Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (2 page)

Romy groans. “You seriously need to unclench and have a little fun, Esther. I promise we won’t get caught, alright? I never have. In fact, no party has been busted at this house. Ever.”

I study my profile in the mirror. Then I realize this is the height of vanity and I stop. “With my luck, it’ll be the first time that it
does
get shut down.”

Romy looks at the clock on the wall. “The prayer dinner is at seven tonight. We go to that, then we come back here and sneak off campus. It’s easy. I’ve done it a billion times. You’re going with me. No excuses, no exceptions. Pinky swear?”

I’m resigned to what she’s saying. I reach out my hand and wrap my pinky around hers. “Pinky promise.”

CHAPTER TWO

SAINT

I stand in the mirror of my bedroom and straighten my tie. I look boring. But that’s the general idea. My khaki pants, plain white button down shirt and navy tie are supposed to blend into the background. “I’m going to be so happy to stop wearing these fucking clothes after I graduate.”

Rick, my roommate, barely looks up from his gaming PC to answer me. “Yeah, I guess,” he replies.

“Are you even listening to me, dude?”

Rick hits all the buttons of the controller at once and stands up, hollering. “Victory is mine!” He does a lap around the room.

“Finally get to Virgin Level Ten on your fairy tale game?”

Rick throws a football at my face and I catch it at the last second.

“Very funny,” he retorts. He opens the drawers of his dresser and pulls out a uniform identical to my own. “And yeah, I was listening to you. The translation of what you were saying is something like ‘I’m joining the national league and will be raking in twenty million dollars at the age of twenty-two. Yeah, I got the message.”

“And you’ll be raking in cash as a lawyer,” I retort.

Rick laughs. “Not quite the same thing, buddy.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Except my odds of making money long-term are much greater than your odds. You’ll tear your ACL in your third season and end up running a sandwich shop back in Des Moines.”

I bite my lip. “Going for the jugular after I called you a virgin?”

Rick nods. “Fair play, Saint. It’s fair play.”

“You coming to the party tonight? It’s supposed to be a rager.”

Rick glances over at his computer

“Your binary-and-circuit-board girlfriend will still be here when we get back,” I say. I look at the clock. “And hurry up.”

“For such a playboy, you sure are a stickler for time,” Rick says, shoving his sock-covered feet into brown, clunky dress shoes that are identical to my own.

“Saint is always late. But Francis is never late,” I reply sarcastically. “Gotta keep my persona up and running, don’t I?”

Rick reaches over to my messy desk and tosses me a thick, leather-bound book. “You almost forgot your Bible,
Francis
.”

I point my finger at his face. “You ever call me that again, I’ll break your fucking nose.”

Rick laughs as we walk out of the room toward the dining hall. The campus is quiet as beige-wearing students trod along silently toward the massive white building. It’s always quiet time before prayer dinners. It’s the rule.

I lower my voice. “You think Tina’ll be there tonight?”

Rick glares at me. “Stop trying to get me into trouble and keep walking,” he mutters.

“You’re no fun,” I say.

“Some of us are on thin ice around here.
Some of us
don’t have the golden ticket that you have. If you mess up, you get a slap on the wrist. You’re the reason this school has any money.”

I grin at him, falling into the line snaking out of the men’s entrance. Yeah, it’s archaic and sexist. But the women and men never enter through the same doors on prayer night. Yet another rule at this place.

The line inches forward and we enter the dining hall. Only candles light the space, and the sun is setting. It sort of looks like Hogwarts. You know, if the Harry Potter books were allowed to be read on campus, I’m guessing more people would publicly describe it like that. I take my seat next to the Dean of the College at the men’s table. He nods at me and I nod back, scooting out a chair and sitting down on it.

I’m starving. We had two practices today and I had to skip lunch. The smell of roast chicken and mashed potatoes floats through the air. I wonder if I could sneak into the kitchen and charm my way into some samples.

I’m stopped from wondering by the entrance of the women. There’s a girl in the front of the line. Her hazel eyes glint in the candle light, her dirty-blonde hair gleaming. Her cardigan sweater strains against the buttons holding her round tits in place.

I bite back a grin and file her into my memory. I’ll use that later when I’m ‘confessing my sins’ in the shower.

Everyone sits down and the Dean stands up. “Let’s begin with a prayer.”

No fucking shit,
I think to myself.
It’s a fucking prayer dinner.

He drones on for a good fifteen minutes. I can hear everyone getting agitated, but I’m in Golden Boy mode. I don’t move a single muscle. I know the Dean will compliment me on my stillness later. Just one more sticker on my good behavior chart.

It’s a good thing that the party tonight won’t count on that chart.

Because I’d be losing every single sticker on it.

CHAPTER THREE

ESTHER

“We can’t do this,” I whisper to Romy as we tiptoe through the halls. Everyone is asleep in bed. Lights out began twenty minutes ago. Romy carries an enormous leather handbag that’s more suitcase than purse.

We slip out of the side of the building and into the dark night, darting between street lamps. We make it off campus and I let myself breathe a sigh of relief.

Romy pulls me behind a towering oak tree.

“What are you doing?” I whisper to her.

She crouches down and unzips her purse. She pulls out a wad of fabric and shoves it towards me.

“What is this?”

Romy grabs a makeup compact and it lights up her face. “Would you stop asking questions and just do what I tell you? That’s the only way we’re getting out of this without getting
into
trouble.”

I unfurl the bundle of cloth and realize it’s clothing. Well, it’s sort of clothing. It’s more like doll clothing. “I didn’t bring my Barbie, Romy,” I whisper to her.

She rolls her eyes as she applies mascara to her lashes. “Put them on. They’ll fit.”

My cheeks are burning and I’m happy that Romy can’t see them. “I cannot wear this,” I say, holding up the skimpy tank top and miniskirt.

“I’m screaming at the top of my lungs and running away, then,” Romy says. “And then you can explain to campus security why you’re out of bed.”

I open my mouth to retort and then close it. She’s going to win this; I should have known it the second I voluntarily left our dorm room tonight. I unbutton my cardigan and fold it up carefully, setting it on the gnarled roots of the tree. The cool night air sends goosebumps across my bare skin. I take off my t-shirt and long skirt. I’m only in my bra and underwear.

Romy raises an appraising eyebrow. “Who knew you had a body under that nun’s uniform, Esther.”

I’m embarrassed again but I ignore her, sliding on the spaghetti-strap tank top. I pick up the tattered-edged denim miniskirt and pull it on. I feel so exposed I might as well be naked.

Romy finishes up her makeup and starts changing. “I’ll do your makeup in a minute,” she says.

I shake my head. “I’m already in these clothes. You’re not getting more out of me than I’ve already given.”

Romy pulls on a strapless, midriff-baring top and a tight black miniskirt. “Esther, you came out here with me voluntarily. There must have been a reason for that. Either go the whole nine yards or go back to our dorm room. Either way, shut up about you not wanting to be here. Because I don’t believe it for even a second.”

She’s right. Of course. I sit down at the base of the tree, my arms across my chest, and wait for her to finish changing. Soon, Romy’s covering my face with makeup. I sit there like a mannequin and let her work. The faster I let her finish, the faster we get to the party, and the faster I get to be back in my bed reading my sports magazines.

Romy leans back and purses her lips, holding her iPhone flashlight up to my face. “Not bad considering I was working in the dark. Maybe a little heavy, but…you’ll be fine. You look like a new person. Nobody is going to recognize you. Nobody.” She cocks her head. “It’s a little freaky. If I didn’t know it was you right now? I wouldn’t know it was you.”

“Can’t I peek in the mirror?”

Romy gathers up our clothes and stuffs them in her enormous purse. “No. We’re late enough as it is and I don’t want you wiping it all off before we get there.” She helps me stand up and hands me a pair of high heels.

“I can’t walk in these,” I protest.

“Then carry them and change out of your grandma orthopedic sneakers when we get there. Let’s
go
, Esther.”

She takes my hand and we wander down the residential streets, Romy’s heels clicking on the pavement followed by my reluctant shuffle. The air smells like autumn: cinnamon and wet leaves and crisp breezes. The wind blows and I shiver. I’m already not used to wearing so little clothing, but even if I’d been in my usual plain garb, I’d still be chilly tonight.

All the houses are quiet, the occasional blue glow of a television set falling through cracks in blinds and onto the front yard. We’re six blocks away when I hear the pounding of music.

Romy smiles at me. “We’re here.” She stops in front of a three-story, falling-down Victorian house. People spill out of it onto the front yard. “Shoes.”

I sigh and untie my sneakers, balling up my socks and hiding them inside. I hand them to her. She holds out her arm so I can steady myself as I slip on sparkly gold high heels. They’re at least four inches high. “You couldn’t have given me a shorter pair?”

“Those
are
my short shoes. Besides that, they make your legs look ten times longer than they actually are. I wish you’d be more grateful.” She pouts.

“Yes,
thank you
, Romy, for bringing me to a party I had no interest in attending and dressing me up like…like…”

“Romy! Get your ass over here!” A man’s voice calls out from the patio and I recognize one of the football players. Rick or something. I’m not sure.

Romy leaves me with her purse which she’s unfolded into the size of a tote bag, and runs to greet her suitor. I stare in shock as he lifts her off her feet and kisses her on the mouth. I realize I’m blushing. A drunken party guest bumps into me as they stumble into the street and vomit onto the pavement.

This night is off to a roaring start.

CHAPTER FOUR

SAINT

“Do you mind?” I grunt at Rick sitting next to me on the sticky sofa. I don’t know why the sofa’s sticky. I don’t really want to know.

This is just one of the many quirks of a party house: every surface is coated in
something
. I just don’t know what that
something
is. Rick moves an elbow into my ribs and I resign myself to the fact that he’s making out with his girlfriend, they’re taking up most of the couch, and if I want to get up I’ll lose this seat to someone else.

I lean back and cover my eyes. I’d wanted to come out tonight, but this party is a lot less fucking fun than the last one. Of course, the last one didn’t take place the night before a big football game, either. As much as I pretend to not give a fuck, I can’t blow a game. It’s career suicide, and a pro-league scout could be watching.

I heave myself off the sofa and fight my way through the crowd to the bathroom. It’s closed. I bang on the door.

“It’s occupied!” someone calls back to me.

I bang on the door again. “Whoever’s in there, you better be taking a shit and not having sex. I have to piss like a racehorse.”

Nobody yells back at me, so I wander back through the crowd and out the back patio door. There are fewer people out here, but most of them are smoking weed. I can’t risk even a contact high. I go back inside. A few women wave me over to their threesome of dancing but for once, I’m not interested. I scan the room for any activity that will keep me here. It’s only nine o’clock. I can’t sneak back onto campus yet, they’re doing hallway checks.

That’s when I see her.

Her blonde hair is pulled into a low, demure ponytail, and she’s pulling self-consciously at the hem of her top. The thin straps holding the fabric up look like they’re about to break from carrying her perfect tits around. She’s wearing one of those dime-a-dozen ripped miniskirts, but on her? It actually looks different. It sets off her pale, curvy thighs. I can’t see her feet but I’m hoping to God that she’s wearing a pair of fuck me heels.

I grin to myself. She
is
wearing a pair of fuck me heels.

This should keep me occupied for quite a while. I push through the crowd and stop in front of her. She’s been pushed into a corner by an increasingly drunken mob doing some ridiculous dance and filming themselves for social media.

I clear my throat. “Hey,” I say to her.

She looks up at me with hazel, round eyes. “Uh…hi,” she says.

God, her lips are perfection. Full and round and I can already picture them wrapped around my cock. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. You a freshman? Or just a lost woodland creature?” She really does resemble a scared little animal right now. It’s almost like she hasn’t experienced human contact before.

“What?”

“I’m Saint,” I say, reaching out my hand.

She takes hold of it with uncertainty. “Nice to meet you,” she replies.

“What’s your name?” I ask, wondering why she’s playing hard to get like this.

“I gotta go,” she replies, pushing past me. I lose her in the sea of people and curse.

“Fuck!” She was the only thing keeping me here. Now it looks like she’s leading me on a chase. I like a challenge.

“Saint!” Rick grabs my arm, his drunk girlfriend hanging on his shoulder. “You leaving?”