Falling For Dad’s College Rival by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Six

Trent

I don’t expect Mike Wheatley to be over the moon to see me, but snatching Brooke away so soon isn’t playing fair.

It is supposed to be a social event after all.

Signaling her from a distance, I feel relief when she smiles. Receptive to the feeling I’m broadcasting, and if it’s anything like how I feel from her touch, I know I’m not imagining things.

But nothing worth having is easy to come by.

It’s in that same moment I’m beckoning her back over to me with my finger, that some drunk idiot almost falls over her, hands where they should never be.

That’s my cue to step in.

Her old man taking her to one side, maybe. But another man trying to lay a hand on what’s mine? No fucking way.

I recognize Butch Wilson long before I reach him.

He used to beat kids up and tell everyone it was me, which didn’t do anything for my image in high school and later in college.

He looks worse for wear, and not just from tonight’s drinks. He looks like a guy who’s fallen on hard times because of it, but it’s no excuse for acting like a sleaze.

In a single movement, I have him by the scruff and am helping him outside when the Dean is suddenly beside me, begging me to be discreet.

“You mean, don’t break his hands?” I growl, still mad that anyone would do something so stupid, but to Brooke especially.

“Precisely,” Dean Chambers grovels, making apologies to his fellow guests as they move aside.

“For the sake of our overseas friends too,” he adds, reminding me quietly that if he does well, I do well.

That old backscratching favor is like a god damned tattoo.

Very hard to erase once it’s applied.

By the time I get Butch outside, he’s flaked out anyway. Sitting him on a bench under some cover, I ask Dean Chambers if he can arrange a cab or have someone drive him home.

“I’ll have it seen to,” he clips and moves back inside, looking more like he’d rather deal with his conscious crowd than one drunk almost ruining the whole party.

Some lightning flashes silently and I observe the chill in the air before figuring old Butch Wilson isn’t going to bother anyone else tonight, so I head back in myself.

My eyes peeled as I look out for Brooke.

But the gods of test and challenge aren’t done with me yet.

I hear a whining, nasally voice followed by a high-pitched cackle.

Then I get a face full of way too much drug store perfume, followed by the icy claws of a stranger’s acrylic nails digging into my arm.

Looking down, I figure this might be the second drunk of the night, but no. She seems sober as a judge, which is frightening in itself.

I try to disengage from her, pulling my arm back. But she has a grip like iron.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Trent Latham,” she coos, making my skin crawl at the fact this person even knows who I am.

I’m sure she’s a nice enough person, despite the fact she looks like something that has a nozzle somewhere to inflate it.

But apart from really not being the kind of woman I’d like to have hanging off me on a good day, right now I have somewhere else I’d like to be.

With someone else.

“Look,” I tell her, stopping just long enough to try and ease her hands off me one more time.

“I’m really in a rush to meet someone else,” I tell her. “And I’m sorry, but I really don’t know who you are,” I add truthfully.

Most everyone else here I probably could recognize at fifty paces, even after twenty years.

“Oh now, Trent. Don’t be playing shy with me,” The woman drawls, showing no sign of letting go of me.

“It’s me. Ellen?” she says matter of fact, looking hurt when it registers that I still have no idea who she is.

“I had a little work done,” she blushes, rolling her eyes and letting one hand off me just long enough to squeeze half her own chest.

I furrow my brows, shaking my head in the negative. I move my eyes back to the crowded room, eager to find Brooke but at the same time wanting to get free of this harpy from the past.

“I really don’t remember you,” I tell her firmly, and using just enough friendly pressure, I free her hands from my sleeve, telling her I really have to go.

She whines and hisses something about all men being assholes when I catch a glimpse of Brooke.

I can see Mike her dad too, looking suddenly cozy with someone.

Pity, I would have liked to have introduced him to Ellen here, whoever the hell she is.

But something tells me it’s too late.

Too late for me to hook Mike up with someone as a distraction, and too late for me to talk some more with Brooke.

I’m no dummy, and I know an upset girl when I see one. All Ellen types aside.

Brooke’s turned suddenly to leave, and I try to get her attention before she’s gone, but I have the sinking feeling she saw this woman hanging off me and got the wrong idea.

Dammit.

I’m not interested in some Barbie doll look-alike, and I don’t give a damn if I make a scene anymore.

The thought of Brooke leaving, walking out of my life before she’s even in it is too much to even think about.

Yanking myself free from her, I almost knock a few other people over in the process to get free from this Ellen creature.

I shove my way through the crowd, figuring there’s only one other way out that Brooke could have gone, and by the time I get clear of the room I can see her outside.

I call out to her, but a huge crash of thunder drowns out my voice.

Feeling another hand on my arm my reflex is to raise a hand of my own to it, but it’s Dean Chambers again.

“Oh, what is it now?” I snarl, looking back outside, ready to call for Brooke again, but only seeing rain starting to fall.

“I just wondered if you might want to say a few words before dinner,” The Dean suggests, looking suddenly soured by my attitude.

“Hang your dinner, Dean,” I rasp, looking back just long enough to tell him. To tell myself out loud.

“If she goes now, I might never get another chance!” I call out, taking off into the night. The icy cold sting of hard rain doing nothing to dampen my drive, but only making it harder to see and slippery to navigate the cobblestone pavement.

“Brooke!” I shout aloud, over and again. And in every direction, I can think of. I run a circuit of what feels like the whole college until my legs burn and my side aches.

I’m panting for breath. Panting for her.

My hands on my knees as I double over, more crestfallen than exhausted.

It takes a while, and I’m soaked through, but I finally realize she’s gone.

The rain feels hot now, my skin burning up under it. And once it feels like I’ve run around for nothing except to get soaked, it stops.

A thin haze of mist rises from the old college streets as I make my way back to the hall.

My car’s there, I guess I’ll head home.

But passing by the hall, I hear the Dean calling out after me yet again.

I groan loudly, trying to tell myself not to give the guy a knuckle sandwich for his troubles.

Hearing him clopping after me, I spin on my heel, ready to tell him I’ve had enough for one night, when it occurs to me he might be able to help.

“The girl,” I tell him quickly, cutting him off before he can even speak. “Mike Wheatley’s daughter,” I add, seeing a vague look of recognition in the Dean’s eyes.

He can see I’m in no mood to fuck around and nods slowly but firmly.

“It’s very important I speak with her, tonight,” I explain rapidly. “Now, can you tell me if she still lives with her dad and if so, I’ll need their address,” I add firmly.

Chambers nods to himself and then half chuckles.

“Trent? I apologize,” he says, lowering his voice and ushering us both over to a more private area, away from the other guests but also from the heavy drips falling from the ancient trees around us.

“I thought I’d done something to annoy you, or maybe you were through helping me. But now I think I understand,” he adds with a smile, tapping the side of his large nose as he gives me a wink.

“I’ll text you the address in a few minutes,” he says, leaning in to express the supreme nature of confidentiality he’s about to break.

“Thanks,” I tell him, and I turn away toward my car. “Anything else I can do to help, with the college I mean...” I trail off.

As long as it’s not tonight.

Maybe not for the next few nights, if I have my wish granted.

“Are you sure you won’t just say a few words, Trent? It would mean a lot. To me and to the college,” the Dean echoes, but it’s no good asking me anything now.

I’ve made up my mind, what I want, and I’d trade every dime I have for another chance at tonight with Brooke Wheatley.

I couldn’t care less if her dad was the devil himself. She’s mine.

If she’ll have me of course.

My old football injuries are beyond aching by the time I reach the car, and after I strip to my boxers, I change into a spare set of clothes I always have in the trunk. An emergency suitcase of stuff in case I get called away or have to stay somewhere on business.

I’m changed and refreshed by the time I get the Dean’s text, followed by his call.

“I’m just wanting to make sure she gets home safe,” is all he needs to know. “If there’s time or even a chance of it, I’ll see if I can stop by before the nights over,” I tell him too.

The least I can offer in way of thanks for him doing me the solid by giving me her address.

Pulling away from the college with a little too much speed, I hear my tires screech at the first corner as I speak the address into my GPS.

I feel a similar thrill from her touch, knowing where she might be, racing to find her.

And what exactly are you gonna tell her?

Hopefully, too many words won’t be required.

Like I told the Dean, I just want to make sure she got home safe.

If she went home, that is.

If she didn’t then I guess it’s plan B.

Which I don’t exactly have figured out yet, but it would probably run along the lines of going back to the reunion and having her dad call her to make sure she’s okay. Followed by me going to her wherever she is.

But I sense she’s just gone home.

It’s turning into a terrible night, with the rain coming back with a vengeance.

It’s too wet and windy to be out doing much of anything except staying warm and inside in weather like this.

Just be home, Brooke.

Just be home.