Losing Memphis: A NA Sports Romance (NE University Book 3) Read online

  “That’s how it’s done, my man. We fucking dominated that field,” Mason chides in my ear as he smashes his helmet against mine.

  Trent comes behind us as we make our way off the field. “Yeah, we did. But we’ve still got a long way to go. This is a marathon, not a sprint,” he says in a serious tone.

  “Way to suck the excitement right out of the W we just brought home, boss man,” I throw back at him, lightly punching him in the side.

  “For fucking real. Do you always have to be on your period? Maybe try Midol,” Mason says, laughing at his own joke.

  Mason can get away with saying anything. First off, because he almost never acts serious. And two, because he is loyal to a fault when it comes to being someone’s friend. He has earned the right to let Trent know when he’s being a jerk. Which, yeah, sometimes, he is. But he’s a good guy. He’s just intense when it comes to the game. And he thinks everyone else should be too. But if he considers you a friend, then he considers you family. And he’ll do anything for you. He might just bitch every step of the way.

  He shakes his head. “I just don’t want you all to let it go to your heads that we’re on a winning streak. The minute we let our guard down is the minute we blow it for ourselves—that’s all.” His tough demeanor breaks. “Besides, one of us has to take shit seriously.”

  Trent has a hard time enjoying a win. Part of that, I’m sure, is because his dad always expects so much from him.

  I’m thankful my dad isn’t like that. Hell, I could have the shittiest game, embarrass myself and my team, and he’d still tell me I did a great job.

  After showering, we head to our house. We finally convinced Trent to let us have a party after the game. Even though Mason and I live with Trent, it’s technically Trent’s house. Or his dad’s, I should say. His old man was in the NFL until he suffered an injury, so he’s got the coin to afford it.

  Mason’s dad has money too. But their relationship is a bit strained, and I’ve never fully understood it because he doesn’t talk about it much.

  I didn’t come from a rich family. We certainly weren’t struggling; it wasn’t like that. They worked hard—my dad as a carpenter, my mother as a nurse. We never went without. But we certainly didn’t live in a mansion and drive fancy cars. We lived … comfortably. Which is all right with me. I’ve learned money can’t buy a happy childhood. Cue Trent Kade. He’s likely had anything he ever dreamed of, literally wanted for nothing, yet his dad is a complete dick. I’ll take my loving, caring parents over a rich prick any day.

  We’re only home for five minutes when people start rolling in nonstop. Before I know it, the house is filled to the rafters. Music is blaring, and drinks are flowing.

  Yeah, it’s going to be a damn good night.

  I’m about to tip back another shot when something catches my eye. Or I guess I should rephrase that. Someone catches my eye. She’s got long, dark hair that flows down her back. It’s shiny, like a blanket of silk. Her body is petite, and with the way she is moving, fuck if I’m not convinced that I’m seeing a ghost. I haven’t seen her face yet. But if I don’t follow this girl and get a good look at her, it’ll fuck with me all night. Making me crazier than I already am.

  I’m about to go over to her when some of the fraternity douches land in front of me. Blocking my path.

  “Yo, Rivers. Good fucking game, man.”

  I glance at the guys standing in front of me before looking back at the ghost I believe I saw. Only she’s gone. I scan the room but see nothing.

  I really am fucking losing it. Nothing a few shots won’t fix though.

  Turning my attention back to the popped-collar, gelled-hair fucks, I tilt my chin up. “Thanks, fellas.”

  I know why they’re here. These guys love pushing drugs around campus. And just because there’ve been a few nights where I smoked weed with them and maybe put something inside my nose that I shouldn’t have, they think I’m their new guy.

  Think again, assholes.

  The one who appears to be the head of all the tools steps forward, leaning toward my ear. “I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got some really nice shit, man. It’s already making us good money. But with you on board? And your connections?” He smirks and rubs his hands together. “We’d make fucking bank. What do you say, man? Help us move some snow?”

  I mean, sure, extra cash would be great, but I’m not that hard up. Besides, it would fuck up my chance at the NFL. Not only because they would no longer want me, but also because Trent would have already murdered me before I could accept an offer.

  I shake my head. “Nah, guys. I’m all set with that. Too much to lose, you know? But best of luck.”

  It doesn’t surprise me that these preppy fuckers are selling cocaine to other college kids.

  Sidekick Two pipes up, “You sure? We’d let you try out some of the product.” He raises his eyebrows and grins, like I’ll magically change my mind.

  Realization hits me that that’s what I am known for. The fuckup on the football team who they think would peddle coke for them. For what? To trade snorting some?

  I’m not going to lie and say I’ve never tried it. Because on a few rare occasions, when I was really fucked up on weed and alcohol, I did. But I knew after a few more times, I would be hooked, and then I could kiss each and every dream good-bye. Not to mention, I’d hurt my family. The last time I tried it, I decided never again.

  Leaning against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him. “What the fuck would I need that for? I said, I’m all set. Not sure why you don’t understand.”

  An arrogant smirk crosses his face. The dumb fuck actually thinks I’ll change my mind.

  These fuckers might have come tonight, looking for help, but that doesn’t make them my friends. They’d love nothing more than to watch me fall to my demise and become a junkie.

  He claps his hands together. “Our bad, Rivers. We thought you’d be our guy. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.” With that, he turns, and all of the other tools follow him.

  Mason appears next to me. “What the fuck was that?”

  I shrug. “It was nothing. They said good game.”

  He watches me carefully, eyes narrowed. “You sure that was it?”

  Throwing my arm around his shoulders, I mess his hair up with my free hand. “Let’s take a shot. Whaddya say, big fella?”

  Eventually, he cracks, and that signature grin takes over his face. “All right, let’s do it. We did just win a fucking game, for Christ’s sake.”

  Trent and Mason already hate the fraternity guys. Trent even more now—ever since the last party we went to at their house when he knocked one of them out for dancing with some girl he’s become fucking obsessed with. They’ve both been turning into pussies lately. I’ll never want anything more than fucking a girl. I was hoping that my boys would remain their dawg selves until we graduated. But unfortunately, it’s starting to look like that might not happen.

  I’ll always be alone. I’ll never feel right, moving on. She’d never forgive me. I’m sure her watching me fuck everything with a skirt equally pisses her off. It has to. If I had to watch her fuck guys, I’d haunt her for the rest of her damn life. I’ve only ever cared about one girl who wasn’t my mom. And that’s how it’ll be until the day I die. After all, it’s my fault that she isn’t here right now and I am.

  six

  Memphis

  What seems like hundreds of people fill the football house. Sweaty bodies grinding against one another, some more naked than others. They all seem so … free. Like they don’t have a care in the world. They are living their lives, and they don’t give a damn how it makes them look.

  Part of me rolls my eyes at the girls with their tits hanging out and their barely there skirts. But the other part of me is almost envious that they are that daring to dress like that. And to dance and act so … seductive.

  I can’t believe that we’re actually in the football house. I suppose it’s sor
t of a big night for me. Not only did I go to my first football game, but I also came to the after-party to celebrate their win.

  Though convincing me to come tonight was no easy feat. But Ava promised that if I came with her here tonight, she’d volunteer to read to the kids at the library’s next story time. They’d love her dramatic ass. I can hear her now, changing her voice for each page.

  “Should we get a drink?” Ava yells over the music.

  I give her a cheesy thumbs-up. She knows I won’t drink because I don’t drink alcohol. But I don’t want to ruin her fun, and I’m sure I can find a bottle of water.

  I’ve never really seen the appeal in drinking something that tastes disgusting, only to feel like crap the next day. Besides, I don’t think I need liquid to have fun. I’m fun. Sort of.

  We weave our way through the crowd. Her gorgeous, long blonde hair, flowing down her back, moves as she does. With freckles sprinkling her nose and her stunning green eyes, she’s adorable. Not to mention, her killer feminine curves. Her legs are incredible. Though she spends most of her time covering them up. Wearing long sweaters and loose-fitting shirts. She’s always been self-conscious, though I have no idea why. She’s beautiful. And also the kindest person I know.

  I have an opposite look from her with my dark hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. I’m far from tall at five-three, and I’m thin—besides my butt, which seems to hold any extra weight I gain, making finding the perfect pair of jeans quite the job.

  We find the kitchen, and Ava grabs herself a Smirnoff Ice. Opening the refrigerator, I find bottles of water. Grabbing one quickly, I shut the door. I don’t want to seem like I’m making myself at home or anything.

  We’re leaving the kitchen when some guys step directly in our path. My skin crawls with just one look at their sleazy gelled hair and popped collars. My gut is telling me to run, but I also don’t want to look like I’m overreacting. I don’t drink for good reason. It just isn’t safe. I’ve watched way too many documentaries to be naive to what can happen at these college parties.

  “Hey there, ladies,” one coos. Making my stomach literally turn.

  “Hi,” Ava answers in a short, not looking for any bullshit tone.

  I say nothing. Just try to figure out a way to respectfully get around them. That doesn’t work because they keep moving in my way.

  One, whose eyes are as dark as the black shirt I’m wearing, steps closer to me. “How about I get you something a little better than that water to drink, darling?” His eyes look like he’s high as the moon, and his breath reeks of liquor.

  Stiffly, I shake my head. “I’m all set.”

  I attempt to shuffle around the three of them when, once again, I am blocked. Ava’s hand grabs my arm. Indicating she’s getting creeped out too. I can feel my anxiety rising with every passing second. Soon, my pulse is making it hard for me to hear anything else.

  The lead one extends his arm down, making his fingers graze the bottom of my hair. He smiles a creepy-ass smile, sending a shiver up my spine. “We have some stuff that might make you feel good. What do you say? Ditch this place and come back to our place, where we can have our own party.”

  I pull back slightly. Unable to hide the disgust from my face.

  Before I can punch him in the dick and run away, a deep voice comes from behind me. “Hey now, boys. I think these ladies said they were all set. Step aside and let them through.”

  Turning, I see none other than Lane Rivers. His brown hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it, and his jawline has just the right amount of stubble on it that I wonder what it would feel like if he rubbed it against my neck. He remains calm, acting totally in control of the situation. Whatever the situation even is.

  One of the sleazeballs lets out a throaty laugh. “What’s it to you, Rivers? You going to tell me you aren’t walking around here, looking for a piece to take upstairs?”

  I watch Lane out of the corner of my eye. His body language changes, and his jaw tightens. Still, he smirks, remaining completely in check of his emotions. “Well, of course I am, boys. But not this way.” He motions between the guys and us. “Come on, fellas. These ladies don’t need or want to be harassed. Have a little respect. Didn’t your mamas ever teach you any manners?” Stepping closer, he drops the smirk, and his face switches from playful to stone cold. Leaning toward them, he whispers loudly, “Or do I need to teach you some?”

  After a short standoff, they seem to remember that they are in Lane’s house and that he is much bigger than they are.

  One lets out a short laugh, holding his hands up. “Our bad, man. We didn’t mean any disrespect.” Turning toward Ava and me, he gives us another creepy smirk before saying, “Ladies, you have a good night.”

  I don’t miss the way their eyes linger on Ava’s chest for a little too long. Making me want to puke.

  Once they leave, Lane turns toward us, wearing a concerned look on his face. “You two all right? Sorry about that. Frat guys can be such fucking creeps.”

  Luckily, Ava holds it together—for once. Unlike me, who probably couldn’t form a coherent sentence right now if my life depended on it.

  Laughing lightly, she shakes her head. “Oh yeah, we’re fine. Thanks for running them off though. Didn’t want to have to knee someone in the balls,” she jokes.

  He belts out a laugh before his stormy-blue eyes find mine for a moment, holding my gaze. I can’t help but be pulled in, as if there were no one else in the room.

  Suddenly, he averts his gaze anywhere else. Clearing his throat, he takes a few steps back. “Well, take care of yourselves, ladies. Have a nice night.” And with that, he’s gone.

  And here I am. On one hand, I’m honored that he came to defend Ava and me, but on the other, I feel like a bag of dog crap because of how fast he ran away after looking at my face.

  Talk about a stake right through the heart. Damn.

  seven

  Lane

  The alarm on my phone screeches in my ear. Intensifying my headache even more and making me want to rip my own head off of my shoulders.

  I reach over to my nightstand to turn it off when a warm body greets me. A naked, warm body. Long bleached-blonde locks flow down her back, meeting a “very original” tribal tattoo.

  At the sound of my rustling around, she flips over and rubs her eyes before giving a sexy smile. “Good morning,” she rasps in a sleepy tone.

  I wish I could remember how things went down last night, but my brain is scrambled, and I can’t remember a fucking thing. Though I do have to say, judging by the size of the mounds on her chest and how messy her hair is, it must have been fun.

  Jumping out of bed, I grab a pair of sweatpants and pull them on. “Morning, beautiful. Sorry to wake you, but unfortunately, I have to get ready to head to practice,” I say nicely, hoping she’ll get the hint and get her clothes on and leave.

  Sometimes, we have stragglers who like to outstay their welcome. Okay, I have stragglers. Mason and Trent don’t have that problem. That’s probably because it doesn’t bother them in the least to tell a chick to leave after they fuck them. I try to go about it in a more respectful manner. Even though, at times, it gets old—everybody wanting a piece of you. I think all of us know, if we weren’t stars of the team, these chicks wouldn’t be throwing themselves at us.

  She pokes her bottom lip out and pretends to pout. “I was hoping for round two.” She sits up, dropping the sheet down, exposing her bare chest. Her beautiful, huge, most likely physician-created bare chest.

  Tilting her head to the side, she bites her lip and purrs. “Maybe when you get back?”

  Ahh … and there it is. She wants to hang out at my fucking house all day and wait for me to get home. Not. Going. To. Happen. Even if the bulge in my sweatpants contradicts my brain.

  I shake my head. “I wish I could, sweetheart, but I’ve got some stuff I need to take care of today. I’ll walk you out.”

  Aggravated, she huffs before climbing out of the
bed. I don’t miss her sulking as she throws her clothes on.

  I didn’t use her for sex. Not really anyway. I mean, hell, if I used her, then she used me too. In my opinion, we used each other. She’s heard enough around campus about me to know how I am—I’m sure of it. I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing, and everyone knows that.

  After walking my company out—I say company because I don’t have a fucking clue what her name is—I grab my practice gear. Tossing back a few Tylenol with Gatorade, I head out the door.

  The clock reads eleven thirty a.m. Practice starts at noon. Trent and Mason must have already left because they are nowhere to be seen. I’m not surprised, as they usually go a little less hard than I do at parties. They have probably been awake for hours. Oh well. I had a fun night. At least, I think I did.

  On the drive to the stadium, memories of last night come back, and I see her. The girl who I’m convinced might have been a figment of my imagination.

  At first, I just saw the frat boys harassing two random girls. But when I really looked at the tiny brunette, I realized she was the one I had seen earlier, who I thought was Abby. She was real; it wasn’t my fucked up mind playing tricks on me after all. She was actually there the entire time.

  I never hook up with girls who resemble Abby. It feels fucked up in some way, and I can’t stomach it. Luckily, I haven’t come across too many girls who look like her at all. But the few times that I have, it instantly pisses me off, and I can’t get away fast enough. But with her, it was different. I felt comfort. I felt like I was back in high school. Until it all became too much, and then I bounced, getting the fuck out of there before I did something to embarrass myself.

  Her eyes were a similar shape and size, only instead of Abby’s brown eyes, this girl had the bluest I had ever seen. With thick, dark lashes feathered around them.