Stallion: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (7 page)

That’s been my motto since day one, and the girls all know it. No broken hearts here. At least not intentionally. But Benny’s little joke really set me off.

What the Hell is wrong with me?

“Whoa. Easy, fella,” Benny says, holding his hands up like I’m a bull that might charge at any second – which isn’t far off right now actually. “I didn’t realize you two were married already.”

As soon as I hear the word “marriage,” I have to roll my eyes and laugh. Yeah, that’s right. Walker Johnson, twenty-two, on his way to the NFL, getting
married
. Benny laughs too, diffusing the unexpected tension in the room.

As ridiculous as the notion was, a fantasy invades my mind. The wedding night. After all the lovey-dovey bullshit, Emmy would be all done up in a white dress. Maybe she’d have a garter belt on underneath. Stockings. Everyone would cheer, and I’d take her upstairs and flip that dress up and take her right there over the bed. That’s the kind of wedding night I’d have.

I’d wear her out so well that she’d be nothing but a sweaty, blubbering, post-orgasmic mess, glowing from how many times I made her come. There’s nothing better than getting a girl drunk off your dick.

I want to see her like that. I need to see her like that. She’s so goddamn professional and uptight. I want to see her when she’s been given a good fuck and is completely worn out. And it’s got to be me to give it to her.

“So can we get your mind off tits and into statistics?” Benny interrupts. “How is it you’re taking a freshman class as a senior and failing it?”

“Math’s not my strong suit,” I tell him. The only thing I want to be counting right now is how many times Emmy moans my name into my ear while I hold her up by her ass with both hands and pound her senseless.

“Well, stats is basic stuff,” Benny replies. “Should be able to brush you up nice and quick.”

I stuff the rest of the sandwich into my mouth and swallow. This is
so
not what I want to be doing right now. I don’t do tutoring sessions. I do two-a-day practices, sprint drills, hot chicks and raging parties.

“I’m really not in the mood for this, Ben,” I sigh, sitting back in my chair.

“Man up, dude. You afraid of some standard deviation and averages?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I admit. Footsteps from the hallway, and Pete, freshman linebacker, shoves my door open. He looks like he had about five too many last night and has to hold himself against the wall to keep from falling over.

“John—Johnson,” he stutters. “Some chick’s here for you.”

“Huh?”

“Down…uh, downstairs!” He says happily, like it was hard finding the word.

I stand up and clap him on the shoulder. “Have a good time last night, man?”

“Hell to the yes,” he exclaims, almost toppling over. “Bro, you shoulda seen the legs on this girl…”

Pete’s eyes sort of lose focus, and I can see he’s reliving last night, picturing whatever kind of shenanigans he got up to. It’s only Pete’s first year here, but he’s already a legend. At least among us guys.

His first night here Pete brought two girls back to his dorm room and had a threesome on the top bunk while his roommate was passed out on the bottom. The guy woke up the next morning with one of the girl’s panties wrapped around his head. He transferred next semester.

“Is it Cindy?” I ask Pete. She’s the only girl I could think of that would just show up without calling or texting. Cindy’s the only girl I ever had anything close to a relationship with. She was just dynamite in bed and was actually tolerable to have a conversation with. We had an on again, off again friends with benefits situation for a couple of months before she went and got a boyfriend, some uptight prick majoring in History.

“Cindy…” Pete struggles to think. “Is she…does she have like…hair?”

“Yeah, she’s got hair, man,” I say, brushing past him. “Back in a sec, Benny.”

Someone spilled pretzels on the steps last night and no one’s cleaned it up yet. Typical. This place was always a mess. Tyler had suggested bringing in one of those topless cleaning services once a week. Not a bad idea actually.

The front door does look like a bear ran through it. One of the hinges is definitely broken, and it’s halfway open. I can see a girl’s feet through the crack.

Nice
, I think. I’m not a foot guy – it’s not like I have a fetish or anything, but those are cute. Definitely not Cindy though.

“Yo, yo,” I say, pulling the door open to find Emmy standing anxiously on the porch.

“Hey,” she says timidly.

“Emmy!” I exclaim, surprised to see her.

“You remembered my name,” she says sarcastically. “And I didn’t even have to sleep with you!”

“Have to?” I reply. Two can play this game. “More like, didn’t get to.”

That got her. I can see her trying not to show how angry she is. I really push this chick’s buttons. She’s blushing.
Fuck that’s cute
. I wonder what other physical effects I’m having on her…

“God, you’re cocky, aren’t you?” She says with almost a snarl. I can tell she likes it though. There’s that look in her eye that she’s doing her best to conceal, but it’s there.

“You would be too,” I grin. “I’m surprised you’re not too with that rack of yours.”

Let’s see how she reacts to that
.

She crosses her arms over her chest, but it’s funny…she’s wearing a significantly lower cut top than she was last time. And it looks…new.

“Did you just buy that?” I ask, pointing at her chest.

“Wh-what?” She says, stumbling over her words.

“Hah!” I cackle victoriously. “Busted!”

“What are you talking about?” She says, the redness from her cheeks spreading across the rest of her face.

“Come on. That’s not a top you’d wear. You heard me say you’ve got a nice rack and you went out and bought that. Guess you thought you could come coax me into giving you an interview.”

The look of shock on Emmy’s face is priceless. The way her jaw falls open makes me think of one thing.
Man, look at those lips
. This girl has got me going. There’s just something about her that’s so…innocent. She’s like a girl just discovering that men find her attractive, and she’s not completely sure what to do about it. But she’s trying. And for me, that’s working.

“I did not!” She protests, sort of stamping both feet in a way that makes her breasts jump. Unintentional, but still awesome.

“Yeah, I bet a prissy chick like you has tons of low-cut tops like that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Are you even wearing a bra?”

I step closer and make it obvious I’m checking her out. She isn’t. As I lean in, she backs up a step, but as she does so, I watch her nipples get hard. Something similar starts to happen to me, but a little lower down.

“What is with you!?” She asks, sounding shocked. She’s not though. How could she be? She knows who I am by now. It’s all an act. “Don’t you ever have anything more on your mind?”

“I’m a simple guy,” I say with a smile. “My mind’s on whatever’s in front of me. And right now, that’s you…and those.” I nod in the direction of her boobs.

Emmy twists her lips somewhere between a scowl and contemplation. I can’t tell if she’s debating what to say or if she doesn’t even know. She’s never run into a guy like me before, that’s for sure.

“Look, I came by again…I don’t know why—“

“You wanted to see me,” I interrupt her. “But I’m not getting naked that easy this time. You’re gonna have to work for it.”

Poor Emmy couldn’t look more flustered if she tried. Her eyes are as wide as soup bowls as she stammers to find something to say. “I—I don’t want you to get naked!”

“You sure?”

“Yes! And I certainly wouldn’t
work for it
! I’m here for the story! Are you going to give me an interview or not?”

“Not,” I say simply.
Jesus, she’s cute when she’s mad.

This is one of those times that a great angry fuck would be off the charts hot. I wonder how she’d handle that. I wonder what she’s like in the sack in general. Is she as shy as she comes off? Some girls are shy in person and then the clothes come off and they transform into dick-loving monsters, but other girls are just as bad, if not worse and just lie there like a blowup doll. I mean, I like to be in control, but I don’t like feeling like I’m banging a corpse either.

“Fine!” She says, stomping her foot again, making her tits bounce like before. “I guess I’ll just go then!”

But she doesn’t just go. In fact, she doesn’t move an inch. I simply raise my eyebrows at her, calling her bluff.

“Well?” I ask her.

“Well, what?” She snaps.

“I thought you were leaving.”

“I am! Just, give me a minute—“

“To keep admiring my physique?” I say with the cockiest grin I can manage.

“You are so—!”

“Yo, Walker!” Benny shouts, coming down the stairs from behind me. “Let’s get this study session done, man. I got about a hundred girls waiting for me back at my place.”

My heart sinks.
Not in front of the reporter!

Benny practically skips up beside me and stops. “Who’s this?”

Emmy’s eyes light up. My heart sinks and I turn to Benny with a look on my face that shuts him right up. I turn back to Emmy to see her scribbling furiously in her notebook. She looks up at me.

“Study session? Are you a tutor?” She says, looking at Benny. Benny glances at me out of the corner of his eye. The look on my face says
shut the fuck up
, and he does, turning back to her with a blank stare.

“Is there a problem with your grades, Walker?” She asks, her face suddenly filled with excitement. Great. This is just what I need.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

But this time, Emmy just smiles and goes back to writing in her notebook. “Well, Walker,” she says, not bothering to look up. “I guess you should have given me that interview.”

“Sorry. I don’t like paparazzi,” I growl, shutting the door in her face. I turn to Benny. “Thanks a lot, dickhead!”

“Dude, how was I supposed to know?! What is she, a reporter or something?”

“Duh! You think!? For such a smart dude, you’re a bit of a dumbass.”

I storm back upstairs, ready to smash a hole in the wall. I guess I should probably get used to this. When I make it into the NFL, it’ll be like this wherever I go. Maybe I should hire someone to be my bodyguard and just get rid of people like this. That would be a first; a college kid with a bodyguard on campus.

How much of a story can she really have though? I mean, she saw me
with
a tutor. Neither of us gave her a statement. It’s not like she has any more evidence that my grades are completely fucked. She says she’s a serious reporter too, so is she really going to publish some kind of slander gossip piece on me? And will the paper even let that go through?

They say all publicity is good publicity, but I think that’s bullshit. I’m not selling sodas here. I’m just a guy playing football and a bunch of unnecessary attention, from all the wrong places, isn’t what I need right now.

I doubt the NFL will care. Guys have left college to go play in the league before, but I at least want to finish my degree. The chances of me not getting drafted because of a few bad math tests is slim to none, but it’s still annoying.

Ah, well. How bad could it really be?

W
alker Johnson
. Collegiate Star or Scam Artist?

Now that’s a headline.

My fingers are flying furiously across the keyboard as I spew out the first draft of my article. It’s not the story Peter wanted, but it’s a story, and best of all, it’s going to piss Walker off.

I don’t know why I want to make him mad so badly, but I do. It must be that obnoxious smile that seems to never leave his face, or that unflinching arrogance, or that way he just assumed I wanted to sleep with him the minute I saw him.

I mean, okay, he was right, but that’s not the point!

At least take some time to talk to me and get to know me before you invite me to your bedroom or take your clothes off in front of me. Isn’t that just common courtesy? But no, not for Walker Johnson, the Stallion, the
star
! The rules of dating don’t apply to Walker. Unfortunately for him, we have academic rules, and those apply to everyone.

To be perfectly honest, it really does surprise me the University isn’t just sweeping his poor academic performance under the rug. How bad could his grades actually be that they’ve assigned him a tutor? And it’s definitely under protest. A guy like Walker wouldn’t voluntarily to find someone to help him study. He’s too busy throwing “bitchin’ keggers” and “pounding bitches” to do something that reasonable.

This is not a typical story for me, but this is not a typical subject either. This is
Walker Johnson
, I say, blowing out a puff of air as I hear his name sarcastically in my head.

The Stallion
.

And now I am another one of the girls who knows why they call him that. I mean, I don’t
know
know.

I’d like to, though
.

Stop that! I have to stop thinking like that. Every encounter I have with Walker is more frustrating than the last. There’s no way things could ever work with him.

Why am I even thinking about it working? I mean, nothing’s even happened with him yet,
and
I have a boyfriend. There’s no way he’s thought of anything past my boobs that’s for sure…or other parts of my anatomy.

My fingers fly across the keys. I’ve never whipped up an article so fast in my life. It’s not some in-depth character piece, so it doesn’t have to be too long. I feel like a gossip reporter or some celebrity blogger, but I don’t care. Peter will get his story, and Walker will get a little jab in the ribs and maybe realize that I’m not some bimbo he can treat however he wants.

“Aren’t you working hard?” Abbey says, coming in behind me. “Is that the Walker story?”

“It’s
a
Walker story,” I correct her. “He has a tutor!”

“So?” Abbey shrugs. “All those guys have tutors.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t want me to know about it! I showed up and he freaked out when I saw. I think he’s on the verge of failing out.”

“So?” Abbey shrugs again. “All those guys are as dumb as a box of rocks.”

“Abbey!” I pout. “This is my story! People will care!”

Abbey couldn’t look less interested as she set her bag down and changes into a t-shirt. “They’d be more interested in knowing what he’s like in bed.”

“Oh, shut up,” I scoff. “There’s no way I could publish that!”

“But you could do it.”

“Do what?”

“Sleep with him. You said you couldn’t publish it, you never said you couldn’t sleep with him.”

Abbey grins at me, and I frown like a little girl. Why
did
I say it that way? This is absurd. I feel like I’m back in high school and I’m at the lunch table and we’re all gossiping about the cute guy in school and which one of us he likes.

There’s been this lump in my stomach since all this Walker stuff started. At first I thought it was just annoyance at being assigned the story, but now I’m starting to think it must be something more. Talking about Walker genuinely makes me nervous, and I don’t know why.

Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to admit it to myself.

I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything since this whole fiasco began. I feel completely out of my element, which is unusual for me. Preparation is something I pride myself on, and I take my work very seriously. But this story, the atmosphere that surrounds Walker, has thrown me off completely.

“Why don’t
you
sleep with him, Abbey?” I say, instantly regretting saying it. A flood of jealousy swells up inside me like a rising ocean tide. Walker is mine – even if he’s not. Would he even sleep with Abbey? I mean, why wouldn’t he? Abbey’s good looking, and what does he care if she’s my friend?

“Maybe I will,” Abbey says. When I look at her, I see the look on her face and realize what’s going on; she’s trying to get to me. She’s trying to poke and prod me into action – into making a decision. But what decision is there to be made?

I have a boyfriend
! I shout at myself, in my most vicious internal voice.

Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this? It’s a simple fact. I’m taken. Off the market. But then why am I thinking about Walker in the shower? If I was truly happy with Ronald, wouldn’t all these thoughts about another man never even enter my head? My mind would be a perfectly blissful oasis of love, its clear waters swimming with little fish with Ronald’s face on them, and thousands of fairies playing harps while floating effortlessly above me.

Instead, it’s like some ancient Spartan battle raging inside me, with a horde of a thousand Walkers, biceps rippling from beneath their armor, holding sharpened spears and advancing on a cowering Ronald, his only protection a thick hardcover filled with legal terminology.

“Yeah, yeah,” I manage to say, returning to the moment. I’m not going to let Abbey get to me. She knows what’s going on with me, but this decision isn’t as easy as she wants to make it out to be. It’s different when you’re single.

If I
was
single, would I even sleep with Walker? I mean, I am still a reporter and he’s still my story. But now that this article is written…as long as Peter doesn’t force me to write another…

“Oh, so you
are
awake,” I hear Ronald’s voice behind me and turn to see him standing in the doorway looking very displeased. “I guess you forgot about our study session tonight.”

Shit
. I did forget. I was supposed to quiz Ronald today on some case he’s been studying recently for one of his classes, and with all this stuff going on with Walker and the article, I completely forgot.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, honey!” I apologize. “I’ve been tied up with this story for the paper!”

I can just feel Abbey’s eyes darting between us, probing through the growing tension in the air. Another roommate would excuse herself, but not Abbey. She loves drama. Ronald nods slowly, almost like he doesn’t believe me.

“That must be why you look so…nice,” he says, eyes on my chest. I realize I’m still wearing the tank top I wore to the football house. Walker was right. I
did
wear it for him, and it’s nothing I would normally ever wear. Ronald’s never seen me in anything like this before. “So what’s this story on that’s so important it interrupts our study session?”

He takes a step forward and before I can react, lifts the top of my laptop and peers at my article. I brace myself for what’s coming. His eyes scan the screen briefly, then widen.

“Walker Johnson?” He practically shouts, turning to me. “You’ve been blowing me off for Walker Johnson!?”

“I haven’t been
blowing you off
,” I say quickly. “This is my job, Ronald!”

“I don’t know why you take this school paper crap so seriously anyway, Emmy,” Walker snaps. “I mean, when we graduate and I’m working for my father’s firm, you aren’t going to have time for this anyway!”

I hear a sharp intake of breath from Abbey, but I keep my eyes firmly on Walker. “School paper crap?”

Ronald frowns, but I’m not sure if it’s condescension towards me or a realization that he’s being a complete ass. Probably the former.

“Okay, look,” he says, stepping closer and taking my hands in his. “All I’m saying is that I’m working here to secure a better future for us and some stability for the rest of our lives, and the least you could do would be to remember when we schedule something and show up for it.”

Definitely the former.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling my hands away, wishing I had a golf club to crack his head open with. “I’m sorry my plans for our future are getting in the way of yours.”

Ronald turns to leave.

“Are you serious?” I say to his back. He stops and turns around, looking at me like he’s completely disgusted by me.

“I have work to do. One of us has to do something that will get us somewhere,” he says flatly before walking out.

I’m shocked. Ronald has never been so abrasive before. Temper tantrums yes, but that was something else.

“What was that all about?” I say, turning to Abbey who is trying not to smile. Abbey
loves
drama, and her reaction is always to laugh.

“What do you
think
!?” She says as though she’s shocked I could even ask. “He’s pissed you’re spending time with Walker and not him.”

“I’m not
spending time
with Walker!” I reply. “I’m doing a story on him.

“And dressing up to see him,” she says slyly.

“I’m not
dressing up
—“

“You sound like a broken record, Emmy. Why don’t you just admit to yourself that you’ve got a crush on the guy?”

She’s right
.

I think I’ve known this all along, but I wanted to believe it was just some basic animal attraction that I could get over. Everyone has to have these feelings, even when they’re in a committed relationship. It’s natural. We’re sexual creatures. Our brains respond to stimuli, and whether that’s nice biceps, great abs, a strong chest, or all of the above, we’re going to react in expected ways.

I’d reacted that way to Walker.

Even though my rational brain told me he was nothing but trouble, an arrogant jerk used to treating women however he wants and getting away with it, the rest of me had fallen for him. And now it seems like my rational brain might be catching up.

I’m falling for Walker Johnson,
I think, looking over at my article. Quickly, I open my e-mail and send the final copy to Peter.

I slam my laptop shut and collapse back onto my bed, arms folded, lips twisted in thought. Abbey knows better than to say anything right now, but I’m sure if I looked over, she would be smiling.