Reckless (Bertoli Crime Family #2) (42 page)

My cock twitches in my shorts, and I have to remind myself that I'm supposed to be pissed at her. "Is that for motivation?" I finally get out. "Because you know, I'm wearing less than you."

"We're not playing strip poker," Carrie retorts, but I see her eyes flicker over my torso, she likes what she sees. Still, she's all business, at least on the outside. “Let's get that hex bar over there. We're starting with trap bar deadlifts."

"The fuck you say?" I ask, surprised. "This is an elbow rehab session, not a full on workout.”

Carrie looks at me like I'm an idiot, and I shut my mouth again. How's she doing this do me? "Holding the weight in your hands allows you to strengthen your biceps tendon and muscles without putting direct strain on the cleared out areas. Besides, you're a football player, you guys are supposed to have strong hips and low backs for your sport, right?"

We get started, and I'm surprised when she brings over another hex bar, sliding plates on it herself. "What's that for?"

"You told me to put my money where my mouth is," she replies. "I'm not stupid enough to try and lift the weight you can. But I'm not a prissy princess either."

I watch as Carrie grabs the two handles of the bar and starts copying the motion I was just doing, and even though I'm not as much an expert in weight training as I am in football, I know that she's barely getting started. Setting the bar down, she grins and tosses me a glance with her eyes, which I notice are strikingly pretty for them being brown. They’re gleaming at me right now, and she's smirking. "By the way, pound-for-pound, that's more than what you just lifted. So how about you stop fucking around and we get to work?"

By the end of the workout, not only does my arm ache, but my entire spine from my neck to my tailbone aches. Deadlifts, hip lifts, pullups, pulldowns, I swear I didn't know there were so many ways to work the back. I guess I have been taking it a bit too easy.

Through it all though, Carrie was right there with me, going nearly rep for rep even if the weights were lower. She even grunts sexy, and my cock is stirring in my shorts again as I watch her in her now sweat-soaked workout shirt that's clinging to her every curve. She hits the switch on the machine that my elbow is resting in, and a low hum starts up. "All right, that oil's going to warm up here in about two minutes, you've got ten minutes in there before we get you in the whirlpool. Ten minutes in there for a general full body soak, and you'll be done."

"Think you can hang out while I sit here in this thing?" I ask. "I'd have brought a book if I thought ahead."

"You don't strike me as someone who thinks ahead a lot," Carrie says with a smirk, but still sits down. "Or someone who reads for that matter.”

"Actually I'm carrying a 3.2 GPA. Not Dean's List or anything, but I'm not just some dumbass ball player who doesn't know shit outside of pass routes and how to play beer pong." It's true, I'm not an idiot. If I’m going to be in control of my life, and I will be, I need to be smart enough to not get ass fucked by an agent. Not to mention when your father is one of the biggest businessmen in the Silicon Valley, you don't grow up without learning a thing or two. "What about you?"

"3.95," Carrie replies, but without taunting. "I'm here full ride academic, so I've gotta keep the grades up."

"That's impressive," I grudgingly admit. "That's the sort of grades that you hear about from the engineering geeks or something. What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, sitting back and stretching those incredible legs out in front of her. She leans back and spreads her arms out to the side to stretch, not realizing or not caring that it's also turning her chest into twin mountain peaks that stick an impressive way into the air. I admit it to myself that I want nothing more than to get her in the sack — if nothing more than to teach her a lesson on who’s the boss.

"Well, I mean what got you into training? It's not something a lot of girls go into."

Carrie nods and sits forward, obliterating my view of her curves, but the image is still burning in my mind. "I was an athlete for a long time myself. In high school I played soccer and softball. Unfortunately I got injured, collision at home that tore my shoulder up. I'm not upset about it though, I wasn't good enough for a D-1 school anyway, I would have been D-2 at best, but in doing rehab I really got into it. It gave me a way to channel my athletic nature, and so when it came time, I just naturally came to here."

I laugh softly, and Carrie gives me a look.

"What?" She asks.

“Nothing. Not everyone can be as amazing on the field as I am.”

Carrie lifts an eyebrow, and gives me a look. Okay, I admit it, I'm an asshole, and I was just making a joke. Carrie doesn't take it that way though, and gets up, her eyes flaring in anger. "I think you can watch your own timer. When it goes off, get in the whirlpool. I'll see you Friday."

Carrie storms off, and as she does, I'm given the treat of one last view of her tight bubble butt. I bet that same ass gave her plenty of power to drive in balls when she played softball too.

So I pissed her off? Ah well, that's half the fun. Get them so pissed off at me they want to scream, and then make them scream for a whole other reason, let ‘em think they’re punishing me. Maybe that's just what Carrie needs.

I'm sitting in the whirlpool ten minutes later when Coach Taylor comes in, shutting the door behind him and coming over. "You little punk," he says, and I see that he's in weight room mode, not his normal relaxed mood. “Ever thought how you’d feel if that injury caused you to never play again?”

"The fuck you worried about, Coach? She said she'd see me on Friday, and I followed your protocol. It wasn’t that serious — and it was true.”

Coach looked at me, then turned around, grabbing the bucket behind him. One of the things the training room always has on hand is buckets of ice water, meant for icing down injuries, and for what the trainers call 'contrast training,' where you soak the injured area in hot water and then immediately dunk it in ice cold water, only to repeat the process back and forth until your balls are about ready to retreat into your body forever.

It was one of these buckets that Coach lifted up, and dumps it on me. While the whirlpool absorbs a lot of the cold, my head is fully exposed, and I'm sputtering, chilled, and gasping in a second. "What the fuck?"

"Carrie Mittel is one of the smartest, hardest working, and best interns I've had in this program in years. She came here in a sad state from that injury of hers, chunking up forty pounds because of all the changes, and has spent the past year and some change busting her ass. She's a better athlete, a better person than you are, regardless of if you go to the League or not. So treat her with some respect, Duncan. Don't piss me off."

"I could have your job for this!" I yell, starting to get out of the tub, but Coach Taylor pushes me back down with a firm hand, and I don't have the grip or leverage to resist, and go splashing back in.

"And I could have you kicked out of school on a Title IX complaint for sexual harassment," Coach says quietly. "By the way, she didn't say anything to me, I overheard it through the intercom that is actually installed in here. I left it on because I wanted to make sure you behaved. You obviously didn't. Now get your shit, get dried off, and get the fuck out. Friday, you do your workout, and no shenanigans. We clear?"

"Yeah," I grumble, wiping water out of my eyes. "We're clear."

Clear that before this is all over, I’m going to break Carrie Mittel, that's for damn sure.

* * *

"
H
ey Duncan
, thanks for coming to the party."

I'm at the Psi Kappa Tau sorority house for what they’re calling their "summer bash" for the girls that decided to stay for this summer session. That means that the house only has about a dozen girls instead of the normal twenty-six or thirty, but who cares?

"Tiffany, when you said that you ladies were throwing an event, I couldn't stay away," I reply. Tiffany Hill is going to be the president of the sorority starting next semester, and she's pretty hot, in that Barbie doll, Stepford sort of way. Perfectly styled red hair, blue eyes, slightly pointy chin but high, most likely enhanced cheekbones over a toned slender body that probably never saw a workout like what I'd been through this afternoon. "How're the girls?"

"Oh, you are certainly popular around here,” Tiffany says with a gleam in her eye. "However, I was thinking that maybe I might want to keep you all to myself tonight. That is, if you're up for it?"

I chuckle and lean in. "You know what that means, right?"

Tiffany nods and hums back. “Baby, you can have me anyway you want me.”

I nod and give her a smile, but as I do, suddenly Carrie's face flashes in front of my eyes. I shake my head and step back, confused. Tiffany doesn't understand, and tilts her head. "What's wrong?"

"Just had a hard rehab workout today," I semi-lie. I did have a hard workout, but it wasn’t what was giving me pause. "Guess I need a drink to cool the nerves. What do you all have?"

"Open bar, same as always," Tiffany says. "Go on, relax and enjoy yourself, and we'll talk later."

PKT isn't as stuck up a sorority as some of the places on campus, where they all think their pussy is gold and that they deserve their places in the upper crust of society, but it's also not a straight up dog house, so the party is quiet but still enjoyable. Still, as I'm sitting back and sipping at my beer, chatting with the people who approach me, I can't get Carrie out of my mind.

The way her body looked in those workout clothes. Her ass stretching the fabric of her shorts when she was bent over to do her hex bar lifts, and oh my God, the way her tits looked against that t-shirt...

And best of all, she's a real woman, none of that fake shit I see surrounding me far too often. That body of hers, I could go to town on it for days, and still not wear it out. The way that she challenged me makes me want her even more.

Most girls I would’ve had eating out of my hand in under five minutes, but Carrie went ninety minutes with me without my shirt on and still didn’t want to jump on my cock to play cowgirl. I could tell she liked what she saw, but she's strong enough to resist me, but I’ll wear her down. It’s just a matter of time.

"Hey stud," Tiffany says, interrupting my thoughts. She has a drink in her hand, something fruity looking, but she's not too buzzed yet that she's slurring her words. "How're you enjoying the party?"

"PKT knows what to do," I say, smirking and finishing my drink. "Looking forward to the Greek Week throwdowns already."

"Mmm, I'm looking forward to about five minutes from now, if you're into it. I even decided to spice things up a bit. I've got Gemma heading upstairs too."

Tempting. Gemma Falcone is a French-Italian international student who always has given off that innocent vibe with a hidden inner slut. She's like the epitome of lady in the streets, freak in the sheets. For some reason though, even though this should be like a dream come true, my mind is on Carrie, and I'm just not into it at all. "Sorry Tiff, but I think tonight I'm going to pass. New ink, and my back is already tightening up from earlier. You and Gemma have some fun though."

Tiffany pouts, and I'll admit that it probably often works. She can wrap most men around her little finger with that pout, and some day some poor bastard is going to get taken to the cleaners by her because of it. "Awww, come on stud. You know you want to.”

Tiffany is such a nympho, I'm surprised she isn't fucking her way through the basketball team. Oh wait, she probably has. "Not tonight. And if you keep pushing it, maybe never. You know I've got plenty of other options."

No woman likes to be told she's just one in a long line, even if she is one, and Tiffany is no different.

"Fine," she stews, then looks around. "If anything, Martin's here, and I know he likes Gemma. Hell, from what I hear, he's freakier than you anyway. See you, Duncan."

"See you," I say, and I soon make my exit, going out to my bike and getting on. I've only had two beers, and I make it back to my apartment without getting pulled over by the cops. I take a long, hot shower and sit down on my couch, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Seriously, I just turned down a threesome with some pretty hot chicks, over a woman who got twelve gallons of ice water dumped on my head.

What the fuck am I thinking?

"
H
ey Carrie
, got a minute?"

"Of course Coach, what's up?" I ask, sticking my head into his office. It's the first week of classes, and I'm settling in well to my new schedule, but I'm still busy. I hope that Coach doesn't have a lot to talk about, I'd like to get back to my dorm room and crack the books on my organic chemistry class. It's a requirement, but I'm not looking forward to it. My professor is known as a total bitch and cuts no slack at all.

"Hey, I got a request from Coach Bainridge just now — thought I'd run it by you. How'd you like to work the sidelines for the football game tomorrow?"