Hook Up (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (11 page)

I
t was game day
. Chris left his place early to head to the stadium with his teammates and had arranged for his friend, Pat, to pick me up. I didn’t know what to expect, but from everything Chris mentioned about this guy who was Tre’s best friend, it was probably a good idea to be ready for anything.

A very good idea.

When he knocked on the door and I answered it, I got the gist of why.

He looked like a young Tom Hardy as someone’s best man, with slicked back hair, a slim-fitting navy suit, a white hidden placket shirt and a black bowtie. Then I saw the limousine parked out front and thought he might have been the driver.

“Pat?” I asked to make sure.

“In the flesh. Call me Pappa Thumbs.” He extended his hand for what I thought was a handshake, but when I took his to shake it, he rotated my wrist and gently lifted the back of my hand to his lips. Who still kissed women’s hands in this day and age? I guess this guy. Because he did.

“Pappa Thumbs? That’s an interesting name.” I told him, thinking maybe I was underdressed now in my knee-high cowboy boots, black skinny jeans, purple deep v-neck sweater and lilac infinity scarf.

“It sure is. Remind me to show you the pictures on the way to the game. Are you all set to go?”

“Sure. I’ll just get my purse and lock up.”

* * *

W
e made
it to the stadium in Pat’s limousine…which was packed to the rafters with scantily clad women, every one of them gorgeous and actually pretty intelligent, once we got to talking. He was texting and busy on the phone, which was fine by me. I was here to watch Chris play the game. Before this, I'd never been to a college football game. I'd never been to a college anything, to be more precise. This was definitely my time for firsts.

Pat’s driver rolled up beside the last of a convoy of buses transporting spectators and visiting players. Holy crap. About four players got off the bus beside us. These men were big, badass, unstoppable warrior types, a literal wall of men blocking out the sun. I was almost afraid to get out of the limo, and nothing scares me. Thank God they banned nutcracker hits in all levels of football. Chris and his teammates would have been toast if these guys got to unleash and really throw their weight around.

The place was packed and the excitement was palpable. The crowd was excited, already loud and raucous by the time we got inside and found our seats. Pat stepped down the row first, followed by his ladies, and I took the last spot. Soon the marching band stepped on the field, followed by the cheerleaders. It was interesting that the city Mayor was here to lead the national anthem. I thought that sort of stuff would be left for championship games, but I guess that’s why everyone says the southern states are crazy for college football.

The game kicked off. Oh no. Pat started speaking to his ladies like he was the sports announcer.

“Welcome back, everybody. This is Pappa Thumbs, and I’m following the number one college football team in the south on their almost uncontested road to yet another SEC championship win. This fine but cool Saturday afternoon, they are squaring off against one of their historical rivals and let me tell you, people. The opposition has no chance. And they’re off! Great kickoff, boys. The tailback takes it in at the ten-yard line. Oh no, he misses...damn, swarmed by defenders at the fifteen-yard line. Get your shit together, Gordon!”

I was glad Pat was surrounded by his ladies right now. If it weren’t for them someone in the crowd would probably have shut him up by ramming a hand down his throat. This crowd looked like they were dead serious about the game.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked me after switching seats with one of his ladies so he could stand beside me.

“Yeah. Looking good.”

“And the crowd goes wild as the wide receiver catches it. He picks up in a run, sprinting for the end zone. He bobs, he weaves, he ducks, he rolls, he nears the touchdown, and... ouch, he just got creamed. Another one pancaked by the visiting team. Get it the fuck together down there, sons. I got big money on this game!”

Maybe I needed to be grateful for all the ambient noise in this stadium that drowned out Pat’s little spiels. I looked over at him, smiled, and turned back to watch them play.

Chris was on the field now.

“Yo James! Time to whoop some asses, son,” Pat shouted. He turned to me. “That’s my boy. He and Tre are my people,” he added with pride before focusing on the game again. “Are you gonna let these muscle-headed amateurs come up in there and party in your house? Hell no!”

This guy was probably born to be a master of ceremonies or something. I silently hoped he’d never find himself a bullhorn and show up at one of these games. He’d be unconscious before kickoff.

Chris helped his team get two touchdowns after halftime, and some people in the crowd near us who were clearly rooting for the opposing team started trash-talking. Pat wasn’t having it. He politely shifted me to his other side where his ladies were, then he went for it.

“Hey, redneck! Yeah, you with the mullet and gap tooth! Don’t make me come down there and shut your fucking face.”

Mullet guy moved from his seat. He headed the other way until he was in the aisle, then he came up to our row and started approaching. Before he was halfway to us he started shouting at Pat, fists already raised in front of his face as he prepared for a fight. “I’m here, fucker. Why don’t you show me how you’ll shut it? Not so talkative now that I’m coming for you, huh? Maybe if you apologize real nice, I’ll go easy on your bowtie, Pee Wee.”

“You want an apology? Oh I got your apology. It’s over here at the corner of fuck off and get a better haircut, asshole. Now slide it on back before I have to teach you some manners.”

Well it appeared that mouthing off wasn’t the only thing Pat was good at. In hindsight, I should have paid more attention to the fact that the ladies with Pat didn’t even bat an eyelash while he and man started arguing. Mullet guy charged at him, and a second later he and his mullet were flying over the shoulders of people in the two rows ahead of us, until they parted to avoid his collision. The poor guy landed face first in an inconveniently empty seat.

“Settle down. It’s all fine now, folks. He’ll recover,” he reassured the spectators around us. He turned to me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. That guy you messed with probably isn’t, though.”

“True. That landing was brutal. I’d give it a four-point-nine, tops. Plus it’s gonna leave a bruise the size of Texas on his face,” Pat said, dusting off his palms and straightening out his suit jacket. “What do you think, Jo?”

“Uh, yup. It may also get you ejected from the game.”

“That’s doubtful. I’m the unsung hero around here. The unofficial home team crowd control rep.”

“So why are those six men looking like security guards coming up the aisle?”

“They’re my guys. Well, they’re my dad’s. He’s got some seriously misguided paranoia that I’ll end up getting whacked over the head by his rivals one of these days. Personally, I think he should be more worried about what I can do to them.”

I saw his point. “No doubt.”

And I thought my life was interesting.

He waved down to his men and shouted for one of them to tend to now injured mullet guy, and for the rest to get all of us something to eat down at the concession stand. Five of them turned and descended the stairs again, while the last guy went across the aisle where mullet guy landed to see if he was conscious. This was incredible even for me. Thankfully, Pat’s worker-slash-bodyguard escorted the man off to find him an ice pack for his face. All of this while Chris was helping his team get another win.

* * *

T
he game ended
with a score of Visitors 14, Home 28. Pat was celebrating all the way down to the edge of the stands where Chris and his teammates were starting to head to the locker rooms, surrounded by the coaching staff, fans, and the media, many of whom still had their wireless microphones stuck in players’ faces. Chris caught sight of me and I think that was when I knew for sure we had somehow become more than a casual thing, or even friends. He was beaming all the way over to me, ignoring everything and everyone including Pat, and didn’t hesitate for a second when he wrapped his arms around my waist and ducked down to kiss me like I was his.

“Great game,” I told him when we came up for air, slightly giddy and light-headed.

“Thanks. Wait until you see us at the Championships. Hey, you’re still up for a couple of hours of celebrating at the frat house?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’ll just get changed and will meet you back here, okay?”

I smiled and nodded. I had already made up my mind that I’d take the ride back to El Paso with Chris next week, but hadn’t had the chance to remind him. He was still suggesting that I hang around Baton Rouge for a while. As much as I liked spending time with him, I couldn’t bring myself to get too comfortable.

J
o had been
at my place for two weeks. I was already addicted. I’d go to class or practice during the day, and all I could think about was getting back to her. By night, she was all mine. She wouldn’t let me slack off the books, though. Not a chance. She became the self-appointed self-designated academic drill sergeant. She’d tell me she wasn’t talking to me or letting me touch her until I got my school shit done. If she had been living here for all of my junior and sophomore years, I’d probably be an honors student with a 4.0 GPA average. Because not touching her would be torture. I started joking with her that she should tutor Mo, our team’s academic underachiever. He needed a swift kick in the pants for sure. I didn’t go all out to push the idea because the god honest truth was I didn’t want to share her with anyone, not when our time was already so limited.

On her end, she painted while I was out of the house. After the first day of being here, she had moved her art supplies down to the living room where there was more light and less of a chance she would disturb me while I studied or caught up on assignments or readings. Even so, I still never got to see her paint. She would cover it all up when I was around, explaining that she only liked to show her work when it was one hundred percent finished. Like clockwork, Jo would also stop at four in the afternoon to prepare dinner, in spite of my frequent grumblings that she didn’t need to do that for me. Her answer to that was she wasn’t doing it for me, but she needed to eat too and was home anyway, and takeout was both expensive and unhealthy.

In five days she planned on leaving. I wasn’t on board with that plan, but Jo made it clear that she was hitching a ride with me to El Paso. End of story. End of the unplanned but highly gratifying temporary live-in situation. This evening after coming home from practice, I was bent on changing her mind.

I parked the car, already thinking about how to approach this with her after she'd already said she was leaving. Jo happened to be standing at the front window looking out at me. She smiled, and covered the easel before walking toward the front hallway to greet me.

"Hey babe," I said when I walked in. Yeah, that slipped out all the time now. She was leaning against the entryway to the living room.

"Hi. How was practice?"

"All right. Pat says hi. He was hanging out."

"That's nice. Tell him hi back when you see him... and his entourage."

"Will do. Yeah they were there too."

"So who are those ladies exactly? College students or like...escorts?"

"Could be a little bit of both"

"Hmmmm. You're probably right. Do you feel like an early dinner? I'm starving today."

"Sure," I pulled her away from the doorway and took her in my arms. "Are you on the menu too?"

"Not if you've got things to work on."

"What if I said I didn't?"

She looked up at me, studying my face. "Not sure I'd believe you. Come on, let's eat."

The meal consisted of a mouth-watering steak done medium rare just the way I liked it, with a baked potato and fresh salad. As we were wrapping up with dinner, I brought it up and was met with her usual resistance.

"Give me one good reason why you've got to rush out there now. I'll be back home for Christmas, then again for Spring Break. You can go back any one of those trips."

"Spring Break, are you crazy? I can't go for months without working."

"Why not?"

"I'd be broke."

"I told you, you don't need to worry about it."

"Says you. Listen to me, Chris. This arrangement of ours... it's just that. An arrangement, which is supposed to be temporary. I feel bad enough being here for two weeks and you want me to agree to four months?"

"Sure. As long as you want to. As long as I'm here on campus." Maybe I shouldn't have added that last part, so I added, "As long as I have a roof over my head, you're welcome."

She put her knife and fork down on her plate and narrowed her eyes as she looked over at me. "Where's this coming from, Chris?"

"Where's what coming from?"

"Why don't you want me to go back to El Paso?"

"Simple. I don't think you need to rush back so soon, is all."

"And what you think counts more than what I want? Is that it?"

"Wait a second. I didn't say that."

"But you implied it."

This conversation was going off in the wrong direction. "I didn't imply it either. Look, don't get the wrong idea. The point is," I heard my voice raising and cleared my throat to get back under control. Getting to my feet, I moved to the chair beside hers and took her hand. "Jo, what I'm trying to say is, well I'd like you to stay... as long as you want, but to be honest, I should say as long as you can."

"And what about what you want?"

"I just told you what I want... stay."

"You're missing the point, Chris."

“Which is?”

Frustrated, she turned in her chair to face me. “What exactly are we doing?”

These were the kinds of ambiguous questions men were better off steering clear of. “We’re having dinner and talking about—”

She cut me off and got to her feet. “That’s not what I mean and you know it, Chris. What are we? To each other?”

And these were the questions that could make any man hightail it to somewhere safe, like under a rock. I pulled her into my lap and kissed her cheek. Thank goodness she wasn’t angry enough to storm off…yet. “Listen here, little lady. All this talk about you going back to El Paso…it’s no fun. The bottom line is I’ll respect your decision, whatever you do, but I’ll be mighty glad if you stayed.”

She rested her head on my shoulder. “Thanks for understanding.”

Phew. That was close. “Of course. Okay, I’ll clear the table. All I can think of doing right now it spreading you out right here for dessert.” She moaned like she thought it was a good idea. “Is that a yes? I’m sure you can feel how excited I am about it already.”

“Mmmm,” she moaned into my ear, then got to her feet and hiked up her skirt. She returned to my lap and sat facing me, straddling me and the chair. “Sometimes you have the best ideas, cornerback.”

All except one. That was what I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. I had five more days to figure out how to make her want to stay. I wasn’t going to waste a second.

Grinding her hips for more contact with my shaft, she added, “By the way, right now I think I’d like to go right to having you deep inside me.”

Jo was about to ride me right here in my chair. I was not going to let idle chit chat get in the way of that. Running my hands up the sides of her thighs, I pulled her heat tight onto my groin, gripping her ass and growling from my need to bury my cock deep inside of her until she admitted her pussy was mine and mine alone. Sadly, the promise of hot as hell dining room sex wasn’t meant to be tonight. All my condoms were upstairs in the bedroom, and by the time I raced up there and came back, she was almost finished clearing the table, and had reminded me I needed to get my ass in front of my coursework if I wanted any tonight.

That was the day I started storing rubbers in my pockets at all times and in every room in the house.

* * *

A
fter a few hours
of hitting the books, I went back downstairs to check on Jo. She had her apron on, and just as I stepped into the living room she turned the easel to hide what she was working on.

“You really don’t want me to see your art, do you?”

She grinned from across the room, setting down the paintbrush she was still holding. “Nope. Not until it’s done.”

“Not even one? Come on.”

She wiped her hands off on her apron and came over to me, lacing her hands around my waist. “Uh-uh,” she said, staring up at me. “You’ll have to wait.”

“You know you’re leaving in less than a week, right? Will you be done before that? Actually maybe you should take your time. You know? Stick around until you finish one.”

“Nice try.”

“What can I say? I don’t want you rushing off.”

“And you’re persistent.”

“That I am. While we’re on the subject, I want to ask you something.”

She pulled away and folded her arms. “Go on, but after this, we’re not discussing it again. Deal?”

“’I can’t promise you that, but I’ll try.”