Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet and stood in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut, wrists held out, waiting for the lashing I knew was about to come. I would take the pain. Football was what I wanted and I wouldn’t give up on that dream, not for anything…
I snapped my eyes open, body stiffening at the old memory that haunted my dreams, my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing erratic.
It was only a dream… It was only a dream, I told myself over and over again as I pushed my long, sweaty hair from my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, trying like hell to calm the f**k down.
My alarm cut through my panic, the bastard thing blaring out its annoying tone at a stupidly high volume.
“Uhh! Bullet, turn it off,” a female voice moaned.
Dreading who I would find next to me this morning, I looked down, following the sound of the voice. Sprawled on my bare chest, was… was… fuck if I knew. Some random chick.
That familiar sick feeling burst in my stomach and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Hell, I needed to stop with the drinking and the f**king. This was my year—time to get serious, no more distractions, no more feeling like shit.
Lifting my head cautiously, I tested the severity of my hangover and winced at the bright morning sun shining through the window. Jesus, what the hell did I drink last night?
The chick groaned again at the movement, and I pushed her off me, her hung-over ass flopping to the mattress as I slid off the edge of my bed, sighing in disgust as I spotted the used rubber still on my dick. Nice.
Looking back, I tried to remember something… anything, a small bit of info about who the hell she was. There was nothing, just fragmented flashes of a party and being led to my room… then sweet. Fuck. All.
Same shit, different day.
I stood, stretching out my arms. Seeing a crumpled red dress on the wooden floor, I picked it up and threw it at Jane Doe’s naked ass. “I’m going to shower. Feel free to let yourself out.”
She muttered something unintelligible and gradually awoke at those words. Doing what I said, she put on her slip of a dress, scooped up her shoes, and smiled in satisfaction as she left the room. “Catch you later, Bullet. It was worth the wait. All the rumors about you were true.”
Hell, treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. Or be the starting QB for the Tide and do whatever the f**k you like. They still come running back for more. It was a novelty to f**k the great Bullet Prince.
After my shower, I threw on my training shorts and shirt and, grabbing my cleats, headed down the stairs of the frat house. Austin and Reece were already waiting for my lazy ass in the kitchen, so I grabbed my shades off the island and slid them on, flipping a huge f**kin’ bird to Austin, who was laughing at my sorry state as he passed me a protein shake, and we headed out the door.
“Is that chick who left just now yours, Rome?” Reece asked, almost jogging to keep up with Austin and me as we made our way to the gym.
Shrugging, I answered, “She ain’t mine, but all evidence suggests I f**ked her.”
“You better’d wrapped that shit up,” Austin scolded.
Damn straight. Last thing I wanted was some wannabe NFL wife trapping me with a kid. “Done deal. Never ride bareback. Evidence was still on my c**k this morning. I’m classy like that.”
Austin slapped me on the back, laughing and Reece nudged me in the ribs. “She was hot, man. Remember anything ’bout what she was like? Was she any good?”
Reece. I loved the damn kid, but he needed to get laid more and stop trying for my castoffs. Reece looked about twelve—blond hair, blue eyes—and it felt a whole load of wrong when he talked about screwing chicks. The preppy f**ker was one polo shirt short of being on a damn Ralph Lauren ad.
“No f**king idea.” I turned back to Austin, who was smirking at me. “What the hell did we drink last night?”
“More like what didn’t we drink.”
Yeah, that felt more like it. I remember now why I slipped. My folks had called… again, about the bastard engagement, and I’d immediately turned to the Mexican worm. Austin, being my best friend, joined me in getting completely wasted.
“Shit. Coach will have our asses. I f**kin’ stink of tequila,” I groaned.
I knocked back the protein shake in one, ignoring Reece as he grinned and said, “Damn, Bullet. I’m always wishing I was you: never without a girl, the whole damn school following your every move. But when Coach sees you looking like this, he’s gonna make you wish you’d never been born.”
The Abercrombie-and-Fitch little f**ker was right; Coach made me pay. Hard. You don’t drink in season without some serious consequences: suicides, hang-cleans, and laps being his chosen form of punishment that day. The Tide was still on two-a-day training, which meant working like a bitch and puking at every task. I ached, I sweated, but I loved every minute of it. It gave me the opportunity to get out my rage, to hit and pummel out my anger… to get through another damn day of this sorry excuse of a life. Ten months left until I could get the heck out from underneath their thumbs, and I was counting down every damn minute.
2
“Momma,” I greeted flatly, seeing her name flash up on my iPhone screen, en route from practice to my classes.
“You need to come to dinner tonight,” she commanded.
I clenched my jaw at her usual icy tone. “Sorry, busy.”
“Then change your plans! The Blairs are coming and you need to be here so we can discuss the engagement, thrash out the details, get the whole arrangement tied up once and for all. Shelly’s hosting her sorority’s initiation of new pledges this evening, but you should be here regardless of her absence.”
I snapped my eyes open, body stiffening at the old memory that haunted my dreams, my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing erratic.
It was only a dream… It was only a dream, I told myself over and over again as I pushed my long, sweaty hair from my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, trying like hell to calm the f**k down.
My alarm cut through my panic, the bastard thing blaring out its annoying tone at a stupidly high volume.
“Uhh! Bullet, turn it off,” a female voice moaned.
Dreading who I would find next to me this morning, I looked down, following the sound of the voice. Sprawled on my bare chest, was… was… fuck if I knew. Some random chick.
That familiar sick feeling burst in my stomach and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Hell, I needed to stop with the drinking and the f**king. This was my year—time to get serious, no more distractions, no more feeling like shit.
Lifting my head cautiously, I tested the severity of my hangover and winced at the bright morning sun shining through the window. Jesus, what the hell did I drink last night?
The chick groaned again at the movement, and I pushed her off me, her hung-over ass flopping to the mattress as I slid off the edge of my bed, sighing in disgust as I spotted the used rubber still on my dick. Nice.
Looking back, I tried to remember something… anything, a small bit of info about who the hell she was. There was nothing, just fragmented flashes of a party and being led to my room… then sweet. Fuck. All.
Same shit, different day.
I stood, stretching out my arms. Seeing a crumpled red dress on the wooden floor, I picked it up and threw it at Jane Doe’s naked ass. “I’m going to shower. Feel free to let yourself out.”
She muttered something unintelligible and gradually awoke at those words. Doing what I said, she put on her slip of a dress, scooped up her shoes, and smiled in satisfaction as she left the room. “Catch you later, Bullet. It was worth the wait. All the rumors about you were true.”
Hell, treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. Or be the starting QB for the Tide and do whatever the f**k you like. They still come running back for more. It was a novelty to f**k the great Bullet Prince.
After my shower, I threw on my training shorts and shirt and, grabbing my cleats, headed down the stairs of the frat house. Austin and Reece were already waiting for my lazy ass in the kitchen, so I grabbed my shades off the island and slid them on, flipping a huge f**kin’ bird to Austin, who was laughing at my sorry state as he passed me a protein shake, and we headed out the door.
“Is that chick who left just now yours, Rome?” Reece asked, almost jogging to keep up with Austin and me as we made our way to the gym.
Shrugging, I answered, “She ain’t mine, but all evidence suggests I f**ked her.”
“You better’d wrapped that shit up,” Austin scolded.
Damn straight. Last thing I wanted was some wannabe NFL wife trapping me with a kid. “Done deal. Never ride bareback. Evidence was still on my c**k this morning. I’m classy like that.”
Austin slapped me on the back, laughing and Reece nudged me in the ribs. “She was hot, man. Remember anything ’bout what she was like? Was she any good?”
Reece. I loved the damn kid, but he needed to get laid more and stop trying for my castoffs. Reece looked about twelve—blond hair, blue eyes—and it felt a whole load of wrong when he talked about screwing chicks. The preppy f**ker was one polo shirt short of being on a damn Ralph Lauren ad.
“No f**king idea.” I turned back to Austin, who was smirking at me. “What the hell did we drink last night?”
“More like what didn’t we drink.”
Yeah, that felt more like it. I remember now why I slipped. My folks had called… again, about the bastard engagement, and I’d immediately turned to the Mexican worm. Austin, being my best friend, joined me in getting completely wasted.
“Shit. Coach will have our asses. I f**kin’ stink of tequila,” I groaned.
I knocked back the protein shake in one, ignoring Reece as he grinned and said, “Damn, Bullet. I’m always wishing I was you: never without a girl, the whole damn school following your every move. But when Coach sees you looking like this, he’s gonna make you wish you’d never been born.”
The Abercrombie-and-Fitch little f**ker was right; Coach made me pay. Hard. You don’t drink in season without some serious consequences: suicides, hang-cleans, and laps being his chosen form of punishment that day. The Tide was still on two-a-day training, which meant working like a bitch and puking at every task. I ached, I sweated, but I loved every minute of it. It gave me the opportunity to get out my rage, to hit and pummel out my anger… to get through another damn day of this sorry excuse of a life. Ten months left until I could get the heck out from underneath their thumbs, and I was counting down every damn minute.
2
“Momma,” I greeted flatly, seeing her name flash up on my iPhone screen, en route from practice to my classes.
“You need to come to dinner tonight,” she commanded.
I clenched my jaw at her usual icy tone. “Sorry, busy.”
“Then change your plans! The Blairs are coming and you need to be here so we can discuss the engagement, thrash out the details, get the whole arrangement tied up once and for all. Shelly’s hosting her sorority’s initiation of new pledges this evening, but you should be here regardless of her absence.”
