#Score

A
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

B
enji

P
rofessional soccer is
all I ever wanted,

And that goal is about to become a reality.

Growing up, part of "The Dirty Trinity,"

My brother, cousin, and I have owned sports,

And women,

In every way.

And now, it's only going to get better.  

Soccer, women, money--it's all in reach.

B
ut
, I didn't count on meeting Ramona.

That sexy, sassy, smart-mouthed chick,

Knocked me on my ass,

And took my breath away.

Hell, I don't need a distraction,

Not this close to the endgame.

But, I can't let her slip away.

Not now.

Not ever.

R
amona

A
masterpiece--exquisite and stunning
,

That's what I've always dreamed of creating.

Meeting an All-American soccer stud was never on my agenda,

But damn, now that I have, he's the muse I've needed all along.

Totally wrong for one another--from different worlds.

Together, we don't make sense.

Apart, we can't survive.

But only one of us can achieve our dreams.

Can I walk away from love to get what I've always wanted?

B
enji

I
’ve got to admit
—I’ve outdone myself this time. This weekend’s hot piece has soft skin a shimmery shade of light honey, tanned to go along perfectly with her long blonde hair. None of that fake shit, either. Anchored to a tiny waist, her hips bell out to the nicest ass I’ve seen in weeks. I’m surprised my handprints aren’t still left behind on the round cheek peeking out from under the covers. I almost want to spread her legs again, but I’ve got a code to stick to. No double-tap, not even for a chick this smoking hot.

The girl groans and rolls over as if she somehow knows what I’m thinking, her smudged dark eye makeup reminding me of a raccoon when she finally sets her eyes on me. A slow, sleepy smile spreads across her face and she reaches out to take my hand. “Morning, sexy.”

Nope. I take my hand back and stand up tall, pulling my arms up over my head to stretch like I always do on the field. “Hey.” The disappointment that takes over her face is easy to see, but I’m used to it. I don’t fall for any of those pouty tricks. Never have.

Mindy . . . Mandy? sits up, not bothering to cover up her amazing tits. I don’t blame her because if I were her, I’d walk around all day like that, because it’s a crime to cover them up.

“I can make us some coffee,” she says as she slides her legs off the side of the bed, leaning over to grab her phone. A huge grin breaks across her face and her fingers are flying over the letters on her phone. Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone text that fast. “Oh my god, they are going to freak the hell out.”

Well, that’s a first. I mean normally when I start to leave the next morning, I have to hear shit from the girl. But Mindy here is more worried about her BlueBirdy feed than me. Huh. It might actually be a blessing in disguise. But as soon as I start backing away to grab my clothes, she looks up at me and frowns. “Wait. You have to at least let me get a picture of you. No one will believe me otherwise.”

Say what? I look down for a split-second. “I’m down for exhibitionism, but even I have to draw a line.”

Mandy presses her lips together. “You can wear clothes, although if you want to keep your shirt off, I won’t complain. All I need is one picture.”

I raise a brow at her. Most girls are sneaky about trying to get a picture of yours truly. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what the picture’s for?” I still back up a couple of steps at a time, looking around the room for my clothes.

“Am I really the first to ask for a picture? Wow, that’s even better. Now my page will definitely blow the fuck up,” she says more so to herself than to me. She flips her phone around and I’m staring at a black and white picture of me, my older brother Cal, and my cousin, EZ. Across the top of the picture are the words Dirty Trinity in bright red letters. Underneath the picture is a huge line of comments, all tagged with #dirtytrinity. I snort. “Is that a picture of me and my boys on Mumblr? Just when you think you’ve seen it all . . .” I’m well aware of the fact that we have a small following, but this is the first time I’ve actually seen a website devoted to us. It’s cool in a way, like a rock star with groupies but without the drugs.

“Yep. And I’m going to have the first picture proof that I fucked you,” she says. Mindy lets out this weird giggle and holds her phone up in front of her for a second too long.

“Hey. I didn’t say you could snap a picture of me like this. I’m proud of my dick and all, but I don’t want that shit all over the Internet,” I shout, quick to snatch the pink phone from her hand. The picture’s deleted in a matter of seconds before I toss it on the bed. I’m not sure if I should be more flattered or pissed off that she just pulled that. Damn, I knew I should’ve bounced as soon as I woke up instead of checking out her ass some more. Guess this is what I get for thinking with my dick again. “Time to bounce.”

She’s already pissed that I yanked her phone away and threw it on her bed, but the moment she sees me start to gather my clothes up, it’s like she’s got snakes for hair. “So that’s it? Not even a fake ‘I’ll call you sometime?’” She stands up and puts her manicured hand on her hip (the one with the sexy birthmark), and I know I’m in trouble.

Shit, I really need to get the hell out of here. I’ve got way too much going on without some female drama from Mandy. Or was it Mindy? “It’s 2017. No one calls anyone anymore. And why lie and say I’m going to? Besides, don’t you have some fanfiction to write about me or some shit?” As bizarre as that sounds, I’ve actually read a really weird short fanfiction about me, Cal, and EZ, written by someone who goes by ALL3INMYPANTS. Speaking of my pants . . . where the hell did they
go
?

Damn, now she’s scowling at me like some sort of forest animal baring its teeth. Yikes. “God, you’re a fucking prick, Benji. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this happen? I’ve been one of your biggest fans since you started going to Clemson. And we’ve even had classes together for the past year. I let you borrow my fucking notes like four or five times, even.”

I finally pull my jeans up and over my ripped legs—you don’t become an All-American soccer player without hitting leg day pretty much every day at the gym—and roll my eyes. What is this girl smoking? She thinks she’s going to take an unsolicited pic of me in all my naked glory and I’m still going to ask for her number? What planet is this chick living on? “Hey, it’s been fun, but I don’t rinse and repeat. Especially when it comes to a girl who would sell our sex tape for twenty bucks if it got her more likes and comments.”

The moment I hear that smart-ass ‘no-fucking-way’ chuckle come out of her mouth, I’m already debating grabbing my shoes and making a run for it.

“I am
so
putting all of this on my post. Everyone’s going to know how big of an asshole you really are, I swear it. Just wait.”

“Ouch. You wound me, madam. Sorry to hit it and run, Mindy, but I—”

Fuck. Abort. Abort. Her eyes go all wide and I swear to God there is steam coming out of her ears. “Mindy is my sister. I’m Mandy. You fucked
her
last year, remember?”

I scoop up my wallet and keys faster than if I were dribbling the ball downfield and manage to pull her dorm apartment door shut behind me right before something loud thuds against it where my head was.
Jesus.

I take in a deep breath and jog down the path between the on-campus apartments until I’m in the parking lot. My lovely lady awaits me and I sigh once I sit inside of her, glad to be through with this damn place once and for all. The deep red 1970 Buick GSX my granddad helped me restore in high school purrs under my guidance and I smile, no longer thinking about Mandy and her craziness. About how fucking weird it is to be an Internet celebrity when I have literally done nothing to make it that way.

“Thanks for the memories, Clemson, but I got bigger and better things to worry about now,” I say to myself, not giving a damn if anyone sees me or not.

* * *

W
alking
into the house from outside is like stepping inside a huge refrigerator. Slipping my shoes and socks off, I wiggle my toes around, letting the cool air hit them. I don’t bother calling out for Aunt Mel since I know she’s not here. She’s probably not going to be here until the afternoon, exhausted and ready to sleep until late tonight after pulling a double shift at the hospital.

Luckily for me, she’s left some of her ridiculously delicious lasagna, and I grab a bowl and fork to dig in. When I get back on the couch with the heated-up leftovers in hand, I slide my phone out of my pocket and look for the last text message from my brother, Cal. We’d been talking about our plans for the big vacation in L.A., not to mention how stoked we were about the SuperDraft coming up.

I’m all set to become the next player for the highest-bidding SLA team, with everyone wanting to get their hands on the Lundgren jersey. Not that I can blame them, because I know I’m the best out there at the moment. And probably for a lot longer, too. If I had to make an educated guess, I would say that more likely than not, I’ll be drafted to the L.A. Universe, pretty much the most well-known SLA team in the country. They just retired their best striker, and they’re on the hunt for the newest face of the team. If they pick me, that’s exactly what they’ll get. If you pick up any soccer-related magazine nowadays, you’ll see my handsome face smiling up at you, with a list of my stats from high school on. I went two years straight without missing a goal. Two whole fucking years straight. And records? I’ve beaten them all, and I’ll be glad to beat more once I’m in the pro league.

Yeah. I’m that guy. The cocky one, but that’s nothing new, believe me. It’s kinda hard not to be when you can do the crazy shit I can with my feet. And hands . . . if you ask the ladies, that is.

I send out a new text to Cal, asking him about when we will be meeting up in L.A. Me and Joshua, my fellow Clemson teammate, are flying out to California tomorrow, and we’ll be seeing my brother later on at night. He’ll be driving in from San Francisco, where he plays for the Mammoths in the BLA.

Two brothers on two different professional sports teams are one thing, like the Mannings, the Barbers, and the Tillmans. But my family blows that out of the water.

Me, Cal, and our older cousin EZ are collectively known in the sports enthusiast world as the Dirty Trinity. A family like ours only comes once in a blue moon, and we’ve got three corners of the sports world on lockdown. EZ is a seasoned quarterback for the Carolina Cougars while my brother Cal plays a mean shortstop and has an insane batting average of .3587.

Thanks to EZ, we’ll be partying it up in our nice suite at the Ritz-Carlton, though once I’m signed, I’ll be able to bankroll plenty of celebrations on my own dime.

The doorbell rings and I hop up, wiping any remaining red sauce from my face as I peek out the window. And right on time, it’s Joshua.

“Hey man, what’s good?” I say, letting him in past me. Joshua’s got his whole everything packed into a giant suitcase, it looks like. “Damn, you moving out there already or something?”

He just rolls his eyes at me and laughs. “Nah. But you always have to be prepared, right?”

“Yeah . . . in the Boy Scouts maybe. So I heard back from Cal and it looks like he’ll be meeting us at the hotel around eight or so. Which means we have the whole night ahead of us tomorrow. Damn, I can’t wait.”

“I know what you mean. It’s going to be fucking insane. Have you ever left South Carolina, country boy?” he asks me as we crash on the couch.

I think about it for a second but already know the answer. “Nope. Tomorrow’s going to be the start of a beautiful thing, my friend. I guaran-fucking-tee it.”

He nods and we both lay back against the couch, thinking about what’s ahead. “Hey, you never told me what happened with that girl last night.”

I shake my head slowly, laughing at the image of Mindy . . . or was it Mandy? Her ballsy way with her phone, snapping a picture of me with my dick and balls all up in the picture. The way she looked so pissed right before I managed to dodge out the door of her place. Sure, I thought I was fearing for my life at that moment, but now looking back on it, it’s just fucking hilarious to me. “Oh God. Which part do you want to hear about? Before or after her crazy psycho side came out?”

Joshua lets out a whoop and punches me on the shoulder. “Dude, are you for real? She seems so quiet in class. I had no idea, man. So what did she do?”

“Well, she was fucking awesome in bed. Best head I’ve gotten in a few months at least. But then she went all crazy on me and took a picture of me while I was buck-ass naked.”

He’s trying so hard to hold back his laughter and failing so bad. “The fuck? Who was she going to show it to? Her grandma?”

I shrug. “She said she wanted to prove to everyone that she and I fucked, I guess. You remember that night we found out about the whole thing online about me and the guys? And read that weird-ass story? She’s one of those chicks—those fangirls. She got pissed off when I told her I was leaving and that there was no need to give her my number or anything. And after that? I don’t know, she threw something at me, but I ducked out the door before it hit. From the way it sounded, it was pretty damn heavy too.”

He chuckles for a moment and then pauses to look over at me. “Now that you mention it . . . I did see another girl we just graduated with talking about how I could make some money just by selling some of your stuff to people. I’m talking weird shit too, like your toothbrush. What the fuck are them girls going to do with that?”

“Shove it in their pussies like it’s magic? I don’t know.” I don’t need to get wrapped up in some girl’s feelings here when L.A. is calling our names. “We’re off to L.A., baby.” We fist-bump just like we always do after a winning game. The nightlife, the lights, the booze, the girls . . . what more can I possibly ask for?