“Just a few beers?” My voice comes low and calm despite the anger roiling in my gut. This is exactly the kind of juvenile bullshit that gives football players a bad rep. “We aren’t going to win a national title drinking and partying like a bunch of overindulgent assholes. It’s going to take discipline. Respect for the team. Respect for each other,” I say, glaring at Johnson, Smith, and Tate in turn. The hypocrisy of my words isn’t lost on me—I am, after all, sneaking around with Carter—but I’m too pissed to think clearly at the moment. I glare at a few of the recruits for good measure. Most drop their eyes. “There’s some real talent in this recruiting class, but if this is how you conduct yourselves, well, I guess it won’t much matter if we win the championship or not because you won’t stand a chance in hell of defending it.”
I turn back to Tate, the only sober one of the group. “Get your keys and help me get these guys back to the hotel.” I pause, sweeping the room with my gaze. “The puker rides with you.”
I have enough shit to deal with. I don’t have time to scrub vomit out of the floor mats.
It takes us an hour to get the recruits settled at the hotel with enough water to keep them hydrated and I’m in a foul-ass mood as I drive home. My cell phone vibrates in the cupholder and I glance at the screen. I’m still feeling raw about the day’s events. The last thing I want to do is shoot the shit with my dad. I consider letting the call roll to voice mail but answer on the third ring.
No point delaying the inevitable.
“Hey, Dad.”
“I just got off the phone with John Hart,” he says, skipping the greeting and diving right into business. “He’ll be in town for the Michigan game in three weeks. He wants to meet.”
A familiar tightness grips my chest and crawls up the back of my throat. Hart is an old friend of the family. He’s also a scout in Pittsburgh. “Shouldn’t we wait until the end of the season, when my eligibility expires?”
My father makes a dismissive sound. “The NCAA doesn’t forbid us from having lunch with an old family friend. Besides, Hart has already spoken with Coach Collins. Practices will be open that week. I doubt Hart will be the only one watching, so make sure you’re on your A game. The more interest you generate, the more valuable you are to the franchise.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. Like I need to be told to make a good show for the scouts. It’s my future on the line and I’ve trained for this nearly every day of my life. “When’s the meeting?” If my old man notices the hard edge to my words, he doesn’t mention it. I blow out a breath, reaching for whatever patience I have left.
“Friday at two. Should work for your schedule.” He pauses, but it goes without saying we’ll be meeting at his favorite College Park steak house. “Make sure you put it on your calendar. I know how busy you are, son.”
“I’ll take care of it when I get home.” I tap my blinker and turn left onto University Drive. “I’m heading there now.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear you aren’t out partying.” If he only knew. “You need to rest up this week. Wisconsin will be a tough game.”
He’s not wrong. Their defense is on fire. It’s going to be a hard-hitting game. “We’ll be ready for them. You coming to the game?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, and I can hear the pride in his voice. I may not share my dad’s love of Pittsburgh, but I know he just wants what’s best for me. Or what he thinks is best. The pressure is like a vise, but I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. That I don’t want what he wants. That meeting with Hart in a professional capacity makes me want to gauge my eyes out.
That I need a release from the constant pressure of school and football.
A release only Kennedy seems able to provide with her quick wit, lush curves, and low expectations. Some days it feels like she’s the only person in my life who doesn’t want something from me. Or at least, not something I’m unwilling to give. Our relationship is all about give-and-take, the push and pull of fire and ice, pleasure so intense it sometimes borders on pain. But damn if I don’t crave it at times like this, when it feels like I’ll explode if I can’t slip out of my own skin, if only for a few hours.
It’s a weakness I can’t show anyone. Especially not my father. He thrived under the pressure. He’ll accept no less from his only son.
“And Austin? Make sure you write down the meeting with Hart.”
Kennedy
Enzo and I are three hours into design tweaks for the ACME competition when Austin texts me.
Austin: You free tonight?
The obvious answer is yes. My roommate is away. I’m horny as hell. And I’ve had enough orgasms…said no woman ever. But then I glance at Enzo, who’s got his nose buried in a textbook.
I can’t very well kick him out for a hookup. Can I?
No. Definitely not. He’s a good guy and he’s doing me a huge favor by partnering. Although a horny little voice in the back of my head reminds me I’m doing him a favor as well, since he couldn’t find a team to work with his crazy-pants schedule. Still, it’s a new partnership, and I don’t want to do anything to screw it up. Besides, it was my brilliant idea to spend our Saturday night working.
Kennedy: I wish. Enzo’s here. Working.
Enzo glances up, and I drop my phone into my lap. I don’t want him to see Austin’s messages any more than I want him
