Convenient Fall (Players of Marycliff University Book 2) (17 page)

“I’ll stay here with these two if you don't mind. That way if one of them falls over, I can catch them or at least pick them back up.”

She laughed and nodded. “Okay. I'll go look for Matt. Wish me luck.”

A few minutes later Abby was back with Matt and they headed out to the car. Chris supported Megan, and Matt had one of Lance's arms slung around his shoulders. Lance was singing something off key and seemed to be making up his own lyrics as they went. Matt and Abby both laughed at him, which only made Lance laugh, trip, and sing louder.

They finally made it to Abby's car, where they stuffed Lance in the back seat and both he and Matt gave Abby hugs before she drove off with a promise to call if she needed help getting him into their apartment. She'd assured them that since they lived on the first floor, it wouldn't be too bad. No stairs for him to fall down.

On the way to Matt's car, Matt cast a glance at Chris. “I figured you'd be further gone by now.”

Chris shrugged and didn't say anything. Megan was stumbling along beside him, humming to herself, barely keeping up with him. He decided it was more work than it was worth to keep her on her feet and scooped her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way to the car.

“Hey!” She stiffened at first, but he just squeezed her against his chest. Throwing her arms around his neck, she snuggled in closer to him, humming to herself. A little contented smile played across her lips and she closed her eyes.

Chris couldn't decide what to make of her tonight. And he hoped that she'd remember enough about whatever had upset her to be able to tell him about it tomorrow. With as much as she'd had to drink, he wasn't sure that would be possible.
 

* * *

Cold air on his skin and the sound of retching brought Chris awake. He sat up and ran a hand over his face before he threw back the covers the rest of the way and made his way to the bathroom. Megan must've pulled the covers off his torso in her rush to get to the bathroom. He knelt next to her, holding back her hair with one hand and rubbing her back with the other. She moved her hands away from her face when he gathered her hair in his hand and knelt on the floor clutching the toilet bowl. Her small frame shuddered each time she vomited.
 

He couldn't help but be grateful that he hadn't gotten drunk last night. The sight and smell of Megan vomiting was almost enough to make him puke as it was, and he didn't have a hangover. If he did, he couldn't imagine how miserable they'd both be.
 

When she had succeeded in getting everything out, Megan collapsed onto the bathmat on the floor, groaning and clutching her head. He brushed some hair away from her forehead and placed a gentle kiss there. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen and a glass of water.” He was careful to whisper, and she patted his arm before he got to his feet. He pulled on a pair of shorts before he headed out to the kitchen.

Chris had tried to get her to drink water last night between drinks, but she'd been more belligerent than normal about it and refused, preferring shots more than she usually did. Something was wrong last night, he was sure of it, but he had no idea what. She was fine, and then she wasn't so fast that he felt like he had whiplash. He had no idea how to go about figuring out what happened. She'd refused to tell him anything while they were still at the party, and she'd drunk so much that she'd passed out in the car on the way home. He'd had to strip her out of her clothes, and was a little disappointed that it hadn't gone like he'd hoped when he'd first seen her in her costume. He had planned on peeling everything off of her while she stood panting with arousal, begging him to get inside her. He loved it when she did that, and he liked to tease her until she did as often as possible.

Instead, he peeled the clothes from her while she was mostly unconscious, and the partly conscious part of her smacked at his hands and told him to leave her alone instead of helping. He'd finally gotten her down to her panties (which was a lacy thong, dammit) and tucked her into bed before he’d stripped down and climbed in next to her. He'd lain awake for quite a while, holding her, making sure she didn't vomit in her sleep. He knew she'd had quite a bit to drink, but he wasn't sure exactly how much or how well she could hold her liquor. Apparently pretty well for such a tiny person.

Megan stood at the sink splashing water on her face when Chris came back to their bedroom. He deposited the pills in her outstretched hand and watched her toss them back, drinking just enough water to swallow the pills before setting the cup down on the counter next to the sink. “Thanks for getting that for me.”

“No problem.” Chris stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and leaned against the doorframe. “Are you done puking for now? You should drink a little more water.”

She started to nod, but stopped, holding her head in both hands and letting out a moan of pain. “Nodding is a bad idea.”

Chris couldn't help grinning. “I know that feeling. Come here.” He reached for her and scooped her into his arms to deposit her back in the bed. He grabbed the glass of water and set it on the nightstand before climbing in with her, pulling her against him so they sat propped up against the headboard, her head resting on his shoulder.

Megan closed her eyes and relaxed against him. She smelled like a distillery, but he didn't mind. He enjoyed the feeling of her body against his, the way she snuggled into him, the simple pleasure of just holding her. More than he had ever expected. They stayed that way for a while. Chris coaxed some more water into her, which she was able to keep down.
 

After a soft tap on the door, Matt poked his head in. “Hey. I'm going for burritos. You guys want some?”

“Shhh.” Megan put one hand over her ear. “Not so loud.”

Chris grinned again. “Yeah. Get my usual for both of us.” Megan smacked at his chest weakly, shushing him some more. Matt chuckled before he closed the door behind him.

Chris pulled Megan in closer and held her while she dozed off. He'd let her rest and get an egg, bacon, and cheese breakfast burrito in her belly before he tried to figure out what freaked her out the night before. While she seemed totally miserable, he didn't think she'd had enough to drink to make her black out. The real question was, would she talk to him or just pretend like she didn't remember?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Megan woke up when Chris brushed a kiss across her lips and whispered goodbye. He did it every morning during the week. He had since that first time when he'd woken her up before he left to make sure she had an alarm set. She normally roused a little at his kiss and whispered words, then drifted back to sleep with a smile on her lips.
 

This time she was awake and couldn't go back to sleep. She still felt groggy and out of sorts from her hangover the day before. Her head didn't hurt and she wasn't nauseated anymore. It was more a lingering feeling of malaise and unhappiness. She didn't party that often during the school year, so she wasn't used to having a hangover linger. Usually it was the headache and faint sense of nausea that stayed into the second day. This felt different, but she couldn't figure out what else it might be.

Chris had been sweet all day yesterday, just hanging out with her, holding her, making sure she drank water. They watched some movies in the evening, and she managed to do a little bit of reading. Not everything, though, which wasn't like her.
 

She kicked off the covers and decided to get the rest of her homework done since she was awake anyway. Maybe that's what was bothering her. Some sort of guilt for not having finished her homework over the weekend? That seemed unlikely. She was a good student and didn't often blow things off, but she knew how to fake her way through a class when she needed to, especially if all she'd skipped was some reading. If you've read at least the first few paragraphs and skimmed the next several pages you could count on being able to answer one of the first questions a professor asked. If you volunteered a response right away, the professor would be unlikely to just call on you when you weren't prepared. And if all else failed, comment on someone else's comment.

The memory of the party came back to her in the shower. It was always where ideas and stray bits of brain fluff popped up. Showers often jogged memories clouded by alcohol as well. It wasn't uncommon for her to have memory gaps while she was hungover. She'd never had one not get filled in by the end of the next day, though. Today was no different.

She was minding her own business, washing her hair, humming to herself, when wham. That she-devil with her arms around Chris, that bitch of a fake Playboy bunny talking about Chris and his manwhore ways. How he was only with her because she was a convenient hole to stick his dick in. So convenient that they shared a room and a bed.
 

It hit her like a kick in the gut. The anger. At the she-devil. At the talking bunny cliché. At Chris. At herself. The fear that maybe that jersey chaser was right, that she was nothing more to Chris than a convenient hole. He could be so charming, and he had a reputation for making a girl melt under his undivided attention. He just didn't normally maintain that attention any longer than it took for him to get off and get out. Was that all this was? Sure, it had lasted longer than his normal one hour hookups. But did it amount to little more between them? Were they really just fuck buddies?

And that led her to the final feeling. Disgust. With the whole situation, but mostly with herself. For falling for him when she went into this with no illusion that it would turn into something more, something lasting. How could she have fallen so hard so fast?
 

Turning, she let the water wash over her, rinsing away the shampoo, then tilted her head back further so the water pounded on her upturned face. “Fuck.”

What was she going to do now?

* * *

Chris knocked on the open door of the head coach's office and stuck his head in. “Hey, Coach. Coach Riggs said you wanted to talk to me?” The assistant coach had grabbed him at the end of practice, emphasizing that Coach Hanson needed to talk to him before he left.

Coach Hanson looked up from the papers on his desk. “Sure, Watkins. Have a seat.” He shuffled the papers around, putting some in a folder and setting it off to the side while Chris dropped his bag on the floor and sat down. Coach Hanson sat back in his chair and watched Chris for a moment before he spoke again. “I wanted to talk to you about graduation eligibility and what you're planning for the future.”

Chris shifted a little in his seat. “I’m still passing all my classes.”

Coach nodded. “Yeah, for now. Your assigned tutor says you haven't been keeping your appointments with her. You going to be able to maintain your C average?”

“Yeah. My, uh, girlfriend's been helping me with my classes. She's helping me figure out what I need to take next semester so I can graduate.”

Coach's blue eyes sharpened at that and he sat forward again, his beefy forearms resting on his desk. “Girlfriend, huh? Is she smart?”

“Yes, sir. She works in the tutoring center. She's the one that you gave special permission for Matt Schwartz to use.”

“I thought Schwartz said she was his roommate. Don't you live with him, too?”

“Yes.” Chris didn't think it was necessary to elaborate. The man was obviously coming to his own conclusions.

Coach Hanson shook his head a little and let out a low whistle. “She's your girlfriend now, huh? Careful there.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk once. “Anyway, glad to hear you've pulled your head out of your ass enough to get serious about school. For a while there I didn't think you were going to finish.”

Chris shrugged. “I wasn't planning on it until recently.”

“I know you were disappointed that you didn't get an invite to the National Scouting Combine. Have you thought about going to a Regional Combine? You'll be eligible once the season is over at the end of the month.”

Chris swallowed, but didn't say anything. Coach Hanson's blue eyes had that look in them like he was trying to read your mind. He always looked like that when you didn't answer fast enough for his liking. He was an intense man. It was part of the reason he made such a good coach.

Finally, Chris shrugged again. “I hadn't really considered it. I figured that if they wanted me they'd send an invite.”

Coach Hanson made a dismissive sound. “Watkins, I've never thought you were stupid. I know academics isn't your strongest subject, but that doesn't mean you're an idiot. You go to school in what amounts to the middle of nowhere in a pretty minor division. If you really wanted to be able to get an invite, you should've gone to a school with a bigger program. Or you suck up whatever stupid thing you've got in your head about being too proud to go to a Regional Combine and go after what you want. This is your chance.” When Chris didn't immediately respond, Coach kept talking. “There's no shame in going to open tryouts, you know. Plenty of good players started as walk-ons. If you want to go pro, you should do it. You regret the things you don't try more than the things you do.”

Coach stared at him and waited for him to respond. Chris wasn't sure what to say, but knew he wouldn't be dismissed until he came up with something. After a long day, he was hungry and tired and just wanted to go home. Thinking about graduation, Regional Combines for the NFL, or what to do beyond cuddling up with Megan and falling asleep wasn't what he wanted right now. He just wanted to leave, but knowing he'd get his ass chewed tomorrow, plus extra speed drills as punishment, kept him in his seat.