Campus Player by Jennifer Sucevic
Rowan
From the corner of my eye, I watch Coach’s closed office door. Barely do I hear the guy next to me yapping my ear off. Every once in a while, I grunt to let him know I’m paying attention even though I have no idea what he’s talking about. More than that, I don’t care.
What the hell is Demi doing sauntering into the locker room? She doesn’t belong in here with a bunch of half-naked guys. Anger slides through me as I take in the scene. Some of them are full-on naked, standing around with their junk hanging out for all to see.
For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t need to be looking at that.
“Dude, are you even listening to me?”
The question snaps me out of my Demi-filled thoughts, and I reluctantly drag my gaze to Brayden Hendricks. This is our fourth year playing together. He’s the best wide receiver the Wildcats have. Like me, he’s a senior who will enter the draft come the spring. He’ll leave a huge gaping hole in the program when he graduates.
“Yeah, I heard you.”
He crosses his arms against his chest and jerks a brow. “Really? What did I say?”
Busted.
I drag a hand through my hair in annoyance and jerk my shoulders. “Dunno.”
He flicks a glance toward Coach’s office. “Does your distractibility have anything to do with a certain dark-haired soccer player?”
Fuck.
I don’t make a habit of talking about my feelings for Demi. It’s something I avoid at all costs. Although, I shouldn’t be too surprised that Bray has figured me out. He’s an astute dude. It’s what makes him so damn good at his position.
Well, there’s two ways I can tackle this situation. I can man up and come clean or—
“Nope.”
Deny.
Deny.
Deny.
He snorts before grabbing a T-shirt from his locker and dragging it over his head. “Whatever you say, man.”
The door to the inner sanctum opens and out walks the girl we’ve been discussing.
“Speak of the devil,” he murmurs, smile simmering in his voice.
If it were possible to force my attention away from her, I’d shoot him a death stare.
“Hey, Demi,” Brayden yells in order to be heard over the raucous noise inside the locker room. When she glances in his direction, he adds, “Good luck with your game tonight.”
Her expression softens as she smiles. “Thanks.”
When I remain silent, Brayden clears his throat. “Is there anything you want to say, Rowan?” A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. Barely is he able to suppress the laughter attempting to break loose.
Her gaze skitters to mine, and I feel the intensity of her dark depths like a punch to the gut. Getting sacked by a defensive tackle doesn’t addle my brain nearly as much as being in her presence. It’s as if everything around us falls away before she rips her gaze from mine and hastens her pace, silently disappearing from sight.
“Wow, that was a super smooth move, Casanova. Your rep as a player has clearly been well earned.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I grunt before scowling.
“You might have a thing for her, but she definitely wants nothing to do with you.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“You have to admit, it’s an ironic situation.” My glower doesn’t stop him from continuing to share his thoughts. “You can have any girl you want on campus with the exception of that one.” He spears a finger at the spot where Demi last stood.
Again...tell me something I don’t know.
“Plus, I can’t imagine Coach would be cool with you sniffing anywhere around her.”
Precisely the reason I haven’t made a move in her direction.
“Damn, but that girl is fine!” a freshman yells, interrupting our one-sided conversation.
“Yeah, I’d sure love to get my hands on that,” another bonehead chimes in from the other side of the wide space.
“When the hell did she grow up so nice?” Arron McKinley shouts.
Unable to listen to another word, I snap, “Shut the fuck up!” Silence descends. “That’s Coach’s daughter you’re talking about!”
Arron grins before holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “What? I’m just stating the obvious.” He glances around as if expecting the others to chime in and agree with him. Most are smart enough to keep their traps shut. “We’re all thinking the same thing.”
“Well, don’t,” I growl. “Have a little fucking respect.”
I’m about to lay into a couple of the younger guys when Coach opens the door to his office and hollers, “Michaels, see me before you leave.”
With one last glare around the room, I grab a T-shirt from inside my locker and yank it on. The blood rushes through my veins and pounds in my ears. I don’t like these guys looking in Demi’s direction, much less talking about her. The whole thing pisses me off. They better not let me hear them spouting off like that again, or I’ll be cracking some skulls together. I don’t care if we’re on the same team or not.
“Uh-oh, looks like someone caught wind of the little crush you got going on,” Brayden snickers like the asswipe he is.
I certainly hope not. Coach wouldn’t be pleased about my interest in his daughter.
Instead of responding to the taunt, I give him the finger. Brayden flashes me a grin before hauling the athletic shorts up his thighs and snapping the elastic band around his waist.
A knot of tension settles in the pit of my gut as I make the walk to the office. I hesitate outside the door for a moment before rapping my knuckles against the frosted glass and popping my head inside. “Hey Coach, you wanted to see me?”
Air gets trapped in my lungs as the older man glances up from the shit pile of paperwork on his metal desk. He waves me in, pointing to the chair on the opposite side of him. “Yeah, have a seat. This’ll only take a moment.”
Well, fuck.
Maybe Brayden was right, and Coach has finally figured me out. Since the very beginning, I’ve done my best to cover up my feelings when the three of us are together. I can’t imagine what Demi’s father would do if he discovered my dirty little secret. Probably boot my ass right off the team. He would stop inviting me over for Wednesday night dinners and letting me hang around like I’m part of the family. I don’t think I could stand that. It’s not only about my need to be close to Demi but because of Nick Richards. The man is like a father figure to me. More so than the sperm donor who spawned me.
“Yeah, Coach?” I slide tentatively onto the chair.
He glances up after studying the manilla folder in his hand. “Your statistics grade is slipping. I spoke with Professor Peters this afternoon, and you’re clinging to a C-.”
My shoulders loosen in relief. I should have realized that was the issue. Stats is a massive pain in my ass. I have no problem wrapping my head around most of my classes. That one, for whatever reason, evades me. All Professor P has to do is lecture about quantitative data, inferential statistics, and parameters, and I go a little lightheaded. It’s like he’s talking in a foreign tongue. If I could avoid the damn class altogether, I would gladly do so.
Unfortunately, it’s a requirement for my major. Some guys in my position might skip it and not bother to finish out their degree but I’ve come this far; I’m sure as shit not going to let a statistics class stand in the way of being the first in my family to graduate from college. I’ll need something solid to fall back on if the NFL doesn’t work out long-term.
I’m sure that Demi’s presence in the same section doesn’t help matters either. I have a difficult time concentrating on Professor Peters and his monotone lectures when she’s seated next to me. Especially when the scent of her floral shampoo teases my senses. It’s all I can do to stop myself from scooting closer and inhaling a giant lungful of her. If I weren’t so masochistic, I’d sit my ass elsewhere. But that isn’t going to happen.
I’ve seen the way some of the other guys eye her up in class like she’s a juicy steak they want to sink their teeth into. Sitting next to her every class period is my way of staking my claim. Maybe she doesn’t realize what I’m doing, but yeah...that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ll be damned if some other dude hits on her right in front of my face.
I can’t imagine Demi would be overly thrilled if she realized my intentions.
From what I can tell, I rub her the wrong way. It’s been like that ever since I met her the summer before freshman year of high school. I’ve never seen any girl go to such great lengths to avoid coming in contact with me. It would be funny if it weren’t so damn sad. She’s friendly enough with most the other guys on the team, but with me, she’s always careful to maintain a distance. Like I’m a leper fresh from the colony. I can’t get most of the girls on this campus to leave me alone and yet, like Brayden said, she won’t give me the time of day.
As much as I hate talking about stats, I’d rather discuss that than the hard-on I sport anytime his daughter is near. I drag a hand through my damp hair and shove it out of my eyes before shifting on the chair. Even thinking about her is enough to give me wood. “Yeah, I need to put a little more time into that class. The last quiz didn’t go so well.”
That’s an understatement.
Homework is the only thing saving my ass right now.
And it’s not by much.
Coach shakes his head and points to my hair. “You got a real mop going on there, Michaels. Maybe you should consider cutting it.” A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I got a razor around here somewhere. I’d be more than happy to buzz it off right now. All you have to do is say the word.”
The familiar conversation settles something inside me, and I smile. “Nah. If I cut the hair, I’ll lose all my power. You really want to be responsible for that?”
He snorts and pulls off his ball cap, plowing his fingers through his thinning strands. “Must be what happened to me.” He clears his throat and shuffles the papers in front of him. “If you can’t get this grade up, you won’t have to worry about your power. You’ll spend part of the season riding the bench.” He raises a brow. “I can’t imagine you want that to happen.”
“Nope.” The thought is enough to have my blood curdling in my veins. With the upcoming draft, all eyes will be on me this season. I need to be stacking up those passing yards and lead the conference in touchdowns which will help me win a Heisman.
“Good. Let’s nip this in the bud before it gets any further out of hand.”
I tilt my head. “How are we going to do that?”
With a grin, he stabs a finger at me from across the desk. “I’m glad you asked.”
Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.
“I found a tutor for you.”
Great. The last thing I want is to work with some starstruck fan who is more interested in riding my dick than improving my stats grade. Been there, done that. Not interested in a repeat performance.
Before I can ask if there are other options we can consider, he continues. “Demi has agreed to tutor you for the next month or so. With a little hard work, there’s no reason you can’t lift that grade.”
Fuck. That’s even worse.
Everything inside me goes whipcord tight. “Demi?”
“You two are in the same section, right?”
“Ummm, yeah. She’s in there.”
He tosses the folder onto the desk and claps his hands together like he solved both world peace and hunger in one fell swoop. “Then it works out perfectly.”
I wouldn’t go that far. Even though I’d like nothing more than to spend a little alone time with his daughter, it’s a shit idea. I can barely keep it together when she’s sitting next to me in class. Working one-on-one will probably kill me. Or I’ll break the promise I made to myself long ago to keep my hands off her.
My mind goes to what transpired in the kitchen last night. It took every ounce of my willpower not to haul her into my arms and kiss her. I’m walking a thin line here. I’ve done my best to bury my feelings for Demi, but it hasn’t done a damn bit of good. If anything, they’ve only continued to grow and flourish. Seven years is a long time to hold a torch for a girl. At some point, the dam is going to burst, and all hell will break loose.
That’s not something I want to happen.
“You can set up a schedule directly with her,” he says, interrupting the whirl of my thoughts.
Well, hell. Maybe I should suggest working with Professor Peters. Except...he bores the shit out of me. It’s like my eyes are conditioned to glaze over as soon as he opens his mouth. Talk about being trapped between a rock and a hard place. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
I mull over my choices before finally mumbling, “Yeah, all right. Sounds good.” Decision made, I rise from my seat and trudge to the door. As I reach for the knob, I pause.
Don’t say anything, asshole. It’s none of your damn business.
Maybe not, but still...
Before I can stop myself, the word is shooting out of my mouth. “Coach?”
“Yeah?” He glances up from his desk to meet my gaze.
“It’s probably not a good idea for Demi to be walking through the locker room when the guys are in the middle of changing.”
Silence descends. I probably should have kept my big trap shut.
His brows furrow as he swipes his tongue carefully across his teeth. “You’re probably right.”
Relief floods through me as I slip from the office.
If that girl is going to be checking out anyone’s junk, it’ll be mine.
I wince.
Fuck.
Maybe Coach thinks he’s doing me a favor by having me work with his daughter, but all he’s done is the opposite.