Unnecessary Roughness (ESC Mavericks Book 2)

by Alison Hendricks

  Only then do I focus on my own needs. I drive into him with powerful thrusts that shake the bed against its frame, desperate to join him. With every stroke, I can feel myself getting closer. I keep my eyes locked with Nate’s for as long as possible, but eventually my vision becomes unfocused, and the only thing in front of me is that all-consuming need.

  Nate cries out, and I can feel the moment he breaks around me. His whole body tenses before he’s wracked with tremors so powerful they shudder through me. I watch his beautiful face as he arches back against the bed, his eyes squeezing shut, his lips contorted with pleasure.

  But the moment his brown eyes meet mine again, I’m gone. That look is so sweet, so tender, that it sends me over the edge. I thrust into him one last time before my body acts on its own, my hips jerking as I come hard, shooting pulse after pulse inside of him.

  I’m shaking by the time it finally ends, and panting so hard I can barely catch my breath, let alone speak. But I don’t need to. I can see it in Nate’s eyes—he knows exactly what I’m feeling right now. And when he brushes his lips over mine, I know he feels it, too.

  In one night, everything between us has changed.

  I’m his. He’s mine. And I don’t even remember what my life was like before I had him in it.

  15

  Owen

  Waking up in Nate's arms is surreal in the best possible way.

  The guy's got a surprisingly strong grip when he's sleeping, and the possessive arm thrown across my chest is hard for my barely awake brain to navigate. So for a while, I don't even bother. I just watch him as his form rises and falls with his steady breathing. The little smile on his face brings out one on my own, and I manage to free my hand enough to brush back a wayward strand of his hair.

  I never would've imagined we'd end up here, but it feels... right. So right that part of me is wondering when it's all going to unravel. Will it be the moment Nate wakes up, or sometime later? It's not something I want to think about, but apparently I'm giving off weird vibes because Nate wakes up not long after I start feeling all anxious about it.

  He stretches, blinking bleary eyes to chase away the last of his sleep, and then his gaze finally settles on me. There's a flicker of surprise but his smile softens, and that slow, confident movement of his lips is enough to calm my racing heart.

  "Hey," he says, voice scratchy from sleep.

  "Hey yourself."

  I can feel warmth spreading through my body as my own lips pull into a matching smile. My heart is light, like I'm riding the high of a middle school kiss or something. It's silly, but I can't say I mind it one bit.

  "What time we gotta be on the bus?" he murmurs, shifting so his weight's resting on top of me, his elbows on either side of my body.

  "Not ‘til ten."

  Nate's smile turns into a wicked grin, and the warmth in my body starts to turn molten.

  "Round two?"

  He claims my mouth with his, and that one point of contact silences my worries. I can complicate this later, when we're back home. For now, I want to enjoy being "stuck" in a hotel room with the guy who made my high school years insanely awkward and confusing.

  When we get back to Eustis, Nate puts one of my fears to rest immediately, pulling me to him and pressing me against the door of our room, his tongue stroking mine with purpose. We fool around for an hour at least, just making out and grinding against each other like we're trying to play out how things could've been if I'd had the balls to tell him I liked him in high school.

  It can't last forever, though. We've got practice to deal with, and he's got class later on, so we pull apart from each other and go on with our day like normal. Just with a lot less antagonizing each other.

  That rivalry isn't completely gone though, and I'm perversely glad for it. Nate's always brought out my competitive side. I played better in the games where I was playing against him, and it's no different now. Plus, when he gives me that arrogant ass grin, I can now imagine fucking him into submission later and making him beg for more.

  All in all, it's a good practice. Everybody's still pumped from the win, and despite being tired from the game, we give it our all.

  There's a lot of shit talking in the locker room afterward, but that's nothing new. What is new are the looks Nate and I keep giving each other from across the aisle. They're discreet enough--I don't think our teammates have picked up on the serious "fuck me" eyes Nate is giving me--but they definitely get the message across. It gets me thinking about what could happen if he and I were alone in this locker room, and my mind's suddenly filled with images of me fucking him on one of the benches, up against the lockers, in the shower. I have to casually adjust myself so I'm not showing wood while everybody's changing.

  And of course this is around the time when Coach Ladner calls out for me.

  "Collins! Stop by my office when you finish getting dressed."

  There's some bullshit murmurings about me being in trouble, but I know I didn't do anything to warrant a private talking-to from the coach... unless he somehow figured out that Nate and I are a thing. Nate may be out and proud, but I'm not, and my anxiety skyrockets at the thought of the rest of the team knowing our business. Or even worse, Coach telling me Nate and I can't be together because it'll make us undisciplined on the field.

  I catch Nate's eye, and I can see the worry in his gaze, too. Trying on a smile that doesn't quite stick, I pull on a pair of jeans and an ESC Athletics shirt and walk over to the coach's office.

  Once I get close enough, I can see through the slats in the blinds that there's somebody else sitting in there. A guy in a red polo shirt and slacks who stands when I enter.

  "Owen, this is Robert White from UWF. Robert, Owen Collins, one of the hardest working corners I've had the pleasure of coaching."

  UWF. I run through school acronyms in my mind and come up with West Florida. That sounds right. Somewhere in the panhandle, I think. But why is a guy from West Florida coming to talk to me?

  Not wanting to be rude, I extend my hand. Robert gives it a firm pump and flashes me a row of perfectly straight teeth that are just a little coffee-stained.

  "Nice to meet you, Owen. I've been watching your games, and I asked your coach if I could come down here and see you in person."

  Robert's voice is a nice mix of confident and kind. I relax a little, but I'm still not really sure what this man is doing here. Unless...

  "The Argonauts are interested in having you join their program to help shore up their defense," Coach Ladner explains.

  My eyes widen and I look between him and Robert. He's not just a rep, then, but a scout. A scout who's taken a specific interest in me. Holy shit.

  I sit down with them, and Robert talks about West Florida and their football program. It's a D2 school, so already more competitive than ESC. The facilities look a lot better cared for, and the campus is nice.

  The more he talks, the harder it is for me to believe I've caught somebody's attention this early in the season. My heart pounds as the excitement of it winds through me, but slowly that excitement is replaced by anxiety.

  Nate and I are finally in a good place. What's it going to do to our relationship--or whatever we're calling it--to have me get an offer without him? The thoughts sour the rest of the meeting for me, and by the time Robert excuses himself and says he'll keep in touch, I've got a knot tied so tight in my stomach I can barely breathe.

  Sweet as it is, the fact that Nate's waiting for me in the locker room doesn't make me feel any better.

  "What was that about?"

  No sense beating around the bush. He's going to find out one way or another, and it might as well be from me.

  "Recruiter from West Florida came to talk to me."

  I brace myself for the look of surprise that will quickly turn into hurt and anger. I know he thinks I have it easy; that I had every door thrown open for me because of my dad. And for as much as I thought Nate's performance was just the result of God-given talent, I know
how hard he works at it. It's not fair for me to get attention over him. I--

  "Dude. That's awesome!"

  There's no resentful glower, no hateful scowl. Nate's eyes are bright and his cheeks are straining from how big he's smiling and I'm just so mixed up right now I don't even know what's going on.

  When I finally get my bearings, my heart squeezes with the weight of his excitement and enthusiasm. For me. He's happy something good is happening to me.

  "Yeah," I say with a smile. "I mean, I'm going to think about it. Need to call my dad. But having an offer this early in the season is crazy, right?"

  "It's fucking unheard of." Nate gives me a big grin and claps me on the shoulder, his hand lingering for a few moments.

  Like I said: fucking surreal.

  That feeling continues after he gets back from class with a sack full of groceries and tells me he wants to make me dinner to celebrate. Borrowing a second hotplate from down the hall, Nate makes some kickass burgers that are huge and juicy and probably the best home-cooked burgers I've ever had. I'm full after just two of the things, and most times I could probably eat my weight in meat if given the chance.

  The desire for a nap is crazy strong, especially if Nate's going to join me, but there's one more thing I have to do first. Grabbing my phone, I open my contacts list and call my dad.

  "I was hoping you'd call. I had some free time after work so I sat down with the tape from yesterday's game. Got a few notes you can pass on to that defensive coach of yours."

  Jesus. What a way to start a conversation.

  "Hi, Dad. I'm doing good, how are you?"

  Across the room, Nate's brows lift and he smirks a little at my tone.

  "You played pretty well," he continues like he didn't even hear me, "but there's still room for improvement. You've gotta be quicker to pivot when the receiver tries to fake you out on his route."

  My dad was a tight end for the Gators. He's never played defense in his life and, outside of coaching my pee wee teams, he's never coached defense, either. But somehow, he thinks he's an expert in all facets of the game.

  I grit my teeth and breathe in through my nose, trying not to let him upset me. It's always been this way. He picks apart anything I do wrong, and takes credit for anything I do right.

  Nate must recognize my tension, because he comes over to sit beside me, the mattress shifting as he rests his weight on it. Strong hands dig into my shoulders, firmly kneading, and I close my eyes.

  "I'll work on it. I didn't call for advice though, Dad. I called because I was visited by a recruiter today."

  That perks him right up, and I can hear an immediate difference in his tone. "FSU? Alabama? Georgia wouldn't be half bad, either."

  "West Florida."

  Silence on the other line, then an incredulous. "West Florida? Where the fuck is that?"

  I roll my eyes and lean back against Nate who's now moved fully behind me. "Pensacola."

  "Hold on."

  I can hear him typing, and I know he's got his laptop pulled up in front of him. He likes to take notes on my performance and then email them to me and my coaches.

  "This is a D2 school, Owen. We didn't get you transferred to ESC just so you could play in a D2 program at a school that has the worst rank in their division."

  "Not just play, Dad. Start. They're willing to make that part of the deal, and they want to offer me a full ride."

  "Of course they do. You'd be their god damn golden goose." I can hear the disdain almost dripping from his words. "I hope you told them you're waiting for better offers."

  "I told them I'd consider it, and I am considering it. Why the fuck would I turn them down point blank when I don't have any other offers?"

  "Because you're better than that. Better than them. You're my son, Owen. Do you understand what that means?" God, here it comes again. "Football's in your blood and you're not taking an offer from some shitty D2 school."

  My free hand clenches around the edge of the bed. I want to yell at him, to tell him he doesn't run my life anymore like he did when I was a kid. But Nate's lips, soft and warm on the back of my neck, help me keep my cool.

  "I don't wanna fight with you today, Dad. I just thought you'd want to know I got an offer. Sorry for wasting your time."

  I can hear him pressing on, but I swipe to end the call and toss my phone back onto the bed. Nate's arms slide around me and I lean into his embrace.

  "Your dad's a real asshole," he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

  "Yeah," I say with a weak laugh. "Not sure what I expected."

  "Maybe that he'd be happy for you? Nobody else has gotten an offer yet. You've been working your ass off and somebody out there took notice. That's something to be proud of."

  My Dad's always been a hardass, and he barely recognizes my accomplishments. Something about not wanting me to start slacking off. But I never expected Nate Vincent would be more supportive of me than my own father.

  Really. Fucking. Surreal.

  Turning to face him, I slide my hand over his chest and up to his neck. His stubble pricks my palm, and I lean in to show him just how much his support means to me.

  16

  Nate

  For as long as I resisted being in an actual relationship with somebody, that shit's right up my alley. I make a pretty great boyfriend, if I do say so myself: cooking for Owen when I have the chance, picking him up after his dad makes him feel like shit, helping him nail the things his coach wants him to work on, convincing him to nail me when he's too frustrated to think straight. If there were an award for being an awesome boyfriend, I'm pretty sure I'd have it in the bag.

  Owen's been really good to me, too. I never realized how much I needed that quiet affection until I let him give it to me. Sweet, tender kisses. A reassuring touch. The feeling of his arms holding me close all night. He makes me feel like I actually matter to him past what I can do for his dick.

  I'm starting to turn into the sort of person who needs somebody else and, while it fucking scares me, it's like some sort of drug. I don't want to stop--not when it feels this good.

  Jogging over to Publix after class, I get the stuff I need to make us a big pot of spaghetti for dinner, the same way my mom used to make for me when I was a kid. When I get back to our dorm room, Owen's on his bed, stripped down to his boxers, a white tee, and a pair of dorky striped socks that make me smile. His chem book is propped open on his chest while his phone rests beside him.

  "Picked up your mail," he says, jerking his chin toward the small stack on the bedside table.

  It's such a simple thing, but the fact that he did it for me makes me feel warm all over. How fucking domestic is that? Me cooking for him, him grabbing my mail. Next thing I know we'll be picking out drapes or some shit.

  Leaning hard into the whole "boyfriends shacked up together" angle, I set down the grocery bag and move to his bedside to kiss him. He smiles as our lips meet, and I draw back reluctantly.

  Grabbing my mail off the table, I flip through each letter. Insurance stuff from my parents' plan. Bank statement. Another credit card company trying to get me to sign up for their shit. And a letter from Eastshore, Florida… with the Tigers logo on the front.

  "Holy shit. Did you see this?" I hold up the letter for Owen.

  He sits up more and the book slides off his chest. "Is that the Eastshore logo?"

  "Hell yeah it is."

  I tear it open, knowing my mom would probably cry over how badly I've mangled an important envelope. I don't need some artifact to remember this moment by, though. I just need to get to this moment in the first place.

  A typed letter on the Eastshore letterhead is folded inside the now ruined envelope, and I pull it open with shaking hands, scanning the contents.

  "'At Eastshore we are dedicated to building the most inclusive football program in the nation. With over twenty years of experience,' blah blah blah..." I scan further down the page, "'We believe you are the kind of player that will help our te
am succeed, and we are interested in helping you mold your future as an athlete and a student.' Holy shit. They're making me an offer."

  "Already?" Out of the corner of my eye I see Owen scoot up so he can sit on the edge of the bed.

  "Preliminary. They want to see how my performance and my grades shape up this year, but fuck, dude."

  "They must really want you if they're sending this now," he says with a big smile.

  The only reason any school would send me a letter like this so early in the season is so that I'll be sure to keep them in mind when I get other offers. The fact that it came from a D1 school just blows my fucking mind.

  "Jesus. I can't stop shaking," I say with a breathy laugh.

  Owen gets up and wraps me in a tight hug. My arms go around him and I bury my head against his neck, inhaling the clean scent of his soap.

  "I'm so fucking proud of you, Nate. This is awesome."

  I'm smiling so much my cheeks are starting to hurt, and fuck if I can't feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. This is a crazy thing to get so emotional about, but I've been working toward this my whole life, and having somebody to share it with--somebody who's genuinely happy for me--makes it that much sweeter.

  After a tight squeeze, I draw back just enough to look at him. "I need to call my folks. You okay with dinner being a little late?"

  Owen gives me a look, one brow raised. "Seriously? You're saving me from having to choke down ramen and you're asking me if I'm okay with dinner being a little late?"

  I smirk at him and flip him the bird. He answers that by smacking my ass.

  "Plus, if you're on the phone, I can distract you."

  There's a wicked glint in his eyes that sends a shock of lust through my body. My dick twitches in my pants. Not something I need to be thinking about when I'm talking to my parents.