Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) (18 page)

He threw up his hands, cutting me off, mid-sentence. “Because I love you, all right?
You’re
my life, too. Okay?”

All the words inside me just died away and I nearly choked on the breath in my lungs. I didn’t have to ask him to say it again. It was obvious by the way he was standing there, fidgeting, eyes still blazing, what he’d said.

I wanted to say something meaningful in reply. But my mind went completely, deliriously blank. Finally, I whispered, “Oh.”

He sat next to me and pushed aside the tray table so that he could slide in closer to me. “Look, you don’t have to say it back. I know your feelings on loving a football player.”

My
voice was soft. “I was wrong, Cal. I know you’re not like my dad. I was just bitter about him and so I painted you all with the same brush. You’re
nothing
like him.”

“I wouldn’t mind people thinking I could play like he could.”

He looked so humble then…something my father never could have achieved. I couldn’t believe I ever thought he was a walking ego. He wasn’t Cal Samskevitch, awesome wide receiver. He was just Cal. My Cal.

He cleared his throat. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re okay. And I don’t know how you feel about me, but—”

At that moment, I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed the front of his t-shirt, ignoring the pain in my fingers, and pulled him toward me. His lips melted against mine, warm and perfect, and after a second of surprise, he wrapped his arms around me and crawled into bed with next to me, doing his best to avoid the wires and tubes that seemed to be springing out all over my body.

“I love you, too,” I told him as I nuzzled against him. “Can we pretend the last couple of days never happened?”

“What couple of days?” he said into the skin of my neck. Then he looked around. “Where are we? How’d we get in this hospital room?”

I laughed, suddenly a little choked up with happy tears. Just then, something vibrated against my leg. “Either that’s your phone, or you’re
really
happy to see me?”

He reached into the pocket of the hoodie he had thrown over his jersey and fished it out, then stared at the display.

“So Renee gave you it back?”

He nodded, a tense look on his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether to answer it.

“Who is it?”

“Coach,” he murmured.

I gasped. “What’s the matter with you? Answer it!”

He sighed dramatically. “If you insist.”

Then he answered the call and spoke into the phone, “Hey, Coach.”

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

“Yeah. Yeah.” He looked at me and smiled. “She’s good. Thanks.”

He kept saying “yeah” and “no” to the point that I thought I’d go mad waiting for a clue as to whether he’d have another chance. Damn him for not letting me in on the conversation, for keeping me hanging like this. I wanted to yank the phone from his grip and ask Coach myself.

Finally, he said, “Okay. Thanks. Talk to you later,” and ended the call.

“Well?” I demanded.

He cocked his head at me. “Well, what?”

I ripped my pillow out from behind me and threw it at him.

He caught it and grinned. “We pulled it out. Next game’s a week away.”

“Really? Yes!” I pumped my fist.

As he climbed back on the bed and kissed me again, I couldn’t want for anything more. Cal loved me, and I loved him. And he’d make his dream of playing pro come true. I knew he would, because for this game, he would be more than ready.

As his physical therapist, I planned to give him
plenty
of exercise.

I
’d heard
the statistics before. One million high school athletes participate in football each year. Only one of every seventeen high school football players goes on to play college ball. I’d defied the odds by making it this far and had managed to do it on a full athletic scholarship to play for the Panthers. Hell, no matter how you sliced it, it had been a good run.

But damn if I didn’t want to defy some more odds by being of the two percent of college seniors to get drafted by the NFL.

As I climbed, freshly showered, to the top bleacher of the stadium and stared at the scene of the epic ass-whooping we’d taken out there, those odds felt insurmountable.

I watched as the rest of the crowd straggled off the bleachers, looking as defeated as I felt. The knee’d been great.
I’d
been pretty great, too. I’d gone out there and done everything I could to impress the scouts in the audience. Ran the ball for more yards than I’d ever done in a single game. But it wasn’t enough. The Raiders’ late field goal put them on top, and there was no way we could come back from that.

Not the ending to my football career I’d envisioned when I was a kid. Back then, I’d expected cheering crowds and ticker-tape parades. Instead, all I heard in my head was sad trumpets.

“Hey, you.”

I looked up to see Bee climbing the bleachers toward me, most of her upper half buried in a furry coat. It was frigid right now, early December, but I hadn’t even noticed until I saw her blowing into her hands. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, instantly feeling just a little better.

She ran her hands up my back and behind my head. “Your hair is still wet. Aren’t you freezing?”

“Nah.”

“I know you’re sad. But you were phenomenal,” she said, giving me a squeeze.

The truth was, I’d expected to feel worse. Something about having Bee with me made things okay. Maybe because she was the only girl I knew who’d be perfectly happy with me if I hung up my cleats and never played another game again.

“I’m good,” I told her, thrusting my chin toward the field. “Just taking it all in one last time. You know? After four years, it’s hard to believe it’s over.”

She smiled. “When one door closes, another one opens. Right?”

“Here’s hoping.”

Truth was, it was intimidating. I didn’t know what that open door would look like. My grades weren’t exactly stellar. I’d majored in Humanities because it was the easy track, taken because it was least likely to interfere with the grueling practice schedule. What did Humanities majors even do with the rest of their lives? I had no clue. In fact, it felt like my life from here on out was completely up in the air.

Except one thing.

I pulled Bee to me and ran my finger down the side of her cheek to her chin. Then I lifted her face to mine and pressed a kiss onto her warm lips. Even if nothing else was,
this
felt right.

She grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s go. Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

We headed for the alley and out into the street. I’d like to say that at that moment, I left the stadium behind me and started thinking on nothing but pepperoni and cheese, a few good beers, and spending the night with Bee, but I’d be lying. I knew that part of me would always be thinking of my childhood dreams and how this was the night they’d officially come to an end.

I might not ever get over it, but I’d get on with it. That’s what real winners did. And plus, I had a great girl that deserved a guy who was successful at something and I was determined to find that something, come hell or high water.

“Callum Samskevitch?”

Before we hit the parking lot, someone behind me called my name.

I turned to see a man striding over to me in a black stadium jacket. He was smiling with his hand extended for a shake. My eyes fell to the emblem on his chest, with the three colored diamond shapes fitted in a circle. I knew that logo pretty well and the blood rushed to my ears.

“I’m Hal McCarthy, and I’m with the Pittsburgh Steelers. I just want to say that was some showing you put forth tonight. Really impressive game, kid.”

I shook his hand and shot a look at Bee, whose mouth was hanging open.

“Thanks. Good to meet you.”

“We’ve been following your progress through your injury. Looks like the knee’s better, yeah?”

I nodded like a fucking bobblehead, completely mute.

“A shame your season had to come to an end right now. Looks like you were just getting started out there this year.”

My mind was pretty much blank except for one overriding thought.

I’m talking to a fucking scout for the fucking Pittsburgh Steelers.

I nodded as he went on and on about a bunch of plays I’d made when I was a junior and how they’d been watching me as an underclassman. Then he handed me a card with his name and the Pittsburgh logo on it and smiled.

“Give this card to your agent and have him get in touch with us, all right?”

I just stared at him until Bee nudged me.

“Uh. Yeah. I mean. Yes, sir. Thank you.”

He clapped me on the back and nodded at Bee, then jogged off.

For the next minute, I couldn’t stop staring at the business card in my hand.

Give this card to your agent.

Agent. I needed an agent. When the year started, I’d had a few contact me, wanting to represent me, but I hadn’t seen the point when I was hobbling around like a peg-legged pirate, and evidently, neither had any of them, which is why I hadn’t heard from them in months.

Ho boy,
Cal Samskevitch fucking needed an agent, stat.

Then I looked at Bee for some affirmation that I hadn’t just dreamed up that whole exchange because I’d wanted it so bad. But she just threw up her hands, shook her head slowly from side to side, and grumbled, “Well, crap.”

I stared at her. We’d pretty much gotten past the whole “all football players are assholes” thing, so that wasn’t the reaction I’d been expecting.

“Wait. What?”

She shrugged. “Well, I mean, the Steelers aren’t birds. What’s your mom going to do, decorate her house with those diamond thingies?”

I laughed, still in a daze. “They’d grow on her.”

“Well then, congratulations, Cal. You’re going to knock them dead.”

Then she grinned and wrapped her arms around my neck. I pulled her flush against me and buried my face in her hair as she kissed me. This wasn’t the end, after all. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to step through that new door, especially now that I knew where I was going.

And who I was going with.

T
he End

W
ant
more steamy romance from Christine Bell? Check out
Fix You
, out now! And stay tuned for Hustle, Book Two in the Skin of the Game series, available in June!

E
xcerpt for Fix You
…

B
oxer Sebastian "Bash
" McDaniels is working nights at the local college bar until he can land the fight of his dreams that will get him the hell out of Boston and away from his family's tragic past. He's weeks from his goal when Olivia Beckett comes tumbling into his life in a flash of silky dark hair and haunted eyes. When he saves her from a potentially brutal beating, they begin to grow close, but Olivia's ex isn't ready to let her go so easily...

Olivia Beckett's once-charmed life is falling apart. Her family is about to lose everything, and she has almost no chance of going back to college next semester. She can't even seek solace from her high school sweetheart. His violent behavior is escalating and it scares the hell out of her. She has nowhere to turn…until she meets Bash. Will this bad boy be her knight in shining armor, or is she jumping from the frying pan into the fire?

"
W
hat's your poison
?"

I stared up at the row of liquor bottles glittering like jewels on the oak shelf, and squinted to get them back into focus when my vision went a little wonky.
Decisions, decisions.
The guy behind the bar awaiting my drink order seemed a little harried, but not too harried to give my modest cleavage a long look.

I crossed my arms over my chest and cleared my throat before shouting over the din of voices, "I'll take a Long Island iced tea." It was my third one, and probably I should’ve switched to light beer, but screw it. I was having a rough day and the sooner I could forget about it, the better.

The bartender nodded but kept his eyes glued to my boobs. Not good. Maybe Andy had been right and my shirt was too low-cut. Before anxiety took hold, someone tugged a handful of my curls from behind, derailing my thoughts.

"What's up, bitch?"

I peered over my shoulder to see Echo Reynolds standing there looking classy and gorgeous as ever. Her neckline was at least an inch lower than mine, but somehow on her long, lean frame, it looked classic and a little sexy without looking cheap.

"Nothing. Getting a Long Island. Want one?"

It was “Two Dollar You Call It” night at Shorty's bar and that meant half of Crestville College was there to get their drink on. With everything on the menu marked down to a bargain two bucks, it was a weekly tradition that brought out an eclectic mix of people. Something about cheap alcohol seemed to cross all social boundaries. The have and have-nots alike came to take advantage of the cheap liquor, and the few realllly rich haves who were too good to come for the cheap liquor still came to take advantage of the girls taking advantage of the cheap liquor. It was pandemonium pretty much every week, and with tonight being the night before spring break, it was even crazier than usual.

Spring break.

My stomach pitched as I thought about how I should handle that whole mess now.

"Get me a rum and diet," Echo said to the bartender as he passed. She ran a hand through her pin-straight fall of black hair as she waited, eyeing the crowd and making no attempt to disguise the curl of her lip. "God, it's like these people didn't know they were going out in public or something. That girl is wearing Uggs with shorts. It's fucking March, for God's sake. Not that it would be okay in June either, but Jesus Christ, that’s going too far."

The bartender came back with both our drinks and I gave him a five and told him to keep the change. As one of the lucky ones who, up until yesterday, didn't have to face the thought of spending my college years living off ramen noodles and Cup-a-Soup, I couldn’t help but tip the guy in spite of his wandering eye. There would be plenty of kids in line behind me who wouldn't, and even with my financial circumstances on the verge of a major, catastrophic change, years of habit wouldn’t allow me to stiff him in good conscience.

"Where's Andy and the guys?" Echo called back to me as she shouldered a path through the crowd toward the less packed back room.

"They're playing pool, I think." I took a sip of the tart, oversweet drink as we crossed the floor and slowed when the room dipped. Jeez, had it been this hot when we first walked in? Fashion disaster or not, I was starting to envy the chick in the shorts. I slowed to run the back of my hand over my damp forehead. Buzzed and disoriented, I must have closed my eyes for a second, because one minute I was walking along just fine and the next I found myself pinwheeling wildly as someone whirled around and bumped me, sending me flying backward.

"Shit!" I squeezed my eyes closed, bracing for the impact of soft ass hitting hard floor, when a strong pair of arms closed around my waist and steadied me.

"Are you okay?" a low, gritty male voice asked.

I blinked twice and tried to catch my breath. Was I? I took stock, noting that my arm was soaked and sticky, and my Long Island iced tea was now a very short island iced tea, but all things considered, I'd fared pretty well. Nothing was broken, sprained, or twisted and I was still on my feet, albeit with help. Not too shabby. I looked up at the guy blessed with the fast reflexes, and the “thank you” on the tip of my tongue froze in place.

He was…what? Gorgeous wasn't right. His nose wasn't quite straight, like it had been broken some time in the past. Nothing like the patrician perfection of Andy's nose. His eyes glittered, so bright that calling them blue seemed wrong somehow. His hair was more of a suggestion than a reality…little more than a brush of black stubble. His jaw was like stone, tense, square, and severe like the rest of him.

But his lips? Those lips changed everything. Full and firm at the same time, sensual and delicious-looking.

I was already closing one eye and leaning in to get a closer look when my woozy brain shot up a warning flare. Jesus, what was wrong with me? I'd had three drinks, and I was a notorious lightweight, but surely a lifetime of manners training should have dominated the primal and very rude urge to get all up in a guy’s grill to gape at his mouth like that. Not to mention, I had a boyfriend. Until I worked up the guts to rectify that situation, at least.

Buzzcut’s eyes went dark as he asked again in a voice that seemed even more gritty this time around. "Are you all right?"

The world that had seemed to go quiet and fall away from the moment I'd stumbled came rushing back in. Shouts and drunken laughter crashed over me and I realized that I was still in the circle of this stranger’s arms.

Panic swallowed me whole and I struggled to pull away. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thanks." I searched the room frantically, hands shaking as I straightened my shirt, which had ridden up to expose a strip of bare abdomen. My gaze finally landed on Andy, who stood in the back room a dozen yards away looking in my direction, and my gut lurched.

"I can get you some paper towels for that if you come with me," Buzzcut was saying as he slowly released me and gestured toward the bar. I shook my head, taking another step back before bumping into the wall of people behind me. Another hot flash washed over me, and beads of sweat broke out over my lip.