Hunter (Campus Kings): A Football Secret Baby Novel (4 page)

Chapter 8

Hunter

My hands clench and unclench in the locker room. We're at
the stadium for our home game opener, and it's against our rivals in the SEC,
the University of Tennessee. I can hear the crowd from here, cheering for their
Tigers to take the field.

I'm always pumped up before a game, but right now I feel
like a fucking rocket that's being held at the launch pad. I fucked four other
girls this week, just trying to forget about Britt, but it didn't help.
Everyone involved got off, but here I am, still thinking about her. Those
breasts, that tiny waist that shook when I put my hands on her, the taste of
peppermint in her mouth…

Fuck! I'm about to go on the field in front of thousands of
screaming fans and face off against a bunch of monsters who want nothing more
than to grind me into the dirt, and I'm thinking about some girl.

I am Hunter fucking Phillips.

I'm probably just thinking about her because she turned me
down, and I can't remember the last time that happened. All I need to do to get
her out of my head is sleep with a few more groupies.

Oh, and first I have to win this game.

We line up in the tunnel. Adam and I square off, pounding
our fists on each other's shoulder pads. Fireworks blast off at the tunnel
entrance, and we get the signal to go. I lead the charge, running out as the
smoke clears between two rows of cheerleaders. 

Eighty thousand people leap to their feet. The sound
reverberates in the bowl-shaped arena, but I'm used to it, and my ears quickly
adjust to the volume. We win the coin toss, the kickoff returner gets the ball
to Tennessee's thirty-five-yard line, and I set up behind the safety.

I feel a moment of nerves and take a deep breath. This is my
final season of college football, and I know the pro scouts are in the stands
or watching on ESPN. I eye the defense and call out an audible. My nerves are
gone. I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

I get us to our own twenty-yard line, but a sophomore tight
end fumbles and Tennessee almost recovers. I want to go for the touchdown, but
Coach McKay calls for the field goal. Swearing under my breath, I leave the
field. There's only so much I can do if my receivers can't even hold onto the
fucking ball.

Tennessee answers with a touchdown, and we take the field
again. My guys seem to have shaken off the cobwebs, and I throw a perfect
spiral forty yards down the field. Adam beats the coverage, and easily catches
the rock for a touchdown. Tennessee seems to lose its momentum after that, and
we end the half up sixteen to seven.

There's a lot of celebrating in the locker room, until Coach
McKay storms in and practically castrates us for enjoying ourselves. "Game
isn't won yet, gentleman!" he yells, then takes out a marker and begins
furiously marking up the white board to show the defense all their mistakes.

"What's up with you?" Adam asks as we line back up
in the tunnel for the second half. "You don't seem as pumped as usual.
We're killing them."

"Don't worry about it. Just catch the fucking
ball," I growl back.

"Fuck, what crawled up your ass?" he mutters, and
stuffs his helmet back on his head.

Despite Coach McKay's concern, our punt returner runs in a
poorly kicked ball for a touchdown, and I can practically see Tennessee's
energy sag from across the field. Another drive, and another touchdown. As I
head back to the sidelines and pull off my helmet, I hear the crowd roar, and
turn to see that the Jumbotron is showing a close-up of me. I smirk, and turn
to the bleachers behind me, pumping my arms up in the air until the crowd is
whipped into a frenzy.

I grab a Gatorade and take a seat on the sidelines. There's
only a few minutes left on the clock, and a win is all but secured. I crumple
the empty paper cup in my fist and turn to toss it into the garbage can.
Tennessee's offense takes a time out, and I watch as Coach McKay takes a second
to jog over to the stands.

I squint as a young woman bends over the barrier to exchange
a few words with him. Wait...is that? It can't be.
What in the ever-loving
fuck is Coach McKay doing talking to Britt?

I turn back to the field, my brain trying to make sense of
what I'm seeing. And I'm not the only one who's spotted them. I watch Adam
nudge Devon and point to the stands. A few of our other teammates turn to look
too, and soon there's a dozen of them looking back and ogling Britt. They whip
back around as Coach McKay comes back to the sidelines, but I see them laughing
together.

I frown, feeling my skin prickling with some unknown
feeling. I glance back toward the stands, but I only see Britt's back retreating
up the steps.

"Phillips! Wake up!"

My head snaps back to see our offensive coordinator yelling
at me to take the field. Tennessee failed to convert on fourth down and I
didn't even notice. I pick up my helmet and put it on as I sprint out.
Why was
Britt at a game? And how'd she score that front row seat?
My linemen form a
solid wall in front of me.
She didn't even seem to like football. Did she
come to see me?
The center hikes the ball, and I drop back into the pocket,
but I'm getting charged by two huge Tennessee defensive tackles.

I failed to read the blitz.

I hit the ground, and feel the air crushed out of me by the
six hundred pounds of meat pressing me into the dirt. I groan and hear the
whistle, but the fuckers take their sweet time getting off me. I lay on the
ground for a second, and then stiffly get to my feet.

Fuck.
I just let some two-bit rushers get the jump on
me, and all because I was distracted by some fucking girl. I shake my head to
clear it. Nothing like getting sacked on national television to get me
refocused.

Despite my fuck-up, the game ends in a blowout for us. I'm
swarmed by the press, and I give my best aw shucks smile and bland answers to
the reporters' questions. I'm already playing the long game, thinking about my
endorsement deals when I turn pro. Companies want someone who can be the face
of the brand and prove that they won't make some major off-field screw up that
will tarnish their product.

When I can finally head back to the locker room, I glance at
Coach McKay, who's still giving interviews. That asshole never says anything
positive about me to reporters. I'm his star QB, but it's like he wants me to
fail.

Whatever. I stop just outside the tunnel and sign a bunch of
autographs for little kids and some groupies that also thrust their numbers
toward me. Back in the locker room, a celebration is already going on, and Adam
points at me as I enter, then runs at me. I leap up and we bump chests, our
pads crunching together in the air.

"Fuck yes!" he yells. "That's how you start a
season!" We head toward the lockers and everyone starts stripping off
their gear.

"Hey, how'd that dirt taste?" Devon calls from
across the room, ribbing me about my sack.

"You looked a little distracted there," Adam
chimes in. "And I bet I know why...you were thinking about all that pussy
you're gonna get tonight!"

"Fuck yeah," I agree. I'm not about to get into
the real reason.

"Phillips, you can have that blonde cheerleader, by the
way," Devon says.

"Oh, can I?" I ask sarcastically. "I think I
already did. Twice," I point out, whipping off my jersey.

"Naw, man. I'm saying I got my eyes on someone new. You
see that girl that Coach was talking to in the stands?" he asks, and a
rumble goes up from the players around us. He wasn't the only one checking
Britt out.

"Who was she?" Adam asks. "She must be a
frosh, 'cause I'd remember a body like that."

"I bet she's a reporter for the school paper,"
Devon offers. "That's how come she got those seats, and she was asking him
for a quote."

I frown. I guess that he could be right, but currently all I
care about is that everyone stop talking about her.

"Let's call the paper, invite her to the party
tonight," Adam suggests. "We'll tell her we'll give her an
interview."

"Dude, when she bent over the barrier like that,"
Devon imitates her, ass sticking up in the air. The guys around him laugh.
"I just wanted to get up right behind her…" He mimes thrusting into
her.

I feel my jaw clench. "Don't talk about her like
that." I grunt, then back off slightly as I see the guys around me
staring. They're not used to hearing me stick up for anyone, much less a woman.
"I'm just saying, she doesn't seem like some groupie."

"Oh, you got a problem with how I'm talking?"
Devon asks. "Well, how about if I tell you that she's got those kind of
lips that I can just picture wrapping around my big ass cock and—"

I start toward him, but I'm too late. A blur moves past me,
coming from the direction of the tunnel. Devon slams back against the lockers,
Coach McKay's hand around his throat. Devon has six inches on him, but Coach
looks like he's about to fucking explode.

"What did you just say about my daughter?" he
grunts. The locker room goes completely silent.

Daughter? Britt is Coach McKay's daughter?

"Shit, Coach, I didn't know, I swear," Devon
gasps. Coach stares at him, his hand tightening, and then releases him.

He turns around and slowly locks eyes with each and every
one of us. "If I ever catch any one of you so much as
looking
at my
daughter, you will never take the field again. You'll be warming the bench for
the rest of the season. I don't care who you are, how many points we'd lose, or
how it screws up your chances to get drafted. Stay away from her, you hear
me?"

A chorus of "yes, sirs" greet his pronouncement.
He lets it hang in the air for a second, and then storms out.

"Fuck," Devon murmurs, rubbing his throat.

"I don't care how hot his daughter is," Adam
murmurs to me, shaking his head, "no pussy is worth riding the
bench."

Chapter 9

Britt

"You going out again?" I ask Danielle nervously as
I watch her line her eyes in thick black liner. She blacked out almost all of
last Saturday night, and I haven't told her the details, figuring I'd spare her
some embarrassment. Specifically, I left Hunter out of the story, and just let
her assume I escorted her back to our room myself somehow. I thought that she
might curb her partying, but it seems like I was wrong.

"Heck, yeah!" she exclaims. "I'm so pumped
from the game today. And I heard that when we win, the parties are even
crazier, so I'm sure tonight is going to be epic."

"Wait, you're going back to the football frat?"

"Sure. I mean, I know I overdid it last weekend, but
now I know more about my limits."

"Right," I say, turning back to the notebook on my
desk. What if she runs into Hunter, and he mentions something? I have to clue
her in. "Danielle, there's something I didn't tell you about last
weekend," I say, turning my chair around to face her.

"Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that," she
replies, turning in her chair to face me, too.

"It's nothing too bad," I assure her. "I just
didn't want you to feel weird about it."

"Okay…"

"The thing is, when I went to get you, you were passed
out in the bathroom, right?"

"Yeah, I sort of remember that," she nods along.

"And I was really freaking out, because, you know, I
don't really drink and I've never seen someone so drunk before. And I didn't
know what to do, but then...Hunter Phillips came along."

Her eyes widen. "And?" she asks breathlessly.

"Here's the part you're not going to like. He, um,
helped you stick your finger down your throat to make you throw up, and then
carried you back here," I blurt out quickly, like I'm ripping off a
Band-Aid.

"Shut. Up. Are you freaking kidding me?" she
exclaims, her eyes practically bugging out of her head. She gets up and pitches
herself forward onto her bed with a moan.

"I wouldn't have told you, but if you're going back
there tonight, you might see him and—"

"Oh my god, did he see that?" she asks, pointing
to the photo of him above her bed.

"Um, maybe," I reply. "I'm honestly not
sure."

"This is the most mortifying thing that's ever happened
to me," she groans.

"I'm sorry. I tried to handle it myself, but he
insisted."

"Well, I'm never going back to the football frat,
that's for sure," she sighs. "You were right to tell me."

"Okay, good."

"So, he insisted on helping you? That was nice, I
guess. He must have felt like it was his duty to help his coach's
daughter," she reasons.

"No, that wasn't it," I tell her, coming to sit on
my bed across from her. "I never told him who my father is."

"Interesting…" she muses. "So he sees a
beautiful damsel in distress, and steps in. You being the beautiful damsel,
obviously."

I laugh. "That's silly. I'm not, I mean…" I think about
how the night ended, and frown. Could he think I'm beautiful? Am I beautiful?

"What?" Danielle asks, coming to sit next to me on
my bed. "There's something you're not telling me, isn't there? Oh god, did
I do something even more embarrassing?"

I knit my fingers together nervously. I've been dying to
tell someone about what happened, but I don't really have anyone to talk to.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," Danielle
says. "But, well, I would like it if we could become friends. I know I can
come off as just some flaky party girl, and probably last Saturday didn't help
that impression, but I party just to let off steam. My major is pretty
heavy," she explains. "I'm studying to be a teacher specializing in
special education, and sometimes it's overwhelming. But I'm a really good
listener, I promise. And I'm good at keeping secrets."

I smile at her. Maybe I have misjudged her. I had no idea
what her major was, and just wrote her off as some party girl.

"I'd like to be friends, too," I tell her. "And
I have been dying to talk to someone about what happened. But you can't tell
anyone
.
I mean, my father would absolutely die."

"Cross my heart," she says, motioning across her
chest. I quickly fill her in on when I peeped on Hunter in the locker room, and
watch her practically drool.

"I'm not sure if he remembered me from that or not. But
then when he was carrying you back here, he was actually really nice to talk
to. Not at all like how my father described him. And then, after you went to
sleep in your bed, well, he kissed me." Danielle squeals and claps her
hands together. "You're not, um, jealous or anything? I mean, you have his
picture…" I point to the calendar above her bed.

"No, girl. That's like how Channing Tatum is my
screensaver. It's just a fantasy. Hunter Phillips is totally out of my
league."

"And mine! I couldn't believe it when he kissed me! And
then he asked to see me again."

Danielle laughs. "Do you not see yourself when you look
in the mirror, Britt? You're fucking gorgeous! The day we moved in, I honestly
assumed you would be a bitch, just because I've never met someone that looks
like you that was actually nice."

"Um, thank you?"

"I just mean, you're even prettier than the popular
girls at my high school, but you're not mean like them," she clarifies.
"So it doesn't surprise me at all that Hunter Phillips would be interested
in you."

"Thank you," I reply quietly, trying to absorb
this information about my looks. It's a bit disconcerting that the image I've
been putting out to the world is so different than the one I thought.

"So how was the kiss?" she asks, leaning in.

I blush. "It was…There are no words, really."

"And then what happened?"

"I kicked him out."

"What! Why?"

"My father specifically warned me away from Hunter! He
told me that he's 'rotten to the core'. And just because Hunter was nice to me
for a little doesn't mean that's really what he's like. My father knows him a
lot better than I do."

"Hm, maybe. I have heard he's a major player. But he
did really help you, and me, out. Plus, he asked you on a date. Maybe he
actually likes you."

"God, I must have come off as so rude," I realize.
"He rescues my roommate, and I abruptly kick him out with no
explanation."

"You could always apologize," Danielle suggests.

I consider for a moment. "No, I think that I shouldn't
engage him anymore. Nothing good can come from it. If my dad even knew that I'd
spoken to him, he'd hit the roof."

"Alright," Danielle says with a shrug. "Well,
I'm going out with some girls from my program tonight. I'll convince them to go
somewhere besides the football frat. You want to join us?" she asks
hopefully.

I smile. "Thanks, but I'm just going to head over to
the library. I found a nook on the fourth floor that I really like to study
in."

"You work too hard, you know that?" Danielle says,
shaking her head as she goes back to her desk chair to finish her makeup.

"I know, but if I'm going to make Phi Beta Kappa by my
junior year, I have to," I reply, shouldering my backpack.

"Okay, but just be careful you don't burn out!"
Danielle calls after me as I shut the door.