by Lane Hart
“S-sure,” I tell Winona, leading the way over to the group of handsome men, not as insecure about talking to them now that I’ve got an excuse to approach them.
“Hey, guys,” I say when Winona and I step up between Lathan and Quinton.
“Looking gorgeous, Roxy,” Quinton says with a grin and a wink.
“Hey, I mean, um, hi, Roxanne,” Lathan stutters and blushes before flashing me a shy smile.
Kohen on the other hand simply glares at me or, more specifically, my sleeveless, knee-length navy blue dress and bright yellow heels that I picked out because they’re the team colors.
“You guys look great,” I tell the three men while looking only at Kohen.
An elbow rams into the left side of my ribs, making me jump when I remember Winona’s next to me. “Oh, right. Quinton, Lathan and Kohen, this is Winona Jones, my manager.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says, reaching out to shake all of their hands, Kohen’s awkwardly since he’s propped up on the crutches, and Quinton’s last since he’s standing to her left.
“Where were you a few years ago when I needed a manager?” Quinton asks Winona. His sapphire eyes give her a slow once-over of her black dress before he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, all while still holding her hand in his. “I ended up making a fat, grumpy, bald man rich when I would’ve much rather preferred to have a beautiful woman like you by my side.”
Whoa, he’s not wasting any time putting on the moves. I’ve, of course, heard about Quinton Dunn’s player abilities off the field, but it’s shocking to see them in person, especially since he hasn’t been anything but purely platonic with me.
I glance over at Winona’s face that looks stunned. Finally, she recovers, pushing her glasses up her nose before she says, “That’s very sweet of you. I guess the rumors about you are true.”
“Maybe a few, but the rest are embellishments,” Quinton answers with a wink. “I would love to play a private game of truth or dare so you can try to guess which ones.”
Ugh, who falls for that load of crap? I wonder, rolling my eyes.
“I’m free the rest of the night,” Winona says, and then the two are strolling away from us.
“What the hell just happened?” I ask Kohen and Lathan, my gaping mouth still open in shock as I watch the two disappear down the hall.
“I’ve heard worse. That was actually one of his better spiels,” Lathan says.
“You’re kidding,” I say.
“Sadly, no. The worse his lines are, the faster they fall into bed,” Lathan explains with a shrug. “I thought for sure he would have to double his efforts to counter the pink Mohawk, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. I thought Quinton was a nice, decent guy, not a sleazy player.
“What? Are you jealous?” Kohen asks with a scowl that oddly enough I want to kiss off of his infuriating face.
“Ah, no. I’m appalled. Winona’s always so…and then she just…with him…” I wave in the direction they went, unable to explain why a woman so tough and together could become putty in a man’s hands so quickly. Although, that’s sort of what happened to me thanks to Kohen...
“It’s not just her. Even knowing how he is, women can’t seem to help themselves,” Lathan tells me.
“That’s unfortunate,” I reply. “What about you? Are you the type to love ’em and leave ’em?” I ask Lathan, because I don’t want to know if Kohen is that type of man.
Lathan’s blush deepens. It’s such an oddity to see a big, handsome man looking so embarrassed.
“Lathan’s a victim of the ugly duckling syndrome,” Kohen remarks with a teasing grin at his friend. His panty-dropping grin isn’t even being directed at me, but yet it’s so powerful that I can feel the dainty strings of my thong starting to slip down my hips.
“Ugly duckling syndrome?” I repeat once I recover.
“Shut your face, Kohen,” Lathan snaps before turning back to me, running a palm over the back of his neck. “I was…I had issues in high school,” he tells me.
“Didn’t we all?” I reply in sympathy.
“Nice try, but someone like you has no idea what it was like to be me.”
“Ha!” I bark out a non-humorous laugh. “You can’t imagine what high school was like for me. Everyone hated the only girl on the football team.”
“At least you were,” Lathan starts and pauses, gesturing with his hands up and down my form. “Pretty. I, on the other hand, was the fat kid that everyone picked on and girls avoided like the plague.”
“Seriously?” I ask, looking at his tall, massive frame in disbelief.
“Shit. All this emotional baggage upheaval is making me want a Twinkie,” Lathan grumbles before wandering off, leaving me standing alone with Kohen.
“Quite a set of friends you’ve got there,” I tell him.
“Looks like you’ve been making your own friends,” Kohen remarks, and I follow his gaze to the man seated at the lobby’s entrance, staring at me.
“Who? Dane?” I ask. “He’s an idiot.”
“You’re not worried about him beating you to get the starting spot while I’m out?” Kohen asks.
“Heck no. You have seen him try to kick field goals, right? I think I could do better blindfolded. Actually, I’m certain I could. He may be able to punt the ball across the field, but his accuracy through the uprights is shit.”
“True,” Kohen agrees with a chuckle that fans the flames of the wildfire inside me that had started to simmer down. Now the fire is raging once more, and my thong is trying to slip down my thighs.
Gah! Why does my body have to have such a dramatic reaction to this aggravating man? He’s off limits! Off. Limits! I remind my hormones.
“Well, I hate to leave this titillating conversation, but it’s time for me to go lie to everyone about how my knee got fucked up,” Kohen says, water bombing the wildfire, causing it to fizzle out.
“I’m sorry you have to be dishonest, but that wasn’t my decision,” I tell him. “I don’t like lying either, but management is right. There’s no reason to give the media ammo to blow it out of proportion.”
“True, but if it gets out, and I’m almost certain it will eventually, they’re gonna give you even more hell for it,” Kohen says before hobbling off.
Chapter Eleven
Kohen
Of all the stadiums in the world, why did the first woman to play professional football have to plow through mine?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for women competing in professional football. But what I’m not for is Roxanne taking over my position and turning my life upside down in the process. Just seeing her enter the same room takes my breath away. And, no, I’m not stupid enough to think I’m the only one affected by her in such a dramatic way.
Ballbuster. Maneater. Call her what you want, but she uses the whole wide-eyed, innocent maiden look to get everything she wants from men. She’s a cocktease of the highest level. A manipulative temptress. An all-around pain in my fucking ass.
And I want her.
I want her so much that I was a second away from getting on my knees and begging for a night with her before I made my escape. Which is fucked up considering my dislocated knee still doesn’t bend correctly thanks to her running me over in her goddamn SUV.
So now I have to go tell lies thanks to the she-devil. I’ll lie for her. Because however much I want to hate her, I don’t want to do anything to hurt her. Ironic, I know.
If management thinks they can hide the whole accident by repairing her car in hours and blaming my injury on being a klutz, then so be it. The problem is I worry that they’re wrong. And when it blows up, the fallout will be on Roxanne, not me or the team. She’ll be the one that suffers, and that bothers me for some reason I don’t even understand.
At least Roxanne has got to see firsthand what a manwhore Quinton is. I seriously doubt she’ll want to hop in the sack with him now, knowing her manager has
already been there, done that, along with half the world’s female population.
I don’t understand why, but I really don’t like to think about her with anyone else.
The next day, I’m getting around much better on the crutches, and physical therapy wasn’t nearly as painful since the swelling is going down in my knee.
“You made it just in time,” Lathan says when I slump down onto the practice field bench.
“Why?” I ask, still out of breath from trudging across the entire field.
“Roxanne and Dane have a bet going that almost everyone else is in on too,” he says, nodding to the two in the center of the field. He’s right, everyone, including the coaches, have stopped practicing to turn and watch.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Roxanne and Dane are going best out of three field goals from the twenty-five, then thirty-five and finally forty-five. If there’s a tie, they keep moving back five yards from there until someone wins.”
“What are the stakes? Can’t be hair since Dane’s head is shaved.”
“Get this, the loser has to put on the Wildcat mascot costume, head and all, and then carry all of the team’s equipment back to campus at the end of practice.”
“Damn,” I mutter, not wanting any part of that shit even if my knee wasn’t fucked up. Today’s the hottest day yet, a hundred and two damn degrees on the thermometer. Inside of a big, fuzzy cat, it’ll be more like a hundred and twenty.
Dane’s up first. He makes his kick from the twenty-five, but misses the second two longer field goals.
The football is placed underneath the metal tripod holder, and then Coach Sigmon starts tying something black on Roxanne’s face.
“What the hell is he doing?” I ask Lathan.
“Oh, did I forget to mention what the real kicker is?” He chuckles. “Roxanne is doing hers blindfolded.”
“That’s suicidal,” I tell him.
“Guess we’ll see,” Lathan answers with a shrug.
Once the blindfold is in place, Roxanne does the usual steps backward and to the left before she runs at it and…
“Holy shit, she made it,” I mutter in shock. When Coach tells Roxanne she made it, she does her cute little victory dance.
“Yep,” Lathan laughs. “Now just one more to go.”
Coach walks Roxanne backward to the thirty-five-yard line without her taking off the blindfold. Once the ball is set up under the holder, she counts her steps back and to the side. This time, when she goes for it, her timing is off, and only her toe hits the pigskin causing it to wobble awkwardly before hitting the bottom of the upright and bouncing off. No good.
“Shit,” Lathan says. “Gotta make this one.”
Again they set up the holder, ten yards further away. Roxanne takes bigger steps to compensate, and the side of her foot hits the ball perfectly, sending it through the uprights.
Everyone is already cheering when Roxanne removes the blindfold with a grin.
“She did it. She actually fucking beat him blindfolded,” I say aloud in astonishment, talking to myself or Lathan, I’m not sure which.
“Looks like Dane will be sticking to punts from now on,” Lathan replies, followed by another chuckle when Roxanne runs to the sideline and grabs the yellow and blue Wildcat costume and jogs over to hand it to Dane with a smile. “Well, if he survives this afternoon in that suit,” Lathan finishes before heading over with the rest of the team to congratulate Roxanne.
I sit there, alone on the bench, watching her in awe. There’s a seed of doubt starting to plant itself in my confidence, wondering if Roxanne is a better kicker than I am. Once I’m back on the field, could she beat me blindfolded too? I’m not sure if I want to find out, especially not if I end up embarrassing myself like Dane in front of the entire fucking team.
Chapter Twelve
Roxy
This week has gone by so fast. Thank God.
I’m grumpy, sore and tired, but today is finally the last day of training camp, and no pads have to be worn today. Thank fuck. This afternoon I’ll be allowed to go home, well, get a hotel room since I haven’t had a chance to look for a place to live around here yet. All my belongings are still in boxes in my Jeep. In a way, I’m sort of feeling superstitious about unpacking, afraid I’ll jinx everything and lose out on this fantasy come true. Well, not the hot dorm room or grueling training camp. Overall, the practices haven’t been much different from college. I’m holding my own; and after the last few days, I think I’m slowly earning the respect of the other players.
Too deep in my thoughts is how I manage to get caught off-guard, finding Dane coming toward me in the hallway as I was leaving my room to hit the field for the last practice. The guys are all bunking on the first and second floors, so I’ve had the third to myself. There’s no reason for him to be up here. For the last few days, he’s been quiet in practice. Almost too quiet ever since I beat him in the blindfolded bet he was so confident he would win.
“What’s up, Dane?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding panicked by his presence in the otherwise empty corridor.
Dane laughs like I just told him a joke before he comes closer. “My dick,” he says when he’s just a few feet away.
With all the warning bells sounding off in my mind, it takes me a second to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. I asked what was up, and he was telling me. Right. Stupid question, Roxy.
“Good thing today’s the last day of camp,” I say as I start walking past him toward the stairwell. Although that doesn’t seem like the best idea, to be alone with this two-hundred and twenty-pound man in the small space, neither does being alone on an entire floor with him.
Fuck.
If I hurry, I can get down to the second floor where some of the other guys are probably still lurking around.
“Oh, come on, darlin’,” Dane says when he follows me down the stairs, my heart beating faster as my feet increase their pace. “What’s the rush? We’ve got twenty minutes until we have to be on the field, and you and I need to have a little talk.”
“I like to be early,” I say over my shoulder when I make it to the second-floor landing. “And we can talk on the way.”
Just a few more stairs to go and I’ll be with other teammates.
I don’t make it down those steps.
The asshole pushes me face first into the wall, and then his heavy body is pinning me. My cheek is pressed against the coarse bricks, and his palms are covering my flattened palms.
Shit. If I were facing him, I could knee his balls. If I could get my hands free, I could try to gouge his eyeballs. But in this position, my options are limited.
“I’ll make this quick,” Dane says when he pushes his hardness into my ass. “Here’s the bottom line. You need to ease the hell up. Stop making me look bad. I want the starting kicker spot, and you’re gonna give it to me along with whatever else I decide I want from you.” Releasing my hands, one of his forearms moves to press against the back of my neck, while his other hand starts jerking down my panties and shorts.
Fuck this. I refuse to be a victim without putting up a fight. It’s why I started taking self-defense classes during the off-season in high school. My mind races, trying to figure out a way out of this, while my body remains scared and frozen.
“You’re gonna keep your fucking mouth shut too,” he says, squeezing my right ass cheek in his palm. “Or I’ll tell the world about how you ran down your own teammate, on purpose, then lied to everyone about it.”
Dane telling me to keep my mouth shut brings up a memory from my classes. Since he thankfully wasn’t smart enough to cover my mouth, thinking his stupid threat would be enough to keep me quiet, I yell as loud as I can.
“QUINTON!”
Why did I scream his name? I’m not sure. His is just the second name that came to mind, someone the entire team looks up to and someone I’ve grown to trust in the short time I’ve known him. I trust Kohen too, but he can’t exactly race
up two flights of stairs on crutches. Since my yell for help caught Dane off guard, he relaxes his hold on my neck and moves back a few inches, giving me enough room to move. I haul back and ram my elbow into his ribs so hard that his breath rushes out of his mouth in a loud humph.
“You fucking bitch!” he groans, slamming me against the wall again. “Oh shit!”
That’s all he manages to get out of his mouth before his body is thankfully yanked away from mine. Turning around, I flatten my back to the wall while quickly dragging my panties and shorts back up. I try to catch my breath as I watch Quinton and two other players wrestle with the bastard before he’s manhandled and slammed down on the ground.
“You okay?” one of the guys ask.
I nod in response, unable to speak a word or lift my eyes to theirs. All I know is that my worst nightmare could have just happened because I let down my guard for one second. How stupid am I for thinking that I was safe here? No matter how far up I go in this sport, there will always be someone lurking nearby, waiting in the wings to remind me why women aren’t welcome on their team because they feel threatened or only see me as just a piece of ass.
Jogging back up the steps to my room with wetness coating my cheeks, I start throwing my things into my duffle bag.
“Roxy, wait. I mean, we’re leaving later anyway, so I hope that’s the only reason you’re packing,” Quinton says softly from the doorway, but I keep my back to him so he won’t witness the tears on my face. “Look, I saw…we saw what he was doing. Cameron and Tim are taking him straight to Coach Griffin.”
I nod and continue flitting around the room to see if there’s anything else left.
“I need you to come with me, though, tell them exactly what happened. They’ll can Dane, toss him out on his ass for that shit.”
I shake my head since it’s not that easy. “If they kick him off the team, the story will come out; and then not only am I Tonya Harding, but I’m a lying bitch for not telling the truth about the accident when they all asked at the press conference. It’s better if I just go now –”