Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (37 page)

“And I almost killed him,” Tyce said, still sounding confused. It was almost like he wanted to be in trouble, like he felt he needed to be punished for something. Why, I didn't understand. I reached up and brushed some hair from my face.

“He's just bruised up, Tyce. Yeah, he won't be playing football for a while, but he's going to be okay—eventually. Last night they thought he might've had some damage to his spine, but he woke up this morning. He's sitting up. He's
fine.
Well,” my lips curved up in a slight smile, “I wouldn't say
fine,
but he's nowhere close to being dead.”

“He's not?” Tyce sounded almost disappointed at that, too.
Snarky bastard.

“Have you not answered your phone at all? Talked to anyone today?”

“No,” he told me firmly, moving back over to the bed and sitting down on the edge. Having him in here in the dark like this, it was nerve wracking. Earlier, I'd still been nauseous and reeling from the GHB. Right now, I felt … like maybe I wanted Tyce in my bed more than I should considering the circumstances. “I got up and came straight over here. That's it. Kai was gone when I woke up, but he'd left his car keys for me.”

I felt a warmth in my chest as I let that sink in. Number one. I was his first and only priority today. I almost smiled, kissed him, but I needed to get this out there so he'd calm down a little.

“Mason's dad's lawyer got a deal set up for him to avoid the attempted murder charge and a trial. Mason is going to resign from the team and the university as well as plead guilty to the attempted rape charge. It's not going to give him the sentence he deserves, but it's something, more than a rich spoiled asshole a guy like Mason would usually get.”

“How does … what about me?” Tyce asked, gritting his teeth a little. He was so stressed out, all the muscles in his neck, shoulders and chest were like rocks. “I don't understand.”

“They're not going to press charges against you.”

“Who?”

“Mason's family, or the cops. They don't want the publicity. Mason's mom is some super famous clothing designer or something. She makes baby clothes for celebrities. Nobody wants to buy baby clothes from somebody whose son is in the middle of a murder or rape trial.” I shrugged. “And I guess Mason's dad is afraid this will taint his career somehow. He just got promoted to head coach for some NFL team.” I gave Tyce a look. “Hopefully not the one you decide to join …”

Tyce just stared at me like I was a crazy person.

“How do you know all of this?”

I smiled back at him as he threw his feet up on the bed and took in a long, slow steady breath.

“The cops. The hospital staff. Melia, when I called to give her a very rough, very condensed version of the story. She was the one who told me about the head coach thing. I'm just putting it all together.”

“So Mason is … gone then?”

“From our lives,” I told him firmly. “From the U of O. Hopefully in jail? I don't know how any of this stuff works, but at least he'll finally have a record.”

“So … I get to walk away from beating the shit out of that prick?”

“Looks like it.”

“And I'm not in trouble?”

“Maybe for missing practice,” I said as Tyce yanked his phone from his jeans pocket and scrolled through his texts. He paused on Kai's, reading them all the way back through last night. He hadn't told anybody about what'd happened except for the coach.
God, he's such a nice guy. Probably
nicer than Tyce.

But he wasn't Tyce.

Nobody was.

“I'm going … to get my ass reamed … for missing practice,” Tyce said slowly as I looked up at him, gazed at that full lower lip of his, those high cheekbones, the hard masculine curve of his jaw. His mouth quirked up into a smirk. “I'm going to get my ass reamed for missing practice,” he said again, like this was the best thing that'd ever happened to him.

And then he looked over at me.

“Teagan,” he started, but I lifted a finger up and put it to his lips. He kissed the tip of it and I felt my heart start to flutter.

“Don't. I don't want to talk about anything else right now. It's two in the morning. Your coaches are probably asleep.”

“Meaning what?” Tyce asked as he raised an eyebrow at me. The way the corner of his lip curled up, I was sure he had an idea of where I was going with this.

“Meaning there's nobody around to bother us,” I whispered back, and then he leaned down and kissed me. It was long and slow, sensual. Easy. It was so easy to kiss Tyce, to love him. I'd been doing the latter part of that for years because, even when I hated him, I cared about him. It was impossible not to.

“Are you trying to get me into bed?” he asked me, his voice dropping down to that dark, sensual place that he'd tried to use on me that first day in the park. It hadn't worked then. It'd felt cheap, like he hadn't cared one way or another if I said yes. Right now, it was different. He definitely did care. And if his actions last night and today meant anything, he cared a whole hell of a lot.

He'd chosen me over himself. Over football. Over fucking
football
.

“I don't know, maybe,” I said in my best, most coquettish voice. Frankly, I was crap at it. Didn't matter.

You've just proven to me what I already should've known. I love her.

I took a deep breath, grabbed the edges of my nightgown and pulled it over my head. Tyce watched me with dilated pupils, heavy breathing, one leg cocked up with his hand resting on his knee. And then he leaned over and kissed me, deep, deeper, pausing only to pull his black tank off so our bare chests could be pressed together.

My hands came up, fingers sliding against the sides of his stubbled face.

“God, Teagan,” he whispered as we adjusted ourselves so he was laying mostly on top of me, the weight of his body a comforting pressure, his skin warm, his breath hot against my parted lips. “I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so, so sorry. About pretending not to remember you. About being a dick. About leaving you. I was just … I'm an idiot.”

“It's true,” I said, trying to smile, but Tyce adjusted himself, pressing our hips together. I could feel the hard, firm press of his erection against me, making me gasp as I ran my fingers down the muscular planes of his back.

“Is it too early to ask you to be my wealthy NFL makeup artist wife?”

“Are you joking?” I said, but my heart was thundering and I was having trouble breathing. “My mom always said I had to get my degree before I got married. In fact, I'm pretty sure she told
you
that. Personally.”

Tyce chuckled, and the sound sent a warm purring vibration through me. I moaned and bit my lower lip, putting the knuckles of my right hand up to my mouth to stifle the sound. He just smiled at me, grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head.

“How about … my wealthy NFL makeup artist fiancée?”

“Ask me at a more appropriate time,” I whispered as Tyce shoved his sweats down and out of our way, “and maybe I'll think about it.”

“How about on Duck Vision at the Civil War game? Right up there on that board for everyone to see.”

“You do that and I'll kill you,” I gasped, but he was already sliding into me, slow but determined, our eyes locked, his lips in a small smirk. I reached my arms around his neck and kissed him hard, drew him into me, moved our hips in rhythm together. I hoped he was joking, but … even if he wasn't, that was okay.

He was Tyce, the boy I'd known since forever. My mother loved him; I loved him.

And finally, I knew for sure that he loved me.

On the floor, the stack of Polaroids from earlier had fallen over, spilling across my carpet in a sea of memories. Right now, we were making new ones. I'd started out my year at the U of O alone and angry, but we'd end it together. Full circle. Everything always came full circle.

Tomorrow, Tyce would head back to practice and I'd go back to class. On Saturday, he'd crush the Civil War game against the Beavers while I cheered from the sidelines. And in April, he'd get drafted by the NFL and we'd head out to celebrate. Next year, I had no idea what we'd be doing, but I did know one thing.

We'd be together.

I was sure of it.

THE END

DESCRIPTION

Forbidden love shouldn't feel so good.

It also shouldn't hurt so much.

How could the one person I can't have be the only person I truly need?

Florian Harper Riley has my heart and he doesn't even know it. I used to think that was okay, that I'd get over him, but no matter how hard I try, I can't purge his sharp green gaze from my thoughts.

He's a tattoo artist, the love of my life, the man of my dreams. 
But he's also my stepbrother.

Fate can be wicked cruel.

PROLOGUE

Three years earlier...

I curled my own fingers around my throat and bit back a gasp.
It shouldn't feel so good to be touched like this.
The hand wrapped around my own was firm, but insistent. There was no way I was getting out of it this time.

“Flor.” The word dropped from my lips like a cinder, one that I thought had gone cold but that always managed to flair back to life in a surge of heat and desire that I knew was wrong. Knew it. But couldn't stop the fire from fanning itself into a raging flame.

My brother – sorry, my
stepbrother
because let's be honest here, there's a big difference – pulled me forward so forcefully that I stumbled, fingers still at my throat in a gesture of surprise.
What,
exactly, he was doing here, I wasn't sure, but the hard glint in his eyes and the firm set of his mouth told me what I feared most: that he still, and maybe always would, think of me as a sister. If he didn't, then why was he so angry? Why did his full lips twist down in a scowl at the corners? And why was his grip so hard and his aura so … messy. His emotions twisted down his arm, following the colorful lines of his tattoos as they wrapped his bicep, bleeding into me and choking back my breath. Messy. I couldn't tell if he was just pissed or if he was disappointed, too, if maybe he couldn't believe he'd just caught me with a boy's arms around my waist and his tongue in my mouth. I was supposed to be the good one, right? The one that didn't give my dad or my stepmom any trouble because Flor gave them more than they could handle.

His dark hair bled into his eyes, dripping with sweat from the heat of the party and the crush of bodies, and I stared in simple fascination as he swept it back and glared at me.

“What the
fuck
,” he began as I cringed, “are you doing here?” I watched in horror as my stepbrother's gaze lifted and met that of the boy's behind me. I kept one hand on my neck, sliding it down to my chest so that I could feel the rapid thump and slam of my heart, much like the chilling bass beat that was tingling up my toes and making me blissfully deaf. Maybe then I wouldn't have to hear the sound of my father's disappointment when he sighed and then later probably screamed at me for this little adventure? “And
who,
” Florian continued, “the fuck is that?”

“None of your business, bro,” my mystery date said, curling his own fingers around my hip in a strange mockery of the way I'd done to my own throat, caught up in surprise when Flor had appeared out of nowhere and pulled me from my make out session and back to the harsh, gritty twang of reality. “Hey, are you alright?” the guy asked me as I glanced over my shoulder and swallowed hard. I guess he mistook my speechlessness for fear because he stepped around me and got in Flor's face. “You can't make her leave if she doesn't want to go.”

“I can,” Flor snapped back at him, grinding his teeth and squeezing my wrist even tighter than before, “if she's my sister.” He leaned in and let my date have it with a simple whisper of words. “Oh, by the way, she's only fifteen, asshole.” My new friend tore his hand away from my hip like it was on fire – but not the good kind, not the kind I was feeling right now as Flor's sweaty fingers tugged me forward. No, this was more like he was
terrified
of me now, like he wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. I guessed he wouldn't want to, considering he was twenty-one. Guess I shouldn't have lied about my age.

“Hey, Flor,” a girl with long black hair and brightly colored extensions giggled as we passed by. “You in a hurry or something?” She eyed me with no small amount of contempt as Flor dragged me through the crowd and paused only when we were standing on the porch outside the little green and white house. In the middle of a neighborhood known locally as The Whit, it was unlikely the cops would get called on this place, so it was a hotspot for parties. I knew because I'd followed Flor here more than once. Tonight, though, tonight I'd really believed him when he'd told his mom he – and I quote –
felt like shit
and was going upstairs to lie down. Florian never lied about going to parties. He just … went. No matter what sort of fight his mom put up.

“Yeah, I sort of am,” he growled, ignoring the girl and pulling me down the steps in my heels. His broad back filled my view, blocking the clusters of teenagers and young adults hanging out on the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps. The fabric stretched across his muscles in a way that was criminal. I was young, sure, but I wasn't so young that I couldn't appreciate that, couldn't appreciate the way Flor's body had changed from a lanky teenage boy's to a … to a
man's.