Over the Middle: A Sports Romance (8 page)

"Oh, I'm pissed, but remember, I'm not a football coach. Besides, you're talking to the man who got so fired up and pissed off for an event that I head butted an Atlas Stone and knocked myself out. So I can kind of understand, even if I don't like it. Chill out here, and I'll have someone check on you later."

I lie back on the table, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out where I had been for the past three days, when the door to the training room opened again. I look over, my heart catching in my throat when I see Carrie before I sigh and put my head back down. "Sorry, nice guy Duncan isn't here. The asshole just got done making an idiot out of himself."

"Actually, it was me who came down here to apologize," Carrie says softly. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way when you came to get taped up. I screwed up your mental mindset—threw you off."

There's a part of me that wants to agree with her, to shift the blame. But I look at her face, and another part of me, perhaps the stronger part that might actually be a decent guy, speaks up instead. "No, Carrie, you don't need to apologize. I've been this way for days. And it's all my own fault. All you did was tell me the truth."

"What happened?" she asks, coming over and hopping up on the table next to me. "Seriously, you looked ready to burst a blood vessel out there."

"I was," I say, sighing again. “It’s been a lot of things, but what you said, when you were pissed off at me in the Bangkok House, I've been kicking myself about it ever since. I guess I finally realized that I'm too much like my father. Then I saw him at breakfast today, and it didn't go well, and then . . . well, I was just a time bomb waiting to go off."

Carrie stops, looks into my face, then puts a hand on my shoulder. “We've known each other since June. That's what, almost four months now? I don’t think you've ever said a thing about him. I think this is the first time I've ever heard you use that word in a conversation, in fact. Lots of momma jokes, but nothing about your father."

I nod. "I don't talk about him often. He and I . . . we don't get along very well. Probably has something to do his lifestyle."

“What kind of lifestyle is that?”

I chuckle darkly. "Check it out yourself, but I'll save you the creepy research. Winston Hart is one of the bigger venture capitalists in Silicon Valley, never the public figure, but high enough in the group of investors that he has swing, before he cashes out and takes his money elsewhere. He's worth . . . well, put it this way. I'm not here on scholarship, and my apartment in the Vista Apartments is fully paid for by him. He probably doesn’t know or care what it costs. It's his way of showing
familial relationship
."

"Not a very affectionate father, I take it?"

"Not a very affectionate man," I say. "I mean, he’s in town today for business, and he didn't even know about the game! I think he was surprised I’m even on the football team. And well, let's see . . . since I was born, he's on . . . yeah, wife number four. And for three days, those two words have been swirling around in my head. Seeing him just brought that out more."

"What words?"

"Side piece," I whisper, uncovering my eyes and turning my head to look at Carrie. "Carrie, I know I can be a bastard. I’m selfish, and maybe even rotten to the core, from time to time."

Carrie swallows a pained expression, then nods and looks at me calmly. "But?"

I sigh. "Maybe the past four months . . . I'm starting to change. Maybe . . . I don't know. I just know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I treated you without the respect that I really feel for you. Seeing my dad reminded me of what I don’t want to be."

Carrie surprises me by leaning over and giving me a kiss on the lips, soft and delicate, and when she lifts her head, she's smiling. "Then maybe I should give you a chance to make it up to me. But it's going to be your last chance, Duncan. Pick me up from my dorm at seven tonight. You only played half the game. I think you've got enough energy to take me out for dinner."

I'm smiling, and I reach up to stroke her hair. "Why?"

"Maybe because over the past four months, I've come to like you. And if you're willing to make the effort to become a better man, I'd like to stick around and see who that man could be. From what I've seen so far, he's going to make a name for himself. He’s going to be a better man than his father, at least from what I've heard."

I nod, and Carrie gives my hand a squeeze. "All right. Let me go tell Coach Taylor that you're not destroying the place, and go help clean up with the aftermath of the game. I hate to tell you, but I think we just lost our first game of the season. Clement's kicking our asses right now."

I sigh and sit up, nodding. "Guess I have something else to make up for.”

"First test of this new man you want to be. I'll see you at seven."

I'm waiting quietly when the team starts filtering in, all of them glaring at me. Nobody comes into the training room, though, dressing and walking out without a single greeting. I understand, and I wait quietly, not even saying anything when the trainers start hauling their gear into the room, nobody speaking to me until Carrie carries a bag over her shoulder. She holds up her fingers, telling me the bad news. 27-10.

I nod, and she puts her stuff away, her eyes full of emotion, but before she can say anything, Coach Bainridge is in the doorway. "You're suspended from the team for the time being,” Coach says, his anger burned out at least for a while. "Come by my office Tuesday to discuss what happens next. I need that long to calm down and figure that out myself. Now go get dressed and get out."

Great. Great game.

A
fter getting suspended
from the team, I wasn't really expecting Duncan to arrive for our date. I mean, if anything is a mood killer for an athlete, it's getting at least temporarily tossed off the team. But, it wasn't until five thirty that I realized that in the four months we'd known each other, I had yet to exchange phone numbers with him. He knows where I live, but that's because it's listed for every player and intern, at least those who live on campus. He knows the dorm building, but not the room number.

So I am surprised when, at six fifty-four, I hear the now familiar sound of a Kawasaki motorcycle pulling up into the parking lot of the dorm, and I stick my head out of my window to see Duncan getting off his cycle. "Hey!"

"Hey!" Duncan calls back, waving. "You coming down, or am I coming up?"

"I'll come down!" I call, closing my window. I make sure to lock the door when I leave, and I head down the stairs and out the doors, a skip in my step. I feel like a cloud has lifted off me—maybe because of the way his face lit up when he waved, maybe because of the memory of our kiss in the training room. I don't know what it is, but when I reach the parking lot, I'm happy.

It looks like Duncan is too, especially when he sees what I'm wearing. "Jeans and a jacket? What, is your dress still dirty?"

I laugh and shake my head, wrapping my arms around his neck and giving him a quick peck on the lips, surprising me, but in a good way. "Not at all. But, last time we tried the classic dinner date thing, and that certainly didn't work. I was thinking, maybe tonight . . . we could just get away from it all for a little while? Besides, I didn't know if you'd show, and you don't have my phone number!"

"You're right. I don't. We'll have to remedy that, won't we? But I like the outfit,” Duncan says, wrapping his arms around me. It feels good, and my heart speeds up a bit in my chest. “Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," I reply, looking over at his bike. "But that looks like a two-seater, and I was wondering, maybe you could teach me how to ride that thing?"

Duncan's grin is all the answer I need, and he takes me by the hand, leading me over to the bike, where he unlocks the seat and pulls out another helmet. "I keep an extra brain bucket in here, just in case," he tells me, looking sheepish as he hands it over. “Climb on, and be careful about the vibrations."

"The what?"

"I put a sport suspension in this thing," Duncan says as he climbs on, helping me on after him. It's a weird lift of the leg, but I manage it, and I find that in order to keep my balance, I have to lean against his back, and I naturally wrap my arms around him, enjoying the scent of his leather jacket. "Handles bumps well, but the engine vibrations can go right through the frame and up the seat. You can guess where they go next."

"So, you're telling me that the throttle won't be revving just the bike's engine while we ride?" I ask, leaning back to put on the helmet, which I find is just a bit big, but not too bad while Duncan laughs. “I bet you designed it to do this, didn't you?"

"Nope, but I'll try to keep it under control,” he says as he glances back.

I lean in and whisper in his ear. "Say that again."

"What?"

"Keep it under control. It's . . . sexy, coming from you."

Duncan looks back at me, his eyes twinkling, and pulls his helmet on. "I knew there was a reason I wanted to ask you out. Come on, let's go find some fun."

Duncan starts his bike, and I can feel exactly what he means, as even with my legs on the back pegs like Duncan points out, I can feel the power of the bike's engine rumbling between my legs. We ride off, Duncan taking it easy at first so that I can learn to adjust on the curves and turns, but I can sense that he really wants to unleash the bike's power, and I pull myself in tighter, holding onto the amazing torso that is in front of me.

I can't see much. Duncan's back and shoulders are so wide, so everything is caught in side glimpses that slide past too quickly to really do much more than hold on, but as we continue, I realize I'm becoming more and more turned on. Duncan's body in front of me, the throb of the engine between my legs, the smell of the rich leather of his jacket in front of me, but most of all, the knowledge that his strength is keeping us safe and secure. Even if he wants to rev the bike up to a hundred miles an hour, I feel safe holding onto him.

Duncan slows, and we pull off the road into a parking lot, and I see that we're at a miniature golf center, of all places. I can't help it. I laugh. "Fun?"

"Sure," Duncan says, taking my hand. He helps me off with my helmet, then helps me off the bike's saddle. My legs are a little shaky getting off, partly because of the throbbing itch between my thighs, and partly because I just wasn’t used to riding a bike. “Sorry."

"No," I get out, laughing again and leaning against him. "You warned me, and besides, it was one of the most fun rides I've ever had."

"I thought you hadn't ridden on a bike before."

"Wasn't talking about bikes," I purr, and Duncan stops, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "What?"

"You've shut me down for four months, except for some flirting, and now you're dialing it up to eleven."

I stop and look him in his eyes and put my arms around his waist. “Because I've seen you at your worst now, and you've been through hell, and yet . . . you still apologized for your behavior. You showed up tonight, and I half expected a depressed, down in the dumps guy who I'd have to spend the night comforting for his issues—if you showed up at all. Instead, you showed up with a smile and a wave, like you really want to spend time with me."

“Of course I do," Duncan says, stopping when I hug him tighter, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me close. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

"I know," I say softly, pulling his head down for another kiss. I didn't tell him, but the idea of kissing him has gotten more and more attractive to me since our shared kiss in the training room, and as our little pecks grow more and more, I pull him in, our tongues tasting each other, his hands so powerful on my back. Finally, I pull back. "Come on, let's go have some fun. It's been years since I played putt-putt."

We go inside, and I see that there's more than just golf, but a decent-sized arcade center, pizza, the whole nine. "Wow, and you've been here before?"

"Yeah," Duncan says with a laugh. "I like to sometimes get away, and it's fun. Not at all like when I was growing up, you know?"

"Not really," I say honestly, taking his hand. "But I'd like to find out. Where do we start?"

We start with the arcade, where I find out that Duncan is actually a crack shot, at least with a light pistol. His hands move amazingly fast as he shoots down horde after horde of zombies, his eyes flickering side to side. "How'd you get so good at this?" I ask after my forearm cramps up and he's still firing away. "Jesus, watch out!"

A super-zombie, one of those types that are put in these games expressly to make you eat up your tokens, pops out of nowhere and hits us both, ending the game. I'm tempted to drop another token in to continue, but Duncan holsters his pistol and takes my hand. “I learned to shoot when I was a kid. My Dad felt that it was important I learn supposedly 'manly' habits like that, and not end up, and I quote,
one of these Silicon Valley, pansy ass, sissy boys
."

"Yeesh, what a moron," I exclaim before blushing. "Sorry. Guess that's not something you say about your date's parents."

"Except that it's totally true. Come on. I may have only played half a game, but I'm starving. Let's eat."

We get an extra large pizza with sausage, bacon, and bell peppers, along with Cokes, and find a seat. Just as we do, I hear someone call out Duncan's name again. "What is it with us and food and getting interrupted?"

"I don't know," Duncan says with a laugh. We look over, and I see a guy wearing a frat shirt, Alpha Tau Epsilon, along with what you'd expect a frat guy's girlfriend to be on his arm. "Hello, Joe."

“Good to see you," Joe says, pulling his Barbie-doll date along with him. "Man, after that game . . . you’re the last person I expected to see. What happened?"

"Just had a bad day," Duncan says, and I can tell he's not wanting to talk about it. Joe, however, doesn't catch his tone of voice and plows ahead. I've known it for years, but intelligence and the Greek system do not always go hand in hand.

"Seriously, like, you were going Captain Caveman out there. Missy and I were fuckin' stoked to see you here though. Hope, you know . . ."

"No worries," Duncan says. "By the way, this is my date, Carrie Mittel. Carrie, this is Joe and Missy."

"Uh . . . hi," Missy says, surprised as I offer my hand. She shakes before pulling back with an over-the-top shake of her wrist. “Geez, that’s a strong grip.”

"Carrie's strong," Duncan says, giving Missy a measured look. "She's a great trainer, and one hell of a girlfriend."

I'm too stunned to catch her reply as my mind whirls around Duncan's words. Girlfriend? Did he just really call me his girlfriend? Somebody pinch me, please.

Joe and Missy soon leave, and Duncan turns back, shaking his head. He sees that I'm still staring at him, open-mouthed, and blushes. "Sorry. I swear, that shit doesn’t happen everywhere I go.”

“It’s not that,” I say. "Just . . . you just called me your girlfriend."

"I know," Duncan says, smiling, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking a bite. He chews slowly, considering his next words as if he’s wondering if he should keep up the cockiness. “For four months now, since the day we met, I haven't been the same. I spend my days hoping to get down to the training room faster and to the library after practice in order to spend time with you. I may have jumped the gun to put that prissy princess in her place, but I still meant what I said.”

I nod, a silly grin breaking out on my face, and I take my own slice of pizza. “I think I could get used to being Duncan Hart’s girlfriend.”

A smile breaks out on his face, and we finish our pizza in a warm haze of dreamy happiness. When we're finished, I'm already ready to ask Duncan to take me back to his place, but instead, he clears away our plates and holds out his hand. "Have a round with me?"

"Careful," I tease, getting up. "Remember, I'm a former softball player. I tend to do well with sports with sticks and balls."

"Then maybe I'll get put in my place," Duncan chuckles, the two of us going out to the course.

I've never seen miniature golf as an exercise in seduction, but then again, I've never played a round with Duncan Hart before. We don't even keep score, just having fun with each other and playing the holes. With each stroke, I'm finding myself laughing and exchanging looks with him, the rest of the patrons or people forgotten as it seems the two of us are sharing our own little private space. When we come to the eighteenth hole, I move in to the ball, and I feel Duncan behind me. "Looks like a difficult shot."

“It is," I agree, looking down the green fake grass, which is lumpy and rising with fake hills. "Think you can lend me a hand?"

Duncan comes closer, his hands coming around to cover mine, and I gasp when his hips snuggle against mine. He's hard, oh, so hard, and I can't help but push back into him, both of us wanting and needing the double layers of denim between us to disappear. "Shh," Duncan says, his voice warm and seductive in my ear. "Let's just do this together."

I'm barely looking at the ball now, instead feeling Duncan's hands on mine, his body pressed into my back, his, oh my God, his cock pushing against my hips. I don't even notice when I bring the putter through, striking the ball and sending it down the course. Without even caring, I drop the putter, turning around to kiss Duncan, only barely noticing when I hear the sound of my ball dropping into the hole. "A hole in one. Nice shot.”

"I had help,” I whisper in between kisses. "And lots of inspiration."

"So where to now?" Duncan asks, his left hand resting on the upper curve of my ass. "More pizza? Zombies? Another round?"

I shake my head and kiss him again. "Take me to your place,” I say with my most sultry look.

The entire ride back, my body is humming, and I can’t wait until we’re at his place. He pulls up in front of his apartment building, and while I know it's an upscale, I don't care, my eyes only on him as he lifts me off the bike and into his arms. I wrap my legs around him as he carries me, so strong that I’m no more strain than a feather in his arms, to the elevator and up to his apartment. "Carrie, are you sure?”

"It's okay, Duncan. I trust you," I say, letting go of his body long enough to push off my shoes and strip off my jacket. "I trust you,” I repeat.

Duncan stops, his eyes full of emotion. "Carrie—"

"Shh," I say, kissing him again. I peel off his leather jacket and run my hands over his chest, shivering in anticipation. "We can talk afterward. I have only one request."

"What's that?"

I pat his chest, feeling the muscles underneath. "I'm a big girl. I don't break. Show me your strength.”

His triumphant, ecstatic growl as he lifts me and carries me back into the bedroom is all the answer I need. We land on the bed in a tangle of arms, legs and bodies, his mouth hot on my neck and his hands needy, demanding as he pulls my t-shirt up and off, leaving me in just my bra and jeans. As he’s kissing down, I'm trembling as his lips find the tops of my breasts, his fingers massaging the soft flesh. "Duncan . . ."

"You're perfect," he whispers as he pulls the strap of my bra off my shoulder, flipping the cup down and exposing my breast to him. He stops, and a smile spreads across his face as he sees me exposed to him.

"Yummy." He chuckles before nearly devouring my breast, sucking and licking on my stiff nipple. He rolls it around with his lips, his tongue sending lightning bolts of pleasure through me with every brush over the tip, and I can't believe it feels this good. Even in my fantasies, it wasn't this good. I claw at his shirt, until finally, it pulls free of his jeans, and I can feel the muscles and skin that I've watched flex for so many workouts under my hands. His skin is remarkably soft, while his hands are just slightly rough as he kneads my free breast with his left hand while his right hand does the same to my ass.