Win Big: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (12 page)

I
saw
Samantha’s text after she left, and got Pat to send one of his bodyguards to hang out outside her place. After dinner, Chad, Pat, Tre, Mo and Slade set up in the games room. They were playing cards by the time my second dose of meds were wearing off. I wasn’t ready to sit for three to four hours straight, so I relaxed with my feet propped up on the sofa. Clive was around, playing or texting on his phone. Eventually I told them what I’d found out.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“A chick our age?”

I looked at my buddies and shrugged. “I’m only telling you what my gut’s saying…and she may have kind of admitted it too. Yeah, she’s a virgin.”

“And you’re sure she’s not a lesbian?”

“She’s not. Trust me.” I checked my phone for the time. “Hey, can one of you get my ice pack from the freezer? And a beer.”

Slade got to his feet. “I’ll get it,” he said, offering me his cards. “Play my hand if they get to me, would you?”

I was on the couch with my leg propped up. “Uh. Sure,” I said, smiling as I got up. “I don’t have to work too hard to lose your money.”

“Don’t even go there.”

“You’ve gotta ask yourself one question, Slade. Are you feeling lucky?”

Slade chuckled out a laugh. “With a groin injury and a virgin working on your recovery, maybe you need to be asking yourself that question.”

“Dude, I was born lucky.”

“If by lucky you mean a mean, smug son of a bitch, then sure, I agree.”

“Are you not fucking entertained?”

“Just because you’ve always been a dick don’t make it right, son.”

“Want to know why I’m this way? Because it feels so damn good.”

Slade shook his head and smiled before heading to the kitchen. “Yeah well, I don’t give a fuck. Maybe just pause the game, guys. That’s real money we’re playing with.”

The rest of the guys at the table nodded, but Pat played his hand anyway. Chad slowed the game down by studying his cards, probably for Slade’s benefit.

“So what’s the plan, Evan?” Mo asked.

“What plan are we talking about?”

Tre reached his hand on my shoulder from his seat next to mine. “Son, he wants to know if you’re gonna fuck her.”

“What the fuck kind of dumb question is that? Of course I’m going to…eventually.”

“Just be glad she’s not Italian with a mob boss for a father,” Pat said.

“Why?”

“She’d be locked up in her room until she’s twenty-one.”

“Samantha
is
twenty-one.”

He returned to his cards. “Oh. Then I got nothing.”

I grinned. “Well I got something for Samantha. Her virginity is a condition.” I grabbed my junk. “And my dick is the cure.”

Mo put his cards face down on the table and shook his head. “That’s a bad idea, Evan.”

I turned to him. “Yeah? Why?”

“She’s got…complications…with that sicko tennis player.”

Pat was interested again all of a sudden. “Which tennis player are we talking about?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Some rich stalker-in-training douchebag. His dad gave the athletics department a shitload of money, and now the kid thinks he’s hot shit around town. I think his name is Austin or something.”

Chad’s head whipped up from his cards, then Pat leaned forward. “Austin Grant?” Chad and Pat asked in unison.

I nodded.

“I wouldn’t get involved if I were you,” Chad said.

“For once, I agree with pretty boy,” Pat agreed.

“What, you too?” I asked. “You never back away from a fight. Why wouldn’t you step in?”

“Austin Grant and his family are mobbed up, my friend. The term is ‘
sotto protezione
’… under protection. It means I can’t touch him.”

“Maybe you can’t, but I sure can… if it comes down to it.”

“I can too,” Mo added.

Clive looked up from his phone. “I got your back, brother.”

Pat wagged a finger at us all. “The hell you can.”

“And who’s gonna stop me?” I asked.

“Life is hard enough, bud, but you’ll make it harder when you say stupid shit like that.”

“So you’re telling me this Austin dipshit can keep harassing anyone he wants, Samantha included?”

“No. I’m saying if you want to solve a problem as big as Austin Grant, you have to work smart.”

“So I guess this ain’t a good time to tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

I scratched my head and looked away. “Austin Grant is the guy your goon may have to fend off outside Samantha’s dorm.”

“Hmmm. That should be okay. My guys are smart enough to de-escalate a situation like that without violence…most of the time they’re cleaning up after me when
I’m
violent.”

“Yeah I noticed. So, tell me
Pat
, how exactly would you fix it?” I stressed the nickname most of us at the frat house called him because I knew it got under his skin.

“It’s Pappa Thumbs, son. If you want my help, then you’ve got to come to me with respect.”

“You want me to kiss you ring or some shit like that? Yeah, whatever Pat.”

He glowered at me, lips formed in a tight, straight line. “This
Pat
bullshit is getting real old.”

“Well, I sure as fuck ain’t calling you
Pappa Thumbs
. What the hell do you have against your real name? Franko Salvatore is not that bad.”

“True, but I prefer
Pappa Thumbs
. Chicks love it. It’s mysterious, you know?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

“No. It ain’t. It’s dumb. You want a dangerous nickname? Try something like
Cock-eyed Mike, Tiny, Ice Pick, Big Shanks, Pistol Finger,
or
Jimmy Shoes
.”

He shrugged. “Those are all taken. Plus,
Pappa Thumbs
is original… and just in case you didn’t already know this, your attitude stinks right to hell, Evan.”

“Do I look like I care that you don’t like my attitude?”

“All I’m saying is it’s pretty bad.”

“Not as bad as your shitty nickname.”

“Fuck you too,” he said, smiling.

Slade came back with the ice pack and some beers. I passed him his cards back, happy to return to the sofa to relax.

“What do you suggest we do about Austin Grant, Pat?” I asked. Pat gave me a grim look, so I added, “Shit, okay. What do you suggest,
Franko Salvatore
?”

“I’ll ask my dad’s consigliere and get back to you on that.”

Tre looked over at me. “Man, you got your priorities out of whack. I want to know what you’re gonna do about the hot brunette…the
virgin
… who also happens to be working in the neighborhood of your poor, injured boomstick.”

“Of course you are. That’s because you ain’t gonna find a virgin at the strip club, Tre. Anyway, my plan for Samantha is simple. I’ll get her… on my terms. She wants to play with me? She’ll have to beg for it.”

“Ouch, bro. That’s kinda dumb, don’t you think? I mean, she’s twenty-one and hasn’t let anyone score with her yet. What makes you think you have what it takes?”

“Have you ever heard the saying that the greatest trick the Devil pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist?”

Chad played his hand and grunted. “Oh…you’re gonna be
that
guy. Don’t be that guy, Evan. It won’t end well for you…or your boomstick.”

“Sounds like some of you want to put some money where their mouth is,” Tre said, looking at each man around th table and then over at me. “Care for a little wager?”

Slade threw his cards down and got up again. “Whatever y’all do next, I’m out.” He headed for the back staircase.

“Betting is what we do around here, son,” I informed him. “What, your cute little cheerleader got you on a leash?”

With one foot on the first step, he stopped at and turned back to us. “No dumbass, but I’m still paying for the last bet we made…or have you forgotten you’re the one who told Cassidy about it?”

“Right…I forgot I did that. Sorry man.”

“Sure you are.” Slade continued up the stairs. “I got shit to do. See y’all later.”

I tipped back another beer, putting up with my teammates and Pat as they moved on to the next topic and continued with the usual jeers and card game banter. It was probably smart that we didn’t go ahead with a bet about Samantha. I’d win anyway, but I didn’t need the extra incentive. I had seen the hungry look in her eyes, and felt the way her body responded to me. She’d hand herself over to me eventually. All I had to do was sit back, play it cool, and let her hands do the work.

E
van was
the first thing on my mind when I woke up the next day. After inadvertently clueing him in about this issue with Austin, among other things, I wanted to at least reply to his messages, if he had left any. I rolled over in my bed and separated my phone from its charger on my night stand, unlocking the screen to check.

Wow.

Twelve text messages from Austin.

Not one from Evan.

A flood of relief washed over me. Not about Austin. I already knew it was only a matter of time before he’d up the ante and start blowing up my phone with texts. By the same token, I gave Evan some bonus points for
not
doing that.

My morning and lunch hour were uneventful. One part of me dreaded that at two o’clock today I would see Evan again. The rest of me—the parts connected to every nerve ending in my body—was eager and anxious. I wasn’t sure if I could trust myself around him.

All it took was a phone call from my mother after lunch to set me straight. My dear dad, my exceptionally well-educated and highly respected father, the physician, had punched the TV during the game yesterday. The result was two broken fingers on his right arm, which meant he’d be off work for at least a couple of weeks, and then on modified duties at the hospital for a while.

I’m not sure exactly why that update from Mom helped me when it came to Evan, but it did. I showed up for my session with him and was able to turn off every emotion and urge the entire time. It also didn’t hurt that Jeff, the graduate student, was with us all of this week to observe the hydrotherapy treatments and monitor the patient while he used the underwater treadmill. Evan didn’t try anything with me either, neither in person nor by phone. The only thorn in my side all week was Austin. He had stopped the unannounced visits at my dorm, and didn’t dare speak to me at the athletic center, thankfully, but he still kept up with the constant texts. I ignored them all, opting for radio silence instead of riling him up by replying.

Overall it was a nice, quiet, uneventful week.

That all ended the next Sunday.

It turned out that Jeff was at an away game, covering for one of his colleagues assigned to the basketball team. That left me on my own for today’s ninety-minute session with Evan, and to top it off, there was barely anyone around at the training facility today. Still, he had been hands off all week, and I’d kept my errant thoughts at bay for most of that time. I didn’t believe I had anything to worry about.

I was wrong.

The impish look in his eyes when he showed up for our appointment told me that he would vie for my attention and test my patience. He lumbered over to the heated hydrotherapy pool.

“Evan, what are you doing?” I asked, gazing upon the intricate work of the dark tattoos running down his arm from his shoulders to his wrists.

“Taking a dip.”

“Give me a second to help you get in. Those steps can be tricky.” I was already in my swimsuit, so I stepped over to the equipment shelves for some buoyancy supports he could use. When I turned to help him, he was standing with his back facing the edge of the pool. “Evan, why are you—”

With his arms out, he let himself freefall into the water. I was too far away to stop him. He floated up to the surface and his head emerged out of the water. “Damn, that was good.”

I dropped the supports into the water, jumped in and got to his side. “Christ, Evan. Why did you do that?”

“I felt like it.”

“Really? You felt like it? We’re at the two-week mark since you got hurt and you’re progressing well, but that’s no reason to start taking risks like that.”

He shook off some of the water dripping from his hair. “I’m fine. That’s not as dangerous as it looks. You should try it.”

“I’m good. Anyhow, we have ninety minutes today. Let’s focus. Start warming up with front leg raises and afterward bounding in place. Two minutes each. Slowly, okay?”

“Sure.” He started with his warmup routine at one side of the pool while I observed his form from a safe distance. After a minute or so, he looked over at me. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Whatever happened to small talk? It’s a simple question. Humor me.”

I huffed out a breath. “Teal or red.”

“That was easy, wasn’t it?” I ignored him. Then he asked, “Is that guy still bothering you?”

“No,” I told him, trying to keep it simple.

“Good.” He studied me for a few moments before continuing. “Hey, does he know?”

“Know what?”

“About you…that you’re still…”

I rolled my eyes. If that question had anything to do with the nature of my sexual activity or lack thereof, I sure as hell wasn’t going to answer. “Please focus on the reason we’re here. After you’re done bounding in place, you can move on to the side-straddle hop first, and the stride-hop next.”

He continued the moves as instructed. Too bad he wouldn’t shut up. “Maybe that’s why he’s ramped it up with the creeper tactics.”

Oh, no. He didn’t just suggest that Austin started hounding me because I was still a virgin. I said nothing.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

“We are not discussing me right now, Evan.”

“I think it’s kind of hot. I mean, I don’t think you’re a loser for…well, for not
giving it up
. Those were your words, by the way.”

The impudence of this jerk was overwhelming. I could throat punch him right about now. My fists balled up at my sides already. For a second, I toyed with the idea of how to make an upper cut to his jaw look like an accident.

“Have you no limits?” I hissed.

He smiled. “No, not really.”

“Listen, you rude, arrogant…”

“Prick? Yeah, that’s me. Lighten up already. Besides, you can’t expect a guy like me to be all ho-hum about information like this. I’m just surprised is all. You’re a rare breed… kind of like achieving unicorn status.”

My cheeks were hot from anger and an extra dose of shame, to be honest. “Just drop it, okay? You can start on rear leg lifts and alternate toe touches next.”

“Got it.” I thought he’d leave bad enough alone there, but no such luck. “Come on. You can talk to me. Are you saving yourself for marriage or something?”

“Please. Stop. Talking.” I growled out.

“Wow. Sheesh, you really need to get a handle on your rage, Samantha.” He grinned, then he added, “I may have just the thing to help you with that.”

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Yes, we checked that off the list two weeks ago. I thought I was growing on you, though.”

“Give me a break.”

“I was really starting to think you liked me, Samantha. That kiss last week…hugging it out and then the heated little make-out session at my front door. What exactly was that?”

“Well…” I scrambled for an answer. “
That
was clearly a mistake.”

“It didn’t feel like a mistake to me. By the way, you should know that’s all I’ve had to go on since I got injured. I’m not even kidding about that. Two weeks is my new record. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, eh?”

“The next moves are the poolside leg supine and poolside scissor kicks. A minute each. Now if you’d please just stick to the exercises, maybe I can make it to the end of the hour and a half without hitting you.”

“Ahhhh, I get it now. That’s how you get the edge off, huh? Well, the good news is I like it a little rough. You and I can do a little sparring…anytime you want…and anywhere, including up in my bedroom.”

I’d had it. That was enough. “One more word from you and I’m leaving!” He opened his mouth to answer and I raised my hand. “I mean it!”

That quieted him down for the rest of the time. We wrapped up with the pool exercises, dried off and got changed, and then we moved on his body weight strength training sets. Evan was focused. He pushed himself hard, and lucky for us both, he bumped into some of his football teammates at the end of our session. I hurried out while he chatted with them, relieved that he didn’t say another word about me or my virginity.