How to Reprimand Your Rock Star (DommeNation #2) (2 page)

Tape was the only thing that could hold me together right now.

I hauled ass across campus, desperate to get into my locker and find my lucky roll of tape to soothe my bum knee. I woke up remembering one thing: last night’s loss and subsequent humiliation. I remembered how all eyes were on me, the team’s rookie point guard, to bring home the win. Instead, we lost because of my turnovers and missed three-pointers.

Gampel Pavilion was busier than usual today—trucks and cars stuffed the parking lot as though it were last night’s game. Saturday afternoons, especially post-game-day afternoons, were typically dead, even during March Madness.

“Hey Thea,” Matt the security guard said, greeting me with his typical salute. The guards here were as starstruck as the students when it came to basketball players. At UConn, basketball was a course everyone took year after year.

At first I was starstruck myself. I felt powerful putting on that uniform. Sadly, the first day of double sessions taught me that I had to earn that jersey. Being a high school superstar did not give me status here. I couldn’t throw out ideas to my captains as I did at home. They barely acknowledged me when I opened my mouth, as evidenced by my attempt at answering Coach last night.

I waved back at Matt, but was surprised when he walked out in front of me, blocking my entrance. “You got a ticket?”

I wrinkled my nose. “To what?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Concert tonight.”

“Ugh,” I grunted. I hated how concerts always screwed up the arena. Weird smells, strangers, and scuffed-up floors. “I just need to hit up my locker for some tape,” I said, gesturing to my left knee. “Last night wasn’t my best.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I know, but at least you’ll still be in the big tournament.”

I grimaced. Matt was right, it just hurt to hear, especially from a casual observer. “Anyway, can you just let me downstairs? Unless it’s Kanye out there, I could care less who’s onstage.”

Matt tsked at me. “Not so simple.”

As he spoke, two brawny dudes in black T-shirts flanked him. “Is there a problem?” the one with the giant corks in his earlobes asked.

“This is Thea, and she needs to use the locker room. She’s on the women’s basketball team.”

The other guard said, “So?”

Matt crossed his arms defensively as my frustration built. “So, that means she’s a VIP and needs to be able to get down there.”

Corks just shook his head. “No. Go to your dorm and use the shower there,” he sniffed.

I marched up to him and met his eyes. Men were often intimidated by my height, so I used it to my advantage. “Listen,” I said, “I need my tape. It’s in my stall. It’s my team’s locker room and I should be able to go down there when I want. And you aren’t about to stop me.”

Matt nodded mutely.

I couldn’t believe the nerve of these guys—trying to stop me from going to my team’s domain. This is our house, buddy, see what happens when you get in my way.

The guard rolled his wrist. “Escort her down,” he said to Matt. “And be quick,” he said to me.

Just for that, I’d take my sweet time.

“Didn’t the girls lose last night?” the normal-earlobed guard asked Matt.

“Yeah, but they’re lucky enough to still move on.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Bullshit
. In a way, he was right. We lost to an inferior team and we shouldn’t move on. Granted, I was glad we were, but it was still embarrassing. I stomped down the stairs toward the locker room with a heavy heart. I knew my scholarship wouldn’t be revoked because of one off game, but the specter of poor performance hung over my head.
Hit all the shots next time
, I promised myself. Tonight, the team was getting together to watch our potential opponents. If only the captains would let me help strategize. It was one of my strong points. I always did well in school, and I felt like basketball strategy was something that engaged my mind. I could plot, envision plays before they happened, stuff like that. I could be of help, if they only listened.

I wasn’t the type to be ignored. In class, I pretty much needed a prop to keep my arm held up. I loved to debate, to engage. My friends used to jokingly ask if I had a mute button, since I always called the shots when it came to where we all went and what we were doing. But here? Arrogant jock guys like Wes and bossy upperclassmen girls ruled my schedule.

Wasn’t college supposed to be freeing?

My mind winced at the thought of Wes, and I prayed silently that he wouldn’t show that picture to Coach. His social media accounts didn’t blow up with the photo last night or this morning, but that didn’t mean I was in the clear.

The locker room welcomed me with the smell of freshly washed uniforms and leather workout equipment. The familiar scents tickled my nose and I envisioned my locker room back home. I remembered giving speeches to my team, rallying them against our foes. I felt like a general sometimes. Here, I just listened. Sure, I liked everyone, but I really wished I could just be myself. I rolled my stiff shoulders and decided that tape wasn’t all I needed—a long hot shower would do my body a world of good. And I didn’t want to let the guards have the satisfaction of getting me out of their hair so soon.

I dropped my clothes at the threshold of the locker room and the adjoining shower room. I was never weirded-out by the team showering together. It was what athletes did. When you’re there, making jokes under the steaming water, splashing and commiserating, it was almost better that you were naked. It showed your trust. The team saw you at your most vulnerable. I wanted them to know they could trust me, so, therefore, I let them see my boobs. Common sense. It did kind of make me sad that even though we’d been playing together since September, I couldn’t really call many of them my friends. Except for my roommate, Callie.

The weirdest thing was the only person I had met besides Callie that I really felt a connection to was the team’s landlord, whom they had nicknamed the Red Devil. Her real name is Scarlett. I had actually never spoken to her, but something about her drew me in. She was intimidating as hell—tall like us basketball folk, flaming-red curls that hung to her waist, and heels that could kill small animals that skittered into their path. The team hated her strict curfews and neat-freakery. I liked her. Powerful women were cool, and it pissed me off when they were labeled “bitches” just because they knew what they wanted. Plus, I liked that she owned a little new-age shop in town that, rumor has it, has a secret back room. So yeah, Scarlett was cool. Scary, but cool.

I made my way across the white tile floor, dodging cold puddles, and cranked my lucky showerhead number thirteen to a scorching blast. Every time I had picked this one, we won, so I never showered anywhere else. Except at home—my real home, that is. I stood under the scalding deluge and tipped my head up to feel the hot spray in my mouth. I had to singe off the thin layer of failure from last night’s game. I grabbed a loofah and scrubbed my skin to a near polish. Rolling my shoulders, I took a squirt of the lavender-scented shampoo and worked it into my long curls.

Sighing, I let my naked back slouch against the cold tiles as I worked my scalp. My ex, Ty, had loved giving me massages. But that was all he wanted, touching. College was supposed to be a fantastic dating scene, but all I ever got were guys who wanted me for the wrong reasons. Boys who were lazy and easy. Not that I had an ideal guy in mind, but I just wanted to
work
for it. I wanted the hunt. Lamenting my permanently single status, I watched the last few soap bubbles drop from my hair to the floor. Absentmindedly, I turned and reached for my towel and found nothing.

I glanced around the empty room. Always, without fail, I’d put my towel within arm’s reach of my lucky showerhead. How could I forget that today? I really was off my game on several levels. Padding wetly, dripping like a mermaid, I made my way toward the locker room’s entryway where my clothes sat.

Only, my clothes weren’t there either.

I took a tentative step into the locker room and turned toward my locker, where at least a practice uniform would be waiting for me. Or maybe I left my clothes there.
Get your head together, Thea.

Every time I saw that locker, I’d chuckle. My obnoxious Greek last name was too long to fit on the nameplate, or my jersey for that matter, so instead of reading P
APASTATHOPOULOS
, it just said P
APAS
. That’s why the team had taken to calling me “Pops.”

But instead of seeing my truncated name or a pile of clothes, I saw a
guy
.

The tall, gorgeous man stared at me with a smirk. Some fucking punk, sitting under my name and number and pulling a cigarette out of his thick leather jacket. He looked bad, dangerous, and delicious and my body reacted to seeing him with a jolt of fear and euphoria. I skittered back and covered my nakedness, hoping he hadn’t seen me fully naked. I peeked around the corner to get another look at him. I couldn’t help myself.

His blue eyes twinkled at me and he grinned. A lopsided, roguish grin that begged you to join him in sharing the mirth. But I wasn’t about to smile at this fool who was taking up residence in front of my locker. Especially while I was naked. He didn’t look like a student—a few years too old and a few drinks too seasoned, and from the rebellious appearance of his black-polished fingers and calloused hands. His hair, a mess of black roots and blue spikes arranged into a halo of sharp peaks, didn’t look very UConn at all. He looked as if he belonged in a tattoo parlor, not here in my locker room. For a moment, I imagined shoving him against the tile wall and punishing him for transgressing into my domain.

“It’s all right, love, I have your towel right here,” I heard him tease in a smoky, tempting voice.

My heart raced. All I had to do was scream loud enough and Matt would be down here in a flash. I didn’t want to, but it was an option. Just keep it together.

Keeping my nude form out of his sight, I shouted to the intruder. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

A white towel sailed my way and I stuck my wet arm out to grab it. I wiped myself off and discreetly examined the very bad boy who was about to stink up my precious domain.

“I needed a butt,” he said, placing a cigarette between his mocking lips. His sexy, curvy lips that went so well with his stubbly jaw and sharp features. Shit, what was wrong with me? He was invading my turf. He was also unashamedly checking me out from head to toe.

“Take your
butt
and get out of my locker room,” I growled.

With a flick of his fingers, the unlit cigarette disappeared. I assumed up his leather jacket’s sleeve, but I couldn’t be sure. His leather pants were far too tight to hide a cigarette, and I caught myself staring. Under his leather jacket was a threadbare tee that hugged his lean muscles tightly. I wanted him to take the jacket off. Hell, all of it.

“Whatever you say, Goddess,” he replied. I noted a slight accent, but couldn’t place it. Possibly British. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, looking behind him at the name on the nameplate and the name embroidered on my jacket.

I emerged, pretending to be unfettered by the whole bizarre situation, and nodded. “That’s my locker.”

“Is it now?” he asked, British accent coming through clearly now.

“Thea Papastathopoulos, future Rookie of the Year, and I need my clothes. And my lucky tape.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Tape, eh? What’s a nice girl like you need something like that for?”

I hugged the towel closer to me and tried not to join in his contagious grin. He was such a scamp, this carefree weirdo sitting in the women’s locker room, about to light up. “What’s wrong with tape?”

I didn’t notice his hand reaching around to my supply, but within seconds he was holding my lucky roll in his right hand. “This stuff is far too naughty for a good girl like you. A goddess of war and wisdom.”

I felt my mouth dry up at the oddly accurate yet strange observation. I am a classics major, and Thea is short for Athena. “I need it for my knee,” I said, holding out my hand, keeping my towel pinned with my armpit. “I have some big games coming up. We made it to the tournament.” I nearly clutched my head with embarrassment. How would a punk like this know what the tournament was, or the significance of it? I was making myself out to be an idiot, but I didn’t care. I didn’t go for his type, the gothic, pierced, tattooed kind of guy.

Normally.

“I like games,” he said, tossing the roll into the air and catching it behind him with a flourish.

“And yet you clearly don’t respect rules, given that you were about to smoke in our locker room.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “You going to show me how you use this tape, Goddess? Although I admit I’d rather see it binding my wrists rather than wrapped around your pretty knee.”

I reached forward and attempted to take the roll, but he just tossed it in the air again and caught it in his other hand before I could take a swipe. He shrugged off his leather jacket and exposed his muscular arms, which were ensleeved in tattoos. Not wanting to stare, but unable to stop myself, I admired the artwork. Swirling waves up his left arm, words spiraling his right.

But it was what was on his left forearm that gave me pause.

“The Lion Gate?” I asked, pointing.

He nodded. “Like what you see?”

I clutched the towel to my body and shook my head. “It’s Mycenaean. I’m a classics major. Now let me change in peace! Get out.” My cheeks were flushed and I was nearly as embarrassed as I was after last night’s game.

“Getting caught unawares in the bath, then blustering with a fiery temper. Just like your namesake,” he said, licking his teeth.

I had no idea what to make of him, other than the fact that he annoyed me with his don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and absurd hotness I wanted so badly to ignore. Maybe it was just my nakedness that was making my body think this way. And by that I meant slamming him against the tiles under the water’s spray and relieving him of his leather. I felt my heart pound and I rejected the fantasy. He was an intruder. How did this guy get past security if they stopped me?

I leaned toward him. “My friend upstairs, Matt, is a security guard. All I have to do is call up to him and he’ll be hauling your punk ass out of here. But I won’t do that if you just give me my goddamn tape so I can fix my bum knee and get home to watch the game.” I wasn’t about to ask him about my clothes, so I pretended I was totally cool with being in a towel and waited for his response.

He studied me for a moment, all sexy grin and naughty blue eyes. Baby blue, like the color of clothes you buy a newborn. Powder blue, impossibly clear. Ringed with a smudge of black liner, the color popped even more. And his face, despite being in his twenties or maybe even thirties, had a youthful, almost kiddish quality when he smiled that softened the harsh angles of his nose, cheeks, and jaw. He tossed me the tape.

“What’s your name?” I asked, curiosity overtaking my anger.

“I’d let you call me anything you want. Give me a name.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?” I asked, feigning disgust to hide my nerves.

He shrugged. “I
know
things, Goddess. My great-great-Gran said we had oracle blood.”

“Oh really.”

“Yes, and so that means I know you want to give me a name and make me your pet. If you do, I’ll give you some clothes to put on . . .” he taunted.

My body felt a rush not unlike when it was game time. I finally gave in to what the subtle hints of my body were telling me.

I was completely and totally hot for him.

“How about you do a little something for me?” I asked boldly, surprised at myself. He grinned and my knees wobbled. “How about you hand over those cigarettes you were going to use in my locker room.”

The grin didn’t falter as he handed me the pack.

“Have I earned that nickname yet?”

“Baby Blue,” I blurted. A smile slipped up one side of his face and I felt myself flush again. “It’s stupid.” I felt my knees wobble and I didn’t know if it was fear or endorphins. He reached forward and took my hand. His touch scorched. With his free hand, he procured the tee and shorts I had worn over here.

“Now don’t you go losing that fire,” he said, “because your blush is cute, but your eyes flash in the loveliest way when you’re angry.”

I breathed in through my nose and readied a verbal assault. Gorgeous or not, I didn’t have time for this guy, this Baby Blue. “Who
are
you?” was all I managed. Fighting the urge to check and make sure he didn’t swipe my panties, I kept my face impassive as he answered.

“Keaton Lowe,” he said, dipping his voice an octave as he said his last name.

He looked at me expectantly.

I stared back, hot breath flooding in and out of my nostrils.

“Well,” he said, stretching his toned arms and lacing them behind his head, “this tape isn’t going to bind itself.”

I wanted to wring his neck but kiss the smile off his mouth. “What are you talking about?!”

“I might as well do it myself,” he said, and turned away from me. He spun and showed me his handiwork—his wrists were taped together behind his head. My body reacted with a flood of tingles from my hairline down to my panty line. Had I been wearing any, that is.

I looked down. My tape was no longer in my hands. My body took over my mind and I stood over him, looking down at him through a cascade of damp brown curls.

“Have a seat,” he rasped.

Some primal part of me wanted to sit my bare legs down on his lanky, leather-clad body. I wanted to get rough with him, pin him down, and have my way with him. Another part of me didn’t want him bossing me around. It should be the other way.

“No,
you
stand,” I replied.

His blue eyes sparked and he met my request with a smile that left me dazed and breathless. I felt the towel slide incrementally down.

“I’m glad you want to call the shots, darling.”

I placed my hand on his chest. “Don’t call me darling.”

“Goddess, then.”

His laughing eyes met mine for a moment and my body begged me to kiss him. I wanted him, I didn’t know why, but in a million ways. Especially the ways he had suggested . . . something about calling the shots. He made me feel weak and powerful at the same time. I imagined throwing him to the ground, slinking off those impossibly tight leather pants, and having wild sex on the laminate floor. I marveled at the fact that I had three distinct and separate fantasies about him in the span of two minutes.

I blushed and met his gaze, which was now fixed on the door.

“If you’re going to tie me up and ravish me, oh feisty one, the least you could do is lock the door,” he said over my shoulder as three other roguish-looking men entered the room.

“What the—” I started.

“Kea, we leave you for five minutes and you start getting your kink on?” one asked, guitar case in hand.

“You’re the worst,” another said, scratching his stubble. “Sound check is in ten minutes, asshole. Hooking up with the students can wait.”

Keaton just leaned back into the locker, seemingly enjoying this embarrassing situation. I snatched the tape from his bound hands and stuffed it in my pocket. “I didn’t tie him up. He’s not hooking up with me,” I said, arms crossing tightly beneath my breasts. “What are you all doing here?”

Keaton snickered behind me. “I’ve been waiting for a girl like her, you know,” he said over my head toward the newcomers. “A fiery, wild goddess who doesn’t give a fig who I am.”

I looked back and forth between the men and my eyes went wide.

A concert
, Matt had said. Shit. Now that I knew he was a musician, his look totally made sense. He looked like he should be playing in Green Day, or some other energetic punk band. Fuck, a rock star.

“Go put on your show,” I said, turning toward Keaton. I figure I’d cut him out of his little self-made bondage, but I saw him peeling the last of the tape off his wrists.

“Give us a moment, boys,” he said, shooing away his bandmates. “Are you coming to see me tonight? I’d like to sing for you.”

I clutched my clothing and didn’t bother searching, but I could feel something in the pocket of my shorts. “I have plans.”

He stood, eye-to-eye with me, and grinned. “Don’t deny it, you want to come.”

I retorted like a spoiled toddler. “No, I don’t.”

He chuckled and shook his head slowly. “I told you, I
know
things. We will continue this, you and I.”

“Right, right, oracle blood.” I narrowed my eyes at him, stunned and somewhat disarmed by that grin again. “Wait, continue what?”

Again, my tape was in his grasp. He stretched out a long strip and shoved it in his pocket. “You’ll have me bound for your pleasure by the end of the month.” For once, he wasn’t smiling, but completely serious. His eyes searched around the room, seemingly for answers. Finally, he spoke. “Miami, perhaps?” His voice seemed louder and slightly ominous.

Miami . . . that’s where our regionals games would be set. Did he actually know where the tournament events were set? I’d never been there, but if we kept winning, we’d eventually play there. In less than a month.

I fumbled for words as he raised his hand to my chin and touched my lips with his thumb. “Pleasure to meet you, Goddess.”