"If I'd have known they'd give me a tutor who looked like you, I'd have asked for one a long time ago." The sheepish look is gone now, replaced by the same cocksure grin he had earlier, and it totally rubs me the wrong way.
Yeah, right, Cass. You know you'd like him to rub you the right way.
I flush warm at the thought. Inappropriate. Totally inappropriate. And not true. I'm so not attracted to this cocky prick.
"Well, maybe you can request that for your next tutor," I say, "because it won't be me."
"Come on." Colton grins. "Do I need to drop the towel to convince you?"
The sheer arrogance of what he says makes my eyes widen in disbelief. "Goodbye, Mr. King."
I turn to walk away, this time not turning around. I hear the arrogant football player tell me to turn around, but I don't, mostly because I'm afraid of what I'll see if I look behind me.
He's probably standing there naked, showing off his enormous cock.
Don't look. Don't look.
I mentally congratulate myself for not looking as I leave the party house.
Even if I totally can't stop thinking about that dick.
Or his penis.
* * *
"You did not tell me you were tutoring Colton King," Sable yells from the kitchen.
"I didn't think it was important," I yell back, tucking my feet under my butt on the sofa. I dig into my to-go container of Pad Thai from my favorite Thai restaurant before grabbing my glass of wine off the coffee table.
Wine. That's seriously what the doctor ordered after the afternoon I just had.
My roommate appears in the kitchen doorway with a to-go container in one hand and a fork in the other, shoveling a giant bite into her mouth. Sable is the exact opposite of the kind of person who would have been friends with me in high school, or even when I was an undergrad. She was definitely one of the popular girls, all long blonde hair and blue eyes and legs that go on for miles.
And she eats like a racehorse, never gaining an ounce.
She's the kind of girl I should hate, except she's nice – so nice that it's impossible to hate her, even though she's perfect.
"You didn't think it was at all significant that you were going to tutor Colton King?" she asks.
"By your tone, I can tell that it was supposed to be," I retort.
"It's Colton King." Sable crosses the room and flops down on the other side of the sofa.
"Is that supposed to mean something to me? You know I don't watch football. He's a good player, I assume?"
Sable sighs. "Yes, Cassie. He's a good football player. He's the football player here. You seriously need to get out more. You’ve never even been to one game."
I shrug. "I never know what's going on in the games. Remember when you tried to teach me last fall? That was not a success."
Sable laughs. "How could I forget? I don’t know how someone as smart as you can’t understand a game.”
I shrug. "I just don't get it."
"Okay." Sable turns around on the sofa to face me, her legs crisscrossed underneath her. "Football aside, you do get that Colton King is legendary, right?"
"He's, like, eighteen years old," I say, rolling my eyes. "How can he be legendary?"
"He's twenty-one. You've never seen him in a magazine or anything?" she asks. "How are you this sheltered?"
"I don't even know how to respond to that question."
"He's one of the hottest college football stars in the game right now," Sable tells me. "On and off the field."
"I saw that much," I admit. The mere thought of Colton standing in front of me —naked with water glistening on his body — makes me flush.
Sable's eyes widen. "What did you see exactly? You had your first tutoring session?"
"Wrong," I say, shaking my head. "He didn't show."
"Oh. That's disappointing." Sable frowns. "Well, I'm sure they'll assign you to someone else. And if not, there's always selling your panties on the internet."
"Ugh. I am not selling my panties on the internet. Where do you come up with this stuff?" Sable didn't need to worry when our department funding was cut, because she comes from money – big money. As if being gorgeous and thin weren't enough, she has family money too.
Her last brilliant solution to my financial plight was to be a dominatrix. She said I had the disposition for it. I'm pretty sure that just means I'm a grumpy bitch.
"I hope they can find me someone else," I say. "I definitely don't want to tutor that arrogant prick."
"I thought you said he didn't show."
"Yeah, he didn't," I tell her, waving my hand dismissively. "So I went to his house."
Sable snorts. "You went to Colton King's house?" she asks. "Did you see him?"
I take a gulp of my wine. "Yeah, and I saw way more of him than I bargained for."
"Well that sounds promising," she says, her eyebrows raised. "I want to hear everything."
"There is no everything to tell," I say. "Seriously. The coach gave me his address because he said there was a possibility Colton would be a no-show."
Sable laughs. "No-show for a tutoring session? I'd say possibility was an understatement."
"Okay, so I went to his house and it was just this giant party," I say. "I mean, at three in the afternoon."
"Today's probably an off-day from training," Sable considers, nodding sagely, her glass of wine in hand.
"How do you know this stuff?" I ask.
Sable shrugs. "High school cheerleader, honey. I've dated athletes."
"Isn't football season over?" Okay, see, I know something about football. I'm actually proud of that fact.
"Yes, summer's off-season," Sable says slowly, like I'm a small child incapable of understanding large words. "They still train off-season. Though not as hard as they will come fall."
"Anyway, it was crazy," I say. Heat rises to my cheeks at the thought of all of the half-naked coeds waltzing around the house like it was the set of a porn shoot. Not to mention the thought of Colton… naked and standing in front of me by the pool, water droplets rolling down his chest, little rivulets that glistened off his pecs in the sunlight.
"Hello?" Sable waves a hand in front of my face. "Are you daydreaming about him?"
"No," I protest, wrinkling my face in disgust. I'm not sure whether the disgust is real or feigned. "I am absolutely not daydreaming about Colton King. The party was... like nothing I've ever seen before."
"I'm sure," Sable says, the edges of her lips turned up in a knowing smile. "It was a football party. So, back to Colton …"
"There's nothing to tell," I insist. "He was an ass. He was sliding off his roof into a swimming pool – completely naked — and I'm pretty sure he was greased up with lube or baby oil because he was shiny and there apparently were naked girls wrestling in lube somewhere else in the house. And he was totally arrogant. He called me a stripper. Can you believe that?"
"He was naked," Sable says.
"Of all of the things I just said, that's the part that jumps out to you?"
"The question is, did it stick out to you?" Sable says, wiggling her eyebrows and leering at me.
I narrow my eyes. "Is that a penis reference?"
"Yes, Virgin Mary, that's a penis reference," Sable teases. "Oh my God. Was that the first time you ever saw a real life cock?"
My face reddens. "I'm a virgin, not a nun," I say. "Yes, I've seen cock before."
None like that one, though.
"So you saw Colton King's dick," Sable says, looking at me over the edge of her wine glass. "Was it everything I imagine?"
"It was... big."
Sable laughs. "I assume so. That's part of what's legendary. Was it gorgeous?"
"I'm not a penis connoisseur," I say. "I don't know."
It was fucking spectacular.
"So he talked to you," Sable prods.
"He called me a stripper."
"I guess he thinks you're hot," Sable says. "It's a compliment. And you got to see Colton King
naked. How is this not the best day ever?? We should be celebrating!"
"Seeing some stupid football player naked isn't the highlight of my day, Sable," I say haughtily.
Sable laughs. "It should be."
4
Colton
"Academic probation. Do I need to spell it out for you?" Coach Walker asks. "You think you're hot shit just because you had a good run last year? You don't get your fucking grades up, you're ineligible in the fall. Which means you don't play."
I mumble my protest. All of the mouthy shit I can get away with when it comes to other people definitely doesn’t fly with Coach.
“Skipping classes, not turning in assignments, partying …” he goes on, ticking off my list of sins. His face turns redder and redder as he gets louder and louder. “The university isn’t tolerating that shit anymore.”
“It's not like I need English 212." I blurt it out without thinking. I had an amazing fall. I’m shit hot and I could go pro early if I wanted. Fuck this "finishing college" bullshit.
“You need it because I say you need it. You’re going to get with the tutor I assigned you, and you’re going to learn some goddamn discipline.”
The tutor I was assigned. The hot little librarian with the smart mouth.
Her brand of tutoring might not be so bad. My dick stirs at the thought of her in that skirt and heels. I wonder what the skirt would look like pulled up around her waist.
"Coach?" I ask.
"What?" he barks.
"I think she might have quit."
"Then you will be your charming self and get her back," he says.
"Can't we find another one?"
"Another tutor who doesn't know who the hell you are and isn't going to let you get away with shit?" he asks. "She's your goddamn tutor. So whatever you said to her, you un-say it."
"Yes, Coach."
* * *
"Shit, ma, I told Drew not to tell you," I complain into the phone. My mom’s voice on speaker echoes through the car. I should have known my damn brother would tell her. My own twin, a traitor.
"Well, he told me because he's a good son," she says, laying on the mom guilt. "Unlike his younger brother, who's off at school on the other side of the state partying and doing God knows what else. You're not on drugs, are you?"
I laugh, then cover it with a cough. My mother is the definition of overprotective. I can't blame her, though. I'm sure my brother Drew and I have given her plenty of cause for having a heart attack over the years.
"You laugh," she says. "But if you are, so help me, Colton Anderson King, I will come down there myself and –"
"I'm not on drugs, mom," I interrupt before she completely spirals out of control. "You know they test us for that shit anyway. And I'm only younger than Drew by two minutes."
A fact that Drew has loved to remind me about ever since we were kids.
"I worry," she says. "You have to think about the future, Colton. It can't be parties and girls your whole life. If you get to the pros, all that stuff will still be there."
"And you'll still be giving me grief about parties and girls," I groan back. I've heard this lecture a million times. Be responsible. Think about your future.
"Because I'm your mom and that's what I do," she says, her tone softening. "But you're not going to have a future if you don't get your shit together, Colton King. And I mean that literally. I brought you into this world, remember that."
"Did you just cuss?" I can count on one hand the number of times in my life that I've heard my mother cuss.
"That's what you're driving me to, son!"
"Okay, okay, I get it," I assure her. "I've got to go, mom. They assigned me a tutor. I have to meet with her."
I have to go sweet-talk her into tutoring me.
"Her?" my mom asks. "Is she cute?"
"Mom," I groan. "I'm hanging up."
"You can't blame me for wanting a grandchild someday," she says. “But not now. Make sure you use condoms and –“
"Love you, ma," I say, pausing only for a second for her to say it back before disconnecting. My mother is insane. I'm twenty-one and she's talking about grandchildren.
I text my brother.
You're so fucking dead when I see you again, dude. Sic'ing mom on me? Low. So low.
Drew texts back a photo of himself grinning. My brother and I have been best friends our whole lives. He's playing baseball at a college in South Carolina. It's been a weird adjustment to be separated from my twin, for sure.
I scroll through my photos and find a picture of my dick – yeah, I have dick pics on my phone – and text it to Drew.
Then I get out of the car. This is supposed to be the tutor's address – Coach gave it to me, even though he wasn't supposed to. I promised on pain of death that I was going to be polite and gentlemanly and not do or say anything remotely inappropriate.
I inhale deeply. I can do appropriate.
Fuck. When's the last time I didn't say something inappropriate?
I'm screwed.
5
Cassie
"Roomie," Sable calls, her voice a sing-song.
I stomp out of my room, yanking one of my earbuds out of my ear. "Sable!" I yell. "Stop yelling at me from across the apartment, you lazy b—"
I stop short. The door to our apartment is wide open, and Colton King is standing just inside of it.
He's wearing clothes this time. Thank God.
I give Sable the most deathly death glare I can muster, but she grins anyway, ignoring my obvious ire. She's practically giddy, bouncing as she stands there. "Well," she says, clasping her hands together. "Please come in. I just have something I need to get in my room, so I'll leave you two alone."
"Sable…" I warn half under my breath, but she bounces away. After I kick Colton out of here, I'm going to have to go murder my roommate. The least she could have done was to come back in my room and give me some advance notice that he was here.
"So…" Colton says, his eyes traveling up the length of my body. "I mean, this is – obviously you weren't expecting anyone."
My hand immediately flies to my hair. My hair. Oh God. It's pulled up into a messy ponytail on the very top of my head, the kind where you hastily pull it back without even using a brush. Did I even brush my hair today? I didn't have classes, so I was working on my stupid thesis proposal.
And that means I look like ass.
I'm wearing tattered flannel pajama pants and a grey tank top that used to have a beer logo on it, but is now so faded it looks more like an imprint than a picture. And no bra. Of course.
I'll kill Sable. I will actually murder her with my bare hands.
"Clearly I wasn't expecting anyone," I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. I can feel my nipples at attention underneath the cotton fabric of the tank top, something the football player probably thinks is hilarious. He's not smirking, though, so at least he hides it relatively well. "Why are you at my house? How did you get my address?"
Colton raises his eyebrows. "I assume the same way you got mine. From my coach."
Touché.
Warily, I eye the flowers he's holding.
"They're not going to explode or anything," he assures me, handing them over.
"You brought flowers," I note flatly. Flowers from a football player? What kind of warped parallel universe did I just enter?
He shrugs. "Chicks like flowers, don't they?"
"Your charm is overwhelming, only surpassed by your sexism."
"What? I'm not sexist," he protests. "Sexy, obviously, but not sexist."
I roll my eyes. "Did you come here to talk about how sexy you are? Because if that's the case, I have plenty of other things to do."
"Like take a shower?" he asks.
"Yes, like take a – you know what? Thanks for the flowers. And the peek into a football player's life. It was… fascinating. But now, you really should be going." I turn, putting my hand on the back of his arm to push him toward the door.
He looks
down at me. "Are you trying to move me, little girl? Because I can tell you right now how ridiculous that is."
"Little girl??" I ask.
He turns to face me, inches away. Uncomfortably close. I can smell him, soap and aftershave and I totally want to touch his massive chest but –
"Look," he says, "I came here to apologize."
"Well, you're off to a great start," I spit back.
Don't think about the way he looked when he got out of the pool, all hot and muscled and wet and …
"Shit," he says. "I don't really – well, I've never done this before."
"Stalk a girl?"
"No. Apologize. Obviously I did something that offended you, since you huffed and stormed off from my place with your panties in a wad. I don't know, maybe it was the nudity or the whole stripper thing, but –"
"Is this your apology?" I interrupt. "If it is, you really suck at it."
"Fuck. You're kind of a pain in the –"
"Again, not really helping."
"Look," he groans in frustration. "I'm here with flowers. Obviously, I'm sorry that you got all pissy at my house."
I laugh. "Goodbye, Mr. King."
"Seriously," he says. "Most girls would be glad to see … well, you know.” He gestures toward his crotch.
I don’t bother to hide my laugh. "Little King?"
"Did you think it was little?" he asks. "Because I'll show you again if you –"
I hold up my hand. "Thanks, but no thanks. It's not like I've never seen a naked guy before, bucko."
Bucko? Where the hell did that come from? I'm just blurting out random words like I'm in a Western, suffering from Tourette's.
"Good," he says. "So the sight of my cock didn't run you off."
I shrug and laugh breezily, or how I think "breezily" should sound, except when I hear myself, I think it sounds more crazy than breezy. "Of course not," I huff. "I see enormous cocks all the time."
Tackled: A Sports Romance Page 2