The Balled And The Beautiful: A College Sports Romance Story (9 page)

Amanda took a sip of her drink, leaning comfortably on the

bar. She let the sharp tang of alcohol linger on her tongue before letting the burning liquid slide down her throat. She hummed quietly and from the corner of her eye she saw a tall man glance her way. She glanced at him shyly, smiling as he slid from his stool, making his way towards her.

"Sorry if this is a bit forward." His voice was dark and smooth as silk. He was older than she was, certainly, but the touch of gray at his temples suited him, giving him a semblance of sophistication instead of age. "But I was wondering if you'd let me buy you a drink."

She smoothed her hand along the azure silk of her dress, feeling a flush begin on her cheeks.

"That would be nice," she replied quietly, smiling again as he waved over the bartender.

His conversation was witty, his jokes tasteful and his smile charming. It felt like only moments later when his hand slid along the bar, wrapping gently around hers, but when she glanced at the watch on his wrist she found that nearly two hours had disappeared. Her body thrummed with nerves, and she looked up at him through her lashes.

"You are just lovely," he murmured, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to the back of it. "I'd love to see you again, if you'd be interested."

Her heart raced and she nodded. "It's not that late," she replied, tilting her head coyly. "I live nearby. Would you be interested in some...coffee?" His grin was all the answer she needed.

She giggled as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind as she fumbled with the keys. Finally the door unlocked and they stumbled through it. His lips pressed heatedly against her neck, and she shuddered. He moved to kiss her properly, but she pulled back slightly. He looked at her questioningly.

"I just need a moment. The living room's right through there. Make yourself at home." He grinned at her, trailing his hand along her waist as he stepped back. He turned away, wandering towards the living room and the smile fell off her lips. A warm presence stepped from the shadowed doorway beside her and William squeezed her hand gently as he made his way soundlessly after the man.

"Nice place you have here," the man offered, staring out the small windows across the cityscape.

"Thanks," William replied. The man spun, his eyes wide, and William raised his gun as he welcomed the newcomer with exaggerated politeness. "Marcus."

"William?" he breathed.

"Sit down, Marcus." Amanda watched quietly as the older man stumbled, falling into the steel kitchen chair they had set in the center of the room. She drifted along behind him, approaching as William watched. "Move an inch and I'll shoot you."

She yanked open a drawer in a small side table, pulling out handcuffs and quickly snapping them around the man's wrists, locking him to his seat. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes wide with fear.

"What do you want, William?" he forced out, voice cracking. William smiled, his eyes full of dark promise. "I want you to pay for what you did," he replied quietly. Marcus flinched but William only shook his head.

"I'm not going to kill you," he continued, and Marcus glanced up at him tentatively. "I'm going to
ruin
you."

"What-"

"Shut up." The man's jaw snapped shut so quickly Amanda heard his teeth clack. William continued, his gun falling to his side. "You ruined my life. You tried to turn me into a murderer. You didn't care about the horrors of what we were building, you only cared about the money."

"Weapons that will protect this country aren't-"

"SHUT UP!"

Amanda pressed her hand against the small of William's back and felt his sudden tension wash out of him at her touch. He glanced at her, and she smiled reassuringly at him. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"The weapons aren't illegal and stealing them definitely was. I know you can't change that, and no court would let me go free if they caught me. But-" A small, crooked small twisted on his lips. Marcus' face paled as William continued his diatribe. "-The testing you had your lab techs do was definitely was illegal. As are the falsified tax forms from the last six years. Oh, and buying black market uranium is probably not all that popular with the FBI either."

"You have no proof," he gasped desperately. William's smile only widened.

"Oh, no?" He pulled a file folder, filled to bursting from the desk behind him and threw it on the floor in front of his ex-employer. "I beg to differ. You forced me to get extremely good at hiding. And at breaking and entering. I figured I might as well use those skills for a good cause."

Marcus stared at them mutely, his expression vacillating between horror and fury.

William shifted forward, tugging more restraints from his back pocket and fastening the man's feet to the chair as well.

As soon as he was content that Marcus wouldn't be able to pull himself free he turned, reaching out to Amanda with a soft, familiar smile. She stepped forward, grabbing his hand and walking by his side towards the door.

"Are you just going to
leave
me here?" Marcus shouted from behind them, his voice raw with anger. William didn't look back.

"Oh, don't worry. The cops will be here within the hour.

You won't have to wait long. Good luck."

The door shut behind them with a bang and Amanda finally let out a relieved laugh. William grinned down at her before sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her with abandon. She kissed back warmly, holding him tightly.

He pulled back, still smiling.

"We won't be able to come back," he whispered, kissing her again swiftly. "We're never going to be able to stop running. He's not the only one who knows about the weapon."

She smiled at him, without a trace of doubt clouding her mind. Six months of this, and still his smile send a shock of wonder through her every time.

"Then let's run," she whispered back, her grin widening.

"As long as we are together."

He grinned back, stepping back and tugging her along with him.

"As long as we're together."

*****

THE END

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Austin’s Limit

A Sports Romance

By Nicole Chance

Austin, Texas is a party city. You might even call it the party capitol of Texas. 6th Street is famous for its bars and the drunken antics that go on every weekend. I was never much of a party girl, but on that night, I was out with some girlfriends on 6th Street. We were at Venom, a new bar that was serving up Austin’s famous drink, the flaming Dr. Pepper. It’s a Bacardi 151 mixture of pure inhibition killing liquor.

My best friend, Elle, handed me one of the shots.

“This one’s for you, Kat,” she said, blowing her blonde hair out of her eyes. There was a light sheen of sweat on her brow from dancing so hard all night. I’d been holding the table down for her and Zoe. The three of us had just started grad school at the University of Texas, and we were renting a house together. We were out celebrating because I had finally found a job as a tutor.

“I’m really not that great at taking shots,” I said to Elle as the shot flamed in front of me.

“Take it quick!” she urged. She handed the other one to Zoe, and the two of them raised their shot glasses, waiting for me to join them. I did.

“To grad school!” Elle said loudly.

“To grad school!” Zoe echoed and looked at me.

I nodded, and the two of them threw the drinks back. I stared at mine and hesitated.

“Kat, take it!” Elle said.

“I can’t!” I shouted back at her above the din of the bar.

She grabbed the shot out of my hand and threw it back just as quickly as she’d thrown the first one back. I mark

eled at her drinking prowess.

“Do you want a beer?” Zoe asked me.

Zoe was a beautiful redhead who lived up to her stereotype. She was a wild as she was smart. Her curls bounced as she turned without waiting for me to answer and went back up to the bar.

“You’ve gotta loosen up, Kat,” said Elle. She took her seat at the round high top table that I’d been holding down all night. “Don’t you wanna dance?”

“Not really. I’m not really a dancer,” I said. It was the truth. Unless I was sublimely drunk, I never danced.

“Its way too early in the year for you to be this uptight,” Elle said and grabbed my hand. “C’mon. The semester starts tomorrow, and so does your new job. Just cut loose a little bit. We’ve worked really hard to get to this point!”

It was true. Elle and I had been friends since our freshman year of college. I’d been through the ups and downs of boyfriends and bad grades and pregnancy scares with her, and she’d been there through it all for me, too. It was a night for celebration.

“Okay. After I have this beer that Zoe’s bringing, I’m going to get a shot. Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll join you on the dance floor,” I said, halfway giving in to her demands.

Zoe returned with an Amber Bock and handed it to me. I took it from her gratefully, and glad to have something that I could pretend to be occupied with to avoid getting out on the dance floor. After all, I did say I’d possibly dance after I drank my beer and had a shot. I could’ve made that beer last all night if I’d needed to.

“I’m gonna dance some more,” said Zoe after she’d been sitting down for less than two minutes. Nothing could keep her from having a good time, not even a party-pooper like me.

She got up from the table and quickly found a dance partner on the floor. I watched as she ground her hips against a stranger with the zeal of a born-again Christian.

“You know I still love you even if you don’t wanna have a good time, Kat,” said Elle. She sipped her beer and gave me a sidelong glance.

“I know,” I said with a smile.

The night passed without too much excitement. I didn’t get out on the dance floor. When we got home, we poured Zoe into her bed, and Elle went to take a shower before retiring. I took a shower in the bathroom I shared with Zoe and then got to bed myself. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

The next day I went to all my classes, arriving early to each one. I had a grad-level Chaucer class, a Tolkien class, a C. S. Lewis class, and a Modern American Literature class. After I’d finished with those, I made my way to the tutoring center in the Liberal Arts building.

I got out my name badge and took a seat behind the desk and checked the schedule for who was going to be tutored that afternoon. There were already several sign ups. I looked at the one beside my name: Carson King. I didn’t recognize it immediately, but it sounded vaguely familiar. I wondered if maybe he was the president of a club I was a part of as an undergraduate. It was possible.

He was scheduled to arrive about thirty minutes after I got there, so I got my agenda out to pencil in his name on Mondays. I was scribbling some other notes about upcoming events from each of my syllabi when I heard someone clear their throat.

“Hi, are you Kat?” a male voice asked.

I pushed my glasses up my nose and looked up. There was a guy standing there in a white t-shirt and faded jeans that fit him all too well. This had to be Carson. I took in his face. He had strong features and an even stronger jawline as well as green eyes. His hair was a sandy brown and as I looked him over I noticed how much his muscles were straining against his t-shirt. Would it have killed him to buy a large?

“I am,” I said and forced a smile.

“I’m Carson,” he said, smiling back. “I’m here for some English tutoring.”

“I figured,” I said, sounding much more sarcastic than I meant to. Suddenly it came to me where I knew him from. He was the star quarterback last year. There had been a lot of press about him this summer. He was expected to go pro after college. This was his senior year. I groaned.

“Everything okay?” he asked me.

“Oh, uh—yeah,” I said. I hated jocks. They were the worst when it came to tutoring. They thought that at the right price I could be bought, even before I was a professional tutor. I couldn’t. I didn’t earn anyone’s grades for them.

“Cool. My coach said you could help me with my American lit class,” he said.

“I can do that,” I said cautiously. I wondered exactly how much ‘help’ he wanted. I’d heard a lot about Carson last year. His sexual exploits were the main thing I remembered. There was a rumor that he’d slept with the president of the English Society, Amanda Ellis. She was a straight-laced girl with no reputation whatsoever until Carson came along. Now she was pretty much called a slut by everyone in the Liberal Arts building. I wasn’t about to be his next conquest.

“Cool,” he said again. I wondered if his vocabulary was as limited as it sounded. If it was, he was going to have a lot of trouble passing Dr. Rice’s American lit class.

“Why don’t we go into one of the tutoring rooms?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said… again with his expansive vocabulary.

I forced another smile and grabbed my bag. I then unlocked the door to the tutoring room. It was just a small room with one window and a desk, with two seats placed across from each other. I took the one facing the window and let him have the other. I didn’t want a passing bird to be too much of a distraction for his Royal Jockness.

He sat his bag down and situated himself in the chair by leaning back and spreading his legs in that ever-confident classic male pose. I was going to teach him some discipline if it killed me.

“So, can I look at your syllabus?” I asked him.

He fished into his bag and drew out a crumpled group of papers, all of them I was assuming were from his first day of his senior year though they looked like they could have been inhabiting the bag for several semesters. He looked through them and found the one for Dr. Rice’s class and handed it to me.

I smoothed out the crinkled paper and looked it over. It looked like they were starting with Cotton Mather, a classic choice. They’d be talking about the Salem Witch Trials within the week.

“Do you have your book?” I asked him.

He fished that out of his bag, too, and laid it on the desk.

“The best thing we can do is just get started right away. Mainly, what you want to do in these classes is to stay on top of your readings. If you get behind, it’s virtually impossible to catch up,” I said.

“I’ve managed before,” he said cockily.

I looked up at him. He smiled at me with half of his mouth. It was a kind of smirk that let on he knew more than I did, which I highly doubted was the case.

“Well, that’s not how we’re going to do it this semester,” I said, smiling back at him.

“Whatever you say, teach,” he replied. He was so confident it was obnoxious. I wondered if anyone had ever knocked him down a peg or two and made him realize that life didn’t revolve around good looks and charm…. Probably not.

“Turn to page fifty-six,” I told him.

He did as I instructed.

“Read all of that tonight. Answer the questions at the end of the reading and repeat the process on the readings for Wednesday. Don’t skip the author introductions because Rice likes to do pop quizzes on those. Just read all of it. Take your time to answer the questions and bring them to me on Monday. Make some notes about whatever is giving you trouble and we’ll go over it,” I said.

“Will do,” he said, still smiling. I was relatively sure that he’d been staring at me the entire time though I’d looked away several times. I wasn’t the most confident person and sometimes when someone was looking me directly in the eye it was hard to maintain eye contact. He made me uncomfortable with how comfortable he was with himself.

“There’s not much else we can do today,” I said, hinting for him to get the hell out.

“Whatever you say, teach,” he repeated from earlier. The words unsettled me like there was something else he wanted to do but I was preventing him. My eyes lingered on his pecs for just a few moments longer than necessary. “Like my shirt?”

“Oh—yeah,” I said, lying entirely. I didn’t even know what the shirt said.

He smirked at me as though he knew I’d been staring at his body and not his shirt. I felt further unsettled. I wanted him to get out. Now.

I stood up from the desk, and he did the same.

I started towards the door, and he started at the same time. Together we jammed the door, and I backed away from him as our arms touched. He reached up a hand and placed it on my shoulder.

“See you Monday,” he said, barely above a whisper. I felt my stomach somersault.

He walked out of the tutoring office and down the hallway, and I was left sitting behind the desk reorganizing my thoughts to make room for the force of nature that was Carson King. I wasn’t going to be one of his girls that he told stories about to his friends in the locker room. I wasn’t going to be the next Amanda. At least, I hoped I wasn’t.