Tackled: A Sports Romance (2 page)

"
S
ay what
?" The dumb jock with the enormous cock – his words, not mine, but hell if I wasn't thinking the same thing – stares at me with a confused expression on his face.

"I'm your tutor, you idiot," I repeat. "You were supposed to meet me at the athletic center an hour ago."

"You're a tutor?" he asks.

"Yes," I say. "You remember those things that you go to in college, where you show up and learn things and take tests? They're called
classes
," I enlighten him. "They're the things that happen in between sliding off the roof and drinking beer. I’m supposed to help you not fail them."

"You sure as shit don't look like a tutor," he says, his eyes trailing up the length of me for about the tenth time. He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he's checking me out, and I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks again. My face must be totally red, which is completely embarrassing when you're trying to appear unruffled.

Like it's every day that a hot guy steps out of a pool and stands right in front of me, totally naked. With droplets of water running over his muscled arms, and across his pecs, down his chiseled abs…

Snap out of it, Cass. What the hell is wrong with you?

I force the image of his naked body out of my head. Especially the image of the lower half of him. Yeah, I snuck a peek at the goods. I mean, he was putting it right out on display.

Focus.

"What's a tutor supposed to look like?" I ask.

"I don't know," he admits. "But it's sure as hell not you."

I bristle at his words, clearing my throat and straightening my back. I get it. He's used to being surrounded by gorgeous big-boobed sorority girls, and I definitely don't fit the bill.

Who cares what he thinks? This is just a job. One I'm not even sure I want anymore.

"Well, that's what I am," I say. "But I'm sure sliding off the roof and chugging beer is more important than passing your classes. I don't know why I'm here. Or why I got hired at all. I don’t know why you even need a tutor. I’m sure the athletic department has an arrangement with your professors to pass you through your classes anyway.”

I turn to leave, and he grabs my arm. Usually I'd hit a guy who grabbed me like that, but the sensation of his hand on my skin sends a jolt of arousal running through my body like electricity.

That's
not something I've ever felt before.

I whirl around like I've been shocked, shrugging his hand off as I turn. "Did you just grab me?"

"I didn't – just hang on a sec," he says, stammering. A sheepish expression creeps across his face.

"What?" I ask, exasperated. This was a big mistake. I can get a traditional teaching assistant job and not have to deal with a football player with an over-inflated ego. I'll just have to find one. Sure, teaching assistant positions are hard to come by, but I'll find something. Something other than this.

"If I'd have known they'd give me a tutor who looked like you, I'd have asked for one a long time ago." The sheepish look is gone now, replaced by the same cocksure grin he had earlier, and it totally rubs me the wrong way.

Yeah, right, Cass. You know you'd like him to rub you the right way.

I flush warm at the thought. Inappropriate. Totally inappropriate. And not true. I'm so not attracted to this cocky prick.

"Well, maybe you can request that for your next tutor," I say, "because it won't be me."

"Come on." Colton grins. "Do I need to drop the towel to convince you?"

The sheer arrogance of what he says makes my eyes widen in disbelief. "Goodbye, Mr. King."

I turn to walk away, this time not turning around. I hear the arrogant football player tell me to turn around, but I don't, mostly because I'm afraid of what I'll see if I look behind me.

He's probably standing there naked, showing off his enormous cock.

Don't look. Don't look.

I mentally congratulate myself for not looking as I leave the party house.

Even if I totally can't stop thinking about that dick.

Or his penis.

"
Y
ou did not tell
me you were tutoring Colton King," Sable yells from the kitchen.

"I didn't think it was important," I yell back, tucking my feet under my butt on the sofa. I dig into my to-go container of Pad Thai from my favorite Thai restaurant before grabbing my glass of wine off the coffee table.

Wine. That's seriously what the doctor ordered after the afternoon I just had.

My roommate appears in the kitchen doorway with a to-go container in one hand and a fork in the other, shoveling a giant bite into her mouth. Sable is the exact opposite of the kind of person who would have been friends with me in high school, or even when I was an undergrad. She was definitely one of the popular girls, all long blonde hair and blue eyes and legs that go on for miles.

And she eats like a racehorse, never gaining an ounce.

She's the kind of girl I should hate, except she's nice – so nice that it's impossible to hate her, even though she's perfect.

"You didn't think it was
at all
significant that you were going to tutor Colton King?" she asks.

"By your tone, I can tell that it was supposed to be," I retort.

"It's Colton King." Sable crosses the room and flops down on the other side of the sofa.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? You know I don't watch football. He's a good player, I assume?"

Sable sighs. "Yes, Cassie. He's a good football player. He's
the
football player here. You seriously need to get out more. You’ve never even been to one game."

I shrug. "I never know what's going on in the games. Remember when you tried to teach me last fall? That was not a success."

Sable laughs. "How could I forget? I don’t know how someone as smart as you can’t understand a game.”

I shrug. "I just don't get it."

"Okay." Sable turns around on the sofa to face me, her legs crisscrossed underneath her. "Football aside, you do get that Colton King is legendary, right?"

"He's, like, eighteen years old," I say, rolling my eyes. "How can he be legendary?"

"He's twenty-one. You've never seen him in a magazine or anything?" she asks. "How are you this sheltered?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that question."

"He's one of the hottest college football stars in the game right now," Sable tells me. "On
and
off the field."

"I saw that much," I admit. The mere thought of Colton standing in front of me —naked with water glistening on his body — makes me flush.

Sable's eyes widen. "What did you see exactly? You had your first tutoring session?"

"Wrong," I say, shaking my head. "He didn't show."

"Oh. That's disappointing." Sable frowns. "Well, I'm sure they'll assign you to someone else. And if not, there's always selling your panties on the internet."

"Ugh. I am not selling my panties on the internet. Where do you come up with this stuff?" Sable didn't need to worry when our department funding was cut, because she comes from money – big money. As if being gorgeous and thin weren't enough, she has family money too.

Her last brilliant solution to my financial plight was to be a dominatrix. She said I had the disposition for it. I'm pretty sure that just means I'm a grumpy bitch.

"I hope they can find me someone else," I say. "I definitely don't want to tutor that arrogant prick."

"I thought you said he didn't show."

"Yeah, he didn't," I tell her, waving my hand dismissively. "So I went to his house."

Sable snorts. "You went to Colton King's house?" she asks. "Did you see him?"

I take a gulp of my wine. "Yeah, and I saw
way
more of him than I bargained for."

"Well that sounds promising," she says, her eyebrows raised. "I want to hear everything."

"There is no
everything
to tell," I say. "Seriously. The coach gave me his address because he said there was a possibility Colton would be a no-show."

Sable laughs. "No-show for a tutoring session? I'd say
possibility
was an understatement."

"Okay, so I went to his house and it was just this giant party," I say. "I mean, at three in the afternoon."

"Today's probably an off-day from training," Sable considers, nodding sagely, her glass of wine in hand.

"How do you know this stuff?" I ask.

Sable shrugs. "High school cheerleader, honey. I've dated athletes."

"Isn't football season over?" Okay, see, I know something about football. I'm actually proud of that fact.

"Yes, summer's off-season," Sable says slowly, like I'm a small child incapable of understanding large words. "They still train off-season. Though not as hard as they will come fall."

"Anyway, it was crazy," I say. Heat rises to my cheeks at the thought of all of the half-naked coeds waltzing around the house like it was the set of a porn shoot. Not to mention the thought of Colton… naked and standing in front of me by the pool, water droplets rolling down his chest, little rivulets that glistened off his pecs in the sunlight.

"Hello?" Sable waves a hand in front of my face. "Are you daydreaming about him?"

"No," I protest, wrinkling my face in disgust. I'm not sure whether the disgust is real or feigned. "I am absolutely not daydreaming about Colton King. The party was... like nothing I've ever seen before."

"I'm sure," Sable says, the edges of her lips turned up in a knowing smile. "It was a football party. So, back to Colton …"

"There's nothing to tell," I insist. "He was an ass. He was sliding off his roof into a swimming pool – completely naked — and I'm pretty sure he was greased up with lube or baby oil because he was shiny and there apparently were naked girls wrestling in lube somewhere else in the house. And he was totally arrogant. He called me a stripper. Can you believe that?"

"He was naked," Sable says.

"Of all of the things I just said, that's the part that jumps out to you?"

"The question is, did it stick out to you?" Sable says, wiggling her eyebrows and leering at me.

I narrow my eyes. "Is that a penis reference?"

"Yes, Virgin Mary, that's a penis reference," Sable teases. "Oh my God. Was that the first time you ever saw a real life cock?"

My face reddens. "I'm a virgin, not a nun," I say. "Yes, I've seen cock before."

None like that one, though.

"So you saw Colton King's dick," Sable says, looking at me over the edge of her wine glass. "Was it everything I imagine?"

"It was... big."

Sable laughs. "I assume so. That's part of what's legendary. Was it gorgeous?"

"I'm not a penis connoisseur," I say. "I don't know."

It was fucking spectacular.

"So he talked to you," Sable prods.

"He called me a stripper."

"I guess he thinks you're hot," Sable says. "It's a compliment. And you got to see Colton King naked. How is this not the best day ever?? We should be celebrating!"

"Seeing some stupid football player naked isn't the highlight of my day, Sable," I say haughtily.

Sable laughs. "It should be."

"
A
cademic probation
. Do I need to spell it out for you?" Coach Walker asks. "You think you're hot shit just because you had a good run last year? You don't get your fucking grades up, you're ineligible in the fall. Which means you don't play."

I mumble my protest. All of the mouthy shit I can get away with when it comes to other people definitely doesn’t fly with Coach.

“Skipping classes, not turning in assignments, partying …” he goes on, ticking off my list of sins. His face turns redder and redder as he gets louder and louder. “The university isn’t tolerating that shit anymore.”

“It's not like I need English 212." I blurt it out without thinking. I had an amazing fall. I’m shit hot and I could go pro early if I wanted. Fuck this "finishing college" bullshit.

“You need it because I say you need it. You’re going to get with the tutor I assigned you, and you’re going to learn some goddamn discipline.”

The tutor I was assigned. The hot little librarian with the smart mouth.

Her brand of tutoring might not be so bad. My dick stirs at the thought of her in that skirt and heels. I wonder what the skirt would look like pulled up around her waist.

"Coach?" I ask.

"What?" he barks.

"I think she might have quit."

"Then you will be your charming self and get her back," he says.

"Can't we find another one?"

"Another tutor who doesn't know who the hell you are and isn't going to let you get away with shit?" he asks. "She's your goddamn tutor. So whatever you said to her, you un-say it."

"Yes, Coach."

"
S
hit
, ma, I told Drew not to tell you," I complain into the phone. My mom’s voice on speaker echoes through the car. I should have known my damn brother would tell her. My own twin, a traitor.

"Well, he told me because he's a good son," she says, laying on the mom guilt. "Unlike his younger brother, who's off at school on the other side of the state partying and doing God knows what else. You're not on drugs, are you?"

I laugh, then cover it with a cough. My mother is the definition of overprotective. I can't blame her, though. I'm sure my brother Drew and I have given her plenty of cause for having a heart attack over the years.

"You laugh," she says. "But if you are, so help me, Colton Anderson King, I will come down there myself and –"

"I'm not on drugs, mom," I interrupt before she completely spirals out of control. "You know they test us for that shit anyway. And I'm only younger than Drew by two minutes."

A fact that Drew has loved to remind me about ever since we were kids.

"I worry," she says. "You have to think about the future, Colton. It can't be parties and girls your whole life. If you get to the pros, all that stuff will still be there."

"And you'll still be giving me grief about parties and girls," I groan back. I've heard this lecture a million times.
Be responsible. Think about your future.

"Because I'm your mom and that's what I do," she says, her tone softening. "But you're not going to have a future if you don't get your shit together, Colton King. And I mean that literally. I brought you into this world, remember that."

"Did you just cuss?" I can count on one hand the number of times in my life that I've heard my mother cuss.

"That's what you're driving me to, son!"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I assure her. "I've got to go, mom. They assigned me a tutor. I have to meet with her."

I have to go sweet-talk her into tutoring me.

"Her?" my mom asks. "Is she cute?"

"Mom," I groan. "I'm hanging up."

"You can't blame me for wanting a grandchild someday," she says. “But not now. Make sure you use condoms and –“

"Love you, ma," I say, pausing only for a second for her to say it back before disconnecting. My mother is insane. I'm twenty-one and she's talking about grandchildren.

I text my brother.

D
rew texts
back a photo of himself grinning. My brother and I have been best friends our whole lives. He's playing baseball at a college in South Carolina. It's been a weird adjustment to be separated from my twin, for sure.

I scroll through my photos and find a picture of my dick – yeah, I have dick pics on my phone – and text it to Drew.

Then I get out of the car. This is supposed to be the tutor's address – Coach gave it to me, even though he wasn't supposed to. I promised on pain of death that I was going to be polite and gentlemanly and not do or say anything remotely inappropriate.

I inhale deeply. I can do appropriate.

Fuck. When's the last time I didn't say something inappropriate?

I'm screwed.