Whiplash: A Sports Romance (4 page)

Chapter 4

Eliza

I take one step into Talon Hall and Grant juts out in front of me.

“What’d he say?”

I gasp. “Jeez, Grant — you’re like a damn pop-up book.”

“Junior Morgan just bought you coffee and sat down beside you for ninety-seven seconds.”

“You
counted
?”

“Yup,” he nods. “What’d he say? Tell me now.”

I roll my eyes and move around him to head towards the classrooms. “I think you can probably guess.”

Grant follows so closely our elbows bump together with each step. “Did he ask you out?”

“I slammed on the brakes before he got the chance.”

“What?”
His face contorts like I just smacked him. “Why would you do that?”

I pause, furrowing my brow. “You’re the one who said he was a player…”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he chuckles. “It’s
Junior Morgan
, Eliza. He plays to
win —
if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do…”

He sighs. “Junior doesn’t take
no
for an answer. Once a girl is in his sights, he doesn’t stop until she’s screaming
yes
and, trust me,
you want to be that girl.
”

I laugh. “Sounds too good to be true.”

He points over my shoulder. “Go back out there and tell him you’ll go out with him.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I continue moving across the lobby. “Because, even if I wanted to go out with him, I can’t. He’s on the football team. My dad would flip his shit if he found out.”

Grant deflates, his vicarious dreams dashed upon the rocks. “I forgot about that. You’re supposed to be playing daddy’s perfect, little princess…”

“Yeah,” I remind him. “Sorry, Grant. I won’t be screaming
yes
for Junior Morgan anytime soon.”

“But you want to,
right
?” he teases, nudging my ribs.

I blush. I fucking blush. Just like Junior said I would. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m sure there are worse ways to spend an evening,” I admit. “But it doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“Find a monologue for the fall semester showcase yet?” he asks me, shrugging as he changes the subject.

I reach into my messenger bag for his book. “Not quite. Need your book back?”

“Keep it. I have like three copies of that thing.”

“Thanks for helping me out, Grant,” I say, letting the book settle in the bottom of my bag. “Mr. Young kind of put the fear of God in me…”

“Don’t sweat it. The guy’s a cuddly puppy on the inside. Just stick to the classic, romantic monologues — he likes those. And don’t blubber during the emotional scenes. It’s too
Streep —
he hates that.”

I nod. “I can handle that.”

He throws his arm around my shoulders. “I know you can —
because you have to.
I’ve been waiting two years for a halfway decent ingenue to stroll through here, Eliza…”

“So I’m halfway decent?” I laugh.

“
You’re more than decent.
You’re Bergman to my Bogart, honey. You and I are going to blow Young’s frail, old mind at the audition on Friday.”

I grin, completely seduced by his pep-talk. “Yeah. You’re right!”

“I’m
always
right.” He releases my shoulders. “I need to get to class. I’ll meet you back here tonight and then on Friday —
we shine!
”

I wave him goodbye and he spins around towards the auditorium.

***

This place is a damn labyrinth.

I’ve only been in the athletic center once or twice before. Now, I wish I’d asked for dad to meet me outside. I’m pretty sure I’ve passed that janitor’s closet three times now.

I round a corner and spot a familiar face in the form of Bob, the assistant coach.

“Hey, Bob,” I greet.

His wrinkled eyes barely glance up from his clipboard. “Hey, darling,” he says. Bob’s only known me a few weeks but since day one, he’s always called me
darling
. I’d take offense but he’s such a lovable, old man. I find it difficult to feel upset about it.

“Have you seen my father?” I ask. “I’m meeting him here for lunch.”

“In the locker room, last I saw him,” he murmurs, pointing over his shoulder with his pen.

I think to walk inside but then I pause, reading the MEN’S sign on the door.

“Go on in,” Bob adds, reading my mind. “The team’s cleared out already. Check the office in the back.”

“Thanks, Bob.”

“If not, just keep your eyes on the floor,” he chuckles softly, grunting like the dirty, old man he secretly is.

I smile and push the door open, instantly struck in the face with hot steam from recently-run showers.

“Dad?” I call, my voice echoing throughout the room. It’s dead silent, save the occasional tap of a dripping shower head and the sound of my boots thumping beneath me. “Mr. Car-y P-ier-ce?” I say, adding a vibrato and listening to it echo back at me.

I walk towards the office in the back, performing quick head tilts around corners as the rows of lockers pass me by.

A white towel comes into view, tossed around the naked hips of a man standing before the last row of lockers.

“Oh—!”
I halt, nearly slipping on the moist floor. My eyes crash down, just like Bob told me to, and I keep them there. “Sorry, I was told the team was gone and—”

“It’s okay, Ellie.”

His chuckle fires down my spine.

I look up to see Junior Morgan standing there in nothing but a damp, white towel. His skin is wet with little rivulets of water still tumbling down to his toes. I press my lips together, my eyes instantly drawn to the tattoos staining his white skin, along with the muscles pushing out beneath them.

Whoa.

“Oh, Ellie.” He lets out a quick whistle. “I’m up here.”

I clear my throat and force my eyes to meet his. “I was just looking—”

“For your dad,” he grins, reaching into his open locker for a stick of deodorant.

“Right.” I take a breath. “Why didn’t you say you were in here?”

“Well, you weren’t screaming
my
name.” He shoots me the briefest of glances, just a quick check to see whether or not I’m still gawking at him as he glides the deodorant under his armpits.

Heat spreads over my skin. It’s far too warm in here for this sweater but there’s no way I’m taking it off with Junior Morgan standing half buck in front of me. A bead of sweat travels down my back, tickling my nerves with welcome discomfort.

“He left a few minutes ago,” Junior adds. “Before I got in the shower.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I turn my back to him, eager to put a mile of distance between us before I let that Adonis belt of his turn me extra stupid.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, amusement dripping off his tone. “You just got here.”

Don’t let him bait you. Don’t turn around. Just say nothing and leave.

I turn around and look at him, my pulse quickening at the stiff, wet strands of his dark hair poking down to his eyes.

Extra stupid.

“You’re naked,” I say.

He shrugs. “I know.”

“So… that means I should
leave
.”

“If you wanted to leave, you would have left by now.”

I twist away, spinning on my heels to take me far, far away from that throbbing magnet begging to keep me here. “Bye, Junior.”

“Wait. Come here.”

“I have to meet my dad.”

“It’ll only take a minute, Ellie. I promise.”

I pause my stride, battle raging between my head and my core. When I look back at him, he draws an X over his upper chest, slicing two lines through the moisture built up on his skin.

“Cross my heart,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, stalling.

“Because I have a theory and I would like to test it.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a science enthusiast, Junior.”

“Just biology,” he smirks.

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the next wave of heat coursing through me. Everything about him bleeds confidence right now and I despise him for it. Mostly because it’s working exactly how he wants. I’m pretty sure the wetness between my thighs isn’t from the steam in here.

“Come here,”
he says again. “No games, no bullshit. Just come here.”

My feet pull me forward on their own, bridging the distance between us. As I move closer, I see the finer details of his tattoos and the water still glistening against his skin. Or is it sweat?
Oh, god — who cares?

“Touch it.”

I snap out of it. “Huh? No—”

“Come on, Ellie.” Junior stands up a little taller, his hooded eyes calling every bluff I have in me. “I can tell you want to. Just do it.”

My lungs take quick, shallow breaths, never quite satisfied with the thick, locker room air. I reach out, pointing one finger, and slowly trace it over his abs.

He flexes against my touch, protruding them even more and I can’t help but suck in my bottom lip.

“Ellie,” he chuckles. 

I twitch. “What?”

“I wasn’t talking about my abs.”

My eyes jump to his and he smirks as he pulls the white towel away.

I gasp silently at his reveal, bewitched by the stunning V-shape trailing down to his package. 

My mouth waters. A bolt of pleasure tingles my spine. 

Junior Morgan is hung like a fucking horse.

“Touch it,”
he says again, holding a hard, demanding tone. 

I lick my lips and my fingers move on instinct, drawing a line down his dripping happy trail. I pause to admire his Adonis belt again but that only whips up a mental image of my tongue gliding over it and I can practically taste the clean shower water on his skin.

I swallow and look up at him again as my fingertips reach the base of his rock hard cock.

Junior leans forward and places both hands on the locker behind my head, trapping me between them. “Don’t worry. It won’t bite,” he teases. “Well... it might spit.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I watch him as I let my finger crawl up his base, following the trail of pulsing veins along his shaft.

His brown irises twitch softly and a sharp inhale invades his nose. I like it. I like how much desire he breathes from a single touch and I want to hear it over again and again.

I reach the head of his penis and I pause, holding back my own needs in favor of prolonging his.

Junior growls softly, just barely audible behind his breath.
“Ellie...”
He steps forward until his wet chest presses against me and I feel his hot breath rush past my face. “You see what you do to me?”

I nod. 

He leans closer and I feel his lips brush my cheek. “Do I do the same to you?”

“Eliza?”

I jolt at the sound of my father’s booming voice.
“Oh, fuck!”
I whisper.

I slide to the floor and crawl away from Junior, bolting around the bench to hide behind the lockers out of sight.

Junior follows me, calm as ever, as he wraps his towel back around his waist. “What are you doing?”

“Eliza, are you in here?”
my father calls from the doorway.

“Hiding.”

Junior smirks with confusion, lowering his voice to meet mine. “Why?”

“Because if he finds me here, then I’m in deep shit.”

“But you came in here looking for him...”

“And I found
you
instead and he
really
doesn’t want me talking to you guys.”

His eyes sparkle. “Really?”

“If he finds you talking to
me
, he’ll make you do laps until sundown.” 

He pauses, chewing on his mouth. “Worth it.” 

“Come on, Junior—”

“Who’s in here?”

Junior leans down. “Go out with me tonight and I’ll tell him you’re not here.”

My cheeks turn red, but I’m far from blushing.
“Are you fucking serious?”

He grins as my father’s shoes tap against the floor.

I let out a seething sigh.
“Fine.”
I slink back, fearing the sound bounding towards us.

Junior winks at me and turns away, strategically holding his towel together to keep Junior
junior
from springing out in front of his coach.

“Hey, Coach,” I hear him say by his locker.

“Hey, Junior.”

I focus my ears, trying to pinpoint my father’s exact location in case I have to move but my heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear him. My fingers throb, the memory of what I was just touching still alive on them. I stuff them into my sweater pockets.

“Have you seen Eliza?” he asks. “Bob said she came in here…”

“Nope, haven’t seen her,” Junior says. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was supposed to meet her for lunch today.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

Goddammit, Junior.

I reach into my bag, sifting quietly through the pockets to find my phone, unsure whether I left it silenced or not.

“I’ll try. Thanks, Junior.”

“Anytime, Coach.”

I sigh with relief as my fingers wrap around my phone and I flick the switch to silence it. One second later, it vibrates in my palm.
Dad calling
.

I exhale until my lungs fight for air, listening to the sound of his shoes fading off towards the door.

Junior appears over me again, his expression smug as fuck. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,”
I murmur.

He offers me his hand to help me up but I push off the floor by myself. “Oh, come on…” he laughs. “Don’t be like that.”

I hold out my ringing phone.
“Have you tried calling her?”
I repeat. “I had my damn ringer on.” He snatches it out of my hand and opens my contact book. “What are you doing?”

“Adding my number for later,” he says, tapping away at the screen. Once he’s done, he passes it back. “I’ll pick you up at seven, Eliza Pierce.”

“Fine —
wait
, no.”