Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance

by Lily Cahill

  Chapter Thirteen

  Reggie

  I WAKE UP SLOWLY, ENJOYING a tropical dream. Then I realize I’m baking in the sun from Megan’s window, breathing in the coconut scent of her hair, which is even better than paradise. She’s curled into me, tucked under a sheet, but I can still see the lines of her naked body. My cock stirs. But a glance at the clock tells me I’ll have to wait if I want to be on time to practice.

  I pull away from her slowly, not wanting to wake her up as I get dressed. I scribble a note and leave it on her nightstand:

  Dinner tonight? Meet you back here at 7:00.

  I grab the extra pair of crutches she gave me last night—because of course Megan has spare crutches at her apartment—and hobble to my scooter, though after last night I feel like I’m damn near dancing. I zip through campus, miraculously not hitting any traffic. The sun is shining and the crisp fall air is perfect for football. I stride onto the field. Even on crutches, I feel powerful and on top of the world.

  I can’t participate, but I stand on the sidelines next to Coach Prescott watching our plays unfold. The defense is on point, not letting a pass or a rush through. It isn’t saying much with how the offense is playing this year, but you can tell that even against a great offense, the defense will be able to keep up and stop progression.

  West spirals a ball through the air, it looks perfect, except for the fact that it’s going nowhere near the target. Prescott’s knuckles turn pale where he’s gripping his clipboard and his jaw clenches, popping the tendon on his neck out.

  “West!” He calls the QB to the sideline out of the play. West jogs over with his head down. “Son, what the hell was that?”

  “I misread the play.”

  “You misread the play?” The coach’s voice is eerily clam, but his eyes are furious.

  “Yes, sir. I believe I flipped the field when studying the play.”

  It’s easy enough to do. There are hundreds of plays, and even if you studied them every night it’s hard to execute without actually doing them.

  Coach nods his head. “You know what I think?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I think you don’t know the plays.” Coach Prescott’s face has contracted with fury in an instant, and he throws the clipboard on the ground. “There’s no possibility of a receiver being located where you threw that damn ball on a Red 62.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir?” He nods his head again, lips tight, tendon throbbing. “Pick up that clipboard and go study those plays until you know them so well that you can run them in your sleep. I want you to know those plays so well that you could run them in a coma. I want you to know those plays so well that when you are old and your mind is slipping and you’ve forgotten the name of your wife and kids that you still remember what goddamn play a Red 62 is.”

  “Yes, sir,” West says again. He picks up the clipboard and jogs off the field.

  “Go follow West and make sure that numb-nuts doesn’t flip the field while he’s studying,” Coach says to me, then turns to work on the rest of the offense.

  I find West in the conference room attached to our locker room, his head in his hands, pulling his hair and leaning over the playbook, mumbling to himself.

  “You’re never going to learn like that.”

  He looks up. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  I log onto the computer in the corner and bring up tape from last year. The wall across from West comes to life with the video. I remember a tricky game where it felt like the opposing team could read our minds. We had to use more plays than we normally do and interchange them all the time. We won the game because Coach MoFo pulled plays from deep in the book and Jeremy Hudson, our former quarterback, was a genius at reading the field and adjusting accordingly. That’s West’s main problem. He doesn’t think fast enough and can’t react fast enough. And he’s getting sacked and throwing interceptions because of it. He might actually have a better arm than Hudson did, but that isn’t all that makes a quarterback.

  I hit play and pause before Hudson releases the ball on the screen.

  “Where’s it going?”

  “Left corner,” West says. I press play. The ball on the screen soars to the right corner.

  “What play was that?”

  West thinks about it. “Yosemite.”

  I nod. “The left was a decoy to draw out defenders. The right lagged behind before sprinting forward. He’s the fastest guy on the team, right now that’s Ben. So Ben can sort of act like he’s not going to be a major player, let the defenders get drawn away, then sprint up the field using his speed to make up the lost time.”

  West nods.

  “All right, Coach calls the play. It’s ‘Applesauce.’” I remember this game like it was yesterday, but even if I didn’t, the tape is organized with notes on every play. What happened, what went wrong, what went right, how our opponents reacted. It gives me plenty to work with.

  I hit play again, then pause with Hudson’s hand cocked back.

  I wait for West to tell me what’s going to happen.

  “Pass it off to Number 12.”

  “Yep.” I hit play. Hudson does as West predicted, and the running back charges forward, getting stopped by defenders before gaining the down, but it was the right move.

  We keep going, and West knows the plays. He calls them right. So I hit play and let the tape run without pausing, making him make the call as fast as Hudson is on the screen.

  He still does pretty well, making the right call about ninety percent of the time. But sitting alone in a room with a video is nothing like the pressure of being on the field, so I get in his face. I make him stand up, and I put my hand in space. I push him with my crutches. I bump him with my shoulder. I shout over the noise of the video. And he starts to crumble. His accuracy goes down to about sixty percent.

  West finally has enough and pushes me backward. I fall, putting weight on my bad ankle.

  “Fuck,” I yelp out involuntarily as a sharp and fast pain like splintering bone shoots from my ankle all the way up my shin. I straighten myself, getting the weight off my foot. The knife-sharp pain stops, but the sting is still there.

  “Shit, man. I’m sorry.” West’s eyes furrow together and he holds his hand out.

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I say, much more focused on his performance than I am on my own injury. “You gotta get more confident out there. This is nothing compared to a stadium of screaming fans who all want you to fail and a line of defenders who’ll kill you to stop a first down.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Seriously, are you okay? I can get you an ice pack.”

  I hit play again, screaming as loud as I can right in his face. I think I actually see his hair move, but he holds steady this time, not flinching. And then he makes the right call.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Reggie

  MEGAN ADJUSTS THE JETS IN the pool to the exact current she wants. As she shimmies out of her shorts, my eyes journey up her long legs, muscular yet soft at the same time. She’s wearing a conservative one-piece bathing suit, but there is still way too much skin showing for me to stay focused on what we’re here for. From inside the pool, looking up, her legs seem endless.

  “Start kicking, like we practiced out here,” she says as she swings those long legs around to sit at the edge of the pool.

  I start flailing my legs around. Megan dips her toe into the water and kicks it toward me, splashing me in the back of the head. “Don’t make me come in there.”

  I smirk back at her. That’s exactly what I want. I flail again.

  “Reggie!” Her voice squeaks as she yells at me, but she still doesn’t hop into the small therapy pool. I let the jets push me backward, until I’m right at her leg. I grab onto her and pull myself up enough to kiss up her calves.

  “We’re supposed to be working out,” she says, but she’s closed her eyes, and she’s letting my hands wander farther up her leg
s.

  “Come in and show me how again; I forget.” I give her my most innocent smile. She slides into the pool, and the water rushes up her form, until her small, pert breasts bob on the top of the water. I slice through the water toward her, but she instead grabs the metal bar studding one end of the pool where the current is strongest, and patiently shows me the exercise again.

  “See? It’s easy,” she says, extending one leg up and down in the water. Then she lets go of the bar and allows the jets to propel her to the back edge of the pool.

  I only pretend for half a second to do the workout, then I’m back at her side, pressing her body against the concrete wall and kissing up her neck. I grab onto her legs and lift her, and nearly groan with desire as she wraps her thighs around my hips. I keep kissing down her neck and find the swell of her breasts, the water lapping against her chest.

  “Reggie,” her voice is breathy, and I can feel her body melting into mine. “We’re supposed to be working.”

  “But this is more fun.” I bite around the lobe of her ear and pull on it playfully before my lips find her neck again.

  “We can have fun later,” she gasps as my fingers brush against her pussy. I let the fabric of the suit stay in place, but lightly rub my thumb over her clit in slow circles.

  I move my hand away and rock my hips towards her, and the pressure against my cock sends a jolt of electricity through my body. Her body responds, gyrating against me, rubbing herself on the length of me.

  “Oh my God,” I breathe out. It feels so impossibly good, and I swear I could come right now with just the pressure of her against me.

  “How about I slide my cock inside of you now, and then I’ll take you to the planetarium tonight?”

  I already bought the tickets, so I kind of hope she says yes. I saw a poster on campus for the show, Bella Gaia, which I had to look up to realize it means “Beautiful Earth.” The picture on the poster is of the Earth from space, and it reminded me of Megan. I couldn’t help but buy two tickets.

  “That sounds an awful lot like a date.” Her body slows under mine. I grip her thighs, holding her in place against me, practically out of my mind with desire.

  “So, let’s go on a date.”

  Her body goes rigid, and that’s when I finally look up. She’s biting her lip and she has that crease between her brows. My stomach drops suddenly, and blood rushes into my brain, making me feel a little woozy with the shift in gears. Did I hurt her, grind into her too hard? I look behind her, worried the edge of the pool has been digging into her back.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, easing myself off of her until she lets her legs fall from my waist and stands on her own. She’s looking down at the pool, the water between us rippling. She’s avoiding my eyes. I touch her chin and tilt her face up to mine.

  “I’m fine,” she says, still not quite meeting my gaze. “I just really like what we have now. You know, this.” She signals between us and looks down at my still rock-hard cock.

  “Oh,” I say, realizing what she’s saying. I haven’t hurt her, she just doesn’t want to go out with me. Even though we’re already soaking wet, I feel like I’ve just had a cold glass of water thrown in my face.

  “It’s just that I’m going to grad school next year, and I have no idea where I’ll get in, and you,” she stammers, not finishing the sentence. “I really like what we have now,” she finally finishes. But I know exactly what the end of that sentence would have been. I … am going back to Texas, back to the trailer park. Megan has a whole life ahead of her. Mine—the best part of mine, anyway—is done after this year.

  She pulls on the waist of my swim trunks so our bodies are touching again, and I can’t resist her. She has her hands on my chest and is looking up at me, nervous and waiting for me to agree with her.

  “Yeah, totally,” I say, feeling like an idiot. “Whatever you want. It was just an idea.”

  Megan lets out a sigh of relief. A literal, heavy breath that’s so big and so long, it rustles through my hair. Her shoulders relax, and I kick myself for buying the tickets, for thinking that she’d be excited about it. That she’d actually want to go out with me.

  “So friends with benefits, then?” She squares her shoulders as she says it.

  “If that’s what you want,” I say, nodding my head, trying my damnedest to look nonchalant. I smile and quirk my head to the side.

  “That’s what I want,” she says, her voice dipping into a sultry whisper as she reaches her hand down the front of my shorts and wraps her hand around my now only semi-erect dick.

  And despite the fact that my heart is crushed, my cock responds to her touch, hardening for her. She gives me a knowing smile and then slips underneath the water, pushing down my shorts and licking along my shaft, her tongue hot and flat against me. She comes back up for a breath and a wicked smile, then she’s back under. She takes me in her mouth, and I thank my lucky stars that she wants to have at least this much to do with me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Megan

  I SLIP ON THE HIGHEST heels I have, which are only two inches, but still make me feel pretty. As a tall girl, I don’t wear a lot of heels, but Reggie’s so big, I don’t have to worry about it.

  I don’t know why I’m doing this. I just rejected Reggie’s planetarium date two days ago, but then I’d casually mentioned this new restaurant in Granite and Reggie had said Ben was going on about it too, and I’d—for reasons still unknown—asked Reggie to go check it out with me. His gorgeous eyes had gone wide for a moment, and then he’d said yes in such a sincere voice that my heart nearly melted.

  We’re just two friends checking out a new restaurant, it’s not a date, I remind myself before taking one last look in the mirror and going out to the living room.

  I barely get two steps before Chloe is whistling at me.

  “Hey, hot mama, where are you headed all dolled up?”

  “I’m not all dolled up.” I touch my hair, still warm from the curlers.

  “Oh, yes, you are. Don’t get me wrong, I always think you’re a babe, but this is definitely outside of your everyday attire. I don’t even see a cardigan.”

  I pull my purse away from where it’s slung on my hip, and hold it up to her. I have a cardigan draped over the top.

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  “If you must know, Reggie and I are going to Salt.”

  Chloe whistles again. “How romantic. This is getting serious pretty quickly. Isn’t this, like, the fifth time you’ve hung out with him this week?”

  It’s the seventh, actually, but who’s counting. “It’s not getting serious. We’re just friends.”

  One eyebrow arches.

  “Friends with benefits,” I concede. And the benefits are good.

  I feel a flush creeping up my cheeks thinking about all the time we’ve spent together. I swear, Reggie has unleashed some sort of sex demon inside of me that never seems to be satisfied. After the first night a little over a week ago, we’ve been together almost nonstop. I can’t stop thinking about all the things he can do to my body. Memories hit me at the weirdest times: him waking me by sliding his hands under my T-shirt; how deliciously dirty it was the first time he took me from behind; the way his golden-amber eyes go molten with pleasure just before he comes. I feel like I’m walking around in a state of perpetual arousal, directed only toward him.

  But it’s not just nonstop sex every second we’re together. It helps that Reggie’s football schedule has been more relaxed with his injury. He spends a lot of practice time in the med room with me. He had to miss a game because of his injury, but even that was fun. Reggie dealt with not being on the field better than I thought he would.

  It’s a combination of therapy and sex. I’ve got it all neatly compartmentalized, and I feel confident that it won’t get messy.

  But as I look down at my black slinky dress that flares out at my hips and swishes when I walk, not to mention my pointy-toed, black suede heels that’
d made me feel sexy just a minute ago … well, I can’t help but second guess the whole thing. I wonder if I truly have a handle on this at all. Because the truth is, I want to look nice for Reggie. I want him to feel proud when he looks at me.

  “Do you think this is too much?” I ask.

  “No,” Chloe scoffs. “I think he’s going to drool all over you and ask you to wear his letterman jacket.”

  Now I roll my eyes, but I flush again, remembering him buttoning up his jacket over his bare chest when he left my bedroom, letting me keep his T-shirt, which by that time was all that I was wearing. Now it’s my favorite thing to wear to bed. It’s so comfortable and smells so good, and it makes me feel like his arms are around me all night long.

  Okay, so maybe I feel something more than friendly toward him. But I know what I’m doing.

  “No. Judging from the sounds coming through the wall, you want something other than his jacket,” Chloe smirks.

  I’m sure my face is red, but I toss my freshly curled hair. “Jealous?”

  “Yup.”

  “We’re friends,” I insist as I slip out of the heels for a minute. How do girls wear these things? Then I think of how Reggie will react, and add, “Who enjoy having sex.”

  “I don’t think friends get dressed up to go one of the nicest new restaurants in town.”

  “We’re celebrating,” I counter. “He helped me study for that anatomy test that I aced, so this is just a congratulatory dinner.” I feel a swirl in my stomach, but I push it down. “I should change. I should just put on some pants and a nice top and ditch the heels. I look like I’m trying too hard.”

  “No, you do not. You look like you’re going on a date with your boyfriend.”

  I stumble a little, and I don’t even have the heels as an excuse. “He’s not my boyfriend.” I say it hard and firm.

  “Okay,” Chloe holds her hands up in defeat. “If you say so.”