Seeing Red: A New Adult Sports Romance (NE University Book 2) Read online

  “Yeah, girl, well, at least your vagina is getting some action. Just be grateful for that,” I say back, causing her eyes to widen.

  Ignoring my comment, she takes her costume out of her bag. “Let’s just start getting ready, shall we?”

  I nod and smile. Tonight’s going to be epic.

  “Is it … too much?” Cam questions while assessing herself dressed as a tiger in the mirror.

  I curled and teased her long blonde locks. Making her look even wilder. She’s not much on makeup, but I talked her into letting me do my thing on her. She looks like a damn babe. Shit, if I walk in next to her, no guy is even going to see me.

  “No. It’s incredible.”

  “If you say so.” She looks at me and laughs. “You picked the perfect outfit. I think you’ll definitely win against Mase.”

  “I sure hope so. I mean, who else would go dressed as Carole fucking Baskin?”

  The lady is a nutjob, to say the least. It’s sort of my and Mason’s thing. We got a bit obsessed with the show for a while there. Even as messed up as the show is. And trust me, it’s messed up. My mom would curl her nose up at me liking “trashy TV.”

  My outfit might be humorous. I’m wearing a tight white shirt that shows off the bottom of my stomach. I have a blonde wig on with a flower halo around my head. Oh, and a tiger-print skirt. Sexy is still key here. Sexy and funny go well together. That’s probably why I’m so drawn to Mason.

  On the shirt, I print, You know who’s to blame for Tom Brady leaving the Pats? Carole fucking Baskin. Football is huge at NEU, and Patriots are our team. When Tom Brady left, it was like he took a huge shit on all of us and then flicked us off. I mean, I guess I don’t blame the guy, but a girl can be pissed. I enjoy football. What can I say?

  I apply a little more pink lipstick to go with my crazy Carole theme, and we’re out the door.

  Linking arms with my best friend, I let out a cheer. “Let’s get this party started!”

  fifteen

  Mason

  I grin at myself in the mirror in my Joe Exotic costume. I’m so going to win this challenge. This costume is bomb. I mean, Joe Exotic himself is a fucking fruitcake, but this costume nails it.

  Grabbing the cane to go with my costume, I make my way down the stairs. A sea of people all greets me as I walk through. Girls grabbing my arms, thrusting their tits into my face, twirling their hair like it’s the only thing they know to do. It screams desperate. But my dick is going to fall off soon if I don’t use it. And Red is off the table. I respect her too much for that, so one of these jersey chasers will have to do tonight.

  I spot Trent and Cameran right away. She’s dressed as a tiger, and I have to admit, she’s smoking hot. I’d never tell him that, of course; he’d for sure punch me in the face.

  I’m almost to them when Trent steps to the side, and I see a blonde in front of him. A hot blonde. Wait a second. It’s Red. Dressed as Carole fucking Baskin. If this doesn’t show how alike we are in so many ways, especially our sense of humor, I don’t know what does.

  Joe Exotic is supposed to hate this woman. To the point of wanting her killed. I have to say, what I’m feeling is far from hate, and I wish more than anything that I could lift her up so she was straddling me, carry her to my bed, and show her over and over again how much she turns me on. But we all know that isn’t a good idea. So, playing the friend card is what I’ll continue to do. In the meantime, I’ll find some vulture at this party who wants to hop on my dick, and I’ll let her. Maybe I can fuck Red out of my head, if only for a moment at least. If only.

  Anna

  After seeing Mason as Joe Exotic, I’m not sure who wins the competition. As much as I hate to lose, I’d say it is a tie.

  Not long after that though, he goes to dance with some brunette whore. I mean, maybe she’s not a whore, but the way she’s rubbing her tits all over him and kissing his neck? She’s certainly showing ho-bag characteristics. It isn’t the jealousy talking. It isn’t.

  Cameran and Trent were dancing, making puppy-love eyes at each other, and they just took off upstairs. No doubt, to do the nasty, so what am I doing? I’m getting drunk.

  “Anna?” I hear a familiar voice behind me.

  I spin around, taking in not one, but two ghosts from my past. Savannah’s best friends. Who also used to be mine. Before she fucked my boyfriend.

  Claire and Harper awkwardly stand there. Claire is dressed like Barbie. Which suits her bleach-blonde hair perfectly. Harper’s dressed as a baby deer.

  Claire offers a small smile before saying, “How are you? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

  I give them a weak shrug. “I know. I’m sorry. I just figured it would be better for everyone, you know?”

  Harper’s next to speak. Her chocolate-brown eyes watch me with confusion. “Why though, Anna? We were your friends too. Did you really think we’d be on her side?”

  I feel a twang of guilt. When I cut Savannah off, I cut them off too. Which wasn’t fair. Sure, maybe Savannah had known them before I did. But only by a few months. I shouldn’t have assumed that they would choose her over me.

  I cringe. “Honestly … I think I just assumed that you were in on the secret too. And that you knew she was sleeping with Maverick and didn’t tell me.”

  “Anna!” Claire practically shrieks. “We had no idea! I swear. We would have told you.”

  I look at them both with real guilt. “I’m sorry, you guys. You didn’t deserve what I did. I should have answered your calls and texts. I think I just went through something after it all happened. I kind of changed my whole life.” I did too. I feel guilty for being a bad friend to them, but last spring, it was just what I had to do to figure my life out.

  “It’s okay. We forgive you,” Claire says quietly.

  They both envelop me in a hug.

  Harper pulls back slightly. “So, can we hang out soon or what?”

  I really have no intentions of becoming best friends with these girls again. They were good friends to me, but they were too damn catty compared to Cameran. I never felt like I could be myself around them. Yet I give them a small smile.

  “Sure.”

  I’m happy to leave this off on a good note when another voice says from behind me, “Anna?”

  I recognize Savannah’s voice right away. Causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.

  Shit’s about to get awkward.

  I turn around. “Savannah.”

  Her blue eyes instantly fill with tears. Making my heart hurt for her for some stupid reason that my brain can’t comprehend.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Anna. I messed up.” She chokes on her own words. “So badly. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I just need you to know how sorry I am.”

  “I was a good friend to you,” I answer flatly. Not wanting to let her walk all over me and turn me into her bitch.

  She looks down and nods. Not bothering to wipe the tears streaming down her face. “I know you were. I can’t believe I did that to you. I’m s-s-sorry.”

  What I say next shocks the hell out of not only her, but myself as well. “I forgive you.”

  This causes her to cry harder. Which somehow doesn’t make me feel better.

  “You do?”

  I shrug. “We aren’t going to be best friends again. Or friends at all really. I just can’t. But I know you’d take it back if you could. And I forgive you.”

  The crazy part is, I really do forgive her. I know she’s always struggled with self-esteem issues. It was pretty clear to see when she was constantly critiquing herself harshly. She doesn’t need the guilt from hurting me weighing her down too. If I had to guess, it was Maverick who came on to her. And I’m sure with him being the popular baseball player, she jumped on the opportunity.

  In the end, I actually feel bad for her. Not me. Because what they did, what I walked in on? I’m realizing it was what set me free to start over. Though I’ll never say that out loud to them
.

  sixteen

  Anna

  Once the emotional cry-fest with my ex–best friend is over, I find more alcohol and a dance partner. He’s no Mason. But he’s got big muscles, a few tattoos, and light-brown hair that is styled in the most adorable yet sexy way. Oh, and he’s looking at me like a piece of cake that he wants to attack. So, yeah, he’ll do.

  My head finally feels comfortably numb. No worrying about what my mom and dad would think. Or what my perfect sister is doing these days. No pondering what the deal is with Mason. Just … numb. Which is a feeling I need right now.

  With his strong hands on my hips, we move to the music together. I take his face in as we dance. He’s cute. His got more of that Southern-boy look. Blue eyes, a little scruff on his jawline. He’s definitely a looker. He isn’t really dressed as anything for Halloween though. But I suppose that’s fine. I mean, I like a guy who can joke around, but I can get past that for one night, I suppose.

  “You look so damn hot, even as Carole Baskin.” He grins at me, pushing his nose down against my chin and inhaling.

  He doesn’t turn me on the way Mason does. But I’m having a good time, flirting and shaking my ass on this guy. Besides, Mason’s off with some floozy. Leaving me to make my own fun.

  I spin around and press my ass into him. Full sexy-Anna mode. “Thanks.” I turn slightly and wink at him.

  His big, strong hands resting on my hips are suddenly gone. As is the rest of his body heat. I turn around to see where he went when I see Mason in his face, yelling. The guy doesn’t yell back though. He just shakes his head and stalks off the dance floor, like a little bitch.

  Mason turns and looks at me, his eyes burning with what looks like anger. They are darker than usual, making him look like a whole other person.

  “What the fuck, Mason?! What the fuck was that?”

  He shakes his head. “It was nothing, Red.” He continues to stare at me with a look of almost disgust.

  “What the fuck are you looking at?” I slur.

  “Someone who can’t handle their alcohol and is about to puke all over my living room and embarrass herself. Come on.” He pulls on my hand.

  I pull away as much as my drunken stupor will allow without landing on my ass. “Go away, you big poopy head.”

  Unamused, he shakes his head. “How old are you? You just called me a … never mind. Come on. I don’t have time for your shit. Let’s go.”

  “Why’s that, big guy? Gots somewhere else to beee?” I’m referring to the whore-ish ho-bag.

  But hopefully, he won’t catch on. It would be embarrassing for him to know I’m jealous.

  “Well, I did. But your dumbass fucked it up. So, let’s go.”

  That pisses me off. I don’t like being called a dumbass, and I don’t like being told I fucked something up. I shove him and dart toward the front door. My hand is on the doorknob when I am thrown over his shoulder, kicking my feet and flailing my arms like a four-year-old in Walmart who didn’t get the toy she wanted. But I don’t care. I know I’m causing a scene, but I want to go home, damn it. I can feel the tears burning in the backs of my eyes. Threatening to spill out and show him and everyone else just how weak I am. I bite down on my lip hard. Hoping it’ll make the pain go somewhere else and not in my heart. I don’t like showing emotion. From a very young age, I’ve been told it makes you weak.

  He takes the steps two at once and gets us up them in no time. Throwing me down on the bed, he turns around, shuts the door, and locks it.

  His eyes look dark. Not their usual, playful calmness. “What the fuck is your deal, Red?”

  “I don’t have one, you moron! I was dancing, having a good time! You fucked that up. You’re a dick.” I pout.

  “You were making a fool out of yourself in front of everyone. Letting some random guy grope you. You should be thanking me for not allowing you to further embarrass yourself.”

  I let out a frustrated breath and throw a pillow at him. “Just go away! Don’t you have plans? Leave me alone, Mason!”

  His blue eyes soften the slightest bit, but they still rage. “You’re mad because you think I have plans with someone else? A girl perhaps?”

  “Pfft. No. I couldn’t give two shits.”

  “Right.” He comes closer, leaning down so he’s hovering over me. “So, you’re saying, if I brought that girl up here right now and fucked her, you wouldn’t care?”

  My blood boils. But I can’t let him see that. “Fuck. No,” I say through gritted teeth.

  He leans down even closer and looks at my lips for a few seconds. I almost think he’s going to kiss me. I wish he would. Instead, he just says, “Okay,” and goes downstairs.

  I decide right then that whatever this is between us, it ends tonight. I obviously can’t keep my feelings in check. Right now, he’s probably headed to fuck that girl in the bathroom. Or she’s on her knees. And it literally guts me inside. So, yeah, I think it’s time for me to walk away. While I still can.

  I’ll wait a few minutes for him to get wherever he’s going, and I’ll sneak home. I don’t want to be a charity case to him. I want to be seen by someone. And not as a fucking friend. I need to cut off all communication. And I need to do it now.

  Mason

  I couldn’t fucking take it any longer. Seeing Anna all over one of my own teammates? And in my living room? Fuck that.

  Link is one of our second-string defensemen, and I’ll be fucked if I let him run his hands all over her in my house. He’s seen her waiting for me after games and us at The Atlantic together. But he swore he didn’t recognize her with her ridiculous blonde wig on.

  As much as I wanted to punch him in the throat—and trust me, I did—I knew Trent would be pissed, and it would get back to Coach. So, I told him he needed to get the fuck out of my house and to not so much as look at Anna again.

  After fighting with her in my bedroom, I gave up and went back downstairs and got fucked up. When I made my way to bed early the next morning, she was gone. Just like I had known she would be.

  It’s just as well. We aren’t some crazy love story that can defeat all odds and live happily ever after. I’ve got dreams, and I won’t be tied down. I’ve worked too hard to let myself catch feelings for someone and then ruin everything. She could ruin me if she wanted to. She could make me not even give a fuck about football anymore. And I can’t and won’t let myself do that.

  seventeen

  Mason

  We gather in a huddle. With only two minutes left on the clock, this is our game, our championship. But to be respectful to the other team and to finish like the champions we are, we go hard those last two minutes. With forty seconds left on the clock, I see Trent get into position. He jumps back a few steps and then launches the ball into the air. It connects perfectly with me, falling right into my hands, and I waste no time in taking it down the field for a touchdown. Knowing damn well that this will always be a day that I keep engraved in my brain. This is the last game I’ll play with my teammates at NEU. Who have become more like brothers.

  Confetti falls around us, and we all crash into each other midair. An undefeated season and champions. Fucking incredible. Right here, this is what life is about.

  But as I gaze up in the stands, I can’t help but wonder, Is she here? Is she watching me right now?

  I haven’t talked to her in months. She ghosted me after the Halloween party, and I took that as a sure sign that she was over our friendship. It was getting to be too much drama anyway. I don’t do drama. I do hook-ups, and that’s all. I’m getting drafted into the NFL this spring, and the last thing I need is someone distracting me with their emotional baggage.

  Trent and his girl split up. This time, for good, I think. He could have sat on the barstool and continued getting hammered. Instead, he poured every single ounce of his time and energy into football. I did the same, and it helped to pass the time. It isn’t like Red and I had some long, complicated history. Just some weird-as-fuck chemistry thing go
ing on. Oh, and being extremely attracted to each other too.

  I think of her often. She’s pretty damn good at avoiding me.

  Oh well. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Right?

  eighteen

  Mason

  Draft Day

  I pace back and forth in the house, impatiently waiting to see what my future looks like. My nerves are completely on edge while I wait for the phone call to let me know if I’m getting drafted into the NFL or if I’ll be kissing that dream good-bye.

  Fuck, please let my phone ring.

  Trent has remained as cool as a fucking cucumber, like always. But I know, deep down inside, he must be feeling the same way I am. We’ve worked our whole lives for this day. This will prove just how good we are and what our future in this sport will look like. He’s praying to be drafted to the Patriots; that’s his dream. As much as I want us to stay together as a duo, I really want to be drafted by the New York Giants. I feel like with the right team, they could make a comeback and give the other teams, like the Patriots, a run for their money. Last year, they got one hell of a new quarterback, and it would be fucking awesome to work next to him.

  Trent pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it to his ear. The entire room is quiet as he answers his phone. After what seems like an eternity, he turns toward us after hanging up and holds his arms out, grinning. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, you’re looking at New England’s newest quarterback.”

  The room erupts into cheers. I’m not at all surprised his phone was the first to ring. He was projected to be one of the top draft picks today. He deserves it too.

  Of course, my mind can’t help but wonder if I’m actually going to get a phone call. I act cocky as hell, but there’s obviously always that small part of my brain telling me I’m not good enough and I won’t make it into the NFL.