Whiplash: A Sports Romance (9 page)

“My future?”

“I don’t need to ask you where you see yourself in five or ten years because I already know the answer to that,” he says. “You want to go pro, right?”

“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation.

“Then you need to start planning
now
,” he continues. “You don’t want something completely avoidable to get in the way of that. I took the liberty of speaking to your academic adviser and she had a few concerns about your grades.”

“Yeah…” I wince but breathe a little easier. I don’t think Eliza moaning in my van is about to come up in this conversation. “Studying hasn’t always been my strongest area.”

“Mine neither — but if they get any worse, you’ll get put on academic probation and you don’t want that during your senior year. That’s when you really need to focus on the game. Senior year means scouts and drafts and honestly, of every player on this team, you have the best shot of any of them.”

Whoa.

Cary Pierce thinks I can go pro. He said it to my face.

“That’s…
thank you.
”

He smiles. “You and I came from the same world — dirt poor, no opportunity — but that doesn’t define who you are. I saw how wide your eyes got the other night at my house. I’m guessing you’ve never been in a place that big before, right?”

I nod.

“Take it from me, Junior — you don’t want unnecessary complications weighing you down. When I was a bit younger than you, I screwed up big. I got horrible grades, I wasn’t taking care of myself, and I…” he shakes his head, “I knocked up a girl I barely knew. I got Eliza from that — and she’s great — but her existence made achieving my dreams a whole lot harder.”

I feel a twist in my gut; a sharp sympathy pain for Eliza but who am I to argue with Cary Pierce? “Right…”

He pounds a fist on his desk. “Straighten up and get focused. Hire a tutor if you have to to bring those grades up. And
tonight,
” he grins, “I’m going to show you off at that press event.”

My eyes grow wide. “Really?”

“This season, we get their attention,” he says. “Next season, we keep it. By then, every college football fan in the country will know your name and the scouts will be lined up at your door.”

Holy shit.

“Thank you, Coach.”

“Now, get out of here,” he says, smiling. “Go to class or something.”

“I will.” I stand up and my knees feel even more wobbly than they did after that treadmill.

It’s all happening.

I don’t know what cosmic force decided I was worth bending the rules for but I suddenly feel the need to get down on my knees for it. With Cary Pierce as my coach, backing me up, and pointing the spotlight in my direction, there’s no way I won’t get everything I want. I’ll get the contracts and the fame and the women. Everything beyond my wildest dreams will be in the palm of my hand.

I just have to stay focused and forget about distractions.

Distractions like Eliza Pierce.

Chapter 8

Eliza

“Take me with you.”

I scan the script, blinking repeatedly as I try to find the words. “Grant, that’s not your line.”

He pulls the book away from my face. “I’m talking about the shindig at your house tonight.”

“It’s not a
shindig
,” I sigh with impatience and glance around the talkative classroom. The professor broke us off into pairs to memorize a three-page scene and Grant and I have to perform ours first… in twenty minutes. “It’s an
opportunity
for my dad to parade me around in front of the cameras to better his image.”

“But the whole team will be there, right?” he asks.

“Most of them, probably.” I shrug. “Why?”

“Uhh… strapping young men in
suits
. You have to take me with you.”

“You don’t want to go to this, Grant,” I chuckle. “Believe me.”

He furrows his brow. “What’s gotten into you today? You don’t seem like your usual bright and fluffy self.”

I push aside the memories from earlier. “I just have a bug up my ass. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is this bug named Junior Morgan?”

“Shhh.”
I look around to make sure no one heard that.

“What’d he do?”

“He said some shit that kinda ticked me off this morning, that’s all.”

“This morning, eh?” he winks.

“I ran into him at the gym,” I explain. “We didn’t spend the night together if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What happened on your date?”

I cringe. “Long story.”

“Then what kind of shit did he say this morning? You gotta give me something…”

The kind of shit that makes me a hypocrite for getting mad at
.

One moment, I’m telling him to shift his focus to other women and the next, I feel dejected when he actually does. I hate myself for it.

I sigh and gesture with the script. “We should really memorize this scene.”

“Okay, fine, just one question: Do I need to kick his ass?” Grant offers, drawing a quick laugh from me. “Because I can and I will.”

“No ass-kicking needed, but thank you. I can handle it.”

“Good. But seriously, can I
please
come to your house tonight?” he begs. “Ty will be there.”

I chuckle at his obvious crush. “Fine. Just stay out of the way and don’t break anything.”

He gives a celebratory fist-pump.
“Yes!”

“And dress up,” I tell him. “It’s a black tie kind of thing.”

He frowns. “What are you going to wear?”

“I thought about going shopping after class…” His eyes grow wide and I grin. “You are more than welcome to join me.”

One last happy fist-pump later and we’re back into the scene, struggling to memorize it with our time now cut in half.

***

Junior is going to flip.

I’m not sure why the thought entered my head. I’m not even sure why I bought the dress in the first place. It’s a little out of my style preference — and
way
out of my price range — but my immediate thought went straight to what Junior Morgan’s reaction will be when he sees me in it. It’s sleek and black with a lone red stripe down the side that travels over my curve with perfect form.

And then it hits me. Sweet revenge. That’s what this is.

Junior told me he wasn’t interested in me anymore; that I was more trouble than I’m worth. Getting passed aside shouldn’t be such a shock to me anymore but for some reason, coming from him, it stung. It cut deep — even deeper than feeling like my father’s accessory.

“This is my girl, Eliza!” he announces. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done it for this girl right here!”

There’s a series of
aww’s
from the news crews and their voices echo through the foyer as cameras flash in our direction, instantly blinding me. I’d probably fall over if it weren’t for his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

The reporters fire off a series of questions at me but my father doesn’t give me a chance to reply to any of them. He answers for me with his loud voice, singing my praises but getting the details wrong.

I’m not a singer. I’m an actress.

I’m not a sophomore. I’m a junior.

But none of that really matters in the end, I guess. I just stand here and smile, tightening my hug around his waist as if he’s a giant, protective teddy bear because that’s what he wants me to do.

Finally, he drops his arm and waves for the camera crews to follow him. “Come on back and meet the team. There are some fantastic, young athletes here that I’m
dying
to introduce the world to.”

I grip the railing, staying put and smiling as I wave them goodbye like a fucking princess.

They all follow him through the house and I wonder how I photographed in the dress. Hopefully, they couldn’t notice that I’m not wearing underwear. The darn thing was too tight to wear them comfortably.

“You look
great.
Relax.”

Grant marches down from his hiding place upstairs. He leans against the stairs in his rented tuxedo, grinning at me. “He’s definitely going to cream his boxers.”

“Who?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he snips. “I think we
both
know who you bought that dress for.”

I roll my eyes but I don’t bother trying to deny it. “I just want to have the last word, that’s all…”

“Honey, I think he’s going to be
last wording
to this dress three times a day for the next month…” Grant makes a subtle jerking motion with his fist and I laugh. “Consider your mission accomplished.”

“Okay, then.”

He hooks his arm at me. “Shall we? I just have to get my eyes on these fantastic, young athletes.”

I latch onto Grant’s arm and we walk through the house together into the backyard. My father has arranged several members of the football team, Junior included, in the center garden. Cameras surround them on all sides, lights flashing as reporters shout questions about these charming, young men.

“I think Ty looked at me,” Grant whispers in my ear, his voice full of excitement. I chuckle and find Ty in the center garden but there’s no real way to confirm Grant’s suspicions.

I lock eyes with Junior and I pause, realizing that he’s full-on staring at me.

“This one here—” my father shouts, shaking Junior’s shoulders, “is Junior Morgan. Now, you don’t have to write this one down because I
guarantee
after Saturday’s game, you’ll have no problems remembering it.”

Cameras flash even more, reporters shout questions at him, my father nudges his ribs, but Junior Morgan’s eyes never leave mine — or my body.

Mission accomplished, indeed…

Chapter 9

Junior

Holy shit.

Being
not interested
in Eliza Pierce is a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. Not quite as hard as my dick right now, though.

That
dress
. That
body.
Those
eyes.
There’s not a single part of her right now that I wouldn’t kill to touch or kiss or flat-out
destroy
.

“Hey— Junior?”

Coach shakes my shoulders again, snapping me out of the extreme sexual fantasy in my head starring
his daughter
.

I throw on a smile and wave, forcing myself to look away from that tight, black dress hugging every curve of her body.

I saw the way she looked at me. I saw that subtle twitch of her lips — like she’s starving for food and just saw a defenseless animal walk right into her trap. She wanted me to look at her, to notice her, to
want
her.

There’s a word for this and I’m more than happy to enlist.

War.

I field a few questions and take several more photos with the coach and the team, all the while glancing at her in the crowd. Her face lights up the more I make eye contact with her and I feel a little adrenaline rush with every bit of blush that races to her cheeks.

I must have struck a serious nerve this morning with what I said. Why else would she be going through the trouble to
prove
that I still want her in my bed? This is classic cat and mouse. She’s dangling herself in front of me again, toying with my hunter instincts just to whip it away at the last second and laugh at me.

She really needs to be taught a lesson.

The coach calls a few more players forward and I sneak off into the crowd, weaving through the cameras and microphones to get closer to Eliza. I can practically smell her as I draw near; every sense heightened to its full potential in preparation for battle.

I roll my fingers around her arm and lean in close to whisper in her ear. “Pool house.
Now
.”

She doesn’t even flinch as I slide away.

I slink to the back of the crowd, taking a smooth, quiet path across the lawn to the pool house on the other side.

The door is unlocked and I walk in to stand alone in the darkness, gripping the edge of a table behind me to hold myself steady. I wait for her, counting my breaths until I see her curvy shadow on the concrete outside.