Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) (8 page)

I studied the screen and rubbed my chin thoughtfully.

“You’re a woman. What do you think, Bee?”

There it was. The blush.

“Um. Twenty?” she offered, refusing to meet my gaze while she took a long pull from her beer.

I hit it. Bzz. Wrong.

“Ooh, sorry,” I said, mimicking Alex Trebek. “The correct answer is ten. Next question. What percentage of women have faked an orgasm at least once in their lives? Twenty percent, forty percent, seventy-five percent, or all of them?”

She cocked her head and shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe forty percent?”

“Hmm. I prefer to think the answer is none of them, but since that’s not a choice, I think I’ll go with the obvious.” I pressed C., seventy-five percent, and the screen lit up green.

“Nice one,” she said, her posture loosening some as she settled in.

The next question popped up and this time, she read it out loud, clearly getting into it.

“A barnacle's penis is what percentage of its body length? Thirty percent, fifty percent, eighty percent, or one hundred and fifty percent.”

We both stared at the screen for a long moment and she swallowed a choked laugh as she waved her hand.

“Um, so, if you know it, feel free to answer.”

I reached out confidently and pressed D. To my shock, the machine
ding
ed and the answer went green. I held up my fist for a bump and she obliged with an outright guffaw.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “Not everyone has the low-down on barnacle dicks. I guess I should have the inexplicable desire to drop my panties, now?”

She was kidding, but I nearly groaned aloud at the mental image. She’d clearly gone out of her way to change her clothes. Had that makeover extended to her underwear too? I shoved back the thought of Bee in a tiny thong and managed a half-grin.

“On our first date?” I said with a shrug. “I mean, it’s a little forward, but all right. If you insist.”

She laughed but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off her, and the idea seemed to get better and better with every second that passed. Damn, she was sexy. And suddenly the laughter faded. I wanted her alone, naked and under me. I wanted to show her that she would never have to be part of that sad earlier trivia statistic if she got with me.

“Do you want to get out of here?” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even fully thought them through and before I’d even remembered that Bee wasn’t the kind of girl who’d fall for dumbass lines like that.

She raised an eyebrow. “Have you gotten your Pop-Tarts’ worth yet?”

For a second, I didn’t even know what she was talking about. And then it hit me like a sucker punch.

This wasn’t a real date.

I’d almost taken it for granted that I’d bring her back home, get invited in, and maybe get a shot at seeing what she was wearing underneath that dress. Looking at her now, that was still what I wanted to do. But her comment was a much-needed reminder that this wasn’t about us getting to know each other or fucking.

This whole night was about favors and Pop-Tarts.

“Yeah, I think the seed has been planted,” I said, trying to sound chill. “The guys definitely think we’re together, and word will get around.”

We finished our beers as I helped her get her coat and gave my buddies all a wave.

Bee and I stepped out into the cold night air and she said, “I feel bad that this didn’t work better, though. Your ex wasn’t even there.”

Because Renee’d never be caught dead in a place like Buddies. She needed a dance floor and a far bigger audience.

“It’s cool,” I said, pulling my sweatshirt hood around my ears. “She’ll hear about it from someone who saw us, I guarantee.”

We hurried to rush across College Street, a block away from the Kappa house, and she stopped short in the middle of the road. There, in the gutter, was a virtual lake of slushy water. “These are Flora’s boots,” she explained, chewing on a fingernail.

“All right.” I came up behind her, slid my arm behind her knees and one behind her back, and lifted her.

“What are you—oh, my gosh,” she said as I pulled her into my arms. “Cal, your knee…”

I could tell she was embarrassed. Her cheeks blazed in the moonlight and she wouldn’t look at me, but she snaked her arm around my back and held on tight, pushing her tits against me and burrowing her face in my neck as I sloshed through the puddle. I guess I should’ve been worried about my knee, but it felt like a million bucks and so did I.

So I just kept walking.

“You should put me down now,” she said. “Seriously. You’re going to hurt yourself—”

“It’s fine. It just hurts when I hyper-extend. Besides, I’m enjoying this.”

That was an understatement. She smelled incredible, and I had her curves pressed up against me, my hand under her ass…that was the most action I’d had in weeks and, considering the fake nature of this date, was the most I could expect to have tonight.

“Plus, I’m paying top Pop-Tart for the full
dating Cal Samskevitch
experience. You owe me this.”

She finally piped down and, a block later, I set her gently down on the bottom step of the Kappa house. We walked up the stairs side by side, and Bee had just inserted her key into the door when it swung open.

Lana Nelson, one of the girls I knew from my
Topic in Math – Liberal Arts Class
stood there, scowling at Bee.

“Oh, I was hoping you were—” She stopped when she saw me. “Oh, hey, Cal!”

“Hey, how’s it going?” I said.

Lana stepped aside and let Bee pass as she waved me in but other than that, she ignored her. I waited for Lana to go back to wherever she’d come from, but she just stood there, hanging on the door and staring at me.

“I was actually just thinking about you.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. I had no idea where this was heading, since I’d never once thought about her, except to wonder if she would let me borrow her notes when I missed class.

“Oh, yeah?”

She nodded. “I think just about every Kappa has you on their short list of guys they want to ask to our Spring formal.”

I stared at her blankly. Spring was still four months away. Not to mention, I was standing there on a date with her housemate.

I couldn’t resist. “Hopefully, if Bee hasn’t kicked me to the curb by then, I’ll be going with her.”

“Wait,” she finally said. “You…” She pointed at me, and then at Bee. “And Bee?” Then her lips cracked into a ghost of a smile like she was waiting for me to tell her it was a joke, and we were all in on it.

I didn’t. I just stared at her, silently daring her to ask again.

She fidgeted uncomfortably and stepped away from the door. “Yeah. Um, cool.”

But her discomfort wasn’t nearly satisfying enough, because I could see the lingering doubt in her overly made up eyes.

The rage coiled more tightly inside me. I grabbed Bee’s wrist and tugged her further into the house. “We going to your room now?”

Bee’s eyes widened, but she nodded and turned toward the stairs, with me at her heels.

“Do they all treat you like that?” I said as we reached the second-floor hallway.

She shook my hand off her wrist and turned to face me. She’d been so happy all night, and now she just looked weary and deflated and it made me want to break shit.

“Do they all treat me like what, Cal?”

“Like, you know. You said it before. Quasimodo. Why the fuck do you put up with that?” I asked her.

She shrugged a little but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you ever just want to…I don’t know. Teach them a lesson?”

She shook her head and led me down the hallway to her room. “No. Because I’m a grown up and that would be silly. And who cares what she thinks, anyway?”

Tough talk, but she didn’t fool me. I knew her now. Well enough to see past that, and there was no going back.

She opened the door to her room and peeked inside. Then she pushed it open and let me through. It was a pretty big room, not too clean, but not too messy, either. Two beds, but her roommate wasn’t there. I knew her side right away, because of the Anatomy books piled in the makeshift night-table made out of stacked milk crates, and the THE HUMAN BODY poster over her bed.

I grinned. Then I threw off my sneakers and climbed onto her bed, bouncing up and down on my ass until the springs squealed. “Oh, Bee,” I groaned as loud as I possibly could.

She stared at me. “What the hell! Get off my bed,” she hissed, her cheeks going fire engine red in an instant.

“Oh, Bee,” I said, louder. “Oh, fuck, yeah. Like that, baby.”

I motioned for Bee to get on and join me.

Her outright shock and dismay slowly disappeared, replaced by a slow, crooked smile. She unzipped her boots and kicked them off. I grabbed her hand and yanked her up beside me.

“Oh, yes!” she shouted. She started to bang on the wall. “Cal, that’s it!”

I took ahold of the headboard and started to smack it hard against the wall, shaking it more and more violently. “Oh, God, yeah, Bee. Do it to me.”

We bounced until her bedspread was on the floor and the pillows had scattered. We bounced until we were both actually out of breath and our hearts were pounding.

“Come for me now, Bee. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, that was amazing.”

She just stared at me, biting that lip again, so I said, as loudly as I could manage with so little breath, “You rock my world, Bee. I think I love you.”

“Don’t get carried away,” she muttered with a breathless laugh, sliding off the bed.

I flopped onto my back, making myself comfortable. I couldn’t help smiling, partly because I was imagining Lana’s face, and partly because here I was, exactly where Bee spent her every night. It was a glimpse into Bee’s world, just looking at the posters for track on the wall, the ticket stubs for Everything’s Jake at Madison Square Garden stuck in the mirror frame, the Blu-rays lined up on her desk. Then I saw two reptilian eyes staring at me from the top of the dresser.

“Holy shit, what’s that?” I demanded, scuttling back against the wall.

She looked at it and grinned, then tickled its chin. “That’s Echo. My roommate’s gecko.”

I nodded.

“Cool.” As long as it was a known entity, I was okay with that. I sat up and fingered the Blu-ray cases. “So you like…oh wow. You like East of Eden?”

“Who doesn’t?”

I stared at her, shocked.
Who doesn’t?
Was she kidding?
Nobody
under the age of fifty liked James Dean movies these days. In fact, most people these days thought he was a porn star or something.

“It’s my favorite movie.” Then, because I’d been thinking about that certain quote from it for a while, I added, “Man has a choice and it’s a choice that makes him a man.”

She grinned. “James Dean’s character in that movie is Cal Trask. Coincidence?”

I nodded, and I guess the whole thing just hit me. Me, being here, on her bed. Her, still looking so sexy in that red dress and bare feet. Constantly planting herself in my head. Owning my favorite movie in the world. It felt a little like fate, but it was too much to process. I had to get out of there, before I did or said something stupid. Something that would change everything.

I sat up and walked to the door, where she was standing. “I’d better go.”

She smiled up at me. “That’s awfully kind of you to take care of me, Cal,” she drawled in Julie Harris’ voice. It was a quote from the movie. She’d said it to him on the Ferris Wheel. And after that…

Fuck it. If it was fate, I knew what came next.

I brushed the hair from her face and kissed her.

And I don’t know how I’d managed to wait that long, because the second my lips met hers it was like they were home. I drew her bottom lip into my mouth and nipped at it before parting her mouth with the tip of my tongue.

In the movie, Julie Harris realizes it’s a mistake and cuts it off right away, but Bee just let out a soft little sigh, like she wanted more, too. Her hands found their way under my sweatshirt, and all I could think was
more, more, more
.

Then two things happened at once.

Her roommate blasted through the door, screamed, and then backed out like she’d stumbled upon a murder scene, and Bee and I separated like two magnets of the same charge.

She swiped at her mouth and mumbled, “You better go.”

I wasn’t about to argue. I strode out of there, head down, knee suddenly aching. Like it would if you acted like a stupid ass jumping on beds and carrying girls home.

But hell, Stupid might as well be my middle name. Because no matter how hard I tried, for the rest of the night, all I thought about was Bee.

F
lora skulked back
in about a minute after Cal left. I was still standing in the exact same place I’d been when I told him to leave, touching my lips as if to make sure they were still there.

I could still feel him, smell him, taste him…almost like he’d inhabited a part of me.

Big problem.

Flora waved a hand in front of my face. “Hullo?”

I blinked and looked at her before leaning over to pick up my comforter, which had landed on the ground during that over-the-top make-believe sex session.

“I’m so sorry, Bee. I can’t believe I walked in like that.”

“It was nothing,” I lied, answering the inevitable question. “Nothing happened.”

“So I heard,” she said, watching me make my bed. “None of those bitches gave me a heads-up before I barged in and ruined everything, but they had no problem filling me in just now. They said you two were going at it loud enough to wake the dead before I got home.”

Cal had done that for me. To defend my honor, or whatever, against Lana, who’d always been a bitch. And I had to admit, it felt good to see her face when he told her he was going to the Spring formal with me, even if it was a lie. And then carrying me home so I wouldn’t have to ruin Flora’s boots? He didn’t have to do those things. That went above and beyond our Pop-Tart deal.

Not to mention the kissing part.

That so-called
affection shit
was
definitely
not part of the agreement. So why? Why had he done it?

God, sometimes I wished he’d be the asshole I’d taken him for the day we met. It would make whatever we were doing easier. But every day that passed, I only seemed to like him more.

I stopped, ripped the comforter off the bed, and wrapped it tight around my body. Then I threw myself back on the mattress and let out a groan.

“It was just for show. Lana was being a jerk and he wanted to shut her up. It was all fake,” I muttered miserably.

“Oookay,” she said, clearly confused. “So then why were you two obviously making out for real when I walked in?”

I lifted my head and threw up a hand. “That’s the part that’s getting me. I honestly don’t know.”

Flora grinned and clapped her hands together in glee. “Not to brag, but maybe it was my makeover. You do look super hot.”

I nodded. “Probably. Damn you.”

She cocked a hand on her hip and frowned. “I expected more of a ‘thank you’.”

“No,” I moaned. “I’m in big trouble. He’s being nice to me, Flora. Really, really nice.”

“The bastard!” she shouted, collapsing on her bed. “Someone ought to string him up and whip him with a wet noodle.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it. I know I said it wasn’t possible, but I don’t think I’m immune to this particular football player’s charms.”

She studied me. “Are you seriously admitting that you’re falling for Cal?”

I buried my head under a pillow. “I think I’ll just stay under here for the rest of my life,” I mumbled.

She whooped loudly. “No.
Hell
no. This is a good thing, don’t you see?”

I ripped the pillow off my head. “How is it a good thing? He’ll rip my heart out and eat it for breakfast.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Um. How do you know that? Because he’s a football player?”

“Duh.”

“Oh, little Bee,” she said, coming over and sitting on the edge of my bed. “Football players eat Wheaties for breakfast, not human hearts. He hasn’t done a single thing yet to convince you he’s that guy you think you hate, has he? What makes you think he’s going to start now?”

I shrugged.

“Life is about taking risks, girl,” Flora said, patting my side.

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”

“I say you should go for it.”

The thought made my stomach clench. Go for it? I didn’t even know what that would entail. Maybe showing up to his apartment in nothing but his Panthers football jersey and a sign that said, “Take me, I’m yours”?

“Sleep on it, kiddo. You’ll figure it out,” Flora said softly, making her way back to her own bed as I stripped out of my clothes and got into my t-shirt and boxers.

I tried to sleep after that, but I tossed and turned so much during the night that Flora threw her pillow at me and growled at me to chill out.

By the time the first rays of sun peeked into the room, that feeling in the pit of my stomach had only grown, and I knew that if I sat back quietly and let things continue on the path they were on, it would only get worse.

I climbed out of bed, feeling like I’d run a marathon. My sheets looked as rumpled as they had when Cal and I jumped all over them.

We had another therapy session scheduled for the next day I could talk to him then. After all, we were both adults. Time to start acting like one. I had to tell Cal straight up what I was feeling and why this couldn’t continue beyond our physical therapist/patient relationship.

Then, I’d go back to life as usual.

And, again, the thought made me feel inexplicably cold inside.

W
ednesday
, at limited practice, my knee felt like ass.

What the hell had gotten into me the other night? I’d told myself I needed to take it easy so I could heal up. I’d told myself that having Bee around was a good way to keep other girls at bay so I could concentrate on getting myself back in shape. I’d reminded myself over and over that I didn’t need any distractions pulling my eyes off the prize.

And what the hell had I gone and done?

Tweaked my knee again.

It was Bee’s fault, really. She’d looked so damn hot Monday night I couldn’t think straight. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, but it sure as hell felt like one. I’d spent most of the night thinking with my other head, saying goofy things and laying on the charm. I’d carried her home and jumped on her bed like a fucking moron and why? Because I’d wanted to impress her, like a kindergartener with a crush. And if her roommate hadn’t come in, I would’ve tried to impress her a hell of a lot more, too.

When the team had started to scrimmage, every move I made sent pain screaming all the way up to my hip. It was so bad, I couldn’t even pretend like I had it together. I tried, at first. I said,
No matter how it feels, just work through it and take it like a man.
But whenever Andrews threw to me, I was never in the place down the field where he wanted me to be. I couldn’t get there. A toddler with a load in his pants could’ve made it before me. I only made one completion, out of countless attempts.

But not Weber.

Fucking Weber just kept landing them, one after the other. By the end of the practice, even the third-string guys were looking at me and shaking their heads. I felt like a sad cautionary tale:
Don’t be like Cal Samskevitch. He had it all, and he royally fucked it up.

“Hey, man, you feeling all right?” Weber asked me after making a particularly heroic grab that had Coach—who was about as emotional as Mr. Spock—pumping his fists in celebration.

“I’m fantastic,” I ground out as I hobbled to the sidelines to get my water bottle.

“You sure? Because you looked like you were wincing—”

“I’m. Fucking
. Fine!”
I snapped, slamming my bottle on the turf and glaring at him.

Weber took a step back and held his hands in surrender, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Whoa. Sorry. Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m just asking a question.”

Who knew? Maybe he was genuinely concerned about me, but all I could think was that this was the prick who was hammering the final nail into my coffin. If he didn’t exist, maybe Coach would’ve worked harder to make sure I recovered so I wouldn’t lose my scholarship. Maybe he would’ve brought in some serious PT guns from the city to work me over, instead of sticking me with Mind-fucking Bee Mitchell practically every god damn day.

Yeah, I felt sorry for myself.

Which was probably why I about-faced and grabbed Weber by the face mask, yanking him toward me until we were helmet to helmet. His eyes widened because I’d surprised the fuck out of him. I’d surprised the fuck out of me, too. Almost like I was standing outside myself, I heard my voice spilling everything I’d bottled up inside me for the past few weeks.

“Listen here, you little shit. This is temporary. Understood? You’re a fucking backup and the minute I get my knee back, I’m going to rip you a new asshole. Got it?”

The second the words were out there, I felt worse than garbage, but there was no going back. Weber shoved me off him, dropping back into
come-at-me
stance.

“Are you serious right now, bro? You want to do this?”

“Samsky, get your ass over here,” Coach barked from ten yards away.

I stepped back from Weber and made my way toward the coach, doing my best to act like nothing was wrong. “Yeah, Coach?”

“That’s it for you today.” His jaw was stiff and I knew he wasn’t asking a question, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

“For that?” I waved a hand toward Weber, who had already moved on and was having a catch on the sideline with the QB. “Coach, that was just jawing. Me and Weber are fine. Ask him.”

I was pretty sure Weber would back me up on that. Football was a volatile game. It wasn’t the first time someone had gotten pissed off on the field and shot off his mouth and it wouldn’t be the last.

“I don’t give a shit about that. You’re limping, son. Go in and see Bob. I’ll be there in a few.”

I thought about arguing further, but what was the point? It wasn’t like I could go out there, wreck shop and prove him wrong. So I walked off the field and into the locker room, my chest tight with dread.

When I sat down on the therapy table, Bob didn’t take too long with my swollen knee before giving me the verdict. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s not looking as good as we’d hoped at this point, Cal.”

“Ya think?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, Doc, you went through medical school to be able to tell me that?”

He gave me a pitying look.

“What the hell does that look mean?” I snapped at him. “Am I done for? Just tell me straight. I mean, hell, they shoot horses for less, right?”

Bob began to shake his head as Coach arrived. “Come on, Samsky, you just need to—”

“Lay off it. Check. Take it easy. Check. I’m doing all of that and it’s not fucking helping,” I bit out, pulling my pant leg down over my knee. “Maybe I need the help of some real PTs from the city or something instead of being saddled with a fucking student.”

Bob raised his eyebrows and said, very levelly, “Are you having a problem with Bee, Cal?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

I was having a problem with
everyone
at that moment. But the second I said the word, I wanted to bite it back. Bee didn’t deserve that. And neither had Weber or Bob. I, on the other hand, deserved all the shit that happened to me, including this bum knee.

The two men exchanged glances and then Coach leaned in to pat my shoulder.

“We’re going to leave things as they are for now. You take some time alone and think about how you want to comport yourself and how you want this team to view you going forward.”

He looked so disappointed in me, it was like a blow to the gut.

“We’ve had a great run, Cal. The guys see you as a leader. If you can’t play right now, at least you can give us that. This?” He gestured toward me with a shake of his head. “This isn’t you. Get through your PT today as scheduled, and lock up when you’re done. We’ll have a talk about how to proceed tomorrow once you’ve gotten some rest. Understood?”

I didn’t answer, my brain still stuck on the words that had me reeling.

We’ve had a great run.

And Coach obviously felt that run was over. Which meant I was through. They just didn’t want to tell me they thought my knee was never going to be strong enough to play.

I went through the rest of Bob’s examination without so much as a grunt, keeping my eyes trained on the locker in front of me. The guys came in and showered after practice, and meanwhile, I just sat there, on the bench, ignoring their stares.

They were probably talking shit about me now about the Weber incident, but as much as I couldn’t blame them, I didn’t have it in me to apologize. The blood still coursed, hot through my veins. I’d never had so much rage inside, with no way to get it out. Before the injury, football had been my out. My go-to whenever things went bad. I’d run it off with my buddies, and that had a way of magically solving everything.

That was gone now, and I might never get it back.

I don’t know how long I sat there, stone-still, but when I looked up again, the locker room was empty except for Bee as she strolled in for our scheduled PT session.

The sexy clothes and the make-up were gone, but even through the anger, I wanted her. Which only made me madder.

So yeah, maybe I’d betrayed her with what I’d said to Bob. But hell, she’d betrayed me too. She knew I was supposed to be focusing on ball and instead she’d gone out of her way to tie me up in knots. I hadn’t slept, I could barely run. If I hadn’t been with her the other night, I could’ve played today. It was a shit way to feel, and totally unfair to her, but none of that mattered.

“We’re not doing this,” I said flatly.

She took one look at me and her eyes widened. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” I snapped.

She frowned and looked at the clipboard on the table next to me, her face dropping as she read. Crap. So you’ve got some new swelling, Bob said? Can I take a look?”

I didn’t answer.

She wrote something down on the clipboard and looked at me expectantly. It was up to me to roll back my pants so once again my shit knee could be poked and prodded at. But I didn’t. If one more person touched it today, I’d go ballistic.

“Cal, come on,” she said gently. “How do you expect it to get any better if you—”

“I
don’t
expect it to,” I growled at her, slamming one fist down on the table. “Not anymore. Not with a bunch of fourth-rate PT clowns giving me fourth-rate advice. It’s getting
worse
. If I didn’t know better I’d think you all wanted me to fail.”