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

by Hannah Gray

  Colton was already nosy as shit about Lane and me at the party. I pray if Trent does stop by our table, Colton doesn’t spill the beans that Lane and I know each other.

  “What’d you say?” Colton says, wearing a concerned look on his face.

  Pointing my fork toward my calzone, I stab at it and smile. “I said, this is really good.”

  I’m praying they walk past our table, but of course, no such luck.

  “Memphis,” Trent says while gazing around the table. His eyes land on Colton.

  “Hey.” I hold my hand up and wave. Avoiding all eye contact with Lane. “Did you guys already eat?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” is all he says before he tips his chin up at Colton and Noah.

  They both look uncomfortable as hell. Not that I can blame them. Trent is extremely intimidating. As are the two standing at his side.

  “Well, see you sometime, I guess,” he mumbles before strutting off.

  Everyone’s eyes in the restaurant watch them closely.

  Lane glances over at the table, his eyes finding mine. A small smirk plays on his lips. “Have a good night.”

  “You too,” I say, forcing my attention elsewhere. If I watch him walk off, I’ll likely start drooling.

  “You’re friends with Trent Kade?” Colton questions, looking butthurt yet again.

  I shake my head. “No. Not really.”

  He looks at me, confused.

  “My mom is dating his dad,” I say with a shrug.

  Noah laughs. “Wow. Trent Kade is like your brother.”

  My face involuntarily scrunches up. “How do you figure? Our parents aren’t married.”

  He looks embarrassed. “Well, yeah. But they might be one day.”

  Shrugging, I twist the straw in my drink around. “Maybe.”

  I have to say, it’s nice to have someone who could someday potentially be my family. Even if we aren’t related.

  twenty-four

  Lane

  “You’ve been awfully quiet, young man. Cat got your tongue?” Mason jokes from the driver’s seat as we make our way home from dinner.

  “It’s nice. It’s silent in here for once,” Trent mumbles. “Well, other than your big mouth, Mason.”

  “Just tired, man. No biggie,” I lie.

  I’ve been in a mood since that dark-haired beauty stormed off and I witnessed her having dinner with Colton. But I can’t exactly tell Trent that I’m mad that his potential stepsister has a new man.

  “If you say so,” Mason singsongs.

  “Why was Memphis with those dumbass frat brothers?” Trent says, sounding slightly worried.

  “Hard to tell,” Mason answers. “Girls love a good accent. They find it sexy. And that kid, he sounds like fucking Jason Aldean or some shit.”

  Trent scowls at him. “Dude, what the fuck?”

  “Sorry. I’m sure she finds his accent annoying as fuck,” he answers quickly.

  Trent glares once more before he’s silent. I know he wouldn’t say it out loud, but it’s clear he’s beginning to think of Carla and Memphis as his family. And that makes me happy. He deserves a family. His dad has been a lot better to him these past few months, and now, he also has a potential stepmother and stepsister. He needs that.

  When we get home, I waste no time in going to my own truck to head to the apartment I found out she lives in. Knowing a lot of people around here gets you any information you need. Well, almost any information.

  I’m almost to my truck when I hear Trent behind me, “Thought you were tired, fucker.”

  “Hey, for the right lady, I can muster up some energy, man,” I say, forcing a grin.

  He shrugs and walks inside.

  Good. I didn’t feel like dodging fifty questions from him about where I was headed. I also hate lying to my best friends.

  Five minutes later, I am outside of her apartment when it hits me that Colton could have come over here after they left dinner. Or worse, she could have gone to his house.

  Fuck, I hope not.

  Not only would that mean she was probably spending the night, but also, she’d be around all the guys over there. I’ve heard so many stories of the fraternity guys drugging women or getting them so wasted that they don’t know where they even are.

  Fuck that. I pull out my phone.

  Me: You home?

  The dots appear, then disappear, and then reappear. This goes on and on for three minutes.

  Me: I see you typing. Hit Send. Commit to it, babe. ;)

  Memphis: Why are you asking if I’m home?

  She included an emoji with a raised eyebrow. She seems a little pissy. Maybe she really does like that dumbass Colton and doesn’t want me around.

  Me: I’m here.

  Memphis: You’re where?

  Me: Outside your place.

  Memphis: That is so creepy—not to mention, stalkerish of you. First showing up outside of the restroom. And now my apartment? Should I be concerned? Do I need to call the cops?

  I laugh. Though I do see why she might worry that I’m a stalker. I am certainly showing some fucked up characteristics. Somehow, I know she doesn’t really think that about me.

  Me: You going to let me in or what?

  There’s no answer for a few minutes. Then, finally, one comes through.

  Memphis: Fine. But don’t be a dick. And for the love of all things, keep your hands to yourself.

  Me: I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor. No funny business either.

  I send my response, thinking back to Halloween night. She is the first girl who has ever told me not to try any “funny business.” I chuckle, remembering the way she said it while pointing her finger at me.

  Me: Unless you’re into it?

  I like toying with her.

  Memphis: Shut up. You are already on thin ice.

  Me: Sorry. Reeling it in, boss.

  I turn my truck off and hop out. I make my way to her apartment door. I hold my hand up to knock, but before I get a chance, the door swings open. She’s in gray sweatpants and a white tank top. A tight white tank top, to be exact. The sleek ponytail she had at dinner is gone, replaced by a giant piled-up mess on the top of her head. She’s still just as beautiful though.

  “Well?” she says, arching one sexy, defined eyebrow.

  “Well … what?” I ask.

  “Why are you here?” Her voice is sassy and fucking adorable.

  “I wanted to hang out. Are you going to let me in or not? It’s fucking cold out here.”

  On the way over, my truck’s temperature gauge read four degrees. I pray one day to be drafted to a team way the hell away from New England or anywhere else where this cold white shit falls from the sky and it’s as cold as the fucking North Pole. I hate this shit.

  She sighs, but a few moments later, she swings the door open wider. Walking by her, I look around at the space. It isn’t huge, but it’s not small either. The decor is simple and clean. Not pink girlie shit everywhere or anything like that. Though she doesn’t really strike me as the girlie-girl type. She isn’t a tomboy, but she’s low maintenance. In a good way.

  “Want anything to drink?” she asks with her head in the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water for herself.

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  She nods and motions toward the couch. “Sit. If you’d like.”

  I do as she said and sit down at one end of the couch. She plops herself down on the other end, shifting around until she seems to find that perfect comfortable spot. Her body is sexy as hell. She’s petite and small. Fun-sized, I’d like to call it. Yet … that ass. Damn. That ass is fucking incredible. Even in her sweatpants, I could see what a work of art it truly is.

  Looking around the seemingly quiet apartment, I ask, “Do you live here alone?”

  I’m hoping she says yes. The more people that see us together, the more chances for Trent to catch word. I’m not ready to deal with his attitude on it. I also don’t want Memphis to deal with his opinion on
it either.

  She shakes her head. “No, my best friend, Ava, lives with me.”

  “Is she here?”

  “She fell asleep right when we got home.” She smiles, shaking her head. “A few margaritas have that effect on her.”

  I nod. Wondering if she’s ever had a few margaritas with her friend. Or if she ever allows herself to let loose.

  The night of the party, she seemed so defensive when I mentioned getting her a drink. I wouldn’t think it was bad if she didn’t drink. If anything, I’d applaud her. God knows I can’t keep myself away from alcohol for that long.

  I’m not an alcoholic, but I will admit that I do like to use it as a crutch at times, which isn’t exactly healthy. But what can I say? It seems to work to get me through life when the feelings become too much. That’s the fucked up thing about me—I can’t handle my own feelings. That’s why I’ll never be able to be in a relationship. I mean, fuck, if I can’t handle my own feelings, how the hell would I handle anyone else’s? The answer is simple: I couldn’t.

  Stretching my legs out in front of me, I turn my head toward her. “So, how was your date?”

  She attempts to glare at me, but it fails, and her lips twitch in the smallest smile. That’s a rare sight from this girl. She usually scowls at me. Even though, I have to admit, I find it fucking adorable how she plays mean. Even after only being around her a few times, I can tell she isn’t mean. It’s all for show.

  “It went great. Thank you for asking,” she tries to lie, but I’m not buying it.

  I creeped from afar throughout their dinner. She’s not into him, and she’s not fooling me into thinking that she is.

  “Really?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

  “No. Because it wasn’t a date. He’s a friend,” she says, rolling her eyes. She seems to do that a lot when she’s around me.

  My mouth hangs open. “You know, you could have led with that …”

  Her eyes twinkle, and she has a mischievous grin on her face. “Now, what fun would that have been?”

  When I pull her on top of my lap, she squeals. A few dark pieces of her hair fall around her face. Reaching up, I tuck some loose strands behind her ear.

  I sigh. “Well, I guess, at least now, I know I don’t have to beat the shit out of him. I really didn’t want to do that.”

  “Shut up, you big dick,” she groans.

  I can’t help but mess with her further. “How dare you talk about my manhood like that.” Acting serious, I nod. “But, yes, it is big.”

  She playfully shoves my chest, and her lips form a smile. “Ugh, shut up! You know what I meant, jerk.”

  “Why did you make it seem like a date?” I ask, dropping my voice lower. “Do you want me to be jealous?”

  Her cheeks turn a shade of pink. “Why would I care if you were jealous?”

  “Do you?” I question her.

  “Do I what?” she says through gritted teeth, quickly seeming aggravated.

  Pushing for more, I ask again, “Do you care?”

  Throwing her hands up, she tries to act annoyed. “I don’t know. Why? Are you jealous?”

  Not thinking twice, I answer instantly, “Yes.”

  Her eyebrows pull together, as she’s surprised by my confession. “Wh-why?”

  “I have no idea,” I say honestly, shaking my head.

  When I run my fingers up her back and around to her neck, she melts into me. And I can feel goose bumps form on her skin.

  She smells like sweet cinnamon, and it drives me crazy. I’m sure she can feel my hardness beneath her.

  Moving my hand up, I run the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip and watch as her eyes glaze over from my touch. “But I know that when I saw you with him, it made me angry. Really fucking angry.”

  I’m telling the truth. I don’t know why it makes me so crazy. But it does. She’s too good for that D-bag anyway. But it’s more than that. Imagining her with anyone pisses me off.

  She watches me, her blue eyes filled with questions that I don’t have the answers to. Her red lipstick from earlier is gone. Left behind are her plump, bare lips. My mind fantasizes about those lips doing more than just kissing me.

  In one movement, her lips are on mine before I even realize what’s going on. My mouth moves with hers like my life depends on it. She even tastes like cinnamon sugar.

  Pulling away, she looks down at me. Her cheeks are now crimson red. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Embarrassed, she starts to climb off, but I anchor her down. She’s crazy if she thinks I’m going to let her go that quickly.

  “Look at me,” I demand.

  She does as she was told.

  Moving my hands from her back to her cheeks, cupping them, I tilt my head. “Don’t ever apologize for what just happened. Ever. Got it?” I tell her.

  Slowly, she nods. I wrap my arms around her back. Leaning forward, she puts her hands in my hair.

  “Lane …”

  I know that beautiful mouth is about to fire a loaded question.

  “Why are you here?” she asks, her eyebrows pulled slightly together.

  I look away for a split second before finding my way back to those eyes. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

  She sighs. “Is that because you thought I was on a date? It’s about the chase. You just want to wave your dick around, showing it’s bigger than his.”

  I try to keep a straight face, which is not easy. “Whoa! I definitely never took my dick out. And I for sure did not wave it around.” Making my eyes wide, I continue teasing her, “It’s a little drafty in here. I think I’ll keep him tucked away in my pants.”

  She tilts her head to the side and raises her eyebrows. “You know what I meant, dipshit.”

  Clearly, she isn’t in the mood for my shenanigans.

  “I know. I know. And it isn’t like that.” Reaching up, I cup her cheek. “But if you think he isn’t into you, you’re blind.”

  “We’re friends. He knows this,” she argues.

  “Maybe you told him that, and maybe he even agreed. But believe me, that guy is in love with you.” Who could blame him?

  In the pit of my stomach, I feel guilty. Guilty because I’m glad she isn’t into him. After all, I know I’m not going to date her. I can’t date anyone. It just isn’t in my cards, and it wouldn’t feel right. And as much as I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to her bedroom before ripping her clothes off and diving inside of her, I can’t do that either. If I don’t see a future with her, it just wouldn’t be right. Sure, I have no problem with doing it to other girls, ones who throw themselves at me. But Memphis? She’s somehow different to me. She means something. Even if I can’t ever tell her that. Telling her would make her become attached. And attachment equals hurt.

  I know I can’t sleep with her. Which does not make my dick very happy. At. All. But that’s the right thing to do. And while I’m not the good guy in anyone’s story, even I know when something would be really wrong.

  But gazing up at her, I see that hunger in her eyes. She wants me to push her further. But how far is too far?

  “Whatever,” she groans. “Let’s stop talking about Colton.”

  “Deal.” My eyes move to her lips again. Pulling her face to mine, I kiss her.

  Her small frame pushes against me. It’s as if she can’t get close enough.

  Trust me, baby. I know the feeling.

  Moving my lips to her neck, I run my tongue down her skin and to her collarbone. Gliding my hands down her back, I cup her ass. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. That. Ass.

  “You are so sexy,” I murmur against her skin.

  A small, shallow moan escapes her lips. Her hands dig into my hair, giving the short pieces a pull.

  Snaking my arm around to her front side, I find the bottom hem of her tank top. Placing my palm on her smooth, toned skin, I move it upward and cup one of her tits and then move to the next. She grinds further against
me, and her grip on my hair intensifies.

  When I glance up at her, it’s almost too much, watching such a beautiful creature so turned on. So close to coming unraveled, simply by my touch.

  I’m so painfully hard now that I can barely even think straight. If I go any further, I know it’ll make it harder for either of us to stop.

  Moving my hand back down to her stomach, I kiss her once more before returning my hands to her back.

  She pulls back and gazes down at me. Somewhere between being turned on and bashful.

  There’s innocence in her, I know. But there’s also a caged animal, just waiting to be unleashed.

  twenty-five

  Memphis

  The next morning, I walk out of my bedroom and am thrilled when the smell of coffee hits my nostrils, letting me know Ava is already up. I need it through an IV in my arm. I was up way too late, making out with a certain football player. Knowing I have class in an hour makes me almost regret not sending him home early. Almost.

  I really enjoy his company though. He’s funny, but he also has this smooth-as-silk demeanor about him. The way he talks, moves, and just plain carries himself is mesmerizing. His body language screams confidence. Which I find extremely sexy for some reason.

  Ava looks up from her laptop and gives me a mischievous grin. “Well, well, well. I woke up to pee at one thirty this morning, and I could have sworn I heard a man’s voice.” Her eyebrows waggle. “A man’s voice that sounded extremely sexy, might I add.”

  After the first make-out session, Lane and I did have a few more. But after he felt me up under my shirt, he never tried that again. Part of me was bummed about that.

  My body gives in to his touch so eagerly. I know it would be so easy to let myself fall apart, allowing him to take it as far as he wanted. Which sort of scares the crap out of me. I can’t believe I could be so naive to consider giving that part of myself to him after carrying it around for my entire life. But for some reason, the thought crosses my mind … often.

  After fixing myself a coffee, I plop down on the stool next to her. “Whatevs. It was no big deal.”

  I try my best to play it cool. A girl like Ava does not need an excuse to bring on the Hollywood drama act.