On Tuesday afternoon Chessly met me at our usual table in the Union, her indignation at my suspicions about Tory Miller blackmailing Callahan manifesting in her having to clean up sloshed latte from slamming her cup down.
“That be-otch! Where the hell does she get off?” The angry swipe of her handful of napkins lent emphasis to her words.
I appreciated how my friend didn’t even question my suspicions, jumping directly into attack mode. Chessly Clarke was a great friend and a formidable enemy. Of course, when she’d been on the receiving end of Tory’s BS last year, I’d remained staunchly in her corner too. When you were facing a barracuda who thought her daddy’s money allowed her to do as she damn well pleased, it paid to have allies in possession of backbones.
Life had forced both of us to forge spines of steel.
As though our conversation had conjured her, Tory materialized beside our table. “Callahan O’Reilly is far too good for someone like you,” she sneered.
“Hello, Tory. Looks like you’re in bitch mode as usual,” Chessly said as if she were remarking on the lovely autumn day outside the windows of the Union.
“Tell me something. Do you even attend classes or do you only spend your days stalking upperclassmen?” I asked in an equally pleasant voice.
“At least I earn my grades rather than blackmail a professor into giving me A’s in order to keep me from airing his family’s dirty laundry.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or in your case, outing yourself as that dirty family secret.”
I sat up in my chair so fast it screeched on the tile beneath me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, and all I wanted to do was grab it and yank. “With one strategically placed word, a certain department head could lose his job over you. I bet he’d rather not do that, so he gives you A’s.” Her expression turned feral. “Of course, outing him will probably mean you’re asked to leave the university too. What a bummer that would be, what with you being on scholarship and all.”
At the mention of losing my scholarship, my chest constricted, and I gripped the sides of my chair to keep from clawing at the monster threatening me. “I don’t have any idea what you’re on about, Tory, but you’d better be careful about throwing around accusations of cheating and blackmail.”
Her hand dropped to her hip. “There’s an easy way around all the scandal. Stop seeing Callahan O’Reilly. Then you have nothing to worry about.”
More than anything I wanted to slap the saccharine smile off her lips.
“If she chooses to keep lighting up Callahan’s world?” Chessly asked.
“Then they both lose, along with a certain professor Jamaica knows all too well.” Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Callahan’s future in the NFL depends on you doing the right thing.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she spun on her heel and flounced away. Only then did I pick up that she’d delivered her threats alone without her tiny army of sycophants surrounding her and tittering over her every word.
Chessly stared after her. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t have the first clue.” As the adrenaline wore off, I slumped back down in my chair. “But it sounds even more scary than that crap she pulled with you last year.”
My friend reached across the table, and I laid my hand in hers. “We beat her then and we’ll beat her now. She’s a spoiled rich girl playing at street fighting. We’re born street fighters. The odds are not in her favor.”
“What about Hotshot?” I asked.
Tory’s baseless accusations that I was related to some MSC professor who was handing me grades in return for keeping my mouth shut about him was as ludicrous as growing daisies on the far side of the moon. But whatever she had on Callahan could cost him the future he wanted more than anything. That wasn’t something I was willing to risk.
Chessly’s expression turned serious. “Sounds like you two have some things to discuss.”
As I sat cross-legged in the middle of Callahan’s giant bed, books and papers spread around me, Tory’s threats rattled around in my head. He’d texted me that practice would probably go long because the game this weekend was the Wildcats’ big rivalry with the Golden Bears. So I caught a ride with Axel over to Hotshot’s house, let myself in with the spare key he’d given me a couple weeks ago, and made myself at home.
The aroma of the two extra-large sausage-and-hamburger pizzas I’d created from scratch drifted up the stairs and through the open door to his room. The timer on my phone said they had at least ten more minutes to bake, which was good. I wanted them hot and fresh from the oven when he arrived home. But in the half hour they’d been cooking, I should have finished the article I’d found on Regency manners, and I’d barely read two sentences of it.
All I could think about were the two nasty run-ins I’d had with Tory over the past two days. For most of the semester, she’d made a nuisance of herself at parties and any public space where Callahan tried to study. Until this week she’d confined herself to more outrageous—and frankly embarrassing—flirting. Then Callahan took me to dinner at that too-fancy-for-my-comfort restaurant, and now she was making threats to him and to me. It made no sense. With her family’s money she could eat there three times a day if she wanted to, so why be jealous of my date taking me there? It was ridiculous.
But her threats were serious.
More than once as our relationship grew, Hotshot had mentioned the next step for him was going pro. He and his roomies watched film of themselves every Sunday morning and NFL games every Sunday afternoon and evening. They played Madden on their game console almost like a religion. Every one of them wanted to go pro.
I had absolutely no clue how me dating Callahan could interrupt that dream, but from the way he responded on the sidewalk outside Huffine Hall yesterday morning, he was worried about whatever it was Tory had on him.
The slamming of the front door followed by grumpy male voices alerted me the guys had finished practice. I pushed my books and papers aside—along with thoughts of Tory Miller—and headed downstairs.
“What is that heavenly smell?” Bax stood in the middle of the kitchen with his eyes closed, his nose in the air as though he were trying to inhale all the scent of delicious meat pie.
“Are you kidding me, Bax?” I asked when I caught sight of his latest T-shirt, which read “Overworked and Underfucked.” “It’s a mystery for the ages why you can’t find anyone to date.”
“What?” He glanced down at his black-and-white T-shirt and back at me with a grin. “It’s stating facts.”
Shaking my head, I pulled my phone from the pocket of my jeans and checked the timer. “Dinner is at least ten minutes away. Maybe you could put a hoodie over that or something.”
“Seriously, Jamaica?”
With a shrug, I said, “Either that or I make fun of your pitiful status all through dinner.”
“Jesus. You sound like my mom,” he groused as he headed out of the kitchen and ran smack into Callahan. “Sorry, bro. Your lady here is being a hard-ass. You should talk to her about it.”
Hotshot’s eyes danced when he glanced at me over Bax’s shoulder. “Let me guess. Jamaica’s unimpressed with your thought for the day.” He chuckled. “I do wonder why you proclaim your pathetic situation the way you do.”
“Easy for you to say, seeing how you get some on the regular. With the hottest girl in the class.” As Bax attempted to shoulder his way past Callahan, my guy stopped him with his words alone.
“You don’t talk about Jamaica that way. Ever.” The low menace in his voice had Bax putting his hands up in surrender.
“Sorry, Jamaica. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I mean besides how lucky ’Han was to see you first.”
The timer on my phone went off, and I shooed him out of the room. “Dinner in ten.”
“Did someone say dinner?” Finn asked as he sidestepped Bax through the kitchen door.
“In ten.” Callahan’s eyes were on me.
Unlike Bax, Finn was observant today. Without a word, he spun on his heel and headed to another part of the house, likely his room considering he was still carrying his backpack.
Hotshot stepped over to me. “Hi, babe. When I asked you to meet me here, I didn’t mean you had to cook for us.” His hands found my hips, and he squeezed as he pulled me in close.
“I assumed you’d be hungry.” My stomach rumbled. “Or maybe that was me.” I grinned.
“Oh, I’m definitely hungry.” His eyes darkened from a summer sea to cobalt in a blink.
Resting my palms on his chest, I threatened to push him away. “You invited me over to study, remember?” Smoothing my hands over his pecs, I said, “In fact, all my books and research are currently taking up most of your bed.” His brow went up. “What? I had to do something while I waited for the pizza to cook and you to come home. Wait till you see my notes.”
“I plan on seeing your notes—all of them.” The corner of his mouth inched up. “But for now this will have to do.”
He brushed his lips over mine, and I melted into him. In seconds, his ball cap hit the floor as I tunneled my hands through his hair. Powerful, sculpted arms wrapped around me, and I reveled in the sensation of being cocooned in his big, strong body. I could spend forever kissing him like this—a hot claiming that promised the closeness of love and trust that came in the private dark of his room.
Wait. Love?
The timer on my phone chimed again, interrupting our hello and probably saving our dinner. Definitely rescuing my sanity. Love? What a wild thought.
Pushing out of his arms, I waved in the direction of the oven and said, “Time to eat. There’s a bowl of salad in the fridge along with fresh homemade ranch dressing. That bottled crap you had when I was over last week was awful, so I took care of that for you.”
Stop babbling, Jamaica. He didn’t hear your thoughts. I chanced a glance at his perfect ass as he bent down to scout the fridge for salad and dressing. If he had, he’d have raced out of this kitchen and through the front door, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
“Homemade ranch, huh? You keep this up, you’ll end up moving in.” Shooting me a smirk, he said, “My roommates will insist.”
“Ah, your roommates. Right. I’ll keep that in mind,” I said drily.
I know I should have expected it, but still, the speed with which the guys disappeared two extra-large pizzas and a bowl of salad half the diameter of the table shocked me. While I ate my first piece, Callahan made a point of adding a second to my plate. I tossed him a quizzical look, and his raised brow in response might have pissed me off if not for his nod at the empty pizza pan in the middle of the table. When I bit into my second slice, the other pizza was remnants of crust on Bax and Finn’s plates. Only a few greens remained in the bottom of the salad bowl, but at least half the quart of ranch remained on the table.
Bax patted his stomach and with a hopeful expression asked, “Did you make dessert too?”
After a slow blink at the dinner carnage in front of me, I shook my head in the negative. “I didn’t think about it. Sorry,” I said with a regret-filled grimace.
“No brownies or cookies even?” he whined.
My shoulders went up. “Sorry.”
Hotshot leaned in and whispered for my ears only, “You have cherries for me, though, yeah?”
My face heated and I stuffed my mouth with pizza. Which only served to draw attention to the fact part of one slice remained. Finn stared longingly at my dinner.
“You sure you’re going to finish that?”
Callahan backhanded him on the bicep. “Let my lady eat in peace. Jesus.”
“Do we have any ice cream left?” Bax asked.
“No. I finished it while I played COD with Fitz last night,” Finn said.
“Guess we’re making a dessert run since it was ’Han’s turn to cook.” Bax stood and walked his place setting to the sink. “Lucky bastard gets the prettiest girl. And she cooks,” he muttered as he rinsed his plate and loaded it in the dishwasher.
Beside me Hotshot chuckled, his hand finding its way under the table to squeeze the top of my thigh.
“I took your cooking turn, huh? Guess you owe me,” I said as I shifted on my chair, clamping my thighs together and trapping his wayward hand between them. Though he’d scolded Finn for eyeing my second slice of pizza, I didn’t miss his designs on it as well. He was just sneakier by attempting to tease me out of it.
Giving him the smirk of all smirks, I stuffed my mouth full of meaty, cheesy goodness and angled what I couldn’t eat yet away from him.
With a chuckle, he said, “Fine. Don’t share that last bite.” He tugged his hand from between my thighs, stood, and walked his place setting over to the sink, joining Bax and Finn as they loaded the dishwasher. Bax retrieved the pizza pans and the salad bowl from the table and took care of them. Guess it was his turn to clean up after dinner.
After our first study session at Callahan’s house, it hadn’t taken me long to discover the reason behind their compatibility as roommates. Their secret was teamwork. Everyone took turns doing chores, no one complained, and none of them ever took time off. They ran their house similarly to the way they performed on the field—as a unit with each man having the others’ backs. I envied their closeness. They were like one big, tight-knit family.
Having grown up with only my mom, I handled most of the household responsibilities as I grew into them. By the time I graduated high school, I did all the cooking, cleaning, and grocery shopping. Moving into the dorms where I went to the cafeteria for my meals and was only responsible for keeping one room clean had been a vacation. But watching the camaraderie and the way the guys seamlessly divided household chores made me homesick for something I’d never even experienced.
After they cleaned the kitchen, Bax and Finn headed out for dessert and a study session at the library.
Hotshot and I headed up to his room.
“You weren’t kidding about the state of my bed, babe,” he chuckled. “Taking advantage of all that space, huh?”
My hands came up. “What can I say? I like to spread out.”
The wicked gleam in his eyes called out my poor choice of words as he crowded me to the edge of the bed. “Do you now? How awesome is that?”
“Callahan!” I squeaked. “At least let me stack all my stuff first.”
“Mmm, stacking. I like the sound of that too.”
I scrambled backward onto the mattress and frantically started gathering my notebooks, papers, and laptop into something of a pile. I’d just set the whole works on the nightstand when a shirtless Hotshot pounced on me.
“I’ve waited all day for this, Island Girl.”
“We need to study,” I reminded him without any of the force I intended.
“We’ll get to that, but if we don’t take care of dessert first, my concentration will be fucking worthless.” As he spoke, his hands moved up my sides, his fingertips feathering over my skin as my T-shirt and hoodie traveled up my body.
A second later he knelt in front of me, holding me steady with one strong hand while he tugged my jeans and panties off with the other. His eyes glittered as I stood in front of him in nothing but my plain, white bra.
“I’ve had cherries on my mind all fucking day. Open for me, Jamaica. Give me my dessert.”
Without the nicety of a little kiss or a warning lick, his mouth covered my center as he feasted with a hunger that proved I’d been on his mind all day. His hands on my hamstrings kept me from falling, even as I anchored mine in his hair and held on. Teasing and tasting, licking and sucking my clit, he held me on the brink of bliss. When his tongue speared in and out of my channel, my thighs began to quiver. Still, he worked me, adding one finger, then two as he returned to my clit with his talented mouth. Of their own volition, my hips moved in time with his fingers. A low growl of satisfaction rumbled through him when I came apart, his name torn from my throat on a scream.
A ghost of a nudge of his hands on the front of my thighs and I landed on my back on the bed. With seemingly superhuman speed he stood naked in front of me, the proof of his desire proud and erect as he tore open a condom packet and smoothed the protection over himself.
He tugged me to the edge of the mattress, pulled my ankles over his shoulders, and entered me on one long thrust.
Involuntarily, I clamped down on him and the delicious way he filled me full.
“Babe.” The word stretched out on a growl.
When he started moving, each thrust was deeper, more forceful, more exciting than the last until both of us were out of control.
One of his long fingers found its way to my clit at the same moment he seated himself to his balls inside me, and I went off like a cannon shot. A series of explosions cascaded through me, lighting my entire body on fire even as a kaleidoscope of blue and green stars danced behind my tightly squeezed eyelids.
Another thrust and he stopped moving, his body rigid along the backs of my thighs as he howled my name. A few seconds later he dropped my thighs to his hips and collapsed over me, his chest heaving against mine.
An age later, we caught our breath and he pulled out and padded to the bathroom. I didn’t bother to open my eyes as the mattress sagged beside me. His fingers traced down the center of my body from collarbone to navel and back again, leaving heavenly sensations in their wake. I could have easily fallen asleep under that gentle movement.
In my super-satisfied, dozy state, I thought I heard him whisper, “I’d do anything for you, Jamaica. Anything.”
Then he was up and moving around the room. A few minutes later, something soft landed on my belly.
“Put on some clothes, woman. We can’t wow old Dr. Dair if we don’t do some work. Jeez,” he teased.
Reluctantly, I rolled over and discovered a jersey with his name on it. Shooting him a saucy grin, I tugged it over my head and went in search of my panties. A few minutes later, we were seated side by side against the headboard of his massive bed, our research stacked on either side of us, my laptop open on my lap, his iPad dialed up to our outline, the two of us working as if he hadn’t just rocked my world with the best sex of my life.
I was cross-checking a topic on our outline when his iPad dinged an incoming notification. He jerked the device out of my hand, but not before I saw the text—and who sent it.