CHAPTER FIVE
CAYDEN
I don’t see the ball coming. By the time I do notice, it’s like catching a fucking cannonball.
I stagger backwards, ball in arms.
“What the fuck, Beckett?” shouts Coach. “Let’s pull our head out of the clouds and get back into the game, okay?”
“Yes, Coach,” I shout back, jogging my way down the field.
Dwayne smirks as I pass. “You couldn’t catch a fucking cold, Beckett.”
I heave the ball at him, throw in a good dose of spiral. He catches it hard in the chest. “Because you’re all about the ball play, aren’t you, Dwayne?”
He gives me the bird.
“Dwayne!” shouts the Coach. “Get down here. What is this? Amateur hour? Forty-yard dashes. Let’s fucking go!”
Coach and his goddamn dashes. This is football, I want to tell him, not the damn Olympics.
By the time we wrap up, I’m socks to shirt in sweat.
I throw a cup of water over myself at the sideline, shake it out.
Hunter pulls up beside me. “That was brutal.”
My calves are burning up. I hold the water table for support. “You’d think bringing home the Championship last year would have allowed us a certain amount of slack, but Coach seems more determined than ever to break us.”
Hunter places his helmet down between his feet, hands on his hips. “You don’t remember the start of last year? He had us out here in torrential rain doing shuttle runs for what? Six hours?”
I smile at the memory. “I was expecting Noah’s ark to float by.”
“You want a walker, old man?” calls Dwayne, flanked by his linemen cronies.
I push off the table. “To beat your ass with, sure.”
He spits and walks on to the locker rooms.
“Hunter,” calls Coach, clipboard in hand, his voice surprisingly more subdued than usual. “My office in five.”
“Yes, Coach,” replies Hunter.
I place my helmet on the table. “Since when are you called into the Coach’s office?”
Hunter scratches his neck. “Beats me. I guess I’ll find out in five.”
“He probably just wants a blowjob. You do have the lips for it.”
Hunter pulls me into a headlock. I manage to duck and snap out of it, pulling him into my own, gyrating my hips against his face. “Oh, Hunter, yes. That’s it. Take it deep. Take all of it.”
He shoves me away laughing, headed to the locker rooms. “I’ll see your sorry ass later, and you better hope your mystery girl appreciates your shitty humor tonight.”
What Coach doesn’t know is that my head hasn’t been in the clouds at all. It’s been inside her, dreaming and conjuring what I’m going to do to her body tonight, the many and wonderful ways I’m going to make her come.
Easy, Cay. You’re not in the end zone yet.
There’s a slap on my back. It’s Ricky. He jerks his head towards Hunter, now vanishing into the bowels of the stadium. “You should have your own word with him.”
“Hunter?” I question. “Why’s that?”
Ricky looks solemn. “You know Coach. He wanted chew his ass out, go to town, but I convinced him a more civilized approach is the way to go.”
I’m confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Ricky returns an equally bewildered look. “You don’t know?”
“I know Hunter’s seeing the Coach in five. So what?”
Ricky exhales, hand raking through his sandy hair. “Look, surely you’ve noticed.”
My confusion is turning to frustration, my muscles tensing. “Noticed fucking what?”
“Hunter’s slipping, Cay. His stats are down, way down, and he’s making errors—too many to stay...”
I like Ricky. You won’t find a better team captain, but the way he’s talking about Hunter is starting to piss me off.
He’s right. You know it.
I try my best to keep the edge out of my voice. “What’s Coach going to do?”
Ricky throws his hands up. “I don’t know, bro.”
My anger starts to overflow. I step towards him. “You’re the team fucking captain, Ricky. It’s your job to know.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Cay.”
I stab him in the chest with my finger. “Tell me you’re going to fix this.”
He shrugs. “It’s up to Hunter, man.” He places his hand on my shoulder. “But I’ll talk to Coach again, okay?”
I nod, satisfied with this small sliver of promise, my head spinning. “Okay.”
Ricky smiles politely and walks away, leaving me to stand there and question what the hell I’m going to do. Hunter won’t take this well. Football is his life, the NFL his dream—our dream. Without it he’ll be destroyed, nothing. And me? I need him back out here. The team’s split 50:50 between Dwayne and me. We are all here because of our sporting prowess, but it’s dog eat dog when you get to the nitty gritty.
This puts Hunter’s very place here at Abbotsleigh in question. It’s not good—not good at all.
I slam my helmet against the side of the table. “Fuck.”
*
I wait alone back at the house. Colton’s out at lacrosse training. I’ve got a game on TV, but I’m not watching it, stewing instead over what Ricky said.
The front door opens. Hunter walks in and dumps his gear on the table, immediately heading to the fridge for a beer.
I can’t take it anymore. I mute the TV and stand. “Well?”
He pops the top off his beer. “Well, what?”
“What did Coach say?”
Hunter walks over slowly, drinking, eyes focused on the TV. “It was nothing. Admin stuff.”
You’re lying. Still, I try to keep myself level. “That’s it? ‘Admin stuff’?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he replies, still unable to look me in the eye, shoulders tense.
What are you hiding?
But I’m too tired to deal with this now. “Alright,” I relent.
Hunter changes the subject. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the big date?”
Shit. I’ve forgotten all about it.
I check my watch, bolting upstairs to change into something a little more refined than boxers.
Not five minutes later the doorbell rings.
“Cayden!” shouts Hunter.
I head down, taking the stairs two at a time and throwing the door wide.
I’m breathless as it is, but what I see standing there strips the last air from my lungs completely.
Gone is the Abbotsleigh sweater and Walmart jeans, the folder and notes. Standing there is perfection—a black and red, short-sleeved vintage dress nipped in at the waist and flared out at the hips to show off her legs, nude heels bringing her to eye level with me. And her eyes… smoky and sexy. Jesus. I could stare at them all day, take up handfuls of that chameleon hair and bring my lips to hers, taste her… touch her.
She holds a small clutch in front of herself, sheepishly.
“You look…” I begin, but I’m so blown away words seem to have vacated my brain.
She smiles, little more than a smirk but enough to be genuine. “What? No cheesy lines? No dick jokes?”
I lean against the doorway. “Come in.”
I check out her ass on the way through, bundled up tight at the back of her dress. God, I want so bad to take it in my hands, feel the weight of it in them.
She looks around. “Wow, this is some house.”
Hunter stands to join us. There’s a sliver of jealousy as he does. He can be suave when he wants, but this one’s mine. “The best Daddy’s money could buy.”
“I thought you guys would be in a frat house or something.”
Hunter laughs. “Holding chapter meetings, waiting for the shower, and fist-bumping each other all night while we play soggy biscuit? No thanks. We’ve got our own brotherhood here, close enough to campus without being too close, if you know what I mean.”
“And a pinball machine, fully stocked fridge, spa, sauna, bowling alley,” I add.
“Bowling alley?” questions Indy, her face lighting up, her lipstick-laden, cherry lips begging to me to run a finger, or more, across them.
“Down the back,” I point. “The plantation owner that built this place back in the 1900s put it in, amongst other things. They say he was a slaver.”
“You’ll still find whips and chains if you look hard enough,” says Hunter.
“It doesn’t have a red room, does it?” she continues.
I exchange a look with Hunter. “We haven’t even had our date yet and you’re already asking about red rooms?”
She gestures at my jersey. “Speaking of which, you’re going to wear that?”
I look down. “It’s my signature. People know me in this.”
She smiles a touch too wide for my liking. “Not where we’re going.”
*
SDS—The Swing Dance Society.
The moment we step foot inside the hall I know I’m in trouble. There are maybe ten couples inside, all of whom appear fresh from some strange 1930s time warp complete with prohibition-era clothing and copious hair gel usage. Standing there in my Trojans jersey and jeans I am the absolute dictionary definition of ‘fish out of water.’ Hell, I may as well be on another planet.
I look down at Indy, who is struggling to contain her laughter. Her dress is making a whole lot more sense now. “You could have told me, you know.”
She pouts. “And where would be the fun in that?”
A couple jitterbugs past us, almost tripping when they see me, the lion in their secret den here. In fact, the more I look around, the more I notice I have become the center of attention.
Great idea, Cay. Let her choose. Sure. ‘Anywhere,’ you said…
What the fuck have I gotten myself into here? I wouldn’t be caught dead here under normal circumstances with these geeks.
But when Indy reaches up and takes my hand, it all evaporates. She squeezes. “Well?” she says. “Do you know how to dance?”
I raise my voice to be heard over the music. “Only on a football field. Do you?”
She stands up on the toes of her heels to speak into my ear, her hot, strawberry breath against my cheek. “My aunty was a dance teacher. I used to sneak into her classes all the time—lindy hop, whip, shag…”
I smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s kind of turning me on.”
“Here.” She takes me by the hips, a small look of surprise on her face when she realizes I am not easily movable. “You start with both feet in the center, like this.” She shifts into position herself. “Wow. You’re really stiff.”
I let that one ride, smirking to myself.
She starts to move. “Now, just take a rocking step backwards, another with a quarter turn to get you back into starting position before you go forward and make a quarter turn to face the right.”
“Sounds like a play from Coach’s black book,” I muse.
“It’s easy.” She takes my hands and we begin to move together. “Left, yes… Right, now left again, stepping back.”
I take pride in my physical ability, but I may as well be walking on the moon here.
“Feel the music,” she says. “The swing of it.”
I’m too busy concentrating on the swing of her hips against me, the delicate way her crotch brushes up against my cock whenever we press together.
I see some of the others trying not to laugh, no doubt as confused as I am how I ended up here tonight.
We break apart.
“You know,” says Indy. “We can always go. You can admit defeat.”
And that’s fucking it. The competitive side of me catches fire. Dad taught us a lot of useless shit, but one thing was always clear: Becketts never admit defeat.
I stand back and pull my jersey off, tossing it into the corner.
The room stops, even Indy’s mouth dropping as she takes in my tank top-clad chest. I simply smile back. “Let’s do this shit.”
*
I’m a quick learner. I push myself, taking in the steps and starting to link it all together.
“Focus on my eyes,” says Indy, enjoying my enthusiasm, and it’s not hard. I could stare into them all day, lose myself in their ashen depths.
An hour in and I’ve got the basics down, enough to assert a little control and take the lead. No one’s more surprised than Indy, but I can see she’s enjoying herself, the initial joke lost, only the fun and humor inherent in the music remaining.
Hell, I am having fun, and for once it doesn’t involve actual intercourse and the inevitable post-fuck depression that follows.
The other couples cheer us on, even the guys warming up to me, the tempo of the music increasing and my feet seemingly finding a mind of their own.
It’s after midnight when we leave, my jersey slung over my shoulder and our hands swinging between us as we walk back through campus to the house.
“I must say,” I confess. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”
She smiles up, but there’s sadness there. Her hand falls away. “Me too.”
She stops, facing me, lit only by a street lamp that leaves dark circles under her eyes. “You’re fun, Cayden, maybe even a decent guy once you take away all this college bravado, but I can’t be in a relationship right now.”
I’m not going to let this go so easily. “I think I’ve at least bought myself another date.”
She shakes her head, looking down. “You don’t understand. I can’t.”
I place a finger under her chin, lift her face back up until there’s life in her eyes once more, the shadows gone. “I’m just going to keep asking.”
Come on.
She breaks, smiling. “Fine. One more, but that’s it.”
“I get to choose the venue this time.”
She rolls her eyes. “I suppose it’s only fair.”
“It’s settled then.”
“But I’m serious,” she warns. “This isn’t going anywhere. I need you to know that.”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “If you say so.”
I go to step forward, but she pulls back, looking over to the dormitories. “Good night.”
I want to kiss her so fucking bad it hurts, but I rein myself under control. Play the long game this time, Cay. It’s the only way. “Good night,” I say, unable to do anything but stand there with my cock about to burst as she’s swallowed up into the night.