“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said. “You already have so much on your shoulders. I’m supposed to be making your life easier.”
“What if I wanted it to happen?” I shoved my hair back and twisted it into a bun again, feeling his cold, hard rejection all the way to my toes.
He hung his head, staring at the floor, his tanned hand still plunged into his hair. God, he had no idea what those actions did to me.
“It can’t. It really can’t.”
I nodded for fear of what kind of pleading would come out of my mouth. He said he got me, understood me, gave me a second chance.
“I’m glad the girls were nice to you today,” he said, still not meeting my eyes. “You should go meet up with them now. Do fun things, enjoy college life.”
And like that I was dismissed from King’s office and his mind.
Sadly, he was still the focal point of mine.
Drew
Fucking Christ, I swore in my head as I headed toward the men’s room. This girl was going to be the goddamn freaking death of me.
Since I lost my mind with her in my office that day, she’d spent the better part of the last month ignoring me. All I got from her was, “Yes, Coach. No problem, Coach. Of course, Coach.” Just to interact with her, I found myself coming up with random shit to tell her.
Her swing was damn near perfect. She rarely lost, no matter who I put her up against. She’d just slayed the second fall tournament this past weekend, crushing everyone who came up against her. Yet I continued to bark at her.
“Adjust your grip. Widen your stance. Your shot is half a second too late.”
No wonder they hated her at her last school. The other girls. Her teammates and supposed friends. It still didn’t excuse what they did, but shit ... she was amazing on the court.
And off.I wish I could tell her.
As I leaned over the sink, I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about how I was no stranger myself to shame. My mom had done a bang-up job of shaming me.
“Drew, I hope they brainwash the naughty clear out of you at prep school,”my mom would say every time I went back to school. Her idea of naughty was my not agreeing to date my stepsister. Yep, my blue-blooded Southern mama saw nothing wrong with me courting my stepsister, her dumbass third husband’s daughter. She wanted school to polish me up and send me home ready to acquiesce to all of her demands.
No fucking way.
The only blessing when I blew my knee out was my stepsister didn’t want to talk to me anymore. I was no longer cool enough, and I was too pathetic for my mom to bother with.
She was nothing like Jules, all natural, tough on the outside but soft on the inside. Jules’s hair rivaled the burned orange of the fall leaves in Ohio. Her body so long and lean, she would have given Sharapova a run for her money. I wanted to lick under and around the tiny J-shaped pendant crusted in emeralds that rested at the base of her neck, then make my way down her chest and suck on her nipples.
I bet they were pink and round and supple.
A flush spread over my face as I stared in the restroom mirror like a girl in puppy love. A white polo covered my chest, hiding the tattoos that adorned my pecs. I was hot, burning up—anger, rage, jealousy, and lust filled my veins. I needed to pull the damn shirt off, but I couldn’t. I was a coach, a professional, a mentor to these young women.
Of course, now fucking Jules was playing with my head. Her attentions were focused on some asshole who played on the hoops team; Lamar, I think. The other girls were still being nice, but they didn’t know her past. Her former university had sealed the case, giving Jules back all her eligibility while quietly forfeiting the rest of her old team for the season, dismissing them from the sport entirely.
It was a hush-hush case, handled even more quietly because of money and power. And Jules wanted it that way. She shouldn’t have, but I could tell this one was stoic. No one was going to make an example of her unless it was about her athletic prowess.
But now she was doing what I said. Having a normal college life, and I was yanking my shit in the men’s room. I turned and leaned up against the wall before pulling out my dick. I didn’t give a good fuck if someone came in. I was hard as ever-loving shit, and I needed a release. Ever since the red-haired siren had touched my cheek, I was a loose cannon when it came to my dick. I wanted to use it, rough and hard—but only on her.
Let’s just say, my hand wasn’t calloused because of tennis anymore.
I’d made the mistake of going over to the Union for a cup of coffee and there she’d been, leaning into Lamar, close to seven feet of dark-chocolate-covered steel. Prick. Hilary was nearby with a football idiot, so all I could do was watch from afar like some lovesick teenager.
My hand pumped, my mind trying to conjure up images of Jules leaning into me like she had that ass, whispering in my ear, running the tip of her tongue along my jaw. Okay, she wasn’t doing all that with Lamar. Just the leaning part, but my fucking dick wanted that and more.
My breathing quickened and I allowed myself to think about her perfect lips, plump and pink with a small mole to the left of her upper one, traveling down my chest. Her hands would open my pants, her fingers would reach in and grab me, squeeze me, admire me—hey, I’m not small—and then she would take me in her mouth.
And just like that, I blew my load. One image of her red hair swishing around my junk and I was a goner. Done.
