Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (41 page)

“And have you been practicing the moves I showed you, like you promised?”

I nod. I don't say it, but I suspect that all those tumbling moves had been part of the reason my new weight has gone on in a good way and not a bad one. “I didn't have much else to do besides eat and look up the colleges I want to apply to.”

Dani looks pleased and says, “Well, I wanted to officially invite you to try out.”

I drop my jaw. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not? You're my best friend and this is our last school year together. Why not experience something you haven't done before and make the most of it?”

It's hard to close my mouth. I can't believe Dani is asking me to join the cheerleading squad since she always calls me clumsy as hell—and with good reason. I've spent years being all errant elbows and hip bones, and now she's asking me to do cheerleading?

“When are tryouts?” I finally manage. Dani can't be denied.

“Today after school, between the football field and the band practice area. And don't you dare think about saying no.”

I pause for a moment, thinking it over. Besides going out there and doing something clumsy and embarrassing Dani in front of the squad, I can’t think of one good reason not to go and at least give it a try.

What do I have to lose?
I think to myself.
The worst that can happen is I do awfully and they reject me.

Usually, rejection terrifies me, but all the positive reaction I've gotten this morning has me feeling cheery and willing to try anything. I'd been practicing the moves Dani had taught me all summer, so I wouldn't exactly be going in as a total noob. Heck, I might even go out there and show up Dani once or twice, and I think she’s an awesome cheerleader.

“Don't make me have to drag your new bubble butt ass out on the field,” jokes Dani, mistaking my silence as resistance. "And if you say you don't have any clothes to wear, I will stuff you in one of those nasty ass PE uniforms Coach Roberts lends out to the kids who forget to bring theirs from home. Don't worry about the t-shirt. You can use a team one, but you’d better have some exercise clothes."

I chuckle and reply, “I'll drag it out there myself, thank you very much. And I've got something to wear. I think.”

“Gawd . . .
damn!
Who is that?” exclaims Russ Bowden, pushing his rust colored hair out of his eyes and doing a double take. "Did we get a new transfer student from the Playboy Mansion or something?"

I was sitting in the bleachers texting on my cell while my friends and teammates drooled over Silver Lake's cheerleading squad practice. It was a customary tradition for the guys to come sit around whenever there were new tryouts and bet money on which cheerleader would be having sex with them before the season was out.

Usually, I'd partake in the betting right along with them. In my junior year, I'd gotten a cool two hundred dollars from my haul, but I'm just not in the mood today. I'd gotten into a nasty argument with my drunk of a father before I left home, and I was ready to smash faces . . . not pussy. Besides, I'm a senior now. Chasing freshman and sophomore ass is supposed to be beneath me, and I know all the upper-class girls. At least I think I do.

“That's Whitney Nelson,” Cory, who is sitting to my right, says. Cory's the biggest player on the team, and I don't mean size-wise. The man has a list of conquests that would make Leo DiCaprio jealous, although personally, I thought Cory's focus on quantity took off points due to lack of quality. But to give the man credit, he has a great eye for the female figure.

Russ makes a face, his eyes going wide as saucers. “
That's
Whitney Nelson? Pancake Nelson? Bullshit.”

Cory nods. “Yup.”

“No fucking way!”

“Crazy, ain't it? She's a knockout now,” Cory added.

Russ snorts, shaking his head. “Knockout is an understatement. That bitch stacked.”

I look up from texting on my cell to see what all the fuss is about. My heart skips a beat and my mouth goes dry when I see her. I remind myself not to drop my fucking phone. I don't have the money to replace it if I crack the screen.

Oh my fucking God.

A girl with long, wavy auburn hair, a heart-shaped face and a voluptuous body is doing tryout exercises with the cheerleading squad. Her whole body moves with a sensuality that I've yet to see. I'm instantly turned on by the sight. Seriously, she's going to make me pop wood in front of all my friends. It's crazy. I've seen a lot of hot girls, but this one takes the crown.

To say she’s beautiful is like saying the sky is blue. You don't argue that shit. You just accept it.

What I can't understand, though, is why I haven't ever seen her before? The other guys are all talking like they know who this girl is, but I'm racking my brains, and I'm drawing a blank.

“Ten bucks says I'll have her sucking my dick by the end of tonight,” boasts Cory.

Russ lets out a rowdy laugh. “Ten bucks? Fuck, dude, a hundred says she'll be riding me after practice!” Russ does a little dance in his seat, moving his arms all around like he's riding a pony. “Gangnam Style!”

All my teammates howl with laughter, but I'm not amused, and a dark, violent anger surges through my chest, surprising me.

“Shut the fuck up!” I seethe, barely holding back from it becoming a bellow. The words leave my lips before I can stop them. I'm not sure what's gotten into me. I never cared before who they laid claim to. It's all just a game, anyway. But right now, I'm about three seconds from taking the football team's starting tailback and safety and seeing if I can throw them out of the stands off the back side. “None of you dickwads are getting shit!”

My teammates are momentarily stunned into silence by the venom in my voice. They're used to me being aggressive on the field, but never angry. In fact, some of them have never seen me angry, to all of our benefit. I prefer to get my high school diploma through school and not a jailhouse correspondence course.

“Shit, Troy, what crawled up your hairy ass and died?” Cory gets the courage to ask a second later. "Not into K-pop or somethin'?"

“Nothin,” I say, calmer now. “Just that I know none of you have a chance with her is all. Girl like that, she ain't gonna be going home with any of you jackoffs.”

Cory snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me,” I snarl, causing Cory to draw back as if he fears I'm going to punch him in the face. Honestly, I don't know why I'm acting this way. I don't own this chick, don't even know her. And Cory's right. The guys weren't saying anything different from what I'd seen the past four years on the first day of school, and again in April when the track team did the same act.

Russ eyes me suspiciously. He's always been one of the smarter guys on the team, even if he's got a strange sense of humor. He usually makes me laugh, unless he's fucked off on deep coverage again and gotten beaten deep. “You want her, don't you?”

“No,” I reply nonchalantly. "Just sayin', you two ain't got no chance. I can see it in her face. She's no easy lay."

“Fucking liar. You want her bad, man. Admit it.”

“So what if I do?” I growl menacingly. “What are you going to do about it?”

Russ holds my gaze for a moment and then looks away. “Nothing,” he mutters. "You get all the girls anyway. All I get are the fucking skanks.”

That's what I thought.

I nod my head. “You're right. But I'm also the one who carries this fucking team.” As Silver Lake's prized quarterback on offense and inside linebacker on defense, I’m literally the lynchpin of the best chance Silver Lake has had to go to the state championships since Jimmy Carter was President. I’m one of the most popular kids in the school and usually get my way with everything. Girls, grades, preferential treatment by teachers— you name it, I get it.

It goes without saying that I'm an egotistical, conceited bastard. But I'm that way because I earned it, every fucking bit of it.

But while I can't ask for more of the sweet perks I get at school, it's a total 180 when it comes to my living situation at home. The moment I step off school grounds, I go back into the real world. I'm no longer Troy Wood, Silver Lake High's most prized athlete and biggest campus celebrity.

I'm just some ungrateful shit that should be happy that my dad chose to bang a random chick when he was eighteen and not use a condom. And according to my drunken dad, I wouldn't be shit without him. I owed him for everything—giving me life and for being a star ball player, though he'd done nothing to help me hone my skills. Shit, I owed him just for breathing. In fact, I owed him so much that I had to work an after-school job at a shitty pizza parlor just to help support his sorry ass drinking habit. So I take those easy grades from the teachers, mainly because after practicing until seven four nights a week, I spend another three to four hours slicing vegetables, sausage, and stirring five gallon pots of tomato sauce just to put food in my stomach.

I don't know what he's going to do when I go off to college
, I think to myself.
Probably become a bum under the bridge. And it'll be all
my
fucking fault.

I have big plans for myself after I graduate high school, none of which involve my drunkard father. First, I hope to go to college on a scholarship, because I certainly don't want to be chained to a student loan debt, and then I want to be drafted by the NFL, starting off with a multimillion-dollar contract.

I figure once I get on the college team and start showing off my exceptional abilities, the talent scouts will go crazy and start the bidding wars. First round draft pick, working a couple of endorsement contracts coming right out of school, and I'll be on easy street riding out my rookie contract on that bullshit scaled system the NFL is putting in place. When I hit free agency though, that's when it all goes bananas. Naturally, I'll settle with the highest bidder and make my way to the Hall of Fame and retire with a big mansion, a trophy wife and a quad of kids, set for life.

Ah, the easy life. I just have to get there first.

And I
will
get there. I have total confidence in my ability to do so.

As cocksure as I am, I always have to give myself an internal pep talk to keep my confidence level up. You have to when you're the brightest star on an otherwise shit team and your father tells you you're a worthless piece of shit. Coach tells us a positive mental mindset is essential, and I believe it. Coach has a lot of good sayings like that.

One thing is for sure. I know I'm not going to reach my goals if I get involved in a relationship with a needy girlfriend. That's one promise I've made to myself. No girlfriends. No relationship. No drama. No bullshit.

If I want to make it to the NFL, my motto has gotta be fuck 'em and leave ‘em. It's harsh, but I have to protect myself. I don't want to become too attached. And I know what could happen if I fuck up by falling in love and getting a chick pregnant. It already happened to one of my best friends who now had to put his entire life on hold because he'd knocked up a chick he had feelings for. He was 'the guy' before I showed up on varsity, and we formed the core of a good one-two threat before he got the bitch pregnant. He quit the team, saying he wanted to man up, and that was when the shit hit the fan. He's been forced to work two shitty jobs to support the baby, and his grades fell because of it. With no football and no grades, he couldn't qualify for college and was stuck in those same two jobs, a miserable bastard. The worst part of it all? His lady love cheated on him shortly after giving birth. Hell, she asked if I wanted a piece of her ass when I stopped by once to see how my buddy and the baby were doing.

I vow that I'm not going to be that sucker.

The cheerleading squad takes a rest and I watch as Whitney pauses to dig the tights she's wearing out of the crack of her ass. She glances around as if worried someone is watching, and our eyes meet. She stares at me, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink, and I give her my most charming smile. Her lips part, as if in surprise, and then she looks away. Bending over, she grabs a water bottle before realizing she's giving us a pretty good view of what she was just digging out, and I can't help it. Mr. Disco Stick is ready to say hel-fucking-lo, and I'm not all that disinclined to stop him.

I can't keep the grin off my face, but I'm worried about how much I want to meet this girl. Usually, I let them come to me, yet I want to go to her. It's like she's a magnet and I'm a big hunk of metal. I mean, I'm a big hunk of something, and it can get hard as steel, but that doesn't mean I'm made of it.

“You are totally checking her out for yourself,” Russ accuses, catching the exchange. "Or is that bulge in your pants because of Cory's Gangnam style dance?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Don't play stupid. You're not in AP English, but you aren't an idiot either.”

I think desperately and come up with the first idea that pops into my head besides Whitney's ass. “I was just thinking about the new plays I want to try at practice tomorrow. In case you didn't notice, we've got Blueridge on Friday, and their fullback isn't a pussy like you.”

“Right.”

“I was.” I run my gaze over my gathered teammates. “And I want you all to be ready to try them out. No questions asked. I think it will help us when we play against Blueridge. I’m not starting my senior year with a loss.”

“And have you run these plays by Coach Jackson?” asks Cory. “Usually he wants to look them over and approve them before trying them out."

I shake my head. “Nope. But I'm sure he won't mind. He knows all my strategies are good.”

“Cocky bastard,” Cory grumbles.

“He can afford to be cocky when he practically has a scholarship to any school he wants,” says Russ enviously. “Ain't that right, Troy? So which are you going with? Notre Dame? Stanford? Nah, you ain't got the grades for Stanford, but I bet the SEC would hook you up really good—football, easy grades, and Southern girls. Fuck, you wanna stay out here West Side, just go down to Clement, right?”

“I don't have one yet,” I say. "You all know that."