“A bit tight, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“And now that you’ve had some time to cool off, you have anything else you want to say about the fight with Keyon? Or with Levi?”
I miss the anger. Having it to hold on to had grounded me, had given me focus and kept me from thinking too much. I don’t know if it was last night with Dylan or this whole week, but when I reach for it now, it’s harder to grab, like trying to hold on to smoke. And I don’t know how to answer his question (or avoid it) without that anger.
“It felt good to be angry,” I tell him. “At Levi. At Keyon. At you. As long as I was angry, I didn’t feel the fear.”
“Fear of what?”
I scratch the back of my neck and resist the urge to pull at my hair, to drop my head down and stare at the floor.
“Screwing things up. Like Levi did. Like I have a tendency to do.”
Coach laughs and moves to sit in the chair beside me. Together, we stare forward at his empty desk, at the trophies and plaques lining the wall behind it.
“I know a thing or two about you, Moore. I’ve read your file, all your stats from high school until now. I know you had some problems in school before you got into football. But how much do you know about me?”
I shrug. “Everything there was on the Internet when they hired you before the start of the season last year.” I gesture at the awards on his wall and say, “All that stuff. Plus the schools you turned around, the programs you built up from nothing.”
“We all deal with screwups in our own way. Like you working on those houses this week, I’ve spent my life building things up in front of me, so I’ll never have to look at the ruined things behind me. It works for a little while. Worked nearly twenty years for me, but sooner or later you gotta face the thing you’ve spent all your energy ignoring. The anger might have felt good, might have been easier, but it would have run out eventually, son. But if you go that route, it will take everything from you before it does. Or you can do what I didn’t, stop yourself from wasting decades, and face your problems now.”
I swallow. Is that what I’m doing now? Facing them? Or have I just found a new way to ignore them? A new distraction in Dylan?
“It’s a head game, Silas. If you stood on that field constantly thinking about all the ways the defense could take you down, you’d never gain a yard. You’re a damn fine player because you know how to look for the gaps on the field, and how to push through and make one when the opening isn’t there. Live the way you play ball, and you’ll be just fine, I promise you that.”
Live the way I play.
It seems so simple that I feel stupid, like he switched on a light I didn’t know was there while I spent years stumbling around in the dark. It’s still sinking in when he claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“You’ll be with Gallt and the rest of the running backs for drills through the rest of camp, but when we’re covering plays and scrimmaging, I’ll be going with Williams. He’s got to be ready to start in a few weeks. Can you handle that?”
I clench my jaw and nod because I don’t really have a choice.
“Good. Now get out on the field. Coach Oz is waiting for you and the running backs. That fight counts as your second infraction, which means you and your group run. Unless you want Gallt to skin you alive, I suggest you figure out how not to get a third.”
Fuck. Just how I wanted to start back to practice, by pissing everyone off.
IT’S THE WORST practice of my life. Not because I play bad. I play just fine. But Coach’s understanding attitude did not stretch to the rest of the team. They were pissed. Keyon’s lip is still scabbed, and I keep catching him glaring at me like he’s just waiting for the perfect moment to jump me. Coach Gallt didn’t like me to begin with, and his opinion of me sure hasn’t gotten any better. If any of the other backs were feeling charitable, that’s gone by the time we finish my punishment, our punishment, with Oz.
When the running is done, we do drills and drills and more drills, which wouldn’t be so bad if I got to play when the drills are over, but I don’t. Instead, I stand on the sidelines watching for the first time in years. Even as a redshirt, when I wasn’t actually playing in games, I still got time in practice on the field. And after the mess with Levi, Coach is big on making sure we’ve got depth on the team. He rotates in backups and the backup backups to make sure there’s always someone who can get the job done.
I don’t get rotated in once, and when the final whistle blows, I can feel the familiar anger just beneath my lungs, and it’s a lot easier to call it up now. Every time I breathe it’s there, waiting to be let out.
But I hold it in. Hold my breath even when Williams clocks my shoulder as he walks past to get some water. It would be so easy to lay into him, and not with a punch this time. One thing that standing on the sidelines has given me is time to watch and analyze. The guy might be fast, but he’s not quick. Give him an open field or a missed tackle, and he’ll rake in the yards. But when there’s just a split second to break through a hole, he misses it 50 percent of the time. And on top of that, he runs high. Instead of getting low and making himself a smaller target, he’s more concerned with showing off, and it makes him easier to tackle.
So the guy can bump into me as many times as he wants, but until he fixes his pad level and gets quicker on his feet, he doesn’t have shit on me.
That and the possibility of Dylan still being at my apartment when I get home are the only things that get me through practice, through the looks in the locker room, and through the final task I set for myself today.
I’m waiting outside on the sidewalk when Keyon exits the building.
He’s walking with a few other freshmen, probably heading back to their dorms, and when I step up their conversation stops.
He lifts his chin and says, “Got a little smarter, did ya? Waiting until Coach ain’t around?” He drops his bag, cracks his knuckles, and shakes out his shoulders.
I sigh and shake my head. Was I this much of an idiot my freshman year?
“Relax, man. I’m not coming at you.” Even if he could stand to be taken down a peg or two. “Just wanted to say . . .” I twist my lips and spit out the word, “Sorry. You caught me on a bad day, and instead of brushing it off, I took it out on you.”
He turns his head to the side and squints up at me. Then he looks at his friends and laughs. “Man, you’re a pussy. You wanna hug it out next?”
God, I want to hit this kid so bad.
Instead, I take a deep breath and back up a few steps. “See you on the field, fish.”
“You mean on the sidelines, right? Since that’s the only thing you’ll see for a while.”
Keep walking. Keep fucking walking.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m picturing Dylan—her sweet laugh, that tempting pout, her blue eyes always studying me. I picture her, and I put one foot in front of the other all the way to my truck. I keep it up through three red lights, a stop sign, and one slow-ass car that decided to drive fifteen miles an hour in a thirty-five zone.
But then I’m home and climbing the stairs and throwing open my door to a perfectly made bed and an empty room.
I crack. Wide open. It feels like my ribs have been pulled back like a wishbone, and I somehow have come up with all smaller halves. I throw my bag at the wall, but the thud as it hits isn’t the least bit satisfying. I hear Brookes and Torres moving around downstairs, and I slam my door shut. Leaning my forehead against the wood, I squeeze my eyes shut tight and try to talk myself down.
I can’t let this drag me down again. Football is too important. My future is too important to lose it every time something doesn’t go my way.
I’m two deep breaths down when I hear a knock on the other side of the door.
“Go away, Brookes. I’m not in the mood.”
“Um, Silas?”
It’s not Brookes. I tear open the door so fast that her blonde hair flies up around her as if on a breeze. Her
eyes widen in surprise, and I pull her up and into my arms within seconds. She squeals and wraps her arms around my neck. I close the door again behind us, and when I press her back against it, her legs wrap around my hips.
I kiss her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her neck. I kiss absolutely every piece of her I can reach, and when I run out, I pull her legs down and make her stand. Then I drop to my knees in front of her, and push up that same sheer shirt from yesterday to drag my tongue over the soft flesh of her stomach.
“S-Silas?” she asks quietly. “Are you okay?”
Dragging her shorts down her legs, I wait for her to lift her feet so I can throw them away, then I kiss her bare hip, just above the lace edge of her underwear, and say, “I’m perfect.” I drag that scrap of lace down, too, and put my mouth where I’ve wanted it for days. One of her hands clutches at my head and the other locks on to the doorknob, holding her steady. She moans while I taste her, and between flicks of my tongue I tell her again, “Absolutely perfect.”
And I was right that day in the kitchen. With my mouth on her and her hands in my hair and those tiny gasps she makes, the whole fucking world just disappears.
Chapter 22
Dylan
This is either the worst idea I’ve ever had. Or the best. If the tumbling, twisting sensation behind my ribs is any indication, I’m going to say best.
Silas crosses the playroom toward me, an adorable brown and gray mottled puppy in his arms.
“This one’s a fast little sucker. I nearly didn’t catch him.”
The puppy is a Labrador and cattle dog mix, and even as a puppy, he’s almost too big for my arms when Silas hands him over to me.
“What’s his name again?” he asks.
I check the pup’s tag and answer, “Leo.”
He scowls. “That’s a terrible name. He’ll never get adopted with a wimpy name like that.”
I smile. “You got a better one?”
“Hell yeah. I think we should change his name to Bo Jackson.”
He leans over and scratches the dog’s ears.
“You just pull that name out of nowhere?”
Holding his hand up to his heart, Silas gives me a pained look. “You’re killing me, baby. Bo Jackson is only one of the greatest athletes of all time. Possibly the greatest. And he was crazy fast.” He scratches the dog’s ears again, curving his large hand around the puppy’s head. “Just like this dude.”
My heart might be beating a little faster. Maybe. And I didn’t really process anything he said after “baby.”
I just know Silas plus puppies is a dangerously sexy combination.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of sweet?”
He abandons the dog to focus his attention on me. Reaching out, he wraps my braid around his hand as he’s so fond of doing, and tugs just enough to tip my head back.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking gorgeous?”
“You did. This morning.”
He closes his eyes and smiles. “That’s right. You were incredibly hot this morning. And greedy. And wet—”
I fumble with the dog until I’ve got one hand free and slap it over Silas’s mouth.
“You’re terrible. Someone might hear you.”
He nips one of my fingers with his teeth, and his eyes are dark as I pull back.
I better head this off before we get a little too personal in public, and I’m no longer allowed to volunteer at the animal shelter.
I step back. “I’m going to put Bo Jackson in his cage. You go ahead and get the next dog we’re supposed to walk.”
By the time I get the little rascal in his cage and wash my hands like we’re supposed to do between contact with different pets, there’s a group of three college girls surrounding Silas. He holds our next walking buddy, some kind of pit bull mix, and the girls are cooing and smiling at the dog in his arms. I’m 100 percent sure their attention has less to do with the dog, and more to do with who’s holding him.
I walk up just in time to hear Silas say, “You should take him home. He’d be a good guard dog. Good thing to have, especially if the three of you are living alone.”
One of the girls snags the dog’s tag to read his name, but Silas stops her. “Don’t pay any attention to the tag. You should call him Emmitt. That’s a good, tough name for a dog like him.”
“Emmitt,” one of the girls says, raising her eyebrows at a friend.
Fifteen minutes later Emmitt is on his way to a new home, and Silas looks smug as can be. By the time we go on the last walk of our four-hour volunteer shift, five dogs have found new homes (and new football-related names), and there’s no deflating Silas’s ego, so I don’t even bother.
“I’m pretty sure that’s more adoptions today than they’ve probably had the rest of the week combined. You might be the shelter’s new secret weapon against prospective pet owners with two X chromosomes.”
He switches the leash of our current dog to his other hand. I thought for sure when we got to the girl dogs, he’d let up on the football names, but apparently there was a famous running back named Gale, who’s the namesake for the cocker spaniel we’ve got now.
“So what lesson was I learning today?” he asks.
I smile. “Nothing really. I was just stressed and wanted to play with puppies.”
He shakes his head and drops an arm over my shoulder. “You tricked me.”
I wrap my arm around his waist and say, “If it makes you feel better, you can say you were working on being compassionate.”
We’re too busy looking at each other, so we don’t notice until it’s too late that little Gale has popped a squat right in front of Silas’s foot. He looks down and curses, pulling his shoe out of the puddle.
“Aw, shit. It’s soaking through my sneaker.”
“Maybe you should get a dog. It would probably teach you some anger management skills.”
He uses the arm around my shoulder to pull me closer to him.
“Let’s go back to my place. I think it’s definitely my turn to teach you something.”
I GASP AND then moan as Silas pushes me against the door to his bedroom. My breasts are flattened against the wood, and I can feel the muscled curves of his body against my back.
His mouth falls to my neck, and he bends slightly, so that the jut of his erection pushes into the curve of my ass.
“And . . .” I break off for a few seconds as his teeth graze my shoulder and my thoughts scatter. Then I push on. “What are you planning to teach me?”
“I’m still deciding.”
Oh God. I’m terrified and eager, but both emotions are irrelevant as soon as he spins me around to face him. He towers over me, and his hands make quick work of my braid so that he can sink his fingers into my hair. He tilts my head back as far as it will go, and presses close against me so that I feel him now against my stomach.
He trails a thumb over my mouth, and on instinct I wrap my lips around it and suck.
His grip tightens, and his hips push harder against me. His thigh is fitted between my legs and presses tight against my center.
“I’ve mentioned that I love your mouth, right?”
I pull back and smile. “Maybe a few . . . hundred times.”
He bends, licking and sucking and biting until my lips feel deliciously swollen, all while I rock myself against his thigh.
I reach between us to stroke the bulge in his jeans, and he breaks away.
“Fuck, baby. I had a plan. I was going to make you beg, make you tell me what you want.”
“But?” I add for him.
“But you drive me crazy, and I can’t wait to be inside you.”
It’s my new favorite game, making Silas lose control.
“So don’t wait,” I tell him.
He growls and kisses me again. I’m almost dizzy with want when he pulls away. He points a finger at me and says, “Clothes. Off. Now.” Then he darts to the nightstand, where he has condoms stashed in a drawer.
I
’m bent over, trying to do away with the underwear currently stubbornly clinging to my ankle, when he returns.
Things move fast after that. His hands smooth over the curve of my ass, and I find my chest pressed to the door just like this whole thing started.
“This is gonna be hard and fast, babe. Can you handle that?”
My only answer is to reach one arm behind me and hook it around the back of his neck. He uses his foot to nudge mine a little farther apart. His fingers dig into my hips, and he pulls them back just a little so my back arches. Then he’s pushing inside me, and I hold my breath.
It’s different like this. Not just because we’re standing up, and I’m facing away. He hits something inside me that makes my legs go a little weak, and for a few moments, I think I won’t be able to stay standing.
But he holds me tight, and the door keeps me from falling forward. And just when I catch my breath, he moves. He slides back and then in, hard, and I cry out. I can’t help it. And each time I think I’ve got it under control, he thrusts and another noise rips from my mouth before I can even think about stopping it.
And it’s so good, I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
And I don’t even care.
TEN MINUTES LATER, we’re curled up naked in his bed, his big body curved around mine, and my heart is still beating fast.
“So what lesson was that exactly?”
He laughs, and I feel his chest vibrate against my back.
“That particular lesson was about the fact that your ass drives me crazy.”
“Even crazier than my mouth?”
“All of you,” he whispers against the back of my neck. “Every single thing about you gets to me, digs deep.”
He slides an arm around my waist and up through the valley between my breast. His wrist presses directly over my racing heart, and his hand curls around my shoulder, holding me snug against him. It feels both strange and normal to be held against him like this. I would never have thought there would be any kind of intimacy after the kind of sex we just had, but with Silas . . . it just works.
Then I go and screw it all up.