Next Man Up (Making the Score Football Romance Book 2)

by Tawdra Kandle

  He lifted one shoulder. “It’s something I’ve considered. But at the same time, like I said earlier, I’m not going to risk being that guy again, the one I used to be. If I’m projecting some shit, maybe it’s for everyone else’s protection more than my own.”

  I sighed, closing my eyes. Part of me wished I’d never come into Eli’s room with him. I wished I’d let him come in by himself and never gotten to know who Eli was now. It was going to be a lot harder to keep hating him, now that I’d realized this Eli wasn’t the same boy who’d used and discarded me over three years ago.

  The other part of me . . . well, that part of me had ideas. And since I’d never been known for either my impulse control or my tendency to think through a situation, I had a sinking notion which part of me was about to prevail.

  “Eli.” I laid a hand on his stomach, watching with some satisfaction as he jumped a little at my touch. “I’m not saying I’m going to be your friend. I’m not feeling sorry for you. And I’m not doing this out of some misguided sense of obligation because you listened to me tonight. I’m not the kind of woman who does regrets. So just shut up and . . . let me do this for you. For me.”

  I moved my hand lower, covering the zipper of his jeans. His fingers grasped my wrist as he stared at me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Something that will make you feel better, that will give me pleasure, and that might give you something to think about when you decide how you’re going to handle sophomore year.” I unbuckled his belt, unsnapped the jeans and began to ease down the zipper. “I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to listen to you tell me I don’t have to do it. Just lay back and keep your mouth shut.”

  His throat worked even as his eyes went dark. “Zelda—you don’t have to—”

  “Fairly certain I just said I don’t want to hear that.” Reaching up, I brushed my fingers across his forehead. “Close your eyes, Eli, and just . . . feel.”

  To my surprise, he obeyed, his eyelids drifting shut. I turned my attention to unzipping his pants the rest of the way. The boxer briefs he wore beneath didn’t do much to hide the bulge of his cock, and I stroked him over the tight material, watching with a slight smile as he hardened and lengthened under my touch.

  “God,” he breathed. “It’s been so long.”

  I smothered a snort. “You have no idea,” I murmured under my breath. Images were flashing in my mind, memories of that first night, of what Eli didn’t remember and I couldn’t forget.

  Swallowing hard, I eased his jeans and boxers further down. I needed room to work. He didn’t realize it, of course, but right now, I was challenging myself to give him the best blow job in the history of oral sex. I imagined it was something like a former apprentice eager to show his master how much he’d improved. Eli had coached me through the first time I’d gone down on a guy, but I’d had loads of practice since. I liked to think I’d refined my technique.

  He was bigger, if that was possible. Maybe it was just how I remembered that night, but as I curved my fingers around him, I was sure he was longer and thicker. Tightening my grip, I drew it up and down a few times, appreciating the feeling of satin-covered steel, the odd juxtaposition of smooth and hard.

  When I brought my hand to the top the third time, I paused, swiping my thumb over the head. Smirking to myself, I could hear my own voice, three years younger.

  “The slit? Oh . . . you mean the opening.”

  Rubbing the pad of my thumb just there, I smoothed the bead of liquid down his length, pausing to cup his balls and give them a little squeeze. Keeping one hand there, I bent over him, and out of a sense of private nostalgia, I pressed a kiss to the shaft just below the head. Eli drew in a rapid breath, but before he could react more than that, I took him deep into my mouth, relaxing my jaw and moving down until his turgid cock nudged the back of my throat.

  “Jesus Christ,” Eli croaked, and I felt his hand groping to cover the back of my head. “Oh, my God.”

  I gave a little hum in response, knowing the vibration would add to his pleasure. Holding him still within my mouth, I used my tongue to tease a little before I tucked my teeth under my lips and drew upward, my cheeks hollowing out as I sucked.

  For the next several moments, I licked, kissed and sucked his cock, pumping my hand up and down, increasing the intensity and the pressure. I could tell Eli was getting close to the edge; his breath sped up and his neck arched.

  “Fuck, Zelda.” He ground out my name through a clenched jaw. “I’m going to come.”

  “I know.” I pressed a wet, opened mouth kiss to the base of his erection. “I’m counting on it.” Between my legs, a throbbing ache built, but I ignored it. With any other guy, with any other situation, I would’ve added the increased visual stimulation of getting myself off at the same time, but the idea made me uncomfortable just now. I wasn’t sure if it was because I wanted what I was doing to be all about Eli—or if I was afraid involving my own pleasure might make this more like . . . true sex, something that benefitted both of us, a shared experience, instead of simply a gesture I was making.

  A low, deep groan came from Eli’s chest, and I replaced my jerking hand with my mouth just in time to feel him spurt long and hard down my throat. His hand had returned to my neck, holding me in place, as if I had any intention of moving away before he was finished.

  I continued to suck him, gentling my mouth now, letting him come down slowly and gradually. When I heard him blow out a long, deep breath, I straightened, running my fingers over the top of his thigh before I remembered that he couldn’t feel that touch.

  His eyes stayed closed as I tugged his underwear and pants back into place. Crawling to the top of the bed, where his head rested on the pillows, I laid one hand alongside his cheek and murmured into his ear.

  “Eli, you’re not a monk. It’s not the wheelchair keeping the girls away. And you don’t have to do penance anymore for . . . anything. I think you’ve served your time.”

  His breath quickened, and he turned his head. For a dizzy moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, and I scrambled off the bed so quickly that I nearly tripped. I managed to turn my awkwardness into a dive to find the shoes I’d kicked off earlier, when we’d begun watching St. Elsewhere.

  “You’re going?” His voice was hoarse. “Now?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that at least I was giving him the courtesy of saying goodbye before I lit out, but I knew that wouldn’t mean anything to him. So instead, I just nodded.

  “I need to get back to my room. I don’t want to be here when Nate comes home. Think of the explanations you’d have to make.” My tone was faintly mocking. “And I really am tired. I want to wake up early to pack tomorrow. I’m leaving for home right after my last exam on Monday.”

  “Then I probably won’t see you again.” He used his arms to push himself up, sitting on the bed.

  “No, you won’t. Not before summer, anyway.” I picked up my tiny purse from where I’d hung it on the back of his desk chair. “I’ll see you in the fall, I guess. I heard you and Nate are rooming together again?”

  He nodded. “We’re a pretty good fit.”

  “Okay, then. Gia, Quinn and I are sharing a suite, so I’m sure we’ll run into each other at some point.” I paused, not sure I wanted to meet his eyes. “But you don’t have to be nice to me. We can pretend tonight never happened. It won’t hurt my feelings or any of that shit. I’m very good at forgetting what I have to.”

  “Why the hell would I want to pretend? After—” He pressed his lips together. “God, Zelda. I’m not going to forget tonight.”

  I couldn’t help laughing, even as Eli glowered at me. “What’s so funny?”

  Waving my hand, I shook my head. “Nothing. Sorry, private joke. Whatever, Eli. However you want to handle it. Just don’t make what happened tonight more than it is, okay?”

  He frowned. “Can I text you this summer? Call you, even?”

  “No.” I was em
phatic about that. “I don’t want that. My life at home is separate from my life at school.”

  “Okay.” Eli was silent for a few moments. “Then I guess I’ll see you in August.”

  “Yep.” I turned to the door, needing to get the hell out of there before I said something I was going to regret. Before I spilled to him the story of how we’d really met, before I bled out the hurt and pain he’d caused me years ago.

  Before I confessed the truth.

  I drew in a shaky breath, my hand on the doorknob, not daring to look at him again.

  “Have a good summer, Eli.”

  “Zelda.” He called out to me, and I hesitated again. “Are we going to be friends now? Or will we go back to each of us pretending the other doesn’t exist?”

  I didn’t have a good answer to that question. Working hard to keep my voice from cracking, I answered him.

  “Time will tell. Goodbye, Eli.”

  Chapter Six

  Tuck

  Most college kids finish their freshman year relieved to leave the dorms, eat some home cooking, sleep late and recover from that first intense year away. At least, that was my perception, based on what I was seeing on social media and overhearing as I left my last exam on campus.

  My experience was different, though. My year at Birch had given me more freedom than I’d had in a long time, and although I loved my parents, I was dreading going back to a place where they hovered and worried twenty-four hours a day. I was also determined to maintain at least some modicum of independence; I’d researched bus routes and other transportation options that accommodated wheel chairs, and I’d made Nate, Gia and Quinn promise that they would all keep in touch and come rescue me at least once in a while.

  Still, a month into my summer, I was bored, frustrated . . . and yeah, fuck it all, I was lonely. I picked up my phone and texted Nate, but I wasn’t completely surprised when he didn’t answer. He was down at the shore with his parents, Quinn and her mother this week, enjoying the beach at the Russells’ second home in Ocean City. Gia had visited, too, but she was spending most of her summer bouncing between her mother’s new condo outside of Trenton and her father’s apartment in Manhattan. To say she was miserable was an understatement.

  Not for the first time, I wished I had pushed Zelda to give me her number. I had a strange feeling that she would’ve been the first one to respond . . . and maybe I could’ve even talked her into coming to spring me from home once in a while, even though the trip from Lancaster to Franklin was a solid two hours.

  I’d tried casually to get Nate to give me her contact info before we’d left Birch back in May, but he’d claimed that he didn’t have her number either. That didn’t shock me; for Nate, the only woman whose number he’d want was Quinn. And there hadn’t been any way to get Quinn or Gia to give up the info on Zelda, as I knew they’d become immediately suspicious if I even hinted that I wanted it.

  Thus, I couldn’t text Zelda. Nate wasn’t answering, and the girls . . . they weren’t who I wanted to see.

  Swallowing a frustrated sigh, I left my bedroom and wheeled to the kitchen, where my mother was working on her computer. She glanced up at me with an absent smile.

  “Hi, honey. Everything okay?”

  It was the constant question. I clenched my jaw and took a deep breath before I answered, conscious that I didn’t want to bite her head off.

  “Yeah, fine. Just. . .” I shook my head. “Looking for something to do, I guess.”

  “How’s that online class going?”

  I’d signed up for summer classes that I could complete through distance learning, following the hunch that I’d need distractions. But to my disappointment, the courses were easy and didn’t require much in the way of attention or time.

  “It’s great. All caught up.” I tapped my finger on the arm of my chair. “Where’s Dad?”

  She tilted her head toward the door on the other side of the kitchen. “In the garage. Why don’t you go out and check on him?”

  “Guess I will.”

  I rolled down the ramp my dad had made for me before I was even released from the hospital the first time, ignoring the stab of guilt I felt over the fact that I hadn’t ever even thought about using it before today. I hadn’t hung out in my father’s workshop with him since I was in elementary school, since before football became my life. Yet even knowing that, he’d made sure that I had the option to get to the garage if I wanted.

  My father was sitting down, straddling a long bench, holding a smooth length of wood in one hand and a square of sand paper in the other. He glanced up at me, smiling, as I neared his seat.

  “Hey, champ.” He winked at me, as he always did. “What’s going on? Everything all right?”

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat, thinking that if I had to answer that question one more time, I might go ballistic on someone. “What’re you up to out here?”

  “Ah. New project.” He held up the wood as though I might be able to figure out what he was making by seeing that. “It’s a surprise for your mom.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s it going to be?” I looked around, taking in the various pieces and tools. I still didn’t have a clue. Nothing looked like it went together. Not yet, anyway.

  “Well . . .” Dad stretched his back, grimacing slightly. “You probably don’t remember it, but Grandma had a rocking chair in her house. It had actually been her grandmother’s, I guess. Real old piece, but it was in good shape. Your mother loved it. But when Grandma died, Aunt Elena’s oldest girl, Karrie, was pregnant, and so Elena convinced Mom that she should get the chair. She pointed out that we didn’t have any daughters we could pass it on to.”

  “What about me?” Not that I wanted an old rocking chair, but there was a chance that someday, I might have a wife and maybe even a daughter. And didn’t they have a right to my great-great grandma’s antique?

  My father chuckled. “When it comes to this kind of thing, logic doesn’t always enter the picture. Anyway, Mom was always sad about it, so last month, I called up Karrie on the sly and went over there to see the chair. I took pictures and measurements, and I’m re-creating the rocking chair. Or at least I’m giving it my best shot.”

  “That’s . . . that’s really cool, Dad. And Mom is going to love it. It’s a great idea.” I leaned over to pick up a piece of the wood and stroked it. “She’ll probably cry.”

  “I’m counting on it.” He chuckled. “I’m always looking for ways to score points with your mom, you know. My number one goal in life is making her happy, if I can do it.”

  I watched him pick up sandpaper and squint at the edge of the curved piece of wood. “You and Mom have been together . . . what, twenty years?”

  Dad raised one eyebrow at me. “Married twenty-two years. Together twenty-five. Why do you ask? Trying to come up with an anniversary gift for us?”

  My mouth dropped open, and I did some rapid back-peddling. “Ah, um, yeah, I guess—”

  “I’m just teasing you, son.” My father shook his head. “Our anniversary was two months ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” I heaved a long breath. “I’m a terrible son. I’m selfish and thoughtless.”

  “Nah, you’re not,” he said easily. “You’re a twenty-year old guy, in college, busy with his own life. Don’t sweat it. If it wasn’t for your mother, I’d never remember my parents’ anniversary. Believe me.” He waggled his brows. “One of the many benefits of finding a good woman and settling down.”

  “Maybe.” My finger caught on a small rough patch on the wood I was holding. “Hey, pass me some sand paper. I found a spot you missed.”

  “Thanks.” Dad tore a larger sheet in half and handed it to me. “It’s always good to have another set of eyes or hands.”

  “Yeah.” I focused on the sanding. “Did you date a lot of girls before you met Mom?”

  My father began to laugh. “Uh, no. Not at all. As a matter of fact . . .” He coughed a little. “Your mother was my first girlfriend.”

&n
bsp; I grinned. “So you were a player, Dad? Way to go.”

  Now he threw back his head and nearly roared. “Eli, son, I was not a player. I was the furthest thing from a player. Not only did I never have a date before your mom—I never, ah . . . did anything with any other girl, either.”

  “You were a virgin when you met Mom.” I wondered why I’d never had this conversation before now. “Jesus, Dad.”

  “Eli, don’t act like it was such a tragedy. I promise you, I’ve never regretted not having a flock of lovers before I met your mother. I’ve never felt like I was missing out on anything.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” I blew the sawdust from the wood. “Nothing against Mom—she’s great and all—but why didn’t you date before you met her?”

  “Hmph.” Dad set down the rocker and picked up what looked like an arm rest. “Where to start? First of all, I was scared shitless of all variety of females. Second, I was skinny, I didn’t know how to dress, and I had braces for six years. I also wore glasses—and not cool, hipster frames. No, your dad rocked out the thick lenses and black frames. And finally, I was obsessed with things like comic books and movies with space men.”

  “You were a nerd?”

  “Totally,” he agreed cheerfully. “Girls didn’t go for dudes like me. That was how I held onto my virginity for so long.”

  “How did you end with Mom?” I knew that being her son, I was a little biased, but even now, two decades later, my mother was a total babe.

  My father set down the curved piece. “I was a friend. A good friend.” Leaning back, his eyes grew distant as a reminiscent smile spread over his face. “We met when we were working together on a project for school. We found out we had some things in common, despite the fact that she was gorgeous and popular. She was the head cheerleader, had a perfect GPA and everyone loved her. She’d always dated boys like her. Football players.” He smirked my way.

  “Hey, don’t hate the football team,” I admonished mildly. “Just because we got the girls doesn’t make us bad guys.” I passed Dad the rocker I’d sanded. “Were you crushing on her the whole time? Just waiting for your chance?”