All Played Out (Rusk University #3) (18 page)

He was right. Undeniably the best orgasm of my life.

Chapter 18

Mateo

D
amn, Speedy.” Ryan claps me on the back as I wipe at my face and neck with a towel. I’m in such a good mood that I don’t even mind the nickname that he’s been calling me since last year. It hasn’t caught on, but that hasn’t stopped him from using it day in and day out. Persistent, that one. Not that it’s a bad nickname, per se, certainly better than “Blocks,” which is what he calls Brookes. But between “Torres” and “Teo,” I’ve got enough different names. Anything else would have to be really good to be worth the hassle. “Hell of a game,” Ryan says. “Keep playing like that, and we’ll be in for a bowl game for sure.”

I grin as I pull off my pads. It
was
a pretty awesome game. My best since starting at Rusk. Everything had just clicked. McClain and I were practically of one mind, we were so on fire. And no matter who the defense put on me, I kept managing to break away. Everything that
could
go our way
did,
and we won by forty, and on the other team’s turf, too. And considering this game put us at seven wins for the season, officially past last year’s record, our locker room is louder than I’ve ever heard it.

Coach keeps his speech short and sweet, as he tends to do when we win. After a quick round of showers, we load up on the bus to head back to the hotel. It was an evening game, and too long of a flight for us to head back tonight, and I can tell by the knowing glances the coaches keep giving one another that they know it will be hard to keep a handle on us tonight. I should be as eager to party as everyone else, but at the moment I just wish we were taking a red-eye flight home. I can think of much better ways to celebrate this win.

The Rusk crowd at the game was small, but a ton of them stuck around, and they’re chanting “Bleed Rusk Red!” as the bus pulls away. We yell with them for a while, banging on the ceiling and the seats. We even keep it up when we’re long out of the parking lot and on the highway heading for the airport hotel where we’re spending the night.

The overhead lights come on, and Coach stands next to his seat at the front of the bus. We yell for him, too, and he laughs, raising his hands to try to get us to quiet down.

“All right. All right. Settle down. A few housekeeping things. We’ve got a late-night supper already set up for you guys in Ballroom A in the hotel. If you want to run to your room before you eat, it’s at the back of the hotel, past the workout area. Our flight home leaves at seven thirty in the morning, which means we leave this hotel at five thirty. I won’t tell you how late you can stay up, because you guys deserve to do a little celebrating. But I sure as hell better not have to come find any of you guys in the morning. If your ass isn’t on a seat in this bus at five twenty-nine
A
.
M
., you better believe you’ll regret it. And your teammates will, too. So roommates, take care of your own. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The usual rules apply. No leaving this hotel. No drugs. No alcohol. No girls in your room. You can make use of the pool and other hotel facilities until they close for the night, but I better not get any calls from the hotel about any of you causing problems. Is that also clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiles, and we pull up in front of the lobby of our hotel. “Well, then gentleman, enjoy your food and enjoy your win.”

If anybody in the hotel was already asleep, they most likely aren’t now. The noise we make as we leave the bus is enough to wake the dead. As soon as I climb off, Coach Cole falls into step beside me.

“Oz gave me your final stats. Eight catches for two hundred and eight yards in total. An excellent game, son.”

“Thanks, Coach.” I like Coach Cole. I know I can be a pain in the ass, and I rarely know when to shut my mouth, and he’s been cool about it. But we’ve not really had that much one-on-one interaction. It’s mostly just been him telling me to be quiet or calm down or quit dancing. He gives me a serious look now, and I don’t know how Carson doesn’t piss his pants every time he’s near Coach. I find him intimidating, and I’m not dating his daughter.

“You keep matching that level of play, stay consistent, and you’ll be in good shape for the draft when you graduate in two years.”

My heartbeat thunders in my ears, loud enough to drown out even the overwhelming noise of my teammates.
Draft?

“That something you’re interested in?”

I stumble over the words because I try to get them out so fast.

“I—I am. Yes, sir. I am.”

“Good. Right now, concentrate on the next game, on this season. The best way to get you noticed is to get this team noticed as much as possible. But keep up the good work, stay serious, and we’ll talk in the off-season about what else we can do to get you ready.”

I’m still saying my thank-yous when Coach nods and turns back toward the bus.

It’s the kind of thing you dream about hearing. I can still remember being in high school and thinking that it was only a matter of time. I was going to get recruited, play some college ball, and then go pro. I was so certain that all I needed was a shot, and it would happen. Certain enough that I made it my everything. Then there were scouts and recruiters, but they weren’t the big schools I always expected them to be. The powerhouses. Instead, it was a mix of Division II schools, and a handful of Division I schools with less than stellar programs, like Rusk. Then suddenly things didn’t seem so certain anymore.

Lina had pushed hard then, tried to get me to admit that maybe deciding my life based on football didn’t make that much sense anymore. I didn’t listen. I buckled down and shut her out, shut everything out. But that didn’t stop her words from ringing in my head day after day. So that when I started freshman year here at Rusk, I was dragging the weight not only of a broken heart with me, but of Lina’s doubts heaped atop my own. And the only way to deal with it, the only way not to drown under it had been to pretend like it didn’t matter. I had to pretend that nothing mattered. That everything was a joke because if you can laugh about something, it can’t hurt you.

But now everything could be about to change. And I’m scared to think about it because . . . getting my hopes up over something like this? Over something that
matters
? That’s a hell of a lot of hurt I’m risking.

A
FTER DINNER
, a group of about ten of us end up in McClain and Moore’s room. We’re crammed onto the beds, the chairs, and anywhere else we can fit. I settle myself against an open spot on the wall. Last year, we would have been down at the pool or with the girls that somehow always know where the team is staying. But now half my friends are among the girlfriend-ed, and well . . . I don’t have much of an interest in flirting with groupies tonight. Before I can join the conversation, my phone buzzes with a text. I smile when I see it’s from Nell.

A pillow hits me in the face, drawing my attention back to the room.

“Dude,” Keyon says. “I called your name like five times. Don’t tell me you searched your name on Twitter again.”

I flip him off. “Yeah, that’s what I’m doing. So, leave me alone with my adoring public.”

I get nailed with another pillow. “Seriously, guys? What are we, children?”

“Wait. Hold up. Did Torres just accuse someone else of immaturity? Is the world ending?” Silas asks, and everyone bursts into laughter. I throw the two pillows back at them.

“Who are you texting?” Brookes asks.

“How do you know I’m not on Twitter like Keyon said?”

He just raises an eyebrow, and damn his creepy perception.

I sigh. “You guys are the worst, you know that?”

“Wait,” McClain says. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying, Brookes? Does Teo have a girlfriend? An actual, real-life girl? Not just a booty call?”

I glare at Brookes, and he shrugs.

My phone buzzes, and I stand up. Stretching, I say, “It’s late. I’m gonna crash.”

As I head for the door, I hear groans and prods behind me to stay, to spill about the girl. With my back turned, I wave and leave for my room. When I’m settled onto my own bed, I look at the text from Nell.

Chapter 19

Nell’s To-Do List

I
should be studying. Mateo or Torres or whoever he is won’t be here for another hour, and I should be studying because even though he’s promised not to distract me, he’s just naturally distracting, and I’m not sure how much work I’ll get done tonight.

That’s what I should be doing. Instead, I’m putting on makeup. Real, actual makeup. On my face. Like a normal person. Or trying to anyway. I haven’t used my mascara in a couple months, and it’s gone all clumpy inside. I make a few passes over my lashes, but no matter how much gunk I wiped off the brush, it still comes out all clumpy and awful on my eyes.