Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance

by Lily Cahill

  I press my lips together. “Today was maybe not the best show of sportsmanship.”

  Ben groans. “You’re being too kind. I was such an unmitigated arse out there.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “The truth? Because I thought West was making a mistake calling a play that didn’t give me the ball.”

  Ben shifts in his seat and leans forward to fiddle with the lid of the teapot. I watch as his jaw works back and forth.

  “Ben, how is Coach Prescott or anyone else expected to give you the ball, give you a chance, if you’re not acting like you’re a part of the team?”

  Ben doesn’t answer.

  “If I pulled something like that in a stunt, I could get majorly hurt, or hurt someone else. I’ve got to trust my bases and my spots to do their job for me to do mine. I’ve got to believe that even if I’m not in the best stunt, that what I’m doing is an important part of the overall team. Isn’t it the same in football?”

  Ben sits back heavily, and it takes a second for him to look at me. “I’ve really screwed up, haven’t I?”

  I sigh and warm my hands on the mug of tea. “You saved me from two creeps and then bought me tea. You aren’t all bad.”

  And Ben, for all his faults, smiles.

  Ben walks me up to the Kappa door, both of us getting slower the closer we get to goodbye.

  I twist my fingers in front of my short cheer skirt and pause at the front door. I don’t want to go inside alone, but I’m not the type of girl to fall into bed with guys so easily. Ben roughs a hand through his hair and shifts back and forth on his feet.

  “This was nice,” I say, peering up at Ben. Lord, the way he’s looking at me makes me want to pull him up to my room immediately. His pupils are open wide, and his lips are soft and so, so kissable. “I’ll have to tell my sisters about that coffee shop, and—”

  “Nara.”

  I swallow my words. But I don’t want to say goodnight. Not yet. The force of my emotions nearly scares me. But I can imagine myself really building something with Ben. Not the Ben who’s arrogant on the field and dismissive of his teammates, but the kind man he is when we’re alone. I have the unmistakable impression that we have both overcome some horrible things to get where we are. For the first time in a very long while, I want someone to know everything about me—not just the highlights, but the darkness too.

  That terrifies me as much as it makes me light up from the inside out like a thousand twinkle lights. I fiddle with the snaps of my team jacket, my jittery nerves demanding I keep moving.

  But then Ben’s hand is there. He hooks his fingers around my wrist and tugs my closer. I stumble forward and crash against his wonderfully hard body. Our hands are joined together, our fingers twined, and my other hand rests against his chest. His muscles are sculpted under my palm, the heat from his skin sinking into me.

  “Nara,” he says again, his voice deep and woven through with something rich and coarse at the same time. Desire. It’s filled with desire.

  My core suddenly blazes while shivers erupt down my arms. I suddenly remember his words to me in that bar … that sometimes he wants to do the opposite of what’s expected. Right now, I’m expected to say goodnight and go inside, to be the good girl I always am. Screw that.

  He dips his head, and I push up to my toes to meet him halfway. My heart gallops in my chest, and I flick my tongue over my lips. His eyes bore into mine, and I don’t look away. I need him to see how much I want this.

  Ben’s free hand snakes up my back and pulls me against him, until our bodies are pressed together, not even a breath of air between us. The heat between my thighs flares again, and my panties go slick with need for this man.

  Ben looks at me deeply for a whisper of a moment, then his mouth is on mine. I nearly groan at the perfection of it. His lips are soft but confident, and the way he tilts his chin deepens our kiss. I part my lips, and his tongue flicks into my mouth, searching. He runs his tongue along the sensitive ridge of my bottom lip, and I nearly gasp with pleasure.

  Ben wraps me in both his arms, almost pulling me off my feet. I wind my arms up his strong back and arch into him, into the sensation of his lips against mine, his tongue in my mouth. What was gentle becomes deeper, insistent, urgent. I nip at his bottom lip and drag it between my teeth, and a wonderfully feral groan rumbles in Ben’s chest.

  His hands shiver down my back and clamp under my ass, and then he hauls me up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his hips as he stumbles backward. The movement only makes my blazing hot core press against his muscular stomach, and it takes everything in me not to grind against him. My pussy is slick with need, swollen with an aching desire.

  “Chair,” I pant. “Behind you.”

  Unseeing, Ben backs up until his knees hit a deep, wide-cushioned chair, and we collapse into it with a grunt. But we never take our lips off each other.

  I spread my thighs wide to straddle him, and I can’t miss the steel-hard bulge of his erection pressing against my opening. I shift slightly to rub my pussy up the length of him and groan against his lips.

  “Jesus,” Ben chokes out. His large hands squeeze my ass, guiding me up and down the length of his cock as we kiss.

  Ben gasps and tears his mouth away from mine. Then his lips find my neck, and he sucks and licks his way from the crook of my shoulder up to my ear. I let my head fall back in ecstasy and thrust against him.

  I could push aside my uniform, my panties, I could let his cock slide deep inside of me and fuck him right here on the porch of my sorority house. Oh Lord, I could do it.

  “Sh—” Ben gasps again.

  But then he freezes. I blink through the fog of lust and look down at him. Pain lances across his expression and his shoulders heave in a shaky breath.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

  Confusion makes me blink again. I have no idea what he could be sorry about. But before I can ask, Ben shuts down. I can see it in the way his eyes grow distant, in the set of his jaw. Suddenly unsure of this—and even worse, suddenly ashamed—I crawl off Ben’s lap and tug at the hem of my skirt.

  He struggles to his feet, unable to look at me. Eyes down, he mumbles another apology, then practically runs away. I’m left standing on the porch, utterly confused. And more than a little angry.

  Chapter Six

  Ben

  THERE ARE TWO PEOPLE IN the world I don’t want to think about at the moment, and one of them is calling.

  I’ve been alternating sit-ups and push-ups for the better part of an hour—anything to take my mind off the horrible mix of guilt and shame from that incident with Nara. Everything had felt so fucking perfect that evening—the tea and the talking and then, especially, the kissing. I’d sworn there was a connection between us, like her heart was knitting to mine.

  And then I’d nearly called her Shelby in a moment of passion, and my daft heart was rent in two. Guilt gnaws at me, for being with a woman who isn’t Shelby, for being unable to stop thinking about Nara. But more than the guilt is the shame at how I treated Nara. She deserves someone so much better than me. She deserves someone who doesn’t send a terse text to cancel a date.

  My phone blares at me again, and I groan and palm it. The second person I don’t want to think about: my father. But in just a couple short weeks, there’ll be no escaping Alistair Whitlock-Mayhew, the Earl of Derby. He’s traveling to the States for work and keeps threatening to pay me a visit at college.

  I drag my T-shirt over my sweat-slicked face and collapse on my back in the middle of my dorm floor. With only the slightest pause, I answer the call and close my eyes.

  “Hello, father.”

  “Benjamin, how are you?”

  The formalities are painful. I knew plenty of mates at Eton and Oxford who had chilly relationships with their families, but none were as stilted as mine.

  “Your mother tells me your team won the match Saturday, though I gather without much help from you.”

  So he heard abou
t my little temper tantrum on the field. Wonderful.

  “Did you need something, Father? Or just want to chat?”

  There’s a sigh and a long pause on the other end. Finally, the Earl speaks up. “The Empire Society Gala is next Friday in San Francisco. I’ve agreed to attend, as it was your uncle’s pet cause, and apparently Duke Cartwright requested your attendance as well.”

  “Father, I can’t just take off—”

  He speaks over me. “That is, if you can remember how to dress for black-tie. You’ve been in the States for more than a year now. Do you only own blue jeans anymore?”

  Annoyance grips tight at my jaw. Why is it that my own father always wants to think the worst of me?

  “I’ll be there,” I say shortly.

  “Good. I’ll have my secretary send you the details.”

  “Good.”

  My stomach aches, and it’s not from the sit-ups. I’m an only child, the apparent heir to my father’s title and estate. What will I have to do to ever prove to the man I’m worthy of it?

  After a short goodbye, my father hangs up, and I stretch out on the floor. Maybe I’m not worth it. All the breeding, all the right connections, and I still ran out on an amazing woman and am too much of a pussy to tell her why.

  Another stabbing pain lances through my stomach, and I roll to my side and stand up. Maybe I can quiet all the complaints with food—I’ve been constantly hungry since practice began in earnest for the Mustangs. I pad across my small but orderly dorm room and into the shared kitchen.

  Reggie is bent over in the fridge, rooting through take-out boxes and half-empty cartons of milk. He glances behind his shoulder at me, and his eyes narrow for a second. Practice this morning was … tense.

  Then with a sigh that sounds not unlike my father’s, Reggie grabs a carton of milk and slams the refrigerator door. He leans against the counter and regards me.

  “Look, man,” he starts.

  “I’m just here to grab some crisps, Reggie. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

  “Just say chips. You know they’re called chips.”

  I quirk one eyebrow. “Chips are fried potatoes, my friend.”

  Reggie tips back the rest of the milk then crushes the empty carton in his meaty hand. He swipes his hand over the back of his mouth then sighs again.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I do want to be your friend, man. And before you go all British on me, you could use a friend on the team.”

  This again. Coach Prescott gave a whole speech at practice this morning about teamwork and brotherhood. It was directed at me, I know it. Everyone else knew it too. I could tell by the way nearly fifty sets of eyes spent the entirety of the speech glaring at me.

  I grab a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and start to walk away.

  “You want to know something? You were right. West should have made Adams the diversion on that play, not you. But no one’s going to give you a chance to show what a badass receiver you are if you’re a bastard all the time.”

  Reggie’s words all sound so close to Nara’s advice. I pause at the door and stare at Reggie. Maybe it’s because Nara said the same thing or because I really am becoming a touchy-feely American, but something in me shifts as I stare at my teammate. For the first time, I want to listen to him.

  “Ben, man. For all your crappy attitude, I’ve seen you out there on the field. You love this as much as I do. Stop trying to fight yourself every step of the way. You can still be a snooty asshole who eats weird food and be a kick-ass football player too.”

  Reggie grabs a second carton of milk and walks out of the kitchen without another word. And I’m left standing in the doorway, gobsmacked. Maybe Reggie isn’t so dumb after all.

  I jump in the shower and throw on some clothes, my mind on Nara.

  I screwed up with her the other night. Not just by nearly calling her by my dead ex-girlfriend’s name, but by keeping so much of myself guarded from her. She deserves to know the truth about my past—as much of it as I can bear to tell her.

  It’s selfish of me, this upwelling of need I feel for Nara. Who the hell knows if I can be as good for her as I think she can be for me. But in this moment, all I know for certain is that this bubbly, smart, kind woman warms me up from the inside out and makes me smile more than anyone has since Shelby died.

  The tea shop is full of students working and relaxing, but Charlotte, the owner, comes over to me immediately.

  “Mr. Mayhew,” she says with a smile. “That lovely woman you brought by the other evening was in just this morning.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “I need your help with that, actually,” I start. I tell Charlotte what I need, and she sets to work. She even arranges one of her employees to deliver the parcel.

  I perch on a stool and stare at a blank sheet of paper, somehow trying to convey my thoughts through the pen without coming off peculiar or desperate. My emotions feel terribly rusty, I’ve been shoving them down and covering them with anger for so long. But I have to let Nara know what’s on my mind. I have to convince her I deserve a second chance.

  Finally, I bend over the paper and scrawl a quick note, then seal it up with the parcel and leave, hoping for the best.

  Chapter Seven

  Nara

  “WHERE ARE YOU TODAY, GIRL?”

  I shake my head in a daze and accept the hand that my stunt partner, Chad, offers me. I hadn’t been paying attention to the cue and had missed my dismount from the stunt. Chad flicked his hands where he balanced me above his head, but I hadn’t twisted, and the only thing that kept me from slamming straight into the ground was a quick spotter at our backs. He’d broken my fall out of the stunt, but we’d both ended up on the mats.

  Across the practice gym, Jess eyes me. She flips her long, silky blond ponytail, then tenses and throws herself into the standing back handspring. Her base is there; he grabs her waist as she straightens up from the handspring and vaults her into a full extension, her standing on his hands that are pressed above his head.

  The music hits a booming note, and he flicks his wrists. Jess throws her shoulders and tucks her arms to her chest, twisting into a tight dismount. The base catches her easily, and Jess is grinning as she jumps from his arms.

  “That is how you do it,” she crows, holding up her hand for a high five.

  I can barely contain my groan. Beside me, Chad bristles.

  “She’s charming as ever today,” he whispers next to me.

  I share a look with him. Chad and Jess are both seniors and had been stunt partners their freshmen year. Apparently it’d ended in a screaming match, and the next year Coach Higgins partnered me with Chad. Though he still bases with Jess’ stunt partner for the show-stopping basket toss.

  The thought of the basket toss just makes me think of Ben again, and that pulls my lips down. What the hell happened Saturday night? Everything had been going so well, and then he’d told me to be quiet and practically ran away. The memory of it makes my cheeks burn with shame. Lord, I nearly ….

  I know I need to brush it off and move on. He made that especially clear with the oneline text message he sent me the next morning canceling our planned date. I swear, the guy has more mood swings than the entire cheerleading squad in a month.

  No date means no basket toss. But dammit, I would destroy the basket toss, if only I’d be given the chance. I toe my white sneaker into the mat and press the back of my hands against my heated cheeks. Coach Higgins probably has no idea how badly I want the stunt. I’m always her girl with a smile, eager to do whatever the team needs, even if that means languishing in a shoulder-sit holding “Defense” signs while Jess gets a tumbling pass.

  “Come on,” I say to Chad. “Let’s go again.”

  “Wait!” Jess’ green eyes sparkle with malice. “Coach, I wanted to show you something new I’m thinking about for the basket toss.”

  Coach Higgins looks up from where she’s walking a couple girls through a new s
tunt.

  “Let’s see it then, Jess.”

  “Actually,” I say loudly.

  All eyes slice toward me, and my hot cheeks blaze. I smooth a hand over my hair. I’m due for another relaxing treatment—just one more way I strive to blend in with these girls.

  “Yeah, Nara?” Coach Higgins looks at me expectantly.

  “Actually,” I say again, then take a big breath. “I thought maybe I could try the basket toss.” My nerves get the best of me, and I say in a tumble of words, “you know, if everyone thinks it’d work.”

  To my eternal gratitude, Chad straightens his shoulders and nods. “We should go for it, Coach.”

  Jess laughs and stalks closer. She flips her ponytail again then grins wide. “Honey, you nearly killed your spotter on the last stunt. I just don’t think you’re worth the risk,” she says, her eyes drilling into mine.

  With her back turned to the coach, she glares at me, the challenge in her eyes willing me to look down, to cower. For some odd reason, Ben flashes in my mind. For better or worse, he’d never back down if he knew he was the best choice for something. I jut my chin and stare right back at Jess.

  “What are you afraid of, Jess? I just want to try it.”

  Jess blinks quickly and her mouth twists, her face contorting with rage for an unguarded moment, then she pulls that perfect mask back over her features and laughs loudly.

  “Jeez, girl. What’s gotten into you today? Don’t go all angry on us.”

  My chest goes tight, my throat bone dry. Angry. Like a black woman speaking up for herself can be anything other than angry. My heart kicks hard against my ribs, and I can’t swallow back the loathing in my tone.

  “What’s gotten into me is that you’re a cold stone bitch,” I snarl.

  The practice gym goes suddenly, horribly silent. Like all the air has been sucked out by me uttering the forbidden word. Even Chad and Madison—my two closest allies on the squad—look away from me.

  Coach Higgins reacts first. Her lips thin and she points one finger at me. “Nara Robinson, that was totally uncalled for.”