Headstrong Quarterback: A New Adult Sports Romance
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Authors: Ava Catori
A New Adult Sports Romance
Ava Catori
Copyright 2013, Ava Catori
Second Edition, 2015
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***
I want to remember every moment of his embrace.
I’ll wrap myself in the memory and softly fall asleep.
The nightmares will wake me, but for a little while I’ll feel safe.
Intense. Overbearing. He’s crushing my ability to breathe.
And yet, there’s nobody else that can reach me like he can.
I’m not worthy of his love. I have nothing left to give.
Why doesn’t he see he’s wasting his time?
We were two wounded souls trying to find our way.
He was strong and powerful, determined to find peace.
Me? I floundered like a fish out of water.
Her wall is impenetrable. She’s a tangled mess of pain and desire.
I want to save her, but she makes it so damn hard.
I need to break through, show her she can trust me.
If I save her, I can save myself. Salvation is on the other side.
Can a headstrong quarterback and a misguided soul let go of their demons and find happiness together?
*This book was previously titled “Tough to Love” in 2013
Contents
He walked into the bar like he owned the place. He moved with the swagger of self-importance. He was bigger and broader than most of the guys that frequented this shit-hole. It didn’t matter. Even with all of his good looks to back it up, I didn’t want to be bothered, especially not today.
The brawny man chose a bar stool and settled. He greeted me with a nod. “Can I get something cold?”
“Do you have a preference?”
Cold? We have an entire bar to choose from and he can’t pick something?
“Something good,” was all he answered.
I shrugged and pulled a longneck out of the cooler. I placed the bottle in front of him, then poured a shot of iced vodka.
He slammed the vodka down. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed a few bills onto the counter.
I hated how much space he took up without even trying. His presence loomed larger than life. In the past, my thighs would have quivered just on seeing him. My panties would already be wet. Some biological reflexes are hard to control. Years ago, I’d have ached for a chance to touch his hard body, to run my hands over his muscled arms and chest, and get naked with him. I would have wondered what was hidden beneath his jeans. I’d probably even have acted silly and girlish, flirting with the insanely good looking guy. Not today. Probably, not ever again.
I couldn’t be bothered. Most men left me cold. I trusted no one.
“Quiet night,” he commented, like I couldn’t notice on my own.
“Yep,” I answered, keeping it short and sweet.
“Sorry you got stuck working tonight.” He wanted to talk. I didn’t.
“Not a big deal; I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
“A pretty girl like yourself, alone? No boyfriend or family to celebrate with?”
My shoulders tensed. I barely notice when I clench my jaw these days. It tightens so fast that I don’t have time to think about it. Family, yeah, right. That’s the fucking punchline of a sad joke.
Fucking assholes
.
“Look, I’m not much for talking,” I finally forced out.
“And yet you took a job as a bartender,” he mused, pleased with his quick come back.
“I have bills to pay.” I was in no mood to banter with the guy. I didn’t give a fuck if he wanted to talk, I didn’t. One year ago, to the very date, my entire world changed. Thanksgiving was for the birds… err, well, it wasn’t a good day to be a turkey either.
“Sorry to bother you.” He watched me closely. I could feel his gaze on me. It trailed up and down the length of my body, as if he needed to absorb and memorize every detail so he could jerk off to my image later. I felt naked beneath his stare.
Any other day I might have cared, maybe even shown a hint of desire. I’d never touch the guy though, no matter how smoldering hot he was. I was done with guys like him, guys that thought they owned you, breathing in your air, filling the space and gap between you. People like him were the toughest part of my job. They thought they could possess you like a mindless bimbo, using you for their own pleasure.
On another day, I might have worked harder to get a bigger tip, but not today, and maybe not even tomorrow.
I liked the bar better when the place was empty. The occasional straggler came in, but tonight most people were home with their families eating their turkeys and pasty mashed potatoes.
One more year and I could blow this popsicle stand and shitty town and never to look back. There was nothing left for me here. Two more semesters and I’d be free. I couldn’t live here anymore, but was too close to getting my degree. I wasn’t a fool. It made sense to finish.
His eyes were still on me. I turned my back to him and went to the other end of the bar.
He finally got up to leave. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
I nodded, relieved I’d be alone again. “Right, same to you.”
I wanted to lock the door, close out any more potential customers, but I still had a couple of hours to go. We had to be the only place in town that was open. It’s not that I had plans. I just wanted to be alone. I pulled my arms tightly around my chest and forced myself to breathe. Deep breath. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I’d be fine for a few more hours. It’s not like I had a choice.
He was stronger than I was. I pushed him off of me. He’d been drinking, but that was no excuse. When I pushed, he didn’t take kindly to it. His hand came up fast and hard. He pinned me to the wall. His thick hand wrapped around my neck.
I closed my eyes and tried to force the memory away. It rushed back at me. I shook my head, as if it would make a difference. His other hand lifted the gauzy material of my skirt. He tore at my panties. Silent tears fell.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this. I saw the way you looked at me.” His hot breath reeked of booze.
“Get off,” I choked out.
Punished for speaking, he reeled back and slapped my face.
I started to scream, but his mouth came down on mine, muffling the sounds.
He slammed my head against the wall and growled, “Shut the fuck up.”
I clawed at him, desperate for my dignity. Trying to get free… His fingers pushed between my nether lips and penetrated me.
I went numb. Limp. He ripped open his jeans and slid between my thighs, and didn’t stop until he was finished.
When he broke away, he simply left the room after he zipped his jeans.
I buckled and dropped to the floor. Why? How? I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms over them. I couldn’t breathe. Violated and raw, I sat in silence.
***
Nobody believed me. Not my mother, not my step-father… they stared at me like I had two heads. The words came out, the accusation, but nobody believed me. Their minor-league ice hockey star would never do anything so heinous. What the hell was wrong with me? Obviously, they would have heard something. How dare I ruin Thanksgiving.
“He raped me,” I screamed out. My words fell on deaf ears.
“That’s enough,” my step-father spat at me. Sure, like I had nothing better to do on Thanksgiving than accuse my step-brother of rape.
Fucking asshole
.
He sat there acting offended I’d even say such a thing. I was in an alternate universe. Nobody cared. Nobody stood up for me. My mother looked through me, following her husband’s lead. She shook her head, disgusted that I’d ruined their turkey day. It was easier to pretend it didn’t happen.
I hated her with everything inside of me. She chose her side. I’ll never forgive her.
I went to the bar. They had rooms upstairs. It would have to do. I can’t afford much more. The owner of the bar said I could stay there. It wasn’t much, just a room with the basics. No kitchen, a shared bath, it wasn’t pretty.
The bathroom is down the hall. I have to share it with the rest of the vagrants that live there. Most are drug users or go from job to job, unable to maneuver life with grace and style.
My door locks. That’s what matters. And it’s away from my family.
Some nights I still felt his fingers wrapped around my throat. Or his cock driving hard into me. The tears don’t fall anymore. Usually I’m numb.
My mom comes into the bar time to time. She sits. She looks at me, but I have nothing to say. I think she does it to make herself feel better. Lies to herself. Says, I give a damn. Like seeing her face changes my world. She’s dead to me. I wish she’d stop coming by. It only brings back the pain and memories.
The stranger, the big guy, he walked back in. I looked up. He caught my eye. He had a brown bag with him. His gaze was heavy, intense, and aimed straight at me.
“What do you want?” I sighed, not ready to talk.
He walked with confidence. He knew his place in the world. His arrogance moved with him. He belonged on top, or at least that was his opinion. He wasn’t a man that followed rules, he had his own set of ethics. He drew his own conclusions. He was out of place in this shitty little hole-in-the-wall.
I’ll admit that I was curious. I wondered what brought him back.
The brown bag was dwarfed in his big, strong hands. Those hands had probably touched a hundred young, tight bodies – girls that chased after him in high school, then in college. He was the kind of guy that most girls swooned over; the type of guy women ached to touch. They wanted to stand by his side, so others knew they’d been chosen. They were arm candy, special, because of their beauty -- the same women that went on to become trophy wives.
He pushed the bag toward me. “It’s pumpkin pie, just a little piece of Thanksgiving for you. I’ve got to go. I’ll be back another time.”
I stared, not sure what to say. I finally choked out the words, “Wait, thanks.”
With that he nodded. “The sea of pain in your eyes painted a picture.”
It shows?
I watched as he left, unable to take my eyes off of him.
It was small, but felt huge. A stranger went out of his way to bring me a slice of pie. The gesture left me confused and fascinated. For the first time today, I smiled.
I thought about him more than I cared to over the next few days. I wondered if he’d be back. Not that it mattered. He didn’t ask for anything in return.
I didn’t see him for another week. By the time he walked back in, I was glad to see him.
That surprised even me
.
He pushed through the door. His broad shoulders led the way. Seated at the bar, he settled in. “How was the pie?”
“Good, thanks.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll take a cold one.”
I pulled a long neck out of the cooler and placed it before him. “This one’s on me,” I said, repaying the debt of the pie. I don’t like to owe anybody.
He nodded and waited for me to say something else. What was I supposed to say? I wasn’t feeling talkative. That was the hardest part of the job, the small talk. Most people came to bury their stories and frustration. It wasn’t a social kind of place. It was the place where you went when you wanted to be alone and wash away your sorrows. If I wanted to work at a more social place, I would have applied at the sports bar down the way. They were busy, bustling with a lively crowed.
Here, the dark paneling on the wall, the dim lighting and weathered booths let me get lost. Nobody bugged me to be their friend. We didn’t do girly, fruity drinks here. We weren’t a trendy martini place, or a nightclub, or an up and coming hot-spot. We were the seedy pub. Our customers didn’t need small talk to feel better.
He didn’t seem the type that belonged here. He looked like he would fit in with the sports crowd better. You know the kind of place where guys scream while watching a ballgame on one of the bar’s twenty-seven televisions. His leather jacket wasn’t worn down enough at the edges. It wasn’t broken in enough. That jacket hadn’t seen years of wear. In fact, it looked like he’d just bought it. It didn’t have years of life in it, not yet.
“One more,” he said, then chugged it down the minute it was in front of him. He peeled bills from his wallet and tossed five hundred dollars on the bar top.
Five hundred freaking dollars
. As he stood to leave, he shoved the money at me like I was some common hooker. “Keep the change.”
“I’m not some charity case,” I shot at him as he walkedaway
.
It was more money than I could afford to give back.
“I’ve come into some good fortune lately. I’m just spreading the wealth.”
“Not interested,” I called behind him. I pulled a twenty free, and left the rest on the bar. “I don’t want your money.”
“Then give it away.” He opened the door and left.
Fuck
. I gathered the cash and pulled it into a big, fat wad. I tried to shove it in my jean pocket, but it bulged. I’d hold it until he came back. I’d pay for his beer until the debt was repaid. You don’t just throw money at someone and not expect something in return. What did he want from me?
I tried to ignore my heartbeat as it fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. While I worried what he wanted in return, I still wanted him to come back, if just to see him again. There was something raw about him, like he was a secret and powerful superhero. Or that he’d risk everything to save a lost soul. Not that I needed that. I wasn’t fawning over him. Sure, he was an attractive man, but it was more than that… I almost felt safer around him.
One of my regulars came through the door. He turned his head back toward where he’d just entered, as if in confusion. “Was that Steel Brickman? The guy that just left, he looked just like him.”
I shrugged and looked at Harry. I’d never bothered to ask his name. “Who’s Steel Brickman?”
“Only, the
biggest
name in football right now. They snatched him right out of college before he graduated. He was a no-name playing for the Seattle Sidewinders back at school, some peon school, not even a big one, but a scout found him and grabbed him up. He’s about to start playing for our boys. I think they start him next week. He’s all over sports talk radio right now. Shit, I think that was him.” He was in awe.
“The Red Hawks?”
That explains the cash
.
“Yeah. Imagine that.”
Why hadn’t he chosen the sports bar down the road? He would have fit right in. He probably had a huge ego, being pulled out of college, a no-name that went pro. I didn’t follow football, and except for the rare game that was splashed on the television time to time here, I rarely paid attention, but even I knew who the Red Hawks were.