The Balled And The Beautiful: A College Sports Romance Story (7 page)

Amanda sat, curled into her car seat with her knees up near her chest. The landscape slid by like some kind of modern art but she let it, making no attempt to keep track of where they were. The heater was on full blast, and she had a half empty bottle of Gatorade clutched in one hand. She needed electrolytes, he had told her brusquely, the first time they had stopped. It helped with the shock.

Apparently she was in shock.

She hadn't argued, and blankly sipped from the bottle any time he demanded it. Other than that she had simply stared out of the window, listening to the hum of the highway under the jeep's wheels.

The motorcycle had been left behind in Athens. It was now tucked into a car park a few miles from the apartment and traded for a green, dark windowed jeep. The man had lifted her into the passenger seat wordlessly before getting into the driver's side and driving them out of the city and into the hills of Greece.

The Man. The still nameless man of mystery. She hadn't managed to gather up the courage or energy to ask yet.

She still wasn't sure if he was savior or captor, friend or enemy, but he had kept his word and kept her safe. Or at the very least she didn't have any current bullet holes, so that was a plus. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His hands were white knuckled on the steering wheel and he stared at the car in front of them wordlessly.

She looked back out her window and bit her lip, fighting back a hysterical giggle.

She had wanted
adventure
. She had wanted
somethin
g
new.

Well, it served her right. What was that curse? 'May your life always be interesting.' Chinese? No...Irish? Well, it didn't matter. Her life was now far more interesting than she had ever dreamed it could be.

She had grown up in Illinois, for goodness' sake! Small town, small minds, small life. She had graduated with the same eighty kids she had started kindergarten with, gotten a job at the local diner and gone to the movies on weekends. She had lived in a tiny apartment, eaten terrible Chinese food and gossiped with her friends about the same people and events that they had gossiped about every day since they were old enough to talk.

And she'd hated it. It had been like living on a race track with a speed limit of six mile per hour. Driving in circles and never actually getting anywhere.

Now she was sitting in a car with a gorgeous stranger whose apartment had been attacked by literal men-in-black. One who, for some reason, she found herself trusting implicitly. Her thoughts slowed as the car did and she glanced up at the handsome man in question. He had steered them onto an off ramp, following the flow of traffic.

"Where-" she began hesitantly.

"We're stopping for the night," he interrupted. "There is a hotel just up here."

She nodded, falling back into the silence. The highway turned into tiny, rough streets but soon enough he was pulling into a tiny parking lot at a pretty white building. They parked near the entrance and he turned off the engine without even the comforting rumble for company.

Finally he turned, the leather seat creaking loudly. He looked at her with dark, inscrutable eyes.

"I know you have questions, and I'm sorry this happened, but I need to know that when we go in there you aren't going to cause a scene." She could only blink at him in her surprise. Cause a scene? Like...scream or faint? It hadn't even occurred to her. Her only thoughts right now were of a warm shower and a soft bed.

"I won't," she replied quietly. He watched her steadily for another long moment before nodding.

"Alright. We'll go in and get a room and you can rest." She nodded and he opened his door. She took a deep breath before moving to open her own but he was already there, reaching in to help her. His hand landed gently on her waist and she swallowed, for some reason fighting back tears again. He paused before sighing.

"Really, I am sorry," he murmured, hands flexing unconsciously against her. "I'm doing my best to get you out of this."

She nodded, but a rogue tear escaped and fell down her cheek, splashing as it landed on her jeans. Her eyes followed it as it landed before falling further and landing on her feet.

"I don't have any shoes," she whispered. He glanced down in surprise.

He swore. The sudden, drastic change in his mood surprised a giggle out of her, and she glanced up to find him smiling ruefully. The amusement faded as quickly as it had come. His brows furrowed as he stared at her for another long moment.

"I should get the room myself. If you come in with me with no shoes, looking like you do, they'll have questions." She nodded, but he still hesitated. When she looked at him questioningly he swallowed, jaw flexing.

"I need you to promise me you won't run." Surprise hit her for the second time in barely that many minutes. How had that not crossed her mind? It should have, but it hadn't. It must be the shock.

"I won't," she replied, knowing it to be true. He had been right. She had q
uestions
. She couldn't just run off into the back woods of Greece and never know what she had somehow tumbled into. He still seemed reluctant to leave.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"'You have to trust me'," she quoted at him, and found herself spellbound by the crooked smile that she got in response.

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll be right back."

The car was quiet, the sounds of the highway far enough away to be nothing but a vague hum. Amanda leaned back against her seat, her head falling back with a thump. The exhaustion she had been fighting since they had left Athens crashed over her, and she could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as she yawned hugely.

She rubbed at her eyes with the palm of her hand. Goosebumps prickled her arms as the cool air from the open door and she wrapped her arms around herself. She wished she had her sweater. Or her bag, or her toothbrush.

Oh man, her toothbrush would be a godsend. Her mouth felt like a cat had shed their entire winter coat in it. And her hair was probably a mess. Her hand flinched up instinctively, patting it absently. A flash of brighter light brought her attention back to the main doors. As they swung shut,
the man
strode out towards her, somehow still looking like a male model on a runway.

It was entirely unfair. Without waiting for him to reach the car she hopped out onto the cement, wincing as once again her socks were soaked through instantly. She looked up at him as he reached her, feeling her cheeks begin to burn, feeling utterly insignificant. Dark eyes below ruffled hair, broad shoulders and a trim waist; his perfect jeans and dark t-shirt didn't give the sense that he had spent the day on the run from men with guns.

She felt small, grimy and impossibly ordinary. Her hair was greasy, her clothes were covered with dirt and her socks were, frankly, disgusting. How could he look at her with anything but pity? Or worse, amusement?

But when she met his gaze all she saw was concern.

"Come on," he said, jerking his head. "There is a side door by the elevator. We'll get you in that way."

She nodded, wordless in her humiliation, and followed him. Her socks squished as they stepped through the doorway and onto the carpet, and she winced. She refused to look back, certain that she was leaving a trail of disgusting footprints. The elevator was small, and creaked as it began to slowly rise.

"What's your name?" she blurted out suddenly. He looked down at her, eyes wide and surprised. She looked away, twisting her hands together. "I mean, I can't just keep thinking of you as 'that guy who saved me that one time'. It's a little bulky."

His chuckle surprised her and she glanced up at him. He was smiling, slightly, staring up at the ceiling.

"William," he replied. "You can call me William."

"William," she repeated, turning the name over in her mouth. It felt right. "Well, it's nice to meet you, William."

His expression sobered, and he continued to gaze up at the ceiling.

"We both know that isn't true," he replied. "But I suppose the social niceties must be observed."

The door opened with a bing and as she followed him down the hall her mind continued to chew on what he had said. It shouldn't have been nice. It shouldn't be good that she met him, but it
was
. She was g
lad
.

It made absolutely no sense, but then when did love ever?

And with that both her mind and body froze.
Love
? No. Absolutely not. This was a man who had killed someone today. Who had picked her up off the street and dragged her into something horribly dangerous because he didn't want to get involved with the cops. This was someone who could decide the next minute that she wasn't worth the work and shoot her with the gun she knew was still tucked into his pants.

"Amanda?" he asked, cautiously, breaking her out of her mental tail spin. She looked at him, suddenly feeling the wild and overwhelming urge to run that she had been so surprised to find missing before. Something in her eyes must have worried him because he reached out, grabbing at her arm. She jerked away.

"Why am I here?" she demanded. "Why were those men chasing us? Who
are
you?"

His expression shuttered, the concern disappearing behind a mask of indifference.

"This isn't the place to talk. Get inside. This is our room." He jammed the key into the lock with more force than was probably necessary and shoved the door open with a bang. She hesitated but proceeded him into the room. The door closed after him with a sharp click and she turned to face him again.

"Well?" she asked, her nails biting into her hands as she clenched her fists. "Who are you?"

He didn't answer, striding past her and yanking his shirt over his head as he did. Her heart thudded in her chest as the sound of his buckle was followed by the hiss of a belt sliding out. She swallowed, staring at his lean and muscular back, frozen by an overwhelming combination of dread and intrigue. The belt fell to the floor with a thud but he didn't glance back at her, striding through a doorway at the far end of the room.

"I'm taking a shower." The bathroom door shut with a decisive bang.

Amanda was warm and comfortable. She drifted out of sleep slowly with the sound of someone else's slow breathing almost lulling her back into slumber. She yawned, her eyes fluttering open.

A heavy arm tightened around her waist and she froze, suddenly very,
ver
y awake. William's eyes were closed, his breathing soft and regular as he lay facing her. His dark hair was mussed, and dark lashes lay like ink against his cheeks. He looked impossibly young, almost ethereal. She stared at him, her hand aching to brush a stray hair away from his forehead, but afraid to break the angelic tableau.

The night before had been an awkward game of wills. William had returned to the room, toweling his hair and refusing to look at her. He had told her without even a glance to go and take a shower, or a bath if she'd rather, and she had agreed without argument. The sudden flood of adrenalin that had prompted her questions had faded in his absence and the exhaustion had crept back in. She had taken a long, hot shower, scrubbing her hair three times while discovering a myriad of scrapes and bruises peppering her skin.

Finally clean, she had filled the tub with water as hot as she could stand and soaked until it went cold. Finally dry and clean she had wrapped herself in one of the hotel's fluffy white towels and stared at her clothes, laying in a pile on the floor. The idea of putting them back on made her nauseous. The idea of returning to the main room in only a towel was terrifying.

A soft knock on the door made her jump, clutching the towel closer.

"Yes?" she had called, impressing herself with the fact that her voice had remained steady and clear.

"I have some new clothes for you. I'll leave them by the door. They should fit." Her heart had clenched at that, a wave of warm gratitude filling her. Poking her head out of the door, she saw no sign of him but a pile of soft pajamas laying on the ground. She had pulled them on with relish; the soft, clean cotton like a bandage on her wounded soul. Returning to the bedroom she had hesitated but finally climbed onto the bed and tucked herself in among the pillows and heavy quilt.

She had been on the verge of sleep when William had returned, padding quietly into the dimly lit room with a couple of bottles of water and a grocery bag. She had pretended to be asleep, watching him move around the room before hesitating much like she had. Nervousness chewed at her belly, twisting with anticipation she had berated herself mentally for. But instead of slipping into the space beside her, he had dug into the closet to find a spare blanket before curling himself up on the large chair by the window.

Swallowing back unwanted disappointment she had let her eyes close, ready to get back to sleep. But the sound of him shifting, the chair creaking in protest, had drawn her up out of sleep again. The memory was blurry with exhaustion and annoyance, but she was vaguely certain she had told him to stop squirming and to just get into the bed already so they could both sleep. Apparently he had listened.

Her cheeks burned as she watched him sleep, amazed by her brazenness. She could blame it on the exhaustion, though, if he made a point of it later. She was always grumpy when she was woken up.

Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes fluttered, sliding open slowly. His eyes were blurred with sleep, and the tiny smile he offered her sent a shiver of something she couldn't identify though her. She had managed to keep her hands where they had been but he seemed to have no such compunction. He reached forward, tucking her hair behind her ear. His hand remained there, warm and solid on her neck.

His eyes drooped again, and she was sure he was about to

fall back asleep when his dark eyes flashed open, suddenly wide away. He snatched his hand from her, and she could see a muscle jump in his jaw as he ground his teeth.

"Good morning?" she offered, quietly. He didn't respond for a long time, watching her with exaggerated caution. Finally he sighed, sinking back into the sheets.

"Good morning," he replied. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded, offering him a small smile. He didn't respond in kind, simply watching her with an inscrutable look on his face. She fought to keep from squirming, meeting his gaze as firmly as she could. She twitched in surprise as a warm hand found hers beneath the covers, holding it gently but firmly.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I know you deserve answers, but if I give them to you, you will only be in more danger. Those men, the ones in the apartment, they might have seen you and if they did you aren't safe. I need to get you as far away from Greece as I can. Someplace safe where you can get a flight home. If I let you go now, they will just try and use you against me. I can't let that happen."

She stared at him, swallowing hard. His gaze was soft, apologetic even, and she couldn't bring herself to doubt his words.

"Is it the police?" she asked quietly, hoping she wasn't

asking too much again. "I mean...is that why-"

But he was already shaking his head.

"No, that isn't it. But I can't talk about it. The more I tell you, the worse it is. You already know too much." She nodded before turning to bury her face in her pillow. This was ridiculous. This was just...madness.

A soft touch, a hand running through her hair had her pulling away from the soft cotton to look at him again.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I really wish we had met under better circumstances."

"Me too," she whispered. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently to hers, and she felt a warmth fill her. His arm wrapped back around her waist and together they lay there, letting the world around them fade away.