His words sink in and shame rises to the surface. “You can’t,” I hiss furiously, keeping my voice low in consideration of students passing the open doorway. “I don’t need help. I’ve made it this far on my own. I have it handled.”
“I’m not giving you a choice,” my uncle replies coolly. Unfolding his arms, he opens his briefcase and begins sliding papers inside. “If you don’t undertake the extra tutelage I arrange for you, I’m speaking to your coach.”
My hands curl into fists by my side, furious he would so easily jeopardize my playing season. “You wouldn’t,” I grind out, knowing full well he would.
“I can and I will.” He pauses for a moment to lock eyes with mine, letting me see the hard determination on his face. After a moment his eyes soften a fraction. “I don’t want to see you fail, Brody.”
After snapping his briefcase shut, he prepares to leave and panic climbs my throat. When he starts for the door, I know I’m screwed, but I make one last ditch attempt to get out of it.
“I won’t fail,” I shout after him. “But it’s possible I might if you force me to do this. I don’t have the time to go traipsing across the city every week to have a fancy tutor teach me something I know I’ll never learn!”
My uncle turns to face me, his brow arching. “I figured you’d say that, and I do happen to understand the demands football places on you, Brody. I have a student tutor in mind. It means you can study on campus after practice.”
He’s out the door before I can argue further. It’s probably for the best. I’m already clutching at straws. There’s nothing more I can say that will convince him to back down.
My thought process takes a turn for the worse. What if he lumps me with Kyle Davis? So help me God, if he does I’ll be forced to shoot something. Preferably Davis. In the junk. Assholes like that shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.
Jaxon materializes when I leave the room. “What was all that about?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. A quick glance at my watch shows I have a half hour left to eat something before training.
We head for the dining hall. Eyes follow as we stride down the walkway. Flustered packs of girls giggle and stumble in my path, and guys try drawing me into conversation about the upcoming game this weekend. It usually doesn’t bother me. I’m used to the lack of anonymity now so I don’t notice, but today I do, and I’m too raw right now to deal with it. I slide on a pair of sunglasses and tug my baseball cap low. It’s a half-assed attempt to keep people at bay, but it’s better than nothing.
We’re halfway across the quad when a commanding shout gets my attention. Ryan Carter is spinning the ever-present football in his hands as he makes his way toward us.
“’Sup, Madden,” he calls out with a grin and throws a perfect spiral my way. I stretch up and the ball lands in my arms with ease. The star quarterback whoops loudly as he jogs over. A small entourage trails behind him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride.
Reaching the two of us, Carter points to my forehead. “Man, what the hell is that?”
“What’s what?” I give him a blank stare and he jams his thumb in the spot between my brows.
“It’s a fuck furrow, bro,” he replies when I swat his hand away. “It means you need to get laid. Can’t be stressed for the season opener.”
My mind immediately goes to the blonde in class and my skin prickles with heat. Those legs wrapped around me right now would go a long way to easing this abrasive worry weighting my shoulders, but she had me distracted the entire last half hour. That’s exactly what I need to avoid this year.
Jordan
Saturday afternoon rolls around and my body is wiped from running around campus all week like a headless chicken. Leah is at Hayden’s for the night, so my intention is to crawl my way onto the sofa, spread myself out like a starfish, and watch Thor pound his big hammer on the television.
I just finish popping a packet of buttery popcorn in the microwave when Leah sends me a message.
Leah: Hayden has football tickets. Come pick us up in your new car!
Jordan: Can’t. My feet fell off and I can’t find them.
Leah: LOL! Look under the bed. And be quick about it or we’ll miss kick off.
I sigh wistfully, thinking of Chris Hemsworth waiting for me with his deep, sexy voice that reminds me of home.
Soon, I promise him silently and head to my room to find something to wear. Settling for comfort, I tug on a sleeveless orange hoodie with Colton Bulls printed on the front in navy. After teaming it with a leg-baring pair of white denim shorts, I leave my tousled hair hanging loose. With any luck, people will think the messy style is exactly what I’m aiming for.
Pocketing my keys and phone, I lock up and head for my car with an excited grin. As of this morning I have wheels. Granted they’re shitty ones, but who cares? I have relative independence, and the chance to explore the Wild West like I’ve been desperate to do since the moment I arrived.
When the crapfest Nissan Pulsar I purchased that very morning coasts into a spot at an apartment complex within walking distance from ours, I breathe a happy sigh of relief. The car made the short trip on a wing and a prayer—and a few strategically placed strips of duct tape. I always keep some on hand because the tape is a crafty fix-all for most of life’s problems: ankle sprains, tightening shin guards, emergency hem repair, and strapping guys to chairs if they get too handsy. Not that I’ve ever done the latter, but at least I have the option if needed.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I step out into the late afternoon humidity and stretch hard. Every over-worked muscle in my body quivers with delight, and I even moan a little. It’s not quite orgasmic, but it’s damn close.
I hear a long, low whistle and my eyes fly open. Straight across from me idles a big black SUV. The tint looks dark enough to be illegal, but one of the rear windows is down, revealing a carload of guys. The back door opens and one of them spills out. His unruly blond curls are stuck to his temples with sweat, and a pair of black Ray-Bans cover his eyes.
“Yo, Damien!” he yells at the driver as he walks backwards to the block of apartments. A snug white tee shirt with red sleeves stretches across his broad, athletic shoulders as he moves. “You want anything?”
The front window comes down on the SUV, revealing the driver. He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low. It hides most of his face but dark hair peeks out beneath as he leans out the window.
I catch a glimpse of tanned skin and white, even teeth as he yells back at his friend, “Yeah, grab some condoms! I’m all out!”
As though feeling my gaze, he turns his head in my direction. Ugh. Busted! The guy in the passenger seat beside him looks my way too. Thankfully my phone beeps a text message. Reaching through the passenger window to grab it off the seat hides my flush.
Leah: Hurry up, asshat!
I tap out a quick reply to Leah and hit send.
Jordan: Check your damage! I’m already here.
I toss my phone back on the seat just as a small box comes flying out a third floor window and lands right at my feet. Shading my eyes, I glance up and see the guy from the SUV waving down at me.
“Sorry!” he yells. “My aim was off!”
My eyes fall back to the box. It’s a packet of Durex flavored condoms. I reach down and pick it up. The front features a banana, apple, sliced orange, and a strawberry, with a tagline that reads fruity flavors for extra fun. I give an audible snort because nothing spells out sexy times better than fruit salad.
I glance up again when the guy comes bursting out of the apartment block, his sunglasses perched on his head. He jogs over, his tanned skin covered with a light sheen of sweat from the heat.