Playing Hard: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (34 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

RILEY

I know what the letter is before I even open it. It’s from the Blaketon University Office of Scholarships and Financial Aid, which, for me, can only mean one thing: my athletics scholarship is being reviewed. In light of everything that’s happened, I can’t really say I’m surprised.

I toss the letter without even looking at it onto a pile of dirty laundry. The University wants someone’s head over this whole fiasco, and it’s not going to be Bryce’s. The kids who held the party are in enough trouble, but they’re nobodies, really — just students whose party got out of hand.

It’s my head that’ll be on the chopping block. I already know the story: the scholarship kid who wasn’t grateful for his opportunities. The poor kid who just couldn’t stop himself from reverting to type. Never mind that Bryce and dozens of other trust fund babies were also at the party — that’s
different
, somehow. They’re just boys who were having fun, not a menace to society. That honor’s reserved for kids like me.

I’m lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I’ve been doing that since I woke up this morning. I haven’t moved an inch. Usually I can’t stand just lying around and I have to get up and do something as soon as I wake up, but now, I just don’t feel like it.

I don’t really feel like doing much of anything.

Ava’s been calling me, but I haven’t been answering. I haven’t seen her since the party. I know I have to talk to her at some stage, but right now, I just don’t want to have that conversation. I don’t even know if I’m going to bother going to the hearing for my scholarship. If they want to kick me out, they’re going to — it doesn’t really matter what I say.

And, well, fuck them, honestly. I don’t need a college degree. I could go pro early and be pulling down enough money to
buy
the scholarships office. It means they won’t have playing for them this season, so good luck with that. I don’t need a single fucking one of them. Getting the scholarship and playing for Blaketon was all just a means to an end anyway: getting scouted for the pros. And I’ve got the team scouts’ attention already. I could do it. I could go sign a deal tomorrow if I wanted to.

But something about doing that rubs me the wrong way. Yeah, in the long run I’d prove Blaketon was wrong to get rid of me, but leaving just doesn’t sit right. I know I have nothing to prove to them, but at the same time, letting them take away my scholarship feels like I’m admitting defeat. Like I’m going down without a fight.

And I’ve never done that in my life. It’s just not in my nature.

There’s a knock at the door of my bedroom.

“What?”

“Riley? There’s someone here to see you,” Reid shouts through the door.

“Tell them to fuck off,” I reply. I’m not in the mood right now.

The door opens anyway, and I’m about to throw a pillow at Reid for not following my directions when I look up and see Ava standing in the doorway. Dressed in knee-high woolen socks, a plaid skirt, and a sweater. Just the way she was when she flashed me her panties after getting out of the car.

She looks good enough to eat.

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” she says.

Not even a
hello
or
how’ve you been?

I look away from her, stretching out on the bed.

“I haven’t been in the mood to talk,” I say.

“Or to clean, apparently,” Ava says, and I can see her looking around out of the corner of my eye.

“If you just came here to bitch about my room, you know where the door is,” I say.

“Don’t be such an ass. And move your feet, I want to sit down.”

I realize she’s not leaving anytime soon, so I sit up on the bed, putting my hands behind my head and leaning back against the wall.

“Any reason why you’re in such a foul mood, and why you don’t want to talk to me?” Ava asks. “I thought we — I mean, I know we didn’t
talk
, but —”

I shake my head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

I point at the unopened envelope still sitting on my pile of clothes. Ava reaches over, picking it up.

“You haven’t even opened it. How do you know what it is?”

“Trust me, I know.”

Ava tears open the envelope, slipping out the letter and unfolding it.

“‘Dear Mr. Knox’,” she starts reading. “‘This letter is to officially inform you that your athletic scholarship is under review.’” She pauses, sucking in a shocked breath, before continuing. “‘If it is found that you have, by misconduct, breached the terms of your scholarship, your scholarship will not be renewed for the coming academic year. This cancelation will be in accordance with NCAA Bylaws 15.3.5 - 15.3.5.1….’” Ava trails off, but she’s still staring down at the paper. “It says here you can contact the director of the Scholarships and Financial Aid Office to request a hearing, if you want to argue your case,” she says.

I shrug. “Yeah.” 

Ava doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Is Omar in trouble too?”

“Nah, he’s fine,” I tell her. “He Skyped his sister when he got home and posted a selfie, and the timestamps prove he wasn’t anywhere near the party once it got hectic. He’s in the clear.”  

“Are you going to ask for a hearing?”

Am I?

“I don’t know.”

“I think you should.”

I shrug. Half of me wants to set up a hearing and argue my case. The other half of me just wants to tell them to fuck off if they’re so willing to make me the scapegoat here — that I don’t need them and I never did.

“Maybe. Maybe I should just go pro early and forget about college.”

“Not graduate?” Ava turns to look at me. I can hear the surprise in her voice. I suppose, for her, the idea of leaving before you’ve gotten your degree is downright scandalous. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why the hell not?” I ask. “I don’t need a degree to play football. The only reason I went in the first place was to get training and get noticed.”

“And what’ll you do if you get injured? Or if you need to have a fallback plan in case something doesn’t go right?”

“I don’t
know
, Ava,” I say, getting frustrated. “Football’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Football’s my first plan
and
my backup plan, all right?”

Ava’s quiet. I can see the gears ticking in her head.

“Well, firstly, I don’t believe for a second that that’s true. Maybe football’s the thing you’ve worked hardest at, and that’s why it’s the thing you’re
best
at. But it’s not the
only
thing you can do.” She turns to me, touching my arm. “But if you feel that strongly about it, why not fight? You have the chance to have a hearing — you should take it.”

I frown. “I could transfer and play somewhere else. There’s plenty of other schools, especially Division II schools, who’d chew their left nut off to have a player like me in the team,” I tell her. “With me, they’d cream their opposition.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ava argues. “But it’s the
principle
. It’s not fair that you should have this taken away from you, when you weren’t even involved in the out of control stuff! The only reason you were even
there
when the cops showed up was because you were trying to help people. You could have run off, but you stayed. You shouldn’t be punished for that.”

I know she’s right. The injustice of it is burning me up too.

But still….

“It’s a hearing, though, Ava. I know someone who went through one once, after his grades dropped. It’s so stupid — you have to do opening and closing statements, present evidence, like you’re a fucking lawyer or something. I’m no good at that kind of shit. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Riley,” Ava says, her tone steady. “I’ve been on every debate team for every school I’ve attended since I was ten. I’ve done a million presentations. I’ve sat on tens of selection boards for peer awards and things like that. I’ll help you do any preparation you need. I’ll coach you. I know what these kinds of panels want to hear, what kind of thing appeals to them. I’ll help you with what you should say in your opening and closing statements, and organizing your evidence. Honestly, this is child’s play to me.”

I turn my head to stare at her.
Of course it would be,
I think. Ava’s grown up around this kind of stuff — she knows about it.

“Are you serious?” I ask her slowly. “You’ll help me put together everything I need for the hearing?”

Ava gives me a weird look. “Of course I will. Why would you even need to ask if I’m serious about that?”

I don’t know what to say. The way she said it — as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to offer to do — has me so disarmed that the only thing I can do is lean across and kiss her.

She kisses me back, hard and long, her tongue sliding into my mouth easily. God, I never want to stop kissing her — kissing her makes everything else that’s been bothering me slide away, like it can’t touch me anymore. Kissing Ava is like finding my own little haven of peace while the rest of the world goes crazy around me.

She pulls back a little, running her tongue over her swollen lips, wetting them.

“I — I told my dad. About us. I told him the truth.”

I look down into her blue eyes, stroking her cheek with my thumb.

“Shit. What did he say?”

“He… said he needs to think about it,” she says. “I don’t know what he needs to think about. But he
does
need to understand that this is
my
life, and I’m going to live it the way I want to.”

She leans forward, kissing me again, her lips pressed against mine, our tongues twining. When my hand drops to stroke the section of exposed thigh between her skirt and her socks, she whimpers, shuddering under my touch.

It’s been the longest time that we’ve gone without touching each other since that day in the library, and I’m so hungry for her I can barely stand it. My cock is already hard in my sweats — God, the things this girl does to me are unbelievable. I want her so badly I’m almost busting out of my skin. I can’t wait. I have to have her.
Now.

When my fingers slide to press between her legs, I find her panties already soaked right through. She moans, writhing a little against me as I stroke her through the material, parting her legs around my hand.

“You want this,” I mutter when I pull my lips away from hers and begin kissing down her jaw and throat. I want to kiss every inch of her — or not just kiss. I want to fucking
devour
her. Find every single place on her body and lay claim to it with my lips and tongue. She’s
mine
, and I’m never going to let her go.

“Yes,” she whispers. Her hands grab the back of my head as I push her sweater and shirt up, mouthing at her nipples through her bra. They’re hard and straining against my tongue, desperate to be touched.

She shows me just how
badly
she wants it a moment later when she slips her hand into my sweats, curling her fingers around my hard cock and giving it a firm pull. I growl, biting into the skin of her neck, making her cry out.

“Come on,” she whispers, her fingers working me over. “Don’t make me wait. Come
on
.”

Ordinarily, I’d tease her, drawing it out for as long as possible, but now, I just don’t have it in me. I’m desperate to be inside her — to make her mine all over again.

I push her back on the bed, shucking my sweats down over my hips. My cock is hard where it pushes against her thighs, and despite everything I still find I can tease her
just
a little, rubbing her with it through her panties, grinding up along her lips.

“Fuck, Riley,” she gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders. Her face is flushed, and she arches up against me.

Running my hands down her sides, I yank up her skirt and pull her panties down, sitting up a little to slide them off over her ankles. She’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen right now — skirt hiked up over her hips, sweater pushed up to expose her bra, hair disheveled on the pillow beneath her. She’s panting for me, pussy lips and insides of her thighs shiny and wet.

God, I’d love to bury my face in her pussy right now and eat her out until she’s screaming and trembling, but when I start to lean down to do just that, Ava grabs my face, drawing me back up.

“Another time,” she says breathlessly. “I just want you inside me. Please.”

I’m happy to play it that way if that’s what she wants, and I lie down again, covering her body with mine, sliding into her slick pussy with one smooth movement. Ava cries out when I enter her, throwing her head back, her teeth bared.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “Oh God, I missed this.
Fuck.
”

I can’t tell if that’s a command or not, but I treat it like one — I pump my hips, fucking her hard, driving into her with such force she has to arch her back and grab my shoulders to hang on. I kiss her hard and bruisingly, and for a moment I think I might have gone too far, except for the fact that when we break apart for a moment, the only word on her lips is
yes, yes, yes.