Read Hunter (Campus Kings): A Football Secret Baby Novel Online
Authors: Celia Loren
Hunter (Campus Kings): A Football Secret Baby Novel
By Celia Loren
A Hearts Collective Novel
Copyright © 2016 Hearts Collective
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced
in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas,
characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and
any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.
* * *
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* * *
HUNTER
A Campus Kings Novel
* * *
By Celia Loren
CONTENTS
Britt
I sneak a glance over at my roommate. Her breathing changed
a bit when my alarm went off a minute ago, but I don't think she's awake. I
slowly sit up and ease myself to standing, then walk over to my
university-issued chest of drawers. As silently as possible, I pull off my
nightgown and step into my underwear. My dad tried to get me to live at home
while going to college, but I was dead-set on living in the dorms. Now I wonder
if I should have listened to him.
It's not just that I feel uncomfortable getting changed in
such a small room while someone else is here—hell, I feel uncomfortable with my
body when I'm
alone
in a room—it's just strange to have someone else
always around. My roommate Danielle really likes to chat, about everything,
especially mindless prattle about the “hot guys” in her classes.
"Wow, how often do you work out, Britt?" Danielle
asks from behind me. I jump, but still manage to secure my bra straps on top of
my shoulders. I pull a t-shirt from the drawer to cover myself as I answer.
"Um, I don't really," I reply, turning to respond.
She pushes her bright red hair out of her eyes and blinks at me.
"Lucky!" she sighs. That's the other thing I have
to get used to about Danielle: she's ready to talk the second she wakes up. I'm
more the type who likes to putter around for a while, get a cup of coffee, then
strike up a conversation. Or just skip the conversation entirely and go
straight to the library. "You have like, an ideal body. Like a petite
Victoria's Secret model."
"Really?" I ask. "I mean, I actually grew a
couple inches this past summer."
"To what? Five foot two?"
"Well, yes," I admit.
"My doctor said it's really rare to have a growth spurt that late. Plus,
you know, I filled out a little."
"I'll say! What are those? C's?" she asks staring
at my breasts. I blush and quickly pull on my shirt.
"No, no. B's, I think."
"You sure? I think you need to get resized. That bra
looks like it's about to bust open." Noticing my stunned expression, she
backtracks a little. "Don't mind me, I'm just a jealous surfboard over
here. So where are you headed so early? It's Saturday, the day of rest."
"I think that's Sunday," I reply, and face the
mirror to try to wrangle my unruly, dark brown hair into a pony tail. I glance
down at the way my light blue t-shirt stretches over my breasts and frown, but
at least the color matches my eyes. "I'm just going to visit my dad."
"Where does he live again?"
"No, I mean at work."
"Oh, where does he work?"
I sigh inwardly. I knew it would have to come out sooner or
later. "My dad works for the football team here, actually." I watch
as the lightbulb goes off in Danielle's head and her eyes widen. The day I
moved in and saw all the university football posters on her wall, I knew we
were going to have a problem.
"Wait....wait...your dad is
Lou McKay
? Couch Lou
McKay?" she squeals. "I mean, I knew your last name was McKay, but I
never put it together. I guess because Coach McKay is such a hard ass, I never
pictured him having a daughter. Oh, sorry," she adds, hearing herself out
loud.
"It's okay, I'm well aware of his reputation."
Coach Lou McKay, head of the football program at Vanover University for the
last ten years. Known for his winning record, and the fact that no one has ever
seen him smile.
"That is so awesome," Danielle breathes. I snort
under my breath. She might feel differently if she saw things from the other
side. Vanover is the only private school in the NCAA's Southeastern Conference,
but that doesn't mean the fans are any less rabid. When the team is winning, my
father is a god, but where they're losing, adult men think nothing of leaving
death threats on our home answering machine. "You have to introduce me to
the players!" she adds.
"Oh, no. No, no, no," I reply emphatically.
"Why not?" she whines.
"I don't even know them, for starters. Second, my dad
would murder them if he caught them anywhere near me. Plus, they're gross
anyway."
"Gross?" Danielle repeats, her eyes bugging out of
her head. She quickly kneels on her mattress and pulls a Vanover monthly calendar
from her wall. "You think Hunter Phillips is gross?" she asks,
stuffing the month of September's image under my face.
I glance down at the Vanover Tigers' star quarterback. The
photographer caught him just as he pulled his football helmet off after a win.
A triumphant smile crosses his face as he wipes his dirty blonde hair out of
his face with his gloved hand. I can't argue that he's handsome, with his cleft
chin and straight, proud nose, but... "Nope, sorry. Football players are
Neanderthals, trust me. Even Hunter Phillips."
"You're nuts," she says, lying back on her bed and
holding the calendar above her head. "He's gorgeous. And word is he's
going to be drafted first round into the NFL next year."
"I have to get going. And I'm going to the library
after, so the room's yours for the day!" I add as I head for the door.
"I know what I'll be doing," she says, wiggling
her eyebrows at the picture of Hunter Phillips.
"Oh my god," I murmur, my face turning scarlet. I
quickly shut the door behind me and hurry down the hall.
The air is crisp and warm as I head out of our dorm and
across the quad. We live on the freshman campus, which is set apart from the
main campus but actually a bit closer to the training facilities, so it's only
about a five-minute walk to my father's office.
Vanover is located just outside Nashville, and though I was
hoping to escape my hometown for college, I have to admit the campus is
beautiful. I begged my father to let me apply to the colleges in the Ivy
League, but he said there was no way he was letting me go that far away from
home, especially when faculty members here get free tuition for their children.
So instead of imposing, Gothic structures, I'm surrounded by the comforting red
brick and white domes of the Neoclassical style.
Except for the athletics facilities, which are modern and
state of the art, of course. There's even a special cafeteria here where the
athletes have special, more nutritional, and better-tasting, meals. I've been
to my dad's office before, so I head inside and take the elevator down to the
basement, which opens on the other side to the practice field. My dad has a
flashier office on the top floor for when he has to meet with university
donors, but I know he never works there unless he has to. He says he prefers to
be near his staff and players so he can keep an eye on them.
I press my key fob to the sensor next to the heavy swinging
door outside of the elevators meant to keep fans and reporters out, and push it
open after it beeps. I asked my dad if it was alright for him to give me a
pass, and he said that no one was going to question a coach with two NCAA
championships under his belt.
About halfway down the hallway, I feel my hair pop out of
its hairband. I sigh. If I fasten it too tight, my hair breaks, but too loose,
and the band falls out. I spot it on the floor and bend over to pick it up. I
feel a slight breeze just as my fingers brush against it, and glance up.
Oh my god. I'm looking right into the football players'
locker room. Someone is holding the door open on their way out as they shout
something back toward a teammate, unaware that I'm hunched over right next to
the doorway.
And standing not twenty feet away from me, clad only in a
towel, is star QB Hunter Phillips.
I gape at the way his damp ab muscles clench as he throws
his head back with a laugh. I've seen pictures of him, but holy shit. They do
not do him justice. I didn't think that men could look like this in real life.
I glance back up at his face. Fuck! I straighten up with a
gasp. He's staring right at me!
Move, Britt, move.
But my feet are
anchored to the ground.
I watch as a dangerous grin spreads across his face. In
slow-motion, he reaches his hands up to his waist and begins to untuck one end
of his towel. He opens it, showing a swath of muscular thigh and then…
The door shuts and I jump back. A huge linebacker looks down
at me. Always protecting their quarterback, I guess.
"You lost?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "I'd be
happy to show you around."
"No thanks!" I squeak, my feet finally unstuck. I
rush down the hallway toward my dad's office, wishing that the door had closed
just one second later.