Текст книги "Quarterback Bait "
Автор книги: Celia Loren
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-Five
Landon
September 27th
It was the day of the big Baylor game.
Clay and I were the first in the locker room, goodie goodies that we were. Or more like, goodie goodie that he was– I was simply making a pathetic, final attempt to convince my teammates that I was reliable. Even though I'd missed a voluntary drill the night before, because I'd been spending the night in with Ashleigh. Even though I'd had my head up my ass for a full two weeks, because I was so high on the girl who was technically my step-sister.
“I get it man,” Clay muttered, as he toweled off in his own corner. “I've been where you've been, you know. Sometimes the right woman can get you out of your head. When I first met Victoria—well, hell. You remember when we went up in flames against Rice last year?”
“Sure do. Didn't you fumble? How did that even happen?”
Clay winced at the memory as he struggled to wrangle his dreads into a rubber band. “I'm just saying, I've been there. You're thinking with your main vein, and not your brain.” I snickered at this, then swallowed. I wanted to confide in Clay. Of all people, he did seem the most likely to understand. But then, Denny's shitty rant kept bouncing around in my head, filling me with the weirdest sense of guilt: why do you make it so goddamned hard on yourself?
Secret's out: I'd gone to Derby's the night before, fully intending to at least pump the brakes with Doll—but instead, we'd done just about the opposite. As soon as I'd told her I loved her (at that most crucial of moments), I'd realized it was true. I'd realized that I loved her more than football, more than my friends, more, possibly, than the rickety Pastor. It had been scary to admit—and ridiculous, and satisfying. But it had felt right.
“Landon, lemme ask you something,” Clay was saying now. “And please don't take this the wrong way. But, man—do you really want to get scouted? Are you actually trying for the draft in April?”
“I've been playing that shitty, Hoskins? You gotta dog me like that?” I thought my bud would smile, but he didn't. Instead, he rounded a bank of lockers to face me, in the ridiculous orange leggings we all had to wear. I sure hated those things.
“Tell me straight, man,” he said. His eyes were kind, but I wasn't really in the room just then, having this conversation—my heart was out in the stands with Doll, who was supposedly keeping field-side vigil with her friends Lotte and Melanie. I think even Carson had been convinced to come to this game, even though she was pretty blatantly anti-football. And for all I knew, Anya and the Pastor were watching on ESPN.
“Landon,” Clay repeated, gently.
“No.”
“Whoa!”
“What, man? Are you that surprised?” This word vomit had been just like the evening prior's—I'd spoken the words, and they had become true as soon as they were out of my mouth.
“It's not that I don't love the team,” I continued. “Or even the game, you know? I mean, football's basically all I've ever known. And it's something people have always told me I'm so good at. And it's come easy to me…”
“Now you're just bragging.”
“...but the thing is, I don't know if I want to go pro. It's more like, I'd do it because I couldn't think of anything else to do.” It sounded so lame. I was afraid to look at Clay—thinking he might slap me for a second there. But surprisingly, my friend did not seem judgmental.
“As your linebacker, I'm sorry to hear that,” he continued. Beyond our conversation, I could hear the swinging hinge of the locker room door and some hushed voices. We had to wrap up our little Oprah moment right quick, before the team walked in. “As your friend, I say—Godspeed. Find what makes you happy. Just maybe don't go out of your way to fuck up the rest of this season, think of your teammates bro.”
I leaned in for a dap, and felt for the first time a surge of adrenaline. The hunger for the game I'd been missing. Sometimes at the Super Bowl, you'd see players talk about how they dedicated their performance to God, or their parents—but I'd dedicate this game to my friends. Clay and the Longhorn hooligans. Ashleigh.
As I returned to my suiting up, I felt a harsh tap on my shoulder—and there they were, like some kind of fucked-up jury. Coach Wells, Coach Yeardley, Denny, some man I didn't recognize, and...improbably...Zora. What the fuck were they doing here?
“Son, could we talk to you for a second?” asked the man I didn't recognize. I looked to Yeardley and Wells for approval, and they nodded. I barely had time to pull a t-shirt over my head before I was being corralled into Wells' office—not unlike a prisoner, I thought.
The door slid shut behind us all and I was aware of how stuffy the office was, how rarely I had cause to come in here. Wells gestured that I take a seat, but everyone else remained standing.
“Am I in some kind of trouble, Coach?” I asked, swiveling my head around, unsure who to address. The new dude smiled—or, more like he leered. His teeth were spread far apart and he had a tight little buzz-cut. I thought I recognized him from somewhere, but figured it was also possible he just had one of those faces.
“Son, my name is Timbers. Alex Timbers,” the mystery man began. “I represent the San Francisco 49ers. We've been keeping a close watch on your football career, Mr. Sterling.” I felt a thrill of pride zip down my spine, then thought of Clay out in the locker room. I'd literally just told him I didn't care about being scouted. Why couldn't Mr. 49er be looking for a linebacker today, instead?
“I'm so flattered,” I said, hating how mealy I sounded. I stole a confused look at Zora, who made no facial concession to the fact that it was weird she was in here. Though I had no clue just how these meetings were supposed to go, I would've bet any bonus that ex-girlfriends and ex-friends usually weren't invited to contract signings.
“Thrilling. That's just thrilling. Because we've got an eye on you for the draft come April,” Shiver-me-Timbers continued. “The only thing that's really giving us pause is a little disciplinary matter, which has been brought to our attention by the coaches and your two good friends here.”
Fuck me.
I would never in a million years have figured that Denny would be right about the NFL's alleged “image overhaul.” Everything I'd ever learned about football supported the unpleasant fact that all sorts of creeps and criminals were above the law, if only they won Super Bowls. I fought the urge to grimace at Denny, all conspiratorial-like. Then I remembered the word Timbers had just used: friends.
Oh, no, no. These people were not my friends.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I continued, angling to save face. Alas, I'd never been much of an actor.
“Is it not true that you were at Derby's Bar and Grill last night with a minor? By the name of Ashleigh Bennett?”
It had to be a dream. This was a pre-game nightmare. Any second, I would wake up in bed with a jolt and Ashleigh would soothe me back to sleep with sweet words and little kisses. Denny and Zora were refusing to make eye contact, and through the paneled glass in Coach's office, I could see most of the team was pretending to go about their business while they coyly watched my tribunal.
“Landon, we didn't want to ambush you like this. But we're all well aware of your potential in the NFL, and your largely spotless record with this team,” Coach Wells was saying. “Now, these fine young people have come forward with a pretty hefty accusation, that you've supplied liquor to a minor. This is bad business. The police could be involved. But in the interest of putting everything above board for Mr. Timbers here, we're all prepared to sign a statement and move forward with your career provided you stop seeing little miss jailbait.”
“First of all, she’s not a minor, let’s get that straight.” I tried.
“It's true, Landon,” Zora said, making her voice sound especially mousy and weak. “I was at Derby's last night with a girlfriend, and I saw you two. You guys know he's her step-sister, too, right? It's all pretty sick, in my opinion.”
I closed my eyes for a second, as if to tamp down the fury. Behind my lids, I saw my man Clay. Being a badass on the field, then going home to Victoria. I saw Anya, weeping beside my shithead father on their wedding day, pledging before God that she would trust him forever. I saw my mother, in one singular, strange flash—in a dress she'd been wearing on our Denver trip. In my memory, she was laughing with her full body, apparently at something the Pastor had said. They'd actually been happy, once. It was hard to believe. They'd been happy before everything had been ruined, and what good had that brief happiness done them?
Before I even opened my eyes, I'd made my choice.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ash
Carson looked out of her element in a football stadium, to say the very least. Anya, for her part, was blending in with aplomb. My mother's face had healed entirely, and on the surface she seemed just about back to her gung-ho, pleasantly nutty self. She waved a big, borrowed foam finger in one hand—something she'd lifted from “the very nice man” in the row in front of us. Carson and I exchanged heavy eye rolls every time she tilted her head forward to laugh at one of the goober's Dad jokes—but we didn't really mean anything by it. It was mostly just nice to see her laughing again.
“Do we get to sing in football?” Carson asked me. “One, two, three strikes you’re out? Or is that tennis?” A few rows down, some incredulous-looking Longhorn fans turned to shoot us dirty looks. My half-sister just waved a bejeweled hand, high on her own dumb joke.
I'd been edgy for most of this family date so far. Though I was thrilled to be out and about with my motley crew (not to mention super surprised when Anya had suggested this morning that we all go see a UT game) I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to hide my feelings once Landon came out of his...dugout, or whatever they called it. Already, Carson had nearly caught me and the boy several times. I wasn't any good at lying to her face. And there was still the uncomfortable fact of poor, sweet Nate Dempsey, who I'd broken up with on her stoop that very morning, without offering anyone an explanation.
“Stop being weird,” my sis repeated now, elbowing me so some of my popcorn sloshed out of its red and white striped box. To my left and far left, Lotte and Melanie played with their phones, ignoring our family business. “You're doing it again. Everything's going to be fine, you know. The soon-to-be-ex-step-monster is doing his daily course of anger management as we speak. You've done all you can. Chips are falling where they may.”
“It's not that.”
“Then, what?”
Anya hooted at something else the “nice man” said. It was then that the cheerleaders—in their infuriatingly tiny outfits—took to the field. Around us, the crowd began to roar. Any minute now, UT's chosen son would be coming out to claim what felt like the whole world's attention.
And yet, he loved me. Of all these thrilled, waiting, fans—I was the one he'd be looking for. The thought made my breath catch in my chest. I felt huge. Bigger than the Jumbo Tron.
“I'll tell you later, C. I promise.”
“Is it school?”
“No.”
“Is it…”—Carson ducked her head and lowered her voice in the direction of my other companions—“…friends?”
“Obviously not, dum-dum. You are basically my only friend.”
“Oh, har-dee-har-har.”
“Shhh!” Anya said, turning to us with an unexpected sharpness. “Babies, the game is starting! Woo, woo!”
It was then that I heard the beginnings of a skirmish in our section of the stands. The Longhorns, in their orange and white stripes, were running onto the field below—but all around us, heads were turning backward. Someone was thwacking his way through the crowd, down towards our little area. It didn't take a genius.
“That's not him, is it?” Carson murmured in my ear. “Jesus, kid. I figured you could be discreet for at least a while. Anya's barely...” But I couldn't hear the rest of her speech over the roar. People were standing, all around us, obscuring my view. I could no longer be sure.
“A-DRIAN!!!” he called. That's how I knew for sure. (I mean, speaking of Dad jokes.) People started to titter around us. I was dimly aware that on the field below, the cheerleaders had ceased their cheers.
By the time I'd crawled up on my chair to scan for his face, he was just a few rows away—apparently following the guiding light that was Anya's borrowed finger. Fans were shrieking, queuing for autographs. But the minute his eyes found mine, it was like we were the only people in that stadium of thousands.
“Landon!” I waved. It was a strange and unexpected joy, to shout his name out in a crowd. We'd had to be secret for so long. Finally, suddenly, he was at the edge of our row. He could speak to me over the heads of the wide-eyed Lotte and Melanie. I stood, then attempted to scooch past my friends and into the aisle.
“Something's come up,” he told me, when I reached him. The stands shushed around us. I tried not to think of my mother's face behind me, and what she might be thinking. “I can't play today. Or, maybe—probably—ever again.”
“FUCK NO!” someone cried. The chorus latched on. People started to boo and hiss. Notably, the “nice man” of Anya's acquaintance led the attack.
“I was faced with a fucked-up ultimatum, they basically made me chose: you or football…and I had to pick my girl!” Landon shouted at the stands. That seemed to shut everyone up, for a second. Then someone behind me cooed: Awww.
“But here's the thing. We might have to Bonnie and Clyde this shit. I mean—some people are threatening legal action. Against me.” It didn't seem at all appropriate, but he grinned a sheepish grin.
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah. It's bad. But, you know...you play the cards you're dealt, right?” He looked at me with expectant eyes. The University of Texas looked at me with expectant eyes.
I must've been stone-cold crazy. I mean, bad was the tip of the iceberg. For a second, what stretched in front of us was only a world of hassle—court testimonies and mediation, divorce papers, counseling, possibly transferring schools...but then, there were his stupid eyes, his stupid chin, and his stupid face, looking at me irresistibly.
“Fuck it,” I breathed. Ignoring the looks from the crowd, my friends, my sister, my mom—the rest of the world melted away. “We'll be bad together.”
A smile spread wide across his face and he jumped up into the stands, climbing over people and taking the bleachers two rows at a time. As I stood to meet him, he grabbed me around the waist and picked me up in a crushing embrace, pressing his lips against mine.
“I love you, Doll.” He said over the cheering crowd.
“I love you too.”
“Let’s do this.”
THE END
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“Naked Choke (A Stepbrother MMA Romance)” by Celia Loren
Amazon TOP 100 Bestseller of September 2015
My 18th birthday gift was moving in with two of the hottest, cockiest guys I’d ever met.
Austen and Logan Riggens, my new stepbrothers, my walking nightmares. They’re both older than me, they’re both MMA fighters, and to describe them in a few words…they're charming, assertive, know-it-all, a**holes.
It’s like an unwritten rule in their house that they walk around without shirts on. Teasing me, mocking me, trying their best to make me squirm.
They don’t care that our parents are practically married, or that it’s totally unacceptable to steal a kiss from me as we pass in the hallways, leave the door open as they get out of the shower, or invite me into their bedrooms.
Inside the cage...inside our house...two brothers fighting over me.
But the more I play hard to get, the stronger their advances become. And the more they treat me like sh*t, the more I want them…
Full Length, No Cliff Hanger. 18+ Contains adult language and sexual content.
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Chapter Fourteen
When we get closer to our neighborhood, I fall back. I’ve been following Logan home, staring at the back of his head as he drives in front of me on the highway. Now that I know where I am, I turn left as he continues home. I don’t want to arrive back at the house too close to him, both so as not to arouse suspicion and so that we won’t be alone when we pull into the garage and walk up to our respective bedrooms.
I drive aimlessly through the residential streets. My skin feels like it’s on fire. That kiss, though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds long, was something else. My body reacted so immediately to his, all of my nerves endings lighting up at once.
I pull over and rest my head on the top of the steering wheel. No, Cat. No, absolutely not. It’s just because Logan is forbidden, that’s it. That’s where these feelings are coming from. It’s already complicated enough, to be dating your mom’s boyfriend’s son, while living in the same house. Giving way to any kind of illicit attraction to said son’s brother? That would just be beyond the pale.
I take a deep breath and start home. I think I’ve given Logan a sufficient head start. When I press the garage door button clipped to the passenger seat visor, I’m dismayed to see Logan just stepping out of his car. He just got back, too. He glances up, squinting against the sudden brightness, and then looks away when he sees it's me. As I pull into the last remaining space just next to him, I watch him shift his weight toward the door, then stop. I turn off my engine and step out, nervously chewing my lip.
“I thought I was supposed to drive around so we didn’t come back at the same time,” he says, his face expressionless.
“I thought I was,” I reply with a small shrug of my shoulders.
He runs his hand through his hair. “Well,” he finally says, and gestures toward the door. I force myself not to look at the body of the man who just awoke such feelings in me, fixing my gaze straight ahead and walking into the kitchen.
“Hey!” Austen says, looking up from the kitchen sink where he’s just turning off the faucet. He looks over my shoulder in confusion as Logan shuts the garage door behind us. “Oh, I thought you were with Maya.”
“No, I was. Logan and I just happened to get home at the same time.”
“Yeah, I just went for a trail run,” Logan adds, explaining away his sweaty appearance.
“Good cardio,” Austen agrees.
Logan clears his throat. “Well, I’ll be upstairs,” he says, and walks toward the stairs. Austen watches him go for a second before quietly walking up to me and sliding his arms around my waist.
“How’s Maya?” he whispers, kissing me softly on the cheek.
“She’s good,” I say lightly. Fuck. It’s one thing to lie to my mom, but I feel way guiltier lying to Austen. His lips move to my mouth and my already revved libido responds quickly. I grab his slightly stubbled cheeks and kiss him hard back. He seems momentarily surprised, but then I feel his arms wrap around my waist and his erection press into my thigh.
“Let’s go downstairs,” I gasp, pulling my mouth away. He nods back with a grin. There’s something wrong about this, I think to myself as I take his hand and lead him down the basement steps. But I’m feeling too high to care.
I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck as we reach the carpeted basement floor. We stumble toward the couch and I tug my shirt over my head and reach forward to relieve him of his. If he’s taken aback by my aggressiveness, he’s not showing it. He’s matching my every move now, tugging down his fly as I push my pants to the ground. I reach forward and wrap my hand around his cock, feeling it twitch slightly in my hand as he groans. I’ve never felt this needful before.
I sink to my knees and take him in my mouth. I don’t bother warming him up, I’m already going fast, pulling him to the back of my throat and swirling my tongue around his tip.
“Oh, fuck, Cat,” he moans. I move even faster, pressing my lips firmly around his girth. “Stand up, stand up,” he orders me, his voice low and harsh. I obey, and he turns me around, yanking my panties down to the tops of my thighs and bending me over the armrest of the couch. I pant as I rest for a second with my palms on the black leather. I hear the rip of a condom and his hands on my ass, spreading my cheeks apart.
I feel his cock press into my opening and I whimper at the intense pleasure of the sensation. I walk my feet out into a wider stance and feel his hands move around to my hips, holding me in place as he drives inside me. My fingers search for a grip on the smooth cushion as his dick hits me right on my g-spot. He thrusts into me again and again and I bend my chest even further down, stretching the limits of my flexibility.
“Harder, harder,” I beg. Maybe I want to be punished for these conflicting feelings I have, maybe they’re wrong, but I don’t care. My mind drifts unbidden to the feeling of Logan’s lips against mine, the smell of his sweat as he pressed against me. Oh, god…I feel myself unspooling around Austen’s cock as the memory of his brother’s kiss fills my brain.
I beat him to orgasm. I feel him still thrusting behind me and try to steady myself against the couch as guilt begins to consume me. He comes inside me with a cry and I feel him collapse forward on top of me. I close my eyes as I feel him stir, softly trailing kisses along my spine.
“God, you’re sexy,” he whispers, his hands moving up my bare stomach and cupping my breasts as he takes a deep breath. I try to take comfort in his touch. Thoughts aren’t a crime. I didn’t do anything wrong. I pulled away when Logan kissed me.
Austen stands up and slowly pulls out. I straighten up, feeling stiffness in my legs from being stretched over. I pull up my panties as I turn around and see him emerging from the bathroom. I find myself unable to make eye contact as he walks toward me. He reaches up, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting my head up so that I look at him.
“You don’t have to be ashamed,” he murmurs.
“I don’t?” I answer, my eyes widening with alarm. How does he know?
“I like it when you’re aggressive,” he assures me. Oh, that. I bury my head in his shoulder and he wraps his arms around me. “You alright?” he whispers. I nod silently, willing myself not to think about Logan ever again. Austen is so kind, so steady, so comforting. He is what I need. “I think our parents will be home soon. They went out to a movie.”
“OK if I come back later tonight, after they go to bed?” I ask as he steps back to find his shirt, and I do the same.
“Of course,” he says with a grin. Good. The best way not to think about Logan is to spend more time with Austen. I won’t give my attraction to Logan any room to breathe.
“Later, then,” I say with a smile as I button my pants and move to the stairs. He gives me a parting nod and I hurry up the stairs and then round the banister to the second floor. I glance toward Logan’s room. His door is shut. I flop down onto my bed, wondering if I should call Maya and confess to her what just happened. Would she judge me for it?
I hear the distant sound of a door close. A couple minutes later, I recognize my mom’s footsteps coming up the stairs. I left Austen’s room just in time. Her face peers around my slightly open door, her dark hair swinging just above her shoulder.
“Hi,” I greet her, automatically mirroring the infectious smile she’s wearing. She slips in and closes the door behind her. “You have a good time?” She sighs happily and lies down on the bed next to me. I glance at her profile, seeing how similar it is to mine.
“I hope you meet someone who makes you this happy someday,” she murmurs. “Hey, let’s paint your room next weekend.” I nod slowly. Painting is a sign, I think. A sign that we’re here for the long haul. She brought it up when we first moved here, but I think she was waiting to actually go through with it until she was sure things were working out. And as far as she knows, they are. “What color do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I reply absentmindedly. “What do you think?”
“How about peach?”
I hate peach. “Sounds good.”
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