Sacked (Gridiron #1) (9 page)

I
slept like a baby
. After Ellie left, I went straight to bed. I wasn’t lying when I told her it was the best orgasm I’d ever had. In fact, I’m a little concerned that I won’t be able to come without her around, now that I know what it
could
feel like.

I suspect that jacking off is all I’ll be doing in the foreseeable future. She’s skittish, and if I rush too fast I might be on the ass end of a hit it and quit it if she ever did give in.

About two seconds after my orgasm ran through me like a freight train, her eager, captive expression turned to embarrassment and then apprehension. I’m not sure if she is more afraid of me or what she’s feeling but we’ve got plenty of time to work that through.

In the morning, I get up and run five miles like it’s nothing, and then meet Matty at the weight room.

“That smoothie this morning tasted fucking awesome. What d’you think she put in it?” he asks.

I think back. “Spinach, because it looked green. Banana. Maybe strawberries?”

“Papaya,” Hammer grunts between blows of the sledgehammer on the tire. “Got to be because it tasted sweet.”

“Papaya? Where the fuck did that come from?” Matty scoffs. “It was pineapple.”

“We had pineapple three days ago, and this tasted sweeter, so it was something else.” Hammer jabs twenty pounds of iron in Matty’s direction. “Papaya is a sweeter fruit.”

“Where the fuck are they getting papaya?” Matty sits up and places his hands on his hips.

“Same place they’re getting the pineapple and bananas, dumbshit.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or ask Matty to hit me in the head with a fifty-pound weight. The conversation is ridiculous, but if Matty and Hammer weren’t arguing about something then it wouldn’t be a day ending in Y.

“Hey, Masters, got a minute?” Campbell steps up by the weight bench. I nod but don’t stop because I’m nearing the end of my second set of seated dumbbell front raise lifts with the twenty-pound weights.

“What’s up, Campbell?” I set the weights down on either side of the bench and reach for my water jug. Campbell doesn’t answer but looks pointedly at Matty and Hammer, who are still arguing.

“How do you even know if papaya is sweeter than pineapple?” Matty scowls.

Hammer lifts the sledgehammer over his head and brings it down on the tire. “Papaya has a higher fructose level.”

Jack and I exchange looks because neither of us can believe these two are still arguing about the fucking fruit.

“Matty, Hammer, I think Jesse needs some help.” Jesse didn’t need a damn thing, but it’s obvious Jack wants to talk privately, or as privately as you can in a weight room where fifty guys are lifting, throwing ropes, and doing chin ups.

Campbell lifts his chin in thanks as the guys wander off to see if Jesse can mediate their dispute. “What’s with the shrug before you do the dumbbell front raise?”

“Isolates the rotator cuff muscle.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Nice. Didn’t learn that at juco.”

“Small weights, more reps are my recommendation but I suspect that you didn’t come to talk to me about that.”

“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his pretty boy hair—about the same shade as his sister’s. The other guys on the team are blind. Ellie and her brother have many similarities—the color of their hair, the deep brown of their eyes. Ellie's a lot shorter, but she’s got the same kind of internal strength that Campbell has. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and my sister. She’s an adult, so I can’t prevent her from dating anyone, but if you hurt her, I’ll come after you. I’m psyched to be playing here, but I’d give up my place on the team if that’s what it came to.”

If Campbell meant to scare me off, he’s not doing a good job of it. Knowing she’s got a brother who cares about her? That her brother is the kind of unselfish guy who’d put his family first? I rub a hand across my chin while I think of a good way to respond. I won’t lie and say I’m not interested, but I also don’t need to tell him that I intend to bone his sister into next year, or that I spend most of my down time thinking about her naked, spread, and ready.

“I watched your tapes when I heard we made you an offer and hoped you would be a solid fit here. When you showed up and worked your ass off without complaining once, I knew that Coach had made the right choice.”

“That’s real nice of you, Masters, but that’s got shit all to do with my sister. She’s…a sweet kid. She might talk a good game, but she’s pretty soft under that outer shell.”

“I hear you. And you absolutely should kick my ass if I hurt your sister, but I have no intention of hurting her. I’m dead serious about her.”

He looks confused. “You barely know her.”

“I know enough. Sometimes it happens in an instant and sometimes it grows. Like you said, she’s an adult and can make her own decisions, but I appreciate that you have her back and that she has yours. Reminds me of the relationship I have with my brother.”

I pick up my dumbbells and start my third and final set. Campbell stands there watching me.

“You need anything else?” I ask.

He looks suspicious but shakes his head no. Matty and Hammer must have been watching us like a hawk, because they reappear almost immediately.

“It’s papaya,” Jack says before he goes back to the offensive squad. “Saw her put it in this morning.”

“I knew it,” Hammer crows. He shoves his hand toward Matty. “You owe me two beers tonight.”

Of course they bet over what fruit got put in the smoothie. I wonder what bets they’ve made over me and Ellie. Then I think it’s better I don’t know, because I’d have to kick their asses and that wouldn’t do a hell of a lot for team unity.

I
don’t sleep well
…at all. The whole night I keep replaying the bathroom scene in my head and it often morphs into something dirtier. Like Knox gesturing with his free hand to come closer. When I do, he points to the ground, and I fall to my knees and open my mouth.

Fortunately, Jack and his team stay busy for the next couple of days, and even better, he makes time for me away from the team after I turn down every single one of his dinner invitations.

I start my work on the Agrippa grant even though classes haven’t officially started. I’m fascinated by all the accommodations the law requires schools to give anyone deemed to have a learning disability. If my parents had tested Jack when he was younger, or if they had paid attention to how he did in school rather than on the field, his circumstances today could be so different. I can’t dwell on the past, but I can learn—in case Jack has a sudden change of heart.

While I can push the Jack thing to the back of my mind due to many years of practice, Masters is a different story. It takes until Sunday to convince myself that the Thursday night bathroom porn show was an aberration. We, despite having nothing to drink, got intoxicated on shit like the moonlight and the excitement of a new year. Those are weak justifications, but a girl has to have something to hold on to. Like Masters’ dick. A girl could really hold onto—

“You should try this on,” Riley says, interrupting my dirty thoughts. Thank goodness for that, because I need to get him out of my head.

Riley holds up a red strapless dress with a skirt that looks short enough to be a belt.

“I’d worry I’d ‘Lindsey Lohan’ everyone every time I moved.”

“It’d look good on you. You’ve got great legs.”

“And you look like a delicate fairy. I think you could pull that off. I need something longer, with more coverage. Why are we buying dresses anyway? Did we join a sorority and I missed it?”

“We’re not buying anything. We’re enjoying the scenery. How about this one?”

This one happens to be a one-armed body con dress that looks as wide as a stocking. I lift the price tag. “Two hundred dollars for a dress? I think not.”

“I could make something like this for about $20.”

“Make it like how?”

She shrugs and places the dress back onto the rack. “I sew a little.”

That’s what she does in her room when the door is closed? I smother a giggle. “Is that what you’ve got going on in there? I wondered what that humming noise was.”

“What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know. A really high-powered vibrator?”

“Seriously?” Her mouth falls open.

“No, God, I don’t know. It was a passing thought.” I grin. “There’s nothing wrong with a little mechanical assist. Helps you miss guys a lot less.”

“Well, this is good roommate information. When I hear a humming noise from your bedroom, I’ll make sure to leave a cigarette outside your door.”

I crack up. “And when I hear humming from your room, I’ll come in and watch.” Because I’m good at that, apparently. Soon Riley and I have both folded in half, laughing ridiculously loud between the Lycra and chiffon in the dress section. “Come on,” I gasp. “We need to get out of here before they kick us out.”

In the food court, over a diet soda and shared pretzel, I ask Riley how she got started sewing.

“We’re not very well off. I learned to make my own clothes.”

“That’s very
Pretty in Pink
of you,” I say admiringly.

She makes a disgusted face. “Molly Ringwald made a really ugly dress.”

“It netted her Andrew McCarthy, though.”

“True.” Riley drowns her pretzel bite in the cheese. “Anyway, I’m here on scholarship and I’ve got a work study job at the student center. This is a splurge for me.”

“A job and a full load? I’m impressed.”

She shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal. “What about you?”

“What about me? I don’t think my intramural softball team will demand too much from me.”

An uncertain look passes over her face but then it resolves into something like determination and she leans closer. “I saw your class schedule on the counter.”

Oh crap. I need to stop leaving stuff out. I’m not used to living with anyone. At junior college, we had dorm suites, which meant I had my own room. I need to treat my apartment like that—and keep my private stuff private. “Seven classes is a huge responsibility. Did your classes from your other school not transfer?”

I stare at my torn pretzel piece. “Some of those classes looked interesting and relevant to my major, so I asked around and found out I could audit them.”

“Ellie, I’m your roommate, which means whatever goes on in the apartment stays in the apartment.”

I don’t like perceptive people, I decide. Masters is like that, too. He can read every emotion that I have. I try to make a joke of it. “So if I’m Dexter, you’re okay?”

“If you’re eliminating terrible people and cleaning up after yourself, then yes, I’m on board.”

I glance into Riley’s warm hazel eyes and see nothing but acceptance. But I’m not ready to confess to a secret I’ve kept for nearly a decade. I don’t even know if Dad knows the full extent of the work I’ve done to keep Jack eligible, even in high school. It’s something that only my mom and I communicate about. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. How about we go to the bookstore? Wasn’t there a book you wanted to get?”

There is, but I can’t find it on the shelf when we arrive at the store. Riley excuses herself to go look at the craft books while I hit the information desk.

“Do you have the latest book by M. Kannan? It’s a fantasy.”

“Sorry, that young man over there picked up the last copy.” The gray-haired lady points down the aisle toward a tall, imposing frame propped up in one of the chairs by the in-store cafe. A tall, imposing,
familiar
figure.

I march over before my warning system has time to power up and urge me to run for my life. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m gathering reading material. I asked this hot girl out to breakfast, but she turned me down. I think my potential topics of conversation were too limited.” Masters holds up a biography of our current president in one hand and the fantasy novel I’ve been waiting for an entire year to read. “Help me out here. If you had breakfast with a stud like me, which book would you rather discuss?”

“Masters, seriously, what are you doing here?” I refuse to let him charm me. He’s wearing his standard uniform of cargo shorts and dark T-shirt. This time the knit is a deep green that makes his eyes pop. I’ll pretend his mother bought him the shirt and not a former girlfriend, because it’s totally a color a woman would purchase.

“I’m buying a book.” He looks at his full hands. “Maybe two since you can't make up your mind either. What are you doing here, Ellie? You aren't following me, are you?”

“What?” I say a little too loud and heads turn our direction. “No, I am
not
following you,” I hiss in a much quieter voice.

He lowers his own voice and I have to lean in to hear him. “It's okay if you followed me. I approve of your stalking.”

“I’m not stalking you,” I bite out, but then because I want to buy the book in his left hand, I paste a smile on. “I think the biography. Why don't I go put that other book back for you? This book has sex in it.” I point to the novel.

“Good thing I'm over eighteen. It’s frustrating to want things that people hold out of your reach.” He shakes his head in mock dismay.

“Don’t you have practice?”

“Not today. It’s Sunday. Even football players get a day of rest.” He smiles but it dies off when I continue to glare at him. He sets both books down on the table. “I want you to go out with me.”

“I don’t date football players,” I answer automatically.

This concept is apparently so foreign to Masters he literally scratches his head. “So you had a bad past experience. We’re not all the same person.”

“It has nothing to do with a bad breakup and I know better than to say all football players are like one asshole.”

“So, you did date one.” He nods as if this is the answer to everything.

“Yes, but he didn't break my heart. Or at least not in the way you think he did.”

I felt hurt when I found out Travis had cheated on me, but I also felt glad to see the ass end of him. What made me angry was the way he treated Jack. That’s what pissed me off. That’s the warning I take with me.

The problem with Masters is that I’m very attracted to him, more so than a normal girl is attracted to a normal guy, which is why I can’t just walk away from him. I know that standing here having this conversation gives all the wrong signals. If I really didn’t want Masters, I’d walk away. We both know it.

“Okay. We have this
thing
,” I wave my finger between our bodies, “going on. I think the best thing we do is have sex, burn it out, and go on our own way. I won’t even tell a soul that we did it and you can continue with your virgin cover story.”

His face tightens. I don’t know if it’s because I accused him of lying or because I want to have sex without any emotional attachment, which is weird because most guys would jump up and down for joy at this offer. “If all I wanted was a quick lay, you and I both know I could get that without any effort. I want something more than that from you.”

“Welcome to disappointment. It’s character building.”

I force myself to turn around and walk away. The chair scrapes behind me, and then his big hand turns my shoulder and backs me up against the bookcase holding stories about dead girls hacked up by serial killers and other true crimes. Seems apt.

He leans down, so close I can smell him—a mix of warm male and citrus—and it’s so good my knees get a little weak. “I’m not experienced, but I know when a girl is into me, and you're into me. You want to play it casual, then that's how we play it...for now. But fair warning, I'm bringing everything I’ve got to tear down your resistance. My specialty is reading plays and then overcoming the barriers.”

I lock my legs to keep from falling over and pull out the biggest barrel I have. “Masters, there are things about me that if you knew, you wouldn’t want to spend another minute in my presence.”

He considers my words, the silence taking on heaviness, and part of me already aches for what I could have if I was any other girl at Western. “Have you killed anyone?” I can feel his eyes assessing me and I keep my gaze averted, afraid of what I’ll see in his moss green gaze.

“No.”

“Have you slept with my brother?”

“What?” I can’t prevent myself from gawking at Masters, who’s smiling as he asks the question. “No! God, I’ve never even met him!”

“Are you catfishing poor athletes from Auburn? Wait, don't answer that, because I don't think I'd find that objectionable. Oh, I have it—” He snaps his fingers.

“This isn't a joke, Masters.”

He tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Until you tell me what it is, it’s not a reason to stay apart either.”

I suck in my lower lip to prevent throwing myself at him and telling him to take me.

“Why?” I ask helplessly.

“Because I like you.”

He grips me by the chin and lays down the gentlest, sweetest kiss. In that kiss, he tells me everything. That he wants me. That he’s willing to take it slow. That he’s not giving up. He kisses me as if this is the only thing he wants to do for the next ten hours.

His lips barely move but I can feel everything in me surge toward him. The short wedges I shoved on this morning feel precarious. I grip his shoulders to steady myself and then find myself rising up on my tiptoes to press deeper against him. He hauls me flush against him until I can no longer touch the floor.

His one hand palms nearly my entire back while the other angles my head for better access. He may be a virgin, but the guy knows how to kiss. His tongue finds places inside my mouth that I didn’t even know could feel good.

All the pent up desire boiling in me for days comes pouring out. I attack him with my kiss, biting his lower lip, sucking on his tongue. Against my belly, I can feel the hard ridge of his very large erection. The image of him standing in that dim light, stroking himself until he comes, flits through my mind in a series of graphic, 3-D images.

“God,” I breathe as he abandons my mouth to trace the line of my jaw with his lips. He growls in response and pushes me back against the bookcases, but I don’t even mind that the shelves bite into my back. I just want more.

He gives it to me. We cling to each other, feeding off each other’s seemingly endless need, until I hear a gasp and then a muted giggle. Those two faint sounds somehow manage to break through the haze of lust, and bring with it the realization that I am in a very public place. I wriggle against him and he sets me down reluctantly.

“We're in the bookstore,” I say in a scandalized voice.

“You've never kissed a guy in the bookstore before?” He grins, the wicked mischievous grin I'm beginning to associate with something tremendously naughty. “There's a first time for everything.”

He steps away, breathing heavily. His untucked T-shirt—the one I apparently ripped out of his shorts—hangs long enough to cover part, but not all, of his bulge. After he’s done adjusting himself so as not to scare any children in the store, he strides over to his abandoned books.

Riley’s face pokes itself around the end of the bookcase. “Is it safe to come into the True Crime section? Because I saw some mauling going on and ran for safety.”

“Har, har.” I push back my hair with a weak, shaking hand.

“Who's this?” Masters says, returning with his two books. Make that one of his books and the book that belongs to me if he would let me buy it.

“Riley Hart. Knox Masters. Masters, this is my roommate, Riley.”

“We're back to Masters, huh? Disappointing.” He shakes Riley’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You guys look like you had an intense conversation.” She smirks.

“Ellie and I are discussing where she’s taking me on our first date. I hope it’s not to that dog movie. I swear he’ll die at the end and then I’ll sob like a fucking baby. Nearly had to walk out of
Bridge to Terabithia
. That shit is not good for my image.”