Losing Memphis: A NA Sports Romance (NE University Book 3)

by Hannah Gray

  I shrug. “Sometimes, I have a crappy memory. Sorry.” A crappy memory for insanely hot men. Riiiight. He’s totally going to buy that. NOT.

  His intense blue eyes continue to watch me. Eyes that make me feel so exposed and … vulnerable.

  I worry they can read exactly what I’m thinking. Now, that would be embarrassing.

  He leans back on one of the tables, crossing his arms over his chest. His shirt strains against his ungodly large muscles. Confidence oozes out of him. Yet, somehow, it only makes him look even more attractive. “How much longer is your shift?” he says, tilting his head to the side.

  I have to pull my eyes from his mouth as he talks. Where the hell did this new lip obsession I have come from?

  “An hour,” I lie, knowing damn well by now that my shift is up any minute.

  I don’t know where he’s going with this. But I also don’t really want to find out either. All right, that’s a fib. Perhaps I am a little intrigued. But I must. Remain. Strong.

  Don’t be pathetic like all the other girls he looks twice at, Memphis.

  “Oh, love, you must have lost track of time. You only have five more minutes left. But why don’t you go now? It’s been such a quiet day, and you’ve already gotten more done than most do in double the time,” Mary Ellen, the library’s manager, blurts out from behind me.

  Turning toward the stout, older lady, I give her a tight-lipped smile. She really is the sweetest thing. Yet she just threw me under the bus without even realizing it.

  Blowing out a breath, I nod. “All right. Thanks, Mary Ellen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Giving me her sweet-as-syrup smile, off she goes. Humming some inaudible song, as always.

  Lane wastes no time in diving back into the conversation. Obviously, there’s no averting it. “That’s good news because I was hoping you’d like to get lunch or something.”

  “I have class in an hour, sorry. I’m just going to Coffee Hut to grab a coffee and a muffin or something,” I answer honestly. I’m not dodging him. I really do have class in an hour. And I desperately need coffee … and carbs.

  His lips twitch in amusement. “You said your shift was an hour longer. Now, you claim you have class in an hour. I’m beginning to think you’re trying to avoid me, Memphis.”

  I wish the way he talks didn’t affect me. But it does. Oh my, how it does. His voice … it’s smooth and rough at the same time. I’m beginning to see just why girls’ panties melt off when he so much as looks at them. You put together the way he looks with the way he sounds, and, dear Lord, it’s too much. Not to mention, the way he can kiss. And if he kisses like that, I bet he has a lot of other talents too.

  Now is not the time to be thinking about these suspected talents he might or might not have.

  His voice snaps me back to the present. “Memphis? Are you trying to avoid me? Is that it?”

  Him being this close to me makes my skin feel like it’s on fire. It’s like we’re touching, only we aren’t. He’s several feet away. Yet I feel him.

  “Okay, you caught me.” I sigh. “I knew that my shift was almost over, and I lied to you that it wasn’t. But I really do have class in an hour. That’s the truth.”

  His eyes narrow a fraction. “Why would you lie to me about when you get out of work?”

  Ugh. This is the thing with football players. They just assume everyone wants to hang out with them. And if they come across someone who doesn’t, it bruises their larger-than-life ego. It’s infuriating. I can’t bite my tongue. It isn’t who I am, nor is it who I will ever be.

  “Is it such a big deal that maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to hang out with you?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.

  Wasting no time, he fires back, “Yes, it is.”

  Shrugging, I begin to head for the door with him hot on my tail. “Well, Mr. Football, you’ll have to get over it. Not everyone thinks you piss rainbows.”

  “Rainbows?” He snorts. “Pissing diamonds would be way better. Don’t you think?”

  I can’t control the eye roll from happening. “Diamonds would hurt to piss out … but whatever,” I mumble.

  “Can I ask, why don’t you want to hang out with me?”

  “Not everyone is obsessed with football players, Einstein. Why is that so hard for you to wrap your conceited brain around?”

  I might be being a bit harsh, but my God, this guy made out with me and then forgot who I was. Why do I need to play nice?

  He feigns hurt. “Maybe I’m not that bad,” he whines, following close behind me. “Let me take you to get a coffee and walk you to class, and you can decide for yourself.”

  I eye him suspiciously for a moment. I really shouldn’t go with him. Nothing good can come from it. But what’s that saying? Oh yeah. Curiosity killed the cat. And color me curious because I can’t help but wonder why Lane Rivers wants to take me to get a coffee and a likely stale three-day-old muffin. So, eventually, I let the curiosity win.

  “Fine,” I say, getting closer to the exit. “But how do you know my name?”

  Racing ahead of me and grabbing the door to pull it open, he motions for me to go ahead of him.

  Well, at least he held the door for me. That has to be worth half of a point, right? I can say, most guys in my generation aren’t worried about holding the door open for girls. Most guys nowadays are dicks. Chivalry is dead.

  “Trent might have slipped up and said it,” he says, glancing around, now wearing a very serious expression on his face. “He’d shit his pants if he knew I was here right now.”

  Tossing my head back, I groan. “Why? It isn’t like we’re family. We’re basically strangers whose parents are dating.”

  He takes a moment to respond. Likely trying to think of how to explain Trent’s business in who I hang out with. “Yeah, I know that. But you see, Trent’s protective over anyone in his circle. He seems to like your mom. And by like, I mean, he doesn’t completely hate her—that’s about as good as it gets for Trent. If he doesn’t hate you, you’re in his circle. So, if she’s in his circle, you, Memphis, are too.”

  “And?” I question him, although I consider his words.

  I do wonder if Trent really does think of my mother and me in this circle Lane speaks of. I honestly couldn’t give two effs if I’m in this lame circle. But the thought of him caring about my mom, that is something that’s important to me. She loves John. I know she has also grown to care a great deal about Trent. So, it’s nice to hear that he thinks of her as family.

  “And isn’t it obvious? He’d be pissed if he thought I was chasing you.” He looks down at the ground and then up at me again as he shakes his head. “But when I saw you, I, uh, I just knew that I knew you. I mean, aside from that night with the douchey frat guys. And I guess I just couldn’t stop myself.”

  I can’t help but to meet his words with a sarcastic remark. It’s just too easy. “Seems a little stalkerish, Lane Rivers. Should I be worried?”

  “Oh yeah, be worried,” he jokes back. Though his eyes are filled with something else. Something … dirty and sexy, wrapped into one.

  I’m lost in my own thoughts when he says, “While you looked hot as a blonde, dressed as Captain Marvel, I gotta say, I dig the dark hair.” He winks.

  Heat fills my cheeks. I’m sure they are as red as a tomato. I already have hardly any experience in the male department. Let alone with a male like Lane Rivers calling me hot.

  I nod my head toward him. “What, didn’t want to be Captain America today? Just going for that regular college-guy look?”

  “Pfft, please,” he fires back, not missing a beat. “We both know that I’m far from a regular college guy. And go ahead, make fun. But you didn’t seem to be too turned away by my costume that night,” he tosses back playfully.

  He has a point. He looked hot as Captain America. And that is saying something because I have the biggest celebrity crush on Chris Evans when he plays that part. But even I have to admit, Lane might be an even hotter Ca
ptain America. Okay, he is hotter than the real Captain America. It’s not even a competition.

  “How did you know I worked in the library?” I ask, changing the subject.

  He cringes, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of red. “Facebook.”

  I burst out laughing. “You really are a stalker!” I joke.

  “Ha-ha. So funny,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I just needed to find out who you were.”

  His words catch me off guard. Why did he need to know who I was? “Why?” The word comes out before I can stop it.

  He thinks for a moment, rubbing his chin. His chin that has some extremely sexy scruff on it, might I add. “You know, I’m actually not sure. I don’t know. I just felt like I wanted to see you again. To meet you. The real you.”

  Pushing out a breath, I nod slowly. “Well, this is me. I work in the library. And I love it, by the way. Even if that makes me lame. Oh yeah, and I enjoy way too many coffees a day from Coffee Hut. And I like all things Marvel.”

  “And what are you studying, my coffee addict?” He winks.

  The way he uses the word my makes my breath hitch in my throat. “I want to become a high school English teacher. You?”

  “Sports management,” he replies with no emotion.

  “What is that exactly?” I ask honestly. I’m the furthest thing from a sports fanatic.

  “I’m hoping that, one day, when I retire out of the NFL, I’ll work directly with new and upcoming players. Maybe be a recruiter or a coach. My body isn’t going to allow me to play forever—I’m well aware of that much. But I want to stay connected to the game.” He sounds so sure of his answer. It’s clear that football means the world to him.

  “Because you love it so much?” I ask without thinking.

  He smiles. Showing me the sexiest yet most adorable dimple in his right cheek. “I mean, yeah. It’s my peaceful space. When I’m on the field, I’m just … on the field. You know?” He pauses for a moment. “I’m not thinking about other things. I’m not putting on a shield or a mask to hide anything. I’m just being me.”

  By other things, does he mean he gets to escape whoever he was dreaming about that night? I can’t help but wonder if that’s connected.

  “From what I’ve heard around campus, your team is doing pretty good.” I don’t know jack about football, but according to what I hear in all of my classes, things are going good.

  “You know it,” he drawls. “So, a high school English teacher, huh? You prepared to deal with a bunch of horny teenage boys and annoying-as-fuck girls?” He gives me a sideways grin.

  Chewing my lip, I sigh. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous for both of those things,” I admit. “But I adored my high school English teacher. She was so fascinating and wise and made such an impact on my life. Helping me connect my feelings with the words I read in books and poems.” I pause, worrying I might be oversharing yet somehow unable to stop myself. “Books have always created a personal escape for me. A way to get away for even just a little while and travel to somewhere else without actually having to go anywhere at all.

  “If I could make an impact on even just one student, it would all be worth it.” My own words take me by surprise. I can’t believe how open I am being with him. Even more surprising is how easy it is. I’m not usually one who likes to open up to people unless we’re really close. But right now, I don’t know … it’s … easy.

  A gust of bitter cold wind hits me, causing me to hold my breath. After tightening my jacket around myself, I push my hands into my pockets. January in Massachusetts is freaking cold. Even though I have lived here my entire life, the cold weather can still sometimes come as a shock. Today, it’s three degrees with a wind chill of negative ten. I’m not exaggerating when I say that it literally takes your breath away the second you step outside. Making your lungs feel like they cannot expand to take a breath. Numbing your skin.

  “I know I said I would walk you there, but that was when we were in the warm and toasty library. I forgot how fucking cold it is out here today.” He waves his hand toward the parking lot. “My truck is still warm. I’ll drive us. If you want?”

  I have no idea what I’m doing or why I’m doing it when I hear my own voice say softly, “Sure.”

  I follow him to a familiar gray truck. The same one that was parked at Trent’s when I dropped the papers off yesterday. When I get to the passenger side, I realize how tall this truck really is, just like Trent’s. I shouldn’t be surprised. Boys need to feel big and bad. Cue the eye roll. Although, honestly, trucks are extremely sexy, if you ask me.

  Opening the door yet again, he holds out his hand for me to grab. “Need help getting up there?”

  I spot the handle and step onto the running board, disregarding his hand. “I think I can manage, thanks.”

  He smirks knowingly. “Suit yourself.”

  Then, he steps back to watch me as I struggle momentarily to get my short little legs into the truck, but I succeed.

  Why are big, jacked-up pickup trucks so hot?

  Making our way to Coffee Hut, I state the obvious, “So, I’m curious, what happens if Trent is here?” I ask. “Or the infamous Mason King?”

  Strumming the scruff on his chin, he glances at me before returning his attention back to the road. “You have a good point. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” I can tell he’s deep in thought for a moment before he answers, “There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts just outside of town. You still have forty-five minutes till your class. Want to go there instead?”

  “What, Mr. Football King doesn’t want to be seen with someone like me in public?” I joke, though my heart feels a dull ache in it at the thought of him being too ashamed to be seen with me.

  His answer is not only instant, but also convincing. “Fuck no. Why would I be embarrassed to be seen with you? Look at you.” He motions his hand toward me. “I just don’t want to deal with Trent. He’d be pissed off and make it some huge deal that you and I were hanging out. I just know it.” Turning toward me, he shrugs. “But if you want Coffee Hut, Coffee Hut is where we will go.”

  For some reason, I know he means those words. If I want to go to Coffee Hut, he’d take me there. Despite the possibility of having to deal with his best friend and my potential future stepbrother.

  I shake my head. “No, you’re right. Trent would likely get his panties in a bunch if he saw us hanging out. Dunkin’ sounds perfect. Their peppermint mocha is better than Coffee Hut’s anyway.” I nod my head exaggeratedly. It’s true though. Nowhere beats Dunkin’s peppermint mocha.

  He glances in my direction for a split second. Then, he nods slowly before turning his attention back to the road. “Dunkin’ it is.”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I ask myself, How the hell did I end up going on a casual coffee run with Lane Rivers on a seemingly normal Monday?

  “So, you going to tell me why you left in the middle of the night at the Halloween party?” his deep voice says, pulling me from my own thoughts.

  “I just figured that’s how it works,” I say, not wanting to tell him the real truth. The truth of hearing him cry for another woman in his sleep. “I mean, isn’t it?”

  “How what works?” he asks, confused.

  “Oh, come on. I’m not a complete moron. With guys like you, it was weird that I even fell asleep there at all. In the morning light, when the sun came up, what? Were you going to actually ask me to stay for breakfast? Maybe go on a Sunday drive? Ask for my number? Talk about our future wedding venue?” I ask him sarcastically. Knowing damn well that isn’t how that night would have gone. Not one chance in hell.

  He doesn’t say anything back.

  “Exactly,” I say. “I just went ahead and did the inevitable and left on my own. I didn’t think we needed the whole awkward good-bye in the morning.” It is half the truth. The other half being that he was crying—literally crying—for another woman. It put me in a weird spot. But telling him that now would make for an extremely uncom
fortable ride. Also, I could actually feel the torture in his cries. I know enough to know that he’s hurting over whatever or whoever he was dreaming about. I don’t need to bring that up and rub it in his face.

  “I guess you’re right,” he answers honestly. “But for the record, I do let chicks spend the night. I’m not sure what you have heard, but it’s Mason and Trent who kick them out of their beds after sex. Not me.”

  “Oh, such a kind gesture of you. You should be the face of women power,” I joke.

  He taps my shoulder and side-glances me. “Hey now, it’s better than kicking them out, isn’t it? Just because I don’t want to marry every chick I sleep with doesn’t make me a bad guy.” He says the words, though I’m not sure he even believes them himself. Before I can answer, he continues, “I respect women. I don’t treat them like a piece of meat or some shit.”

  “I suppose it’s the females’ fault just as much,” I say honestly.

  He looks surprised by my answer. “What do you mean by that?”

  I offer a small shrug. “They know what they are getting with you guys. Yet they still choose to take their panties off. Or offer their mouths and other parts of their bodies. That makes them just as much to blame if they end up getting their feelings hurt.”

  Now that I’ve had Lane Rivers’s lips on mine, I understand more where those girls are coming from when they throw themselves at him. It’s sort of hard to say no to a guy as attractive and endearing as Lane.

  He drums his hands on the wheel and shrugs. “I guess so. I would never pressure a girl to come home with me. In fact, most of them chase me down at parties and bring up sex first.” Glancing at me, he nods. “You were different though. I mean, shit, we only made out, and you basically ran for the hills.”

  My cheeks fill with red-hot heat. I’m sure he’s not used to seeing college girls who freak over a make-out session. My heart compulsively beats so loud in my chest as I remember what it was like to have his mouth devour mine. I fear he might actually hear my heart pounding.