Read Lane (Made From Stone Book 1) Online
Authors: T Saint John
Lane (Made From Stone Book 1)
Made From Stone
Lane
T. Saint John
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are purely coincidental.
Made From Stone Book 1- Lane
Copyright © 2016 Trina San Juan
All rights reserved
Cover photos owned by Trina San Juan and Darren Birks. You may not copy these photos without written permission of its owners.
All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or photos herein is prohibited without the express written consent of the author.
First eBook edition 2016
kindle edition
Natasha Harvey, my PA. Thank you for being my jack-of-all trades. You put so much hard work into getting my books out there and I can’t thank you enough. I value our friendship and hope to meet you some day. I can’t wait to hear all your ideas moving forward. Love you, girl.
Tricia Riley, thank you for coming on board and helping me turn Lane into the man he is. Your storyline ideas and changes benefit this book immensely. I can’t wait to return home. Drinks on me?
Kelsey Keeton, what can I say? When I shared Lane with you, I was shocked to get your feedback. The way you turn a scene into a story is amazing. You hooked me with your first suggestion in the Lane and Jill scene. You’re so talented and I will read anything you write.
Noelle Vallance, you’ve been on this crazy ride with me from the very beginning and it means the world to me. Thank you for standing beside me, and thank you for actually not killing me. Maybe one day we can vacation together and get those sangrias.
My cover model and photographer Darren Birks. Female cover model Rachel Morris
Books currently available by author T. Saint John
Finding Stone (Lane’s parents’ story)
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00UIZALWO
Rebuilding Stone
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00ZLVVXGI
Uncovering Stone
http://www.amazon.com/Uncovering-Stone-Brothers-Book-ebook/dp/B01597FHRO
Upcoming books
Gavin Stone-- Book 2 in the Made From Stone Series
Expected release April 2016
Please follow me at
https://www.facebook.com/T.SaintJohnAuthor
Table of Contents
Prologue
Lane
“PICK UP THE DAMN BALL AND RUN A MILE WITH IT!” I scream at my sophomore running back. I swear that kid can’t handle a ball, even if it meant saving his own life.
“Sorry, Coach,” he says and takes off running, football in hand.
Coaching isn’t what I planned to do growing up, but it sort of fell in my lap. Throughout my childhood, my family and I were big Chicago Bears fans. We never missed a game, but I was the only one to play football in high school. My brothers and sister chose different paths. Logan and Lucas shined on the basketball court while Landon played baseball, and Lacey finally stuck with something when she started to dance.
I never wanted to make it into the NFL. I surprised everyone when I didn’t enter the draft. They kept talking about how I was giving up millions, but life has never been about money for me.
I like teaching; it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. My mom called me her “studious one” because I never slacked off in high school or college. When I took the job at Lakemont High, I thought I would just be a History teacher. When word got out that I played at Notre Dame and could’ve gone pro, the sports administrator asked if I could help out coaching football.
The team had only won three games in the previous two seasons, so I agreed. I started out as assistant coach but this year I’m head coach. This team is a great group of young guys who have failed only because of the previous coach’s lack of knowledge about the sport.
I don’t expect us to win the state championship this year, but I do expect to show that we are a team to watch out for. That is, if I can get Lewis to, “HOLD ON TO THE DAMN BALL!”
He’s just running; no one is chasing him, no one is tackling him, and he just dropped it - again. Idiot!
“What the hell, Lewis?” I ask.
“My hands are sweaty,” he explains. It’s July and the temperature is in the high 90s.
“So are mine, so are Mark's, so are everyone else's on this damn team. Do you see them dropping the ball?” I ask angrily.
“No, sir.”
“Then pick it up and run it again.”
Chapter 1
Mallory
“Wake up, you’re going to be late!” I hear my sister Amy say.
“Five more minutes,” I plead.
“No, get up! It’s the first day of school,” Amy says. God, she can be so annoying.
“Alright, I’m up,” I groan as I roll out of bed.
I slip on my shoes before putting my feet down on the disgusting carpet and the even more disgusting bathroom tiles. I'm sure if a forensics team were brought in, they would solve some cold case murders. The smell in the bathroom suggests the lack of bladder control of past occupants. I can’t believe I have to start my senior year off like this.
I shower quickly but only because it just takes a couple of minutes before the water turns ice cold. Grabbing the clothes I picked out the night before, I give them a good shake just in case any bugs decided to get comfy in them last night. In a pair of white shorts paired with a blue V-neck t-shirt, I’m not dressed fancy, but at least I don’t look like I’m living in Mike's motel, and for that I’m grateful.
It doesn’t take long for me to get ready in the morning. I’m a redhead and my skin is pale; I can’t overdo the makeup without looking like a hooker, and luckily, my hair is straight, so I don’t have to tame curls or fight frizz. I can just blow dry, swipe on mascara, and go, which is what I do before I grab my backpack and head out to my Honda Civic.
Once I’m in the car, I make the 30-minute drive. It could be much faster, but I refuse to take the freeway, even the thought of it gives me chills. So, for now, I stick to the side roads leading to my new school. Thankfully, nobody knows me here so it’s a fresh start. I’m actually excited to start over.
After parking and heading into the building, it takes no time to realize I’m lost. This place is huge. I can barely move in any direction as students and teachers alike are bumping into each other in a rush to get to class, maybe it’s only this chaotic because it’s the first day.
I have my class schedule in hand, and I’m trying to decide which direction I need to go when I’m bumped from behind, and pushed straight into the back of some guy standing in front of me. I have to grab onto him to keep myself upright. What a way to start my first day.
“Easy now,” he says, as he turns with an irritated look.
“Shoot, I’m so sorry! I got pushed,” I rush to explain. His face softens, and I’m immediately drawn to his dark eyes; I’m locked into them. Someone needs to push me again, because I can’t stop staring.
“It’s all right. You new here? You look lost,” says the gorgeous man standing in front of me.
“Ah. . . well. . . I. . . ah. . .” I mumble, unable to answer his question. Who can concentrate on anything when they’re staring at someone who looks like him!? He must be used to girls drooling because he does this thing with his mouth. It’s like his grin is naturally cocky on its own, parting just enough to where his tongue pokes through. I find myself noticing this and it makes me blush.
As usual, the halls are busy, and I hate this crap. The school is trying to get a system in place so we don’t have this happen every day, maybe having the upper-classmen meet in the gym and the lower-classmen in the cafeteria. They better do it quickly, I think to myself, just as someone slams into my back and holds on by grabbing me just above my cock. Praying it’s Miss Conley, I turn around and am annoyed to find out it's a student. I’m even more annoyed that she is staring at me all doe-eyed.
Every year one or two girls have some sort of obsession with me. My brothers and cousins joke about me being around barely legal, beautiful girls. I hate to disappoint them, but young girls do not appeal to me, maybe because I see their daily over-the-top drama. High-school girls are honestly mean; I’m pretty sure venom runs through their veins.
This girl is no different as she mumbles and fails to answer my simple question. So, I ask another.
“Whose class are you headed to?”
She gives herself a little shake and replies, “I’m sorry. I am new, yes, and I’m looking for Mr. Stone’s class,” while clearing her throat multiple times.
“You’re in luck. I’m Mr. Stone and we're going in that direction," I point toward my classroom, "if you want to follow me.”
Before we move, I take hold of her firmly planted hands and remove them from my hips. I have to stifle a laugh because her eyes go wide, and her cheeks blush scarlet for the second time since we first spoke.
“Oh. Ok, sure,” she says and follows behind me the rest of the way.
“Here we are,” I say.
“Thanks. I’m sorry for bumping into you, I was pushed from behind,” she rushes to apologize again.
“It’s ok,” I say, leading her into the classroom.
Oh, my God! He’s my teacher. I don’t know why that disappoints me, but it does. Heck, I’m sure it disappoints all the girls in this school. I need to get him out of my thoughts fast, because I can’t afford any distractions this year. I’m depending on scholarships to pay for college. If I don’t get any, chances are I won’t go.
“Settle down, everyone,” Mr. Stone says, trying to get the attention of the very loud class. It takes a few moments before it’s completely quiet. I take a seat in the back; I don’t want to have full view of this good-looking man all year.
“I start every year with brief introductions. I like knowing my students and some of their goals. I’ll go first, you all know I’m Mr. Stone and that I coach the Lakemont Eagles,” everyone cheers at this. “I graduated from Notre Dame, and I’m a huge fan of the Chicago Bears and the Fighting Irish.”
He looks around the room before speaking again, “Okay, we’ll start in the front and work our way to the back,” he says, and points to a girl who has on enough lip gloss to stick to the wall if someone pushed her. She’s twirling her hair through her fingers, and all I hear are a bunch of 'umms’ and 'so yeahs.’
I guess I was right; all the girls have a thing for Mr. Stone. Why do I feel so jealous? I know I’m being silly, but I start thinking about what I’m going to say. I must get completely lost in thought, because the boy in front of me taps on my desk to let me know I’m up. Well this is embarrassing; everyone is looking at me like I'm a freak.