Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance

by Lily Cahill

  Which would be a terrible idea. As my father reminds me during his increasingly frequent phone calls, I really need to focus on football. Over the last six weeks, Coach Prescott had worked us hard. As a result, we are finally starting to play as a team. It’s not like the Mustangs of old, but maybe that’s a good thing. I can see now that MoFo was stuck in his ways, determined to run the team the same way every year. Coach Prescott seems more interested in discovering our talents instead of worrying about how we fit into his system.

  And it’s just in time. As soon as today’s class is over, he’ll have training camp and two final weeks to make us the best team possible. I know that, as soon as this class is over, I’ll have to put aside this indulgent little fantasy and focus on football. I’m going to miss it. Almost as much as I’m going to miss seeing Lilah three times a week.

  “Whatever you produce during today’s class will be your final project,” she says when class begins. She’s wearing those black-rimmed glasses again, which never fail to drive me crazy.

  “The medium and subject matter are completely up to you,” she’s saying as she paces. “I expect you to use the techniques you’ve learned in this class, but I’m more interested in seeing you represent yourselves.”

  Her eyes flick over to me, then skip away. “Ah … feel free to use any materials you like. I’ll be here if you have any questions, but really this project is about you. So let’s get started.”

  Most of the class gets up and heads toward the supply cabinet, but I study my blank canvas for a few minutes. What represents me? Once upon a time, it would have been football. But that isn’t enough anymore. I think about the last year, about the way the world I know has turned upside down.

  Beside me, Reggie walks up to his canvas with a thick brush and a tray of red acrylic paint. Without hesitation, he slops his brush into the paint and draws a huge red circle on his canvas. “There. That represents me.”

  “Jesus, Reggie. Try to put a little effort into the project.”

  “What? I’m done.”

  “Reggie, come on.”

  “Hey, Lilah, I’m done,” he shouts over the chatter in the room.

  She comes over, careful not to meet my eyes. “That was fast.”

  Reggie shrugs casually, but his jaw is set. “Check it out. A big, bold zero—that’s me.”

  She glances from the canvas to his face, then back to the canvas. “If you say so.”

  “Sweet, so I’m done then? See you suckers later,” Reggie says, strutting out the door.

  “Well,” says Lilah with a sigh. “At least you got him to come to class.”

  “Yeah,” I say, staring at Reggie’s painting. Was that really how he saw himself? “So does he pass?”

  “I suppose so,” she says, turning to me with a smile. “You’re a good friend.”

  Her smile is so sweet. But I don’t want her sweetness. I want her passion, her intensity. My hands twitch with the need to touch her. We’re in a busy classroom full of students, but for a second it’s as if there’s no one else in the world.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, standing abruptly.

  “Riley?” she asks uncertainly.

  “Just wait,” I say, jogging out the door.

  I know what I’m looking for. MSU’s campus is full of beautiful, well-tended trees, but there was a storm yesterday, and I noticed a white oak that lost some branches on the way to class. I know exactly which piece I want—a large, sturdy thing with one end raw where it split from the trunk.

  I tote the branch back inside, where Lilah waits for me with an eyebrow raised. She just stares at the branch I’m hauling.

  “Can I do something a little different for my final project?”

  Her face moves from confusion to comprehension as she looks from the huge branch, to the wood wedge in my hand, to the small figurines that, by now, number nearly a dozen. “Riley … are you the one who’s been leaving these little carvings?”

  I shrug. “That’s just for fun. But you said the final projects could be anything we want, right?”

  “Sure, as long as you use a technique you’ve learned from this class. But, Riley, you’ve been hiding these things all over the classroom for nearly two months! Why?” Her lips are parted, her eyes wide.

  “I like surprising you.”

  She huffs out a little laugh, then looks around the room at all her students and consciously steps back from me. “Um … okay, if this is what you want to do, I say go for it.”

  I sit down at my table, running my hands over the wood. Despite the rough appearance, the wood is supple and straight where I scrape away the bark. When I know what it needs, I make the first cut.

  I’m used to working while things are going on around me, so the buzz and hum of a dozen artists at work doesn’t bother me at all. Lilah peeks over my shoulder a few times, distracting me with her perfume, but she never says a word.

  Around me, the class slowly empties, but my project isn’t anywhere near done. Even with my hands working at record speeds, I’ve got hours left to turn this raw piece of wood into the work of art I can picture in my mind. As the final student hands in her project, I glance up at Lilah. It’s time—past time—to turn in the piece, yet Lilah just nods at me to continue. I nod back then turn my attention back to the art taking shape under my hands. She’s watching me, I can feel it. The intensity of her gaze far outpaces what I feel from an entire stadium of screaming fans, but I channel the legendary game day focus and concentrate.

  I don’t have any sandpaper with me, or my finer tools, but that’s all right. I want the design to be crude, raw, full of emotion.

  I know the final cut the moment I make it and look up. My brain is buzzing and I feel hyper-focused, yet totally flexible. I’m ready for anything to happen. Anything … but that doesn’t stop the shock registering as I realize the sun is burning orange through the atrium windows.

  “What time is it?” My voice is rough from hours of silence.

  Lilah looks up from where she sits at her desk, hurriedly closing her sketchpad. “Around seven. Finished?”

  Panic grips me for a moment. Did I miss afternoon drills? Then I remember and let out a whoosh of air—Coach Prescott gave us the day off from practice for finals. “Sorry I lost track of time.” I’m well over an hour past the final project deadline.

  “I let everyone work until they felt satisfied. You just took the longest.”

  Tearing my gaze away from Lilah, I study what the branch has become—a muscular male arm with fingers outstretched. “I think I’m done.”

  “Good,” she says, standing and striding toward me. My hyper-focus narrows in on the sway of her generous hips as she walks in those towering heels. “Can I see it?”

  Wordlessly, I hand it to her. This carving is totally different from what I normally do. It doesn’t look anything like the delicate figurines adorning her desk. I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction.

  Lilah plays her fingertips over the rough-hewn fingers. “Is this piece reaching for help, or offering it?”

  “Both.”

  She sets it carefully on the desk. “I shouldn’t pick favorites, but … Riley. This is incredible.”

  Pride and satisfaction swells within me, like the moment when the Mustangs score a touchdown and the stadium explodes around me. Whooping, I sweep her up in my arms, spinning in a circle.

  Whittling is one thing, but I’ve almost always replicated something I’ve seen. This is different. The arm feels like a piece of me that I’ve managed to extract, examine, and understand. And the fact that Lilah could see that just amplifies the exhilaration.

  “Riley, stop,” she says, laughing. I spin to a stop and lower her to the floor, intensely conscious of the way her body rubs against mine.

  She doesn’t protest. In fact, her hands are hooked behind my head, while my hands have come to rest on her hips. In the darkening classroom, her eyes seem deep and mysterious. Sad.

  “What is it?” I whisper.


  “I thought I was teaching you something about art,” she whispers back, “broadening your horizons. But it turns out I didn’t teach you anything. You already knew how to carve like this, to create something this beautiful.”

  I dip my head closer to hers. “That’s not true. I never could have done this without you.”

  She looks away, tries to step back, but I hold her fast. “Lilah, without you, I never would have known what I can do. I never would have even tried before you. You make me see the world, instead of just exist in it. You’ve given me so much, in so little time. You’ve taught me who I want to be.”

  “Riley,” she breathes, her eyes like stars. Then she presses her mouth to mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lilah

  THE WAY THAT RILEY’S HANDS clamp on my hips is the most satisfying sensation I have ever felt. No, wait—it’s the way his hands knead and spread, his gloriously talented fingers working my flesh with the same confident prowess he used on his sculpture. Every new movement becomes the most satisfying. Now it’s the way his hands slip up my back, those same long fingers spread between my shoulder blades as I arch against him in pleasure.

  I’ve denied myself for too long, and now I’m starving for him. For weeks, I’ve clung so tightly to the logic declaring we can’t be together. Now, all those arguments are tattered and feeble in my mind. No guilt, no excuses, can withstand my raging desire. I can’t seem to stop wanting this man, and now I’m going to have him.

  Riley tears his mouth from mine. “Tell me to stop. If I do something you don’t want—”

  “Don’t stop,” I say, dragging his head back. “Do anything you want, except stop.”

  With a groan, he kisses me again—wilder this time, nipping at my lips until I open them with a gasp. My mind shuts right off. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart; all I can think is yes and please and more and finally.

  His hands roam freely over the material of my dress, learning the curves of my hips and shoulders. My fingers are tangled in his thick, soft hair, reveling in finally touching him. His smell makes my knees weak—soap and wood and skin. And the heat of him! Like being plastered against a molten volcano.

  But I’m the one who turns to lava when he finally takes my breasts in his hands.

  “Fucking glorious tits,” he mutters as he pulls his mouth from mine so he can watch his hands as they squeezed and stroke my breasts. “So big, so soft.”

  I groan, letting my hands trail down his arms and over his back. So many times I’ve imagined feeling his muscles under his T-shirt, and now the real thing is so much better than I’d dreamed. He is so big and hard and strong, every movement sending muscle rippling under my fingers. His waist, thick with layered abs, tapered from his barrel chest only to swell again at his thick thighs.

  He backs me up until my ass hits my desk, then hoists me up so I’m perched on the very edge. The last, lavender light of day fills the room as Riley steps between my spread thighs. He leans close, his mouth a whisper from mine. “Lilah. You have to tell me what you want.”

  “Touch me,” I say, my voice a desperate whisper.

  “Here?” he says, running a finger down the center of my chest. “Now?”

  “Yes,” I say, reckless with need. “Riley. Please. I can’t wait any longer.”

  His mouth quirks up as he begins to loosen the tie of my wrap dress. “I think you can. You made me wait for weeks. Now it’s my turn.”

  I groan in protest, but Riley only smiles as my dress comes loose with a tug. He hums with appreciation as he pushes the dress off my shoulders. In the soft glow of twilight, he takes me in.

  My black satin bra gleams against my dark skin, showcasing the breasts he likes so much. My soft belly quivers as his gaze travels down to my spread thighs, zeroing in on the red swatch of fabric covering my pussy. “Fuck, Lilah,” he breathes, and his voice is so reverent it sounds like the highest praise.

  He presses my thighs even farther apart, making room for his strong hips. He coaxes my legs up over those hips until my feet—still in heels—are spurring against his ass. I drape my arms over his shoulders, feeling hungry and wanton. “I’ve got a real thing for how you look in a T-shirt, but it’s time to get rid of this one,” I say, plucking at the soft fabric.

  He grins before grabbing the shirt by the hem and pulling it over his head. My hands are on him before the fabric even clears his head. Holy fucking shit. His body is incredible. Heavy and thick, with slabs of muscle folded over each other. I’ve studied the human body, and Riley’s is perfection writ large.

  I run my hands up his chest, flicking his hard nipples with my thumbs. He gasps as I run my hands up over his shoulders, down his massive biceps, exploring every hard ridge of muscle. Riley, meanwhile, is at work on my bra, releasing the multiple hooks of the back clasp. He drops hot kisses over my tattooed arm and shoulder, nipping at my skin as I arch against him.

  When he finally frees my breasts, he takes them with greedy hands. His mouth follows, skimming wild kisses until he finds my nipple and takes it lightly between his teeth. I moan, holding his head closer as I sink my fingers into his thick hair. I’m clinging to him now, trusting that his solid strength can take my weight as I writhe against him.

  When his hand covers my pussy, I throw back my head with a gasp. Something clenches inside me, needy and desperate. “Please,” I manage, my voice breathy and hot.

  Riley straightens, leaving my nipples wet from his mouth. His hair is tousled, his eyes wide with desire, but his teasing grin is back. “Is this what you want?” he asks, tracing a finger down my slit through my soaked panties.

  “Yes,” I moan, biting my lip.

  He slips an arm around my back to support me and pulls me closer. “Do you want my fingers inside you? My mouth on your clit?”

  The words, delivered with his flat, prairie twang, send a shock wave through me. “Yes,” I sob, nearly bucking off the desk.

  His thick fingers shove my thong aside and plunge inside me. He swallows my cry of shock with his mouth, his tongue mimicking the thrust and twists of his finger inside me. Then he slips a second finger in beside the first, stretching me even wider, and my body explodes.

  Riley drops his head to my shoulder as I clench around his hand, coming to completion faster than I ever have before. Before the orgasm subsides, he starts pumping into me again, this time finding my clit with his thumb. I may have screamed, but in this moment I’m too focused on what is happening inside me to know. Riley is kissing me again, our mouths open and avid, my body trembling against him even as I can feel the muscles in his back tightening into rocks.

  With a growl he pulls his fingers from me, and I moan in frustration. With no apparent effort, he hoists me in his arms and carries me to the nearest table, where he lays me down across its surface. He lifts my limp legs, stopping to kiss the inside of my ankle as he tugs off my stretched panties. Desperately eager, I rear up so I can push off his pants.

  “Not yet,” Riley says, angling his hips away from me. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  I moan in frustration. “It’s my turn to make you come.”

  He chuckles, deep in his chest. “Oh, you will. I’m barely holding it together as it is.” He picks up my hand and runs it over the bulge in his pants. “Can’t you feel how much I want you?”

  My eyes pop wide. His cock is as big as the rest of him—long and thick under my exploring fingers. But when I try to slip my hand into his pants, he moves away again.

  “Soon,” he says, kneeling down next to the table. “But I want you wet and open and ready, so you can take me.”

  I push myself up on trembling elbows as I watch him settle between my legs. His eyes flick up to mine. “I want to taste you, Lilah. I want to make you come on my tongue.”

  “Jesus, Riley, I never expected you would talk dirty.”

  He nips at my inner thigh as he massages his hands up my legs. “Haven’t I already defied all your expectations?”r />
  My laughter chokes off in my throat when he strokes my pussy with those big fingers, opening me to him. He keeps his eyes on mine as he lowers his head.

  The first long lick makes me gasp. The second makes me quake. Then his fingers slip inside me as his mouth finds my clit, and I surrender to the volcano he is stoking inside me.

  When the orgasm hits, it’s in a wave so strong that my back arches up off the table. My legs are wrapped around Riley’s shoulders, my fingers in his hair, my body undulating with passion. I ride the energy of it, struggling to sit up and tug Riley’s mouth to mine. I can taste myself all over him, and it only makes me hotter. “Now, Riley, now. I need you inside me now.”

  Night has fallen completely, but my eyes are adjusted enough to see that Riley’s eyes have gone feral with need. “I’ve got a condom in my gym bag.”

  I nod, reluctant to let him go but eager to have him back. He kicks off his shoes as he stumbles to where he’s left his bag, stripping off his socks with an abandon that makes me laugh. He leaves his athletic pants in a pile and starts to shove off his boxer briefs, but stops when I call his name. “I want to do that.”

  My legs are still weak, but I manage to stand and saunter over to him, wearing only my heels. He has all but reduced me to a puddle, and now it’s time to return the favor. “Let me touch you first,” I whisper, laying my hands on his hot skin.

  He holds still, the condom in one hand, as I circle him.

  “Look at this body,” I murmur, running my hands down his back to his muscular ass. I massage his tightly-clenched cheeks as I dash kisses over his shoulder blades. I lay my head against his strong back, running my hands around his hips. I can hear his heart pounding as I push down his boxers with one hand and take his massive cock into the other.

  He hisses out a breath as I stroke him. “You’re driving me crazy,” he groans, arching his back to look over his shoulder at me.

  I smile into his back. “You’re not the only one who’s been waiting for weeks. I have a lot of exploring to do.”