Beauty and the Running Back (3 page)

“Crash, this is Noel,” Esther says, “She’s a transfer from
UCLA. And she’s also our newest varsity cheerleader.” 

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Noel smiles, revealing a sexy
gap between her two front teeth.

“Nice to meet you too,” I tell her, “How do you like Rayburn
so far?”

“Better and better every minute,” she purrs, looking me up
and down with hunger in her eyes. Hey, I respect a lady who knows what she
wants.

Before I can reply, something catches my eye over Noel’s
shoulder. Or rather, someone. The girl from the garden, Jessa, is walking down
the center of the street, chatting with a friend. She’s wearing that same pair
of sexy high-waisted daisy dukes, a black crop top, and a flannel shirt tied
around her waist. Her blonde hair is messily tousled, and her red lips are
pulled into a smile as she jokes with her friend. I haven’t been able to get a
good look at this girl since I nearly collided with her the other day, but fuck
if she hasn’t been on my mind. And now that I’ve got her in my sights again, no
way am I about to let her slip away.

“See you guys later,” I say to Noel and Esther, stepping
around them in pursuit of Jessa. I hear Noel mutter something disappointedly as
I go, but what can I say? I’m a man who knows what he wants, too. Besides, the
second I step away, Buck slips an arm over Noel’s shoulders. No way will she be
lonely tonight with Bryan Wallace around.

I grab a couple of beers from a cooler on Sigma Nu’s lawn
and stride into the street. My body lights up as Jessa walks toward me, looking
around at the wild party. As she turns her eyes in my direction, I feel of
shock of energy go straight through my gut. Goddamn. Every move she makes is
hitting me like a bolt of lightning. I’ve never felt so keyed up around a girl
before… But I don’t hate it. I’m the kind of guy who likes to face a storm
head-on. And whatever storm is brewing between me and Jessa is no exception.

“Hey,” I say to her, closing the space between us.

“Hey yourself,” she says, her blue-greens eyes gleaming.

“You ladies look like you could use a drink,” I say, holding
out the beers to Jessa and her redheaded friend.

“Thanks,” Jessa says, taking the cool bottle from my hand.

“Aren’t you the guy who almost ran us over the other day?”
the redhead asks, lifting a shaped eyebrow at me.

I regard the redhead, a suicide girl type dressed in vintage
clothes and made up like a 1950’s pinup. She’s looking at me like I’m a six-foot-tall
cockroach, but I just smile back at her. We football players may be the gods of
this campus, but that doesn’t mean there’s not an atheist or two in the student
body.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I chuckle, “My buddy Bryan way
trying to throw me a pass, but he’s no quarterback.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what that means,” the redhead drawls.

Jessa catches my eye and smiles apologetically for her
friend’s chilly reception. I give her a little shrug, telling her it’s cool.
I’m amazed at how much we can communicate with just a few gestures. It’s like
we’re on the same wave length or something.

“You guys hanging around here for a while?” I ask the pair.

“We were actually about to go check out this show downtown,”
Jessa tells me, “Blaire knows this band that’s playing there.”

“Oh. Cool,” I nod, though of course I’m disappointed not to
get more time with Jessa tonight. She looks a little put out to be leaving so
early, too.

“Actually, do you mind if I meet you there?” Jessa says to
Blaire, “I wanna finish this beer and soak in a little more of the campus
scene.”

“Yeah, sure,” Blaire shrugs, “Observe the wildlife all you
want. You know where the bar is, right?”

“Uh huh,” Jessa replies, “I’ll see you in a sec.”

Blaire gives me one last suspicious look and continues on
her way. Jessa and I are alone together at last. Or at least, that’s how it
feels. We may be completely surrounded by drunken party goers, but for all I
care we’re the only two people in the world.

“Sorry about that,” Jessa says to me, twisting off the top
of her beer, “Blaire isn’t exactly a football fan.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” I grin, opening the other
beer for myself. “But hey, that’s her prerogative.”

“Guess so,” Jessa says, keeping her eyes on me as she takes
a sip. I have to remind myself to breath as she brings her full lips to the
mouth of the bottle, wrapping them around the dewy glass.

“What about you?” I ask, my voice suddenly husky. “Are you a
football fan?”

“I’m… pretty familiar with the game,” she laughs, tucking
her hair behind her ear.

“So I’m guessing the football team wasn’t what brought you
to this school?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” she replies, “I’m studying creative writing.
And education, technically, but I’d like to be a writer someday.”

“Cool,” I nod. She definitely seems like the creative type.
I can dig that.

“What are you majoring in?” she asks.

I can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” I tell her, “It’s just, no
one ever asks me that.”

“Why not?” she asks, cocking her head.

“Cause I don’t need a major,” I inform her, “I’m going pro
after college.”

“You are, are you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Damn right,” I tell her, “Just as soon as I turn in a
couple national championships for Rayburn, I’ll be a lock for the NFL. I’m gonna
play ball for as long as my body will let me.”

“That’s a pretty dark way to put it,” she observes.

“I don’t see it that way,” I shrug, “Football’s my entire
life. I don’t mind giving it everything I have.”

The corners of her mouth turn down ever-so-slightly at that.

“What’s the matter?” I ask her.

“Nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head, “That just…
Doesn’t sound like a very full life, is all. What about friends? Family?”

“The team are my friends. And my family,” I tell her. “See?
Everything’s just in one neat package is all.”

“I guess so,” she allows.

“You don’t seem convinced,” I smile.

“You don’t need to convince me of anything,” she replies,
“You don’t even know me.”

“But I’d like to,” I tell her, taking a step forward, “You
wanna go somewhere a little quieter and talk?”

“Where do you have in mind?” she asks, eyeing me with an
even mix of curiosity and wariness. Not that I blame her. I
am
a
stranger, after all.

“Nowhere special,” I say.

“Well, I have to go meet Blaire,” she reminds me, “But…
Maybe you could walk me down to the bar?”

I drain the rest of my beer and chuck the bottle into the
nearest garbage can.

“Lead the way.”

Jessa

It takes a minute for me to remember how to form full
sentences in Dean’s presence, but by the time we reach the other side of our
college town, I’ve just about recovered my senses. I’m not the type to get all
tongue-tied around guys. Or at least, I thought I wasn’t. But this guy in
particular is making my brain go all haywire.

“I don’t know anyone else who’s taken a year off before
school,” Dean observes, as I tell him about my travels in Spain.

“I think everyone should do it, personally,” I reply, “It
was the best experience of my life, hands down.”

“You like to travel, huh?” he asks.

“I love it,” I tell him, “I’ll probably try to study abroad
while I’m here at Rayburn.”

“You want to get away from campus life already?” he laughs,
“You just got here!”

“I mostly just want to get away from my parents,” I reply
before I can catch myself.

“Your parents?” Dean asks, “But… Haven’t you already gotten
away from them by going off to school?”

I sigh, pausing on the sidewalk outside the bar where Blaire’s
friends are playing. I guess there was no way I was going to be able to keep my
identity a secret forever. I’ve been careful not to come or go onto campus with
my dad, or interact with him when we’re both there. But it’s not like my
secret’s going to stay under wraps once school starts. No use in trying to hide
it.

“Actually, I still live with my parents,” I tell Dean.

“Oh,” he says, “So you’re a commuter, then?”

“Uh. No…” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets, “My dad
works for the school.”

“He’s a professor?”

“A coach.”

“Huh. For what sport?” Dean asks, cocking his head.

“You really don’t know who I am?” I ask him.

He just shakes his head.

“Damn. And you were annoyed with me for not knowing who you
were when we first met,” I laughs softly, shaking my head. “I guess this is
what happens when you’re only on a first name basis.”

“What’re you—?”

“My full name is Jessa Cahill,” I finally tell Dean, “As in
Nathan Cahill’s daughter.”

Dean stares back at me, as if trying to decide whether I’m
pranking him or not. When he realizes I’m seriously, he lets out a deep sigh.

“Well,” he says, “That’s…”

“Yeah.”

“How can someone as cool as you have such a bastard for a
dad?”

I laugh at his unexpected comment. “Whoa! Why don’t you tell
us how you really feel?”

“Sorry, was that too harsh?” he asks with a smile.

“Hell no,” I tell him, “My dad’s a huge pain in my ass.”

“So I’m guessing that means you don’t care what he thinks?”
Dean goes on.

“Not at all,” I say.

“And that means I can still be into you, even though you’re
the coach’s daughter,” Dean says, taking a step toward me.

“Are you saying you’re… into me?” I ask, my breath catching
in my throat as Dean comes closer.

“Absolutely,” he says, his voice riding low in his throat,
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the other day.”

“Oh…” I breathe, leaning back against the brick wall outside
of the bar as Dean comes closer. There goes my ability to form sentences again.

“So. Are you into me too?” Dean asks, planting one hand on
the wall above my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I smile, “Yeah, I’d have to say that I am.”

“So I’m into you, you’re into me…” he says, his brown eyes
locked onto mine, “Seems like a pretty happy coincidence.”

“Sure,” I allow, “But the whole coach’s daughter thing sort
of puts a damper on things, don’t you think?”

“I don’t see why,” Dean shrugs. The closeness of him is
making my head spin. “You just said you don’t care what your dad thinks. And
the last time I checked you and I were both adults. We don’t need anyone’s
permission to do what we like.”

“True…” I agree, “But I’ve made it a rule in the past not to
get mixed up with my dad’s football players.”

“Well…” Dean murmurs, lifting my chin toward his with a
finger, “Rules can always be rewritten, can’t they?”

“I suppose so,” I allow, aching to feel his lips against
mine.

He’s right. I’m still stuck in my high school ways of
thinking, worrying about what my dad would think about me hooking up with one
of his team members. I’ve been across the ocean on my own, lost my virginity to
a gorgeous Spaniard, set off on a life that’s not dictated by my parents’
values. And besides, it’s not like Dean’s proposing marriage, here. He’s just
down to have a little fun. No one would ever have to know…

“I’d really like to kiss you, Jessa,” Dean says, letting his
fingertips trail down along my throat, “Is that against the rules?”

“Maybe,” I breathe, “But rules aren’t just meant to be rewritten.
They’re also meant to be broken. Right?”

“Right.”

I bring my hands to Dean’s sculpted face as our lips meet.
Warm satisfaction rolls down my spine as our mouths move together. I lace my
fingers behind his neck as he presses me up against the brick wall, letting his
tongue glide against mine. The taste of him intoxicates me, and I know I’ll be
hooked from this moment on. A guy like Dean can become an addiction real quick
if you’re not careful. But I’ve been careful my whole life. Maybe letting my guard
down just a little wouldn’t be the end of the world?

My back arches as Dean’s strong hands run down along my
sides, learning the shape of me. His hands brush against the bare skin between
my crop top and jeans, and a warm ache blossoms between my legs. I want to feel
those hands
everywhere
. I catch Dean’s bottom lip in my teeth as he
kisses me, and a low moan rises in his throat. I can feel him growing hard
against me, growing hard
for
me. And suddenly it feels inevitable that
we’ll get to have each other…

Just not tonight.

“I’d better get in there,” I whisper, looking up at Dean in
the neon glow of the bar sign. “Or else Blaire’s gonna think you kidnapped me.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Dean chuckles, his voice hoarse with
want. “When can I see you again, Jessa?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other plenty,” I tell
him, running my hands through my hair as he takes a step back.

“I’d like that,” he says firmly, letting his eyes trace down
along my body.

“Well. Until then,
Crash
,” I grin, already missing the
feel of him against me.

“Until then,
Cahill
,” he shoots back, turning to go.

I take a deep breath as I turn toward the bar, trying to
compose myself. The last thing I need is to walk in there all starry-eyed over
a football player. Blaire would never let me hear the end of it. But the hot,
enticing desire that’s been sparked in my core? That I’ll hold inside of me
until I see Dean again.

Something tells me I couldn’t put it out if I tried.

Chapter Three

Dean

“Go get ‘em, Crash!”

“You’re gonna kill those guys.”

“RED BIRDS! RED BIRDS!”

Cheers and slaps on the back rain down on me as I make my
way through campus during the first couple weeks of classes. Our first home
game is set for this Friday, and I’m ready to tear to it up. The team is
looking awesome after our intense pre-season training. I may not be too fond of
our new head coach as a person, but fuck if he can’t run a football team.

It’s Wednesday morning before the big game, and I’m just
walking into American Lit. This has by far become my favorite class of the
semester, and not because I’m big on Hemingway or whatever. But because a
certain gorgeous, brilliant, and totally off-limits girl happens to be taking
it, as well. Walking into the small classroom, my eyes land on Jessa Cahill
sitting at the corner of the seminar table. Her bright eyes flick up to mine
and stick there as a slow, secretive smile spreads across her face.

Jessa and I have been circling each other for weeks now.
Ever since the night of the Greek Row party, when we shared that hot kiss
outside the bar, we’ve been stealing time alone together whenever we can. That
means sneaking off behind the campus greenhouse during one of her volunteer
shifts, driving out to meet each other far away from campus, or stealing off
into stairwells between classes… whatever we have to do to get a minute alone.
And even though the sneaking around means that I can’t see as much of Jessa as
I’d like to, I have to say it makes things pretty hot.

I sit down at the opposite corner of the seminar table, pretending
not to be incredibly turned on just by her presence. It’s crazy—we haven’t even
had sex yet, but I already get more cranked up by her than any other girl I’ve
ever been with. Don’t get me wrong, there’s been plenty of making out and shit
going down at our meet-ups, but we also spend a lot of that time just talking
and getting to know each other. I’ve told her all about my crazy competitive
relationship with my big brother, our working class upbringing that puts all
the more pressure on our pro-football aspirations. She’s told me about her
wack-job conservative parents, her perfect big sister, the serious financial
reasons why she’s even still hanging around these people at all. We come from
pretty different backgrounds, but it’s crazy how much common ground there is
between us.

Glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, I marvel at how
she can make a tee shirt and pair of jeans look sexier than three issues of the
SI Swimsuit Edition combined. Her hair is pulled into a high, sleek ponytail,
her face barely made-up. I’ve been with all kinds of girls in my life, but no
one who’s seemed as comfortable in her skin as Jessa. It’s one of the things I
like best about her—and that’s a long fucking list, let me tell you.

When class starts, I can barely even make out the words
coming from our professor’s mouth. I’m way too busy imagining what my next
encounter with Jessa will hold. The campus is always in chaos after a big game,
so sneaking away somewhere Friday night shouldn’t be a problem. But as happy as
I am to keep things with Jessa on the DL, part of me wishes that we could hang
out together in public. Around other people.

This came up the other night, while we sat at a 24-hour
diner a few towns over sharing cheese fries and a couple of beers. Jessa’s
older sister was kind enough to give her an old driver’s license that works as
a fake ID, so at least we can go out for a drink together now and then.

“I don’t really see what the big deal would be,” I said to
her, as the waitress set a fresh beer in front of me. “So what if people know
we’re hanging out?”

Jessa shot me a knowing look as she plucked another fry off
the plate. “People complicate things,” she said simply.

“Well that’s one hell of a non-answer,” I laughed.

“I just mean… You’re a big deal at Rayburn,” she went on,
“You sneeze and the gossip mill churns for a week. If people found out you were
hanging out with the head coach’s daughter? We’d never hear the end of it.”

“So, let people talk,” I shrugged.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she said, shaking her head,
“You’re untouchable around here. It’s not
you
people would talking shit
about if they knew we were a thing. It’s me.”

“How do you figure?” I asked.

“I’m the girl,” she said, “It’s always the girl who gets
talked about. Everybody on this campus either wants you or wants to be you.
That means people will either resent me for getting to hang out with you or
harass me because they want what you have.”

“Jesus,” I muttered, “Being a girl sounds exhausting.”

“You’re telling me,” she laughed, munching on her fries.
“And all that’s to say nothing of what my dad would do if he knew his running
back was getting friendly with his daughter. I just think it would make things
a lot simpler if we kept this to ourselves. I’m having too good a time to risk
ruining it with other people’s shitty opinions.”

“As long as you’re good, I’m good,” I told her honestly.

And I meant it. All I really want is to keep having a good
time with Jessa. But maybe there’s a way for us to spend more time together
around other people without anyone knowing what’s really going on between us? A
way we could have our cake and eat it, too.

“That’s all for today,” says our professor, Rachel Warren, a
woman in her late thirties with black rimmed glasses and curly brown hair.
“Your paper proposals are due at the end of next week, OK?”

My classmates and I get up to go. It takes every ounce of self-control
I have not to reach out and wrap my arm around Jessa’s cinched waist as she
passes. I’ve been memorizing the shape of her perfect curves for two weeks now,
and I’m nowhere near close to getting enough. Her petite but womanly figure is
the epitome of sexy, in my book. But honestly, I’m pretty sure that I’d think
the same thing no matter what kind of body Jessa had.

“Mr. Carter,” I hear Ms. Warren say as I head for the door,
“Can I speak to you for a moment, please?”

I turn back to face my teacher. She and I are the last ones
in the room. She’s sitting on the edge of her desk, regarding me with a cordial
if distant smile. I hike my backup up on my shoulder as I take a step toward
her.

“What’s up, Prof?” I ask, defaulting to the casual
relationship I’ve had with most of my professors in my time here at Rayburn.

“I just wanted to have a quick word with you, before the
season really kicks into gear,” Ms. Warren says, pushing her glasses up the bridge
of her nose.

“Sure thing,” I reply.

“I know that Rayburn is a big football school,” she says, as
if fighting to keep from rolling her eyes, “And I know that it’s common for
football players to get somewhat special treatment from the faculty here.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I tell her, lying through my fucking
teeth.

To be honest, the educations us football players get here at
Rayburn are pretty much a joke. We’re put into the easiest classes, let off the
hook for late or missing assignments, basically spoon fed. School’s never been
an issue for me. I got decent grades in high school and wouldn’t necessarily
mind having to put in the work now that I’m in college. But hey, if they’re
offering me a free pass here, I’m still gonna take it. The school makes a ton
of money off football, and there’s a lot of pressure on our professors not to
fuck up our ability to play come game day. It’s a crock, but what do I care?
I’m here to get into the NFL, not to become a philosopher.

“Well,” Ms. Warren says, “I just want you to know that I
have complete faith in your abilities as a student in this class. I’m sure that
you and I won’t have any problems down the line. But I thought it best to give
you fair warning that I’m not going to dole out any special treatment to you
just because you can run fast, Mr. Carter.”

Damn. This lady has some serious balls. Most of the other
teachers are way too worried about getting flack from the administration to
stand up to anyone on the football team. I’ve got to respect the professor here,
even if her hard-ass attitude might make things harder for me down the line.

“If you ever do feel like you’re struggling in this class,”
she goes on, “I encourage you to seek me out during office hours. Or get some
help from another student, if you’d prefer. A peer tutor can be very helpful in
a class like this.”

And just like that, a gigantic lightbulb goes off in my
head. A peer tutor. In the very same class that Jessa happens to be taking. A
way for us to hang out whenever we want, wherever we want, with a perfect alibi
at the ready.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea Prof,” I say to Ms. Warren,
trying to keep from grinning like a mad man, “I think I might just look into
that.”

“Good,” the teacher replies, “I’m glad to hear it.”

I turn and stride out of my American Lit classroom walking
on fucking sunshine. As if this week weren’t already going to be epic enough
with the first big game of the season, I may have just come up with the perfect
plan to get as much Jessa Cahill in my life as possible.

The next afternoon at practice, we’re just packing it in for
the day when I decide to make my move. Putting on my best
concerned-but-determined expression, I tuck my helmet under my arm and walk
over to where Coach Cahill is talking some things over with Parker Royce.
Cahill is all kinds of starry-eyed for Royce, who has become quite the coach’s
pet these past few weeks. Me, I don’t play that game. I don’t care if my
coaches like me or not, as long as they respect what I bring to the team. Which
is quite a lot, I don’t mind saying.

“Hey Coach,” I say, stepping up to him as Royce heads off
for the locker room, “You got a sec?”

“Sure,” Cahill says, planting his hands on his hips, “What’s
on your mind, Crash?”

“It’s probably nothing, Coach,” I lead in, “There’s just something
that’s been weighing on my mind a little. I wanted to talk to you about it
before the game.”

“Well, what is it, son?” he asks, “We can’t have you
stressed before the home opener.”

“It’s just, I’m a little worried about my academics this
semester,” I tell him, “I’ve got this one class that might give me some grief.”

“From what I hear, the Rayburn professors are pretty
understanding, when it comes to the guys on the football team,” Cahill says.

“Not this professor,” I sigh, “I really need to make sure I
do well in her class. I wouldn’t put it past her to come between me and my spot
on the team.”

Coach’s eyes widen in alarm at the thought of me not being
able to play.

“What class does this professor teach?” he asks me.

“American Lit. Wednesday mornings,” I reply, laying out the
bait.

Cahill’s eyes light right up. “Well, I’ll be. What a happy
coincidence!”

“Sir?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“My daughter is taking that very same class,” Cahill crows,
clapping me on the back.
Hook, line, and sinker,
I think to myself.

“I didn’t even know you had a daughter,” I smile, arguably
laying it on too thick.

“Yessir,” Cahill goes on, “My youngest girl Jessa just
started here.”

“Oh. Jessa,” I say, nodding my head, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure
we’re in the same class.”

“Why don’t you let me if she’d be willing to tutor you a bit?”
Coach Cahill goes on. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping out.”

“Wow, Coach. That would be great,” I say enthusiastically,
“Thank you.”

“Not at all,” he replies, “Gotta make sure my boys are taken
care of.”

And just like that, I’ve scored myself a place in Jessa’s
life, courtesy of her crazy, overbearing father. I may not spend much time on
my schoolwork, but goddamn if I can’t be a clever sonofabitch when I need to
be.