with another coach and allow me play on a shitty team for a season, to prove I can stay on the straight and narrow long enough to come back to my good football team.
“Awesome,” Coach Thompson shouts. “Last one. Keep going.”
I know I need to concentrate. Kiss this coach’s ass for giving me the chance to keep playing. Especially because he’s big and scary.
But I’m in the middle of completing the rope course when I see her.
The proverbial hot cheerleader.
Yeah, there’s always a hot cheerleader. And I’ve had my fill of them in the past— which is part of what got me in trouble at my last school.
They loved me until I moved on, and then they’d complain that I’d treated them badly. By breaking their hearts I guess. At Huningdale, I was told to find another dating pool to swim in, to avoid drama between the cheerleading team and the football team.
And I did, for the most part. There were plenty of other girls to fuck, many of whom came with less drama. I should have learned my lesson.
But this cheerleader is too impressive to ignore, no matter what life lessons I’ve learned and no matter what else I’m supposed to be doing at the moment— like not blowing my second chance to play football.
I keep my eyes on her as I hop over the ropes in my drill.
She’s leading a team of cheerleaders onto the field to start practicing as soon as our tryouts are over. She’s bouncing around as if she owns the field, and them.
And she looks so fucking good as she’s doing it.
Blonde hair, curvy thighs peeking out from under a short skirt.
Tits peeking out from a low cut top, begging to be devoured.
Holy shit.
They weren’t kidding when they said the girls at Calton University were hot. The school’s football team and pretty much its entire athletic department leaves a lot to be desired— hence its willingness to take a chance on a damaged but talented player such as myself.
But the Calton ladies are well known for their looks. Especially the cheerleaders. And this one is the hottest I think I’ve ever seen.
I can feel my cock growing hard and I nearly trip.
Not a good time.
But damn, all I can think about is fucking her. I want to take her, bend her over and show her what a real athlete can do to her. How Wesley Reynolds, star quarterback, can make her feel. And I want to feel myself inside her.
What I want, I make sure to fucking take.
So I vow to myself, in the middle of walk on tryouts for the football team on which I’m supposed to be on my best behavior, to take that head cheerleader.
Chapter 2 – Wesley
“Very good, Reynolds,” Coach Thompson says, clicking his stopwatch and interrupting my little fantasy about the head cheerleader.
Despite my distraction, I’d managed to finish strong. And now I’m free to look without risking screwing up my tryouts.
I swear I catch her looking back at me before I turn my gaze back to Coach Thompson’s direction.
“But you’ve got a wandering eye.”
He glares at me, as if personally affronted by the fact that I chose to sneak a peek at the hot cheerleader. What’s it to him? As long as I manage to pull it together on the field, which I just did, I don’t see what the big deal is.
“Keep your eye on the prize,” he continues, in a scolding tone of voice. “I can’t have my second-string quarterback distracted by every passing female.”
“Second string quarterback?” I repeat, forgetting all about his chastisement.
I shrug as if it’s no big deal. As if I knew it all along.
And even though I mostly did, it’s always nice to get confirmation.
Because I need this. I would die if I couldn’t play football. The past six months of thinking my career was over just when it had gotten started had been hell.
I need to stay on the straight and narrow now. I know that. But it’s so fucking hard. Just like my cock wants to be, inside that head cheerleader.
“Yes. Second string quarterback. Only if you can prove to me that you can stay focused,” Coach Thompson continues, shaking his head as if he doubts my ability to do that. “Obviously I want you on the team. But you have to show me I’m taking the right risk, putting in a newbie as second string.”
The other guys on the team make rude remarks.
“He wasn’t that fast, Coach.”
“Any one of us could do it better.”
I do my best to block out the negativity. I understand why they’re jealous. I’m intruding on their territory.
And it’s not like I’m even here by choice. This is my last chance freeway, and I have to drive steady on it so that I can get back onto the on ramp of my main career path.
“You sure you can handle the pressure?” asks a calm, quiet voice to my left.
I look over to see someone taking off his helmet while sandy brown hair spills out of it. He’s almost as tall as I am, and in pretty good shape. My competition in the looks department, if not the athletic department.
“Christian Lewis,” says the guy under all the hair, extending his hand for me to shake. “First string running back.”
“Wesley Reynolds,” I tell him. “Newbie intruder.”
“And apparently, second string quarterback,” Christian says, his tone sounding light and refreshing compared to the gruff grumbles of my other new teammates. “That’s impressive.”
“Thanks.” I shrug.
“Just between you and me—” he lowers his voice. “Our first-string quarterback isn’t very good. I think Coach has been looking to replace him, and you’re probably just the guy to fill the slot.”
I nod, even though I already knew as much. Calton hasn’t been known as a good football team in years, and none of its players stand out as being particularly talented. That’s the whole reason I’m even allowed to be here.
But I let Christian continue without interrupting.
“He just has to make it look kosher, you know? Can’t up and put in a brand new player right off the bat. He expects you to prove yourself, and for there to be no doubt that you’re the best player for the position.”
“I see,” I tell him, torn between thanking him for sharing the intel I already knew, and wondering why he’s so eager to help me out.
I say nothing. I could use a friend, and I shouldn’t assume that everyone has bad motives.
I know I’ll be moved up to first string and that I can help pull this team up from the gutter. But I have no intention of over sharing information with this teammate I just met, even though he’s clearly trying to be friendly for some reason.
“I’ll see everyone tomorrow for practice,” Coach Thompson says, dismissing us. “Thanks to those of you who have come to try out. I’ll get you my decisions shortly.”
“Nice, you’re the only one of the candidates who got an automatic yes,” Christian says. “Impressive.”
“My coach back at home was really demanding,” I tell him, as a way to deflect my embarrassment.
Even though I’ve been told I always come off as confident— cocky, even— I can’t take compliments well.
“If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be nearly as…”
“Good,” Christian finishes my sentence for me, nodding as if it’s a given. “That’s great about your old coach. You know, I’ve heard about you.”
“You have?”
I wonder whether what he heard about me was good or bad. I assume it was bad, under the circumstances and just because it was about me. I’m not about to ask him, though.
“Sure, when they said you were transferring here and would be trying out, I knew you’d get the position. You’re all the rage at Huningdale. And you’re from Piedmont, right? Not too far away.”
“Just about an hour,” I nod, ashamed to be returning so close to the home I couldn’t wait to get away from, but not wanting to show it.
Christian might assume I couldn’t hack it in a bigger city, but my problem was that I was doing a little too well. I was a little too popular for my own good.
“Yeah I thought so,” Christian continues. “I’m from here in Calton. Since our high schools played each other sometimes, I knew you were a beast on the field.”
“Oh yeah. Of course,” I say, trying to act as if I’d also heard of him or remember playing against him in high school, even though neither of those are true.
“I don’t know if you remember the homecoming game where afterwards I congratulated you on your winning pass?” he asks.
I squint at him, not knowing what to say.
I finally decide on, “Uh oh. Kind of.”
He smiles, seeming content that I at least semi-remember it, even though I don’t.
“I heard you went on to do great things for Huningdale,” he continues. “And I heard you pull major tail, too.”
I shrug, not wanting to confirm or deny. There’s no doubt I’m known as a bit of a player. At my old school, it was a good thing; chicks lined up to get with me. I had a little fan club wherever I went.
But now, I worry that it’ll be an additional reason for all the other guys on my new team to hate me.
“I guess you could say that. You a sophomore?” I ask him, to change the subject.
I want the spotlight off of me in this conversation. I hate not knowing where one is going.
“Yep. Engineer major. I’m heading to a Biology 201 seminar next.”
“No way. Me too,” I tell him.
“Shouldn’t you be headed to the athletic trainer’s office?” he asks, eyeing my leg.
“Nah,” I say, beginning to walk in the direction of class while hoping I’m not slightly limping. “I’ll go later.”
“Tough guy, huh?” he asks.
I just nod, letting him think what he wants. The truth of the matter is that I can’t afford to miss any classes. I have to keep my grades up as well as keeping my ass out of trouble.
“I have a pretty hardcore math and science curriculum this semester,” Christian says, continuing the light banter as we begin to walk off the field together.
But I’m not listening. Because we’re passing her. The head cheerleader, with the blonde hair and all those fucking curves.
“Holy shit,” I say, out loud this time.
Christian looks in the same direction, and sees what— who— has caught my eye.
“No way, Wesley,” he says, laughing.
“What?”
I’m still staring at her. Can’t take my eyes off of her. And this time I’m sure she returns my glance, before bouncing over to another one of the girls on the team.
“I know you probably think you can have any girl you want, and I’m sure that’s usually true. But not her,” he says. “Not Chelsea. She’s off limits.”
“There’s no such thing.”
I shrug. His warning sounds pretty serious, but I’m thinking this Chelsea chick is probably the leader of the College Virgins until Marriage Club or something. I’ve known chicks like that before. They like to wear cheerleading uniforms and tease and flirt, but not actually give it up.
At least not until they meet me.
She’ll just be one more challenge, like all the rest.
Until I pop her cherry and leave her begging for more.
“That’s Chelsea Thompson,” Christian says, and my ears perk up at the sound of the coach’s last name.
“Oh.”
I get it now.
The coach has a daughter? And it’s her?
“He doesn’t look old enough to have a daughter in college,” is all I say.
“Yeah, well he does. And I know she’s hot stuff, but getting with her would be completely out of bounds. Coach has made it abundantly clear. You’ll never last long if you so much as touch her. Or even look at her too long.”
I think back to the glare that Coach shot me as I was completing the drills. Now I know it’s because he noticed I was looking at his daughter.
Good thing he can’t read minds. Because then he would have known all the dirty things I want to do with his off limits daughter and he never would have let me on the team.
“What a fucking bad hand fate has dealt me,” I mumble.
“Tell me about it,” Christian answers. “You and me, and every other guy on the team. All we can do is look at the forbidden fruit, and never have any of it. Some of us have tried, deciding to take the risk, but she never gives it up. She’s a Daddy’s girl through and through. It’s so cruel.”
But I stare at her one more time, knowing that I’ll do more than look, no matter what kind of warnings I get from Christian or anyone else, and no matter how good and chaste Chelsea’s been before she met me.
They always change their ways for me.
As the players clear off the field, Chelsea leads her flock of cheerleaders on, and begins directing a cheer. I want a big taste of that juicy forbidden fruit, and I know nothing’s going to hold me back.
I’m Wesley Reynolds, star quarterback. I may have been knocked a bit off my game but I’m staging my comeback. And when I want something, I fucking take it.
Chapter 3 – Chelsea
Trying to get and keep the attention of a large group of women is often an impossible task. This season, the throng of current and aspiring cheerleaders seems even more unruly than usual.
“Ladies, ladies,” I call out, but everyone keeps talking to each other, over my voice.
I break out the bullhorn and try again.
“Attention, ladies!”
Everyone quiets down, finally, and focuses their attention on me.
“As soon as the players are off the field, I’d like all current cheerleaders to take your positions, and show the candidates how it’s done. Auditions will be held tomorrow, so there isn’t a lot of time to learn the routine.”
There are murmurs and whispers, as the newbies complain about having such little time to learn something so new and difficult. Yada, yada, yada.
I’m used to such complaints, but this process has proven the best at weeding people out, because every year there are a few talented girls who quickly rise to the top and join our team, while the rest of them are sent home crying.
I have a reputation for being a bit of a hard ass. But someone’s got to do it. And I didn’t become head che
erleader by being a doormat.
Some might assume that I got here by being the football coach’s daughter, which isn’t true, and which is all the more reason I’ve had to work my ass off to prove myself. Ever since my mom died, cheerleading has become my life: something to immerse myself in, to distract me from my thoughts of how much I miss her.
Sure, it’s not a cure-all, but it’s better than lying in bed feeling depressed. I’ve built up this team and trained them to become not only conference champions but state champions too. And this year I’ve got my eye on nationals.
I begin walking onto the field, leading the flock of veteran cheerleaders who are ready to show off for the anxious newbies. And no one is pretending we don’t want to get a look at the football players who are wrapping up their walk on tryouts.
Most of them are familiar faces and we’re happy to see some of them more than others. But there are also always a few promising, fresh-faced and handsome wannabe football players to gawk at.
One of them is still straggling off the field, talking to Christian Lewis. I can’t help but stop dead in my tracks to stare at him. He’s broad shouldered and tall, and his abs are so chiseled that I can make them out from under his uniform.
He’s carrying his helmet and his dark brown hair is hanging in his eyes just a little bit. His hair is even longer and fuller than Christian’s, which is saying something. And from underneath all that hair, the new player is staring back at me.
“Chelsea!”
I hear my name being called, and snap my head to the left, where my best friend and co-captain Taylor Hudson is glaring at me.
“What?”
“Snap out of it. Back to planet earth. They’re waiting…”
She gestures with a quick head movement to the team, ready for me to start the routine.
“I couldn’t help it,” I whisper to Taylor.
As my BFF, she’s the only person on the team to whom I’d admit such a weakness.
Out of Line: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Page 15