The Slam
Authors: Haleigh Lovell
THE SLAM
by Haleigh Lovell
Copyright © 2016 Haleigh Lovell
Verdant Press
A New Adult Sports Romance
Edited by
Nicola Rhead
Proofread by D. Grasnick, H. Moody, J. Paul, Christine. K, M. Higginbotham
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author and copyright owner.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter One
ENDER
The clock on my nightstand glowed: 12:45 A.M.
Shifting my eyes over the messy bed, I sat up groggily and looked down at the woman beside me.
Fuck. What the hell is her name? Lauren? Or is it Lacy?
Scrubbing my face, I hesitated a moment then lifted the covers.
Lacy
, I thought as I stared at her sleeping form. She was naked except for a wispy lace bra, just two pale blue triangles covering her small, but nicely rounded breasts.
Definitely Lacy
.
Unable to resist, I reached for her breast, teasing the shadow of her nipple through the flimsy lace cup. Her nipple hardened instantly, poking greedily at my fingers.
I smiled.
Bracing my hands on either side of her, I lowered my head and drew on the pebbled nipple, suckling deep and hard until I felt her rosy bud stretch, pull, and elongate inside my mouth.
“Mmm.” A breathless moan slipped past her lips. Her eyes were still closed and she began caressing her tits.
I sat back and watched, loving the look of her swollen nipples and large areolas spilling out of her lace cups as she touched herself.
My dark gaze traveled lower, burning at the hint of blonde curls visible through the lace thong.
Desire tore through me as she nudged the thin material away, exposing her moist, pink flesh. As if by their own will, her fingers began moving over her clit, massaging the swollen bud.
“Your pussy looks neglected.” My voice was thick, hoarse. “Let me lick it for you.”
“Mmmm,” she moaned, arching her back as she touched herself. “Let me take care of you first.” As she fingered her clit, she extended her free hand and started stroking my shaft.
My cock was already hard and heavy, the slit gleaming with a bead of semen.
“Yeah.” Closing my eyes, I focused on the feel of her soft hands gliding up and down the length of my shaft. “Oh yeah, Lacy.” A deep groan scraped from my throat as she squeezed on the head.
Abruptly, her hand stilled.
“Lacy?” she demanded. “Who the hell is Lacy?”
“Your bra… it’s lacy.”
To her credit, she didn’t fall for my horseshit. “You don’t even know my name, do you?”
“Of course I do,” I insisted. “Your name is…”
She arched a delicate brow.
“Wait!” I frowned. “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me.” Then I drew a blank. “Shit, tell me.”
“Leah! The name’s Leah!” In a fit of rage, she huffed and puffed, grabbing her clothes off the floor, whipping her hair around like a machete. “Damn you, Ender! You’re nothing but a… a cock on legs!”
“Leah!” I said, reaching for my phone. “Give me a minute and I’ll call you a—”
She marched over to the door, ripped that thing open like she meant to tear it off its hinges, and slammed it behind her before my sentence finished.
Pushing a hand through my hair, I snagged hold of my jeans, shoved them on and stalked into the kitchen to grab a drink.
Edric was leaning against the fridge, arms folded across his chest. A flicker of amusement passed briefly across his face. “A cock on legs, eh?”
Two cans of beer were already sitting on the counter.
My brother knew me too well.
“So you heard.” Exhaling hard, I reached for a Budweiser and popped the tab.
A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “What does a ‘cock on legs’ even mean? Is she saying you’re a mobile dick? Or is she implying you’re hung like a rhino?”
I shrugged. “Who the fuck knows?”
“Why did she go all scorched earth on you?”
I took a swig before answering. “I thought her name was Lacy.” A pause. “It isn’t.”
“Lacy?” He suppressed a snort. “How about next time you think of other adjectives you’d use at Jo-Ann Fabrics like… frilly, gauzy, ruffly, meshy, gossamer.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I scowled, rifling through the stack of mail on the kitchen counter.
One of them so happened to catch my eye, mainly because it wasn’t a bill. I slipped a finger beneath the flap and yanked, ripping open the envelope.
“Edric,” I said absently as I read its contents.
“Yeah?”
“What’s the date today?”
“The twenty-ninth,” he answered. “Why?”
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath. “We gotta go!”
Edric just stared at me, his eyes questioning. “We?”
“Yeah, we!” I swiped the car keys off the kitchen counter, stormed into my room, and threw on a T-shirt. “Quit standing there with your dick in the wind,” I shouted from the hallway. “We need to haul ass!” I commanded. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
“So tell me again,” Edric said as I sped down the freeway. “Why are you driving like a frickin’ maniac?”
“Because Camille sent us a letter—snail mail all the way from Oz—when an email would have made a lot more sense.”
“A letter?” Edric sounded mildly amused. “Who the hell writes letters these days?”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking for the exit up ahead. “The Amish. And Camille.”
“The
fuuuccck!
” Edric yelled, as I swiftly jerked the car in front of a semi-truck and merged onto the shoulder of the exit ramp. “You trying to get us killed?”
I looked in my rearview mirror. The driver of the semi-truck had applied the brakes too hard, causing the trailer to jackknife. Horns sounded in the early morning traffic and a finger came out of the window.
Edric let out a string of curses. “You
are
trying to get us killed.”
Grabbing the gearshift, I slammed it down into third gear, floored the accelerator and the Maserati lunged forward with a throaty snarl from its V8 engine.
“Hold up!” Edric exclaimed as I switched lanes and whizzed past a sign for the airport. “Why are we going to the airport?”
“Here,” I said, chucking the letter at him. “Read it. It should explain everything.”
Edric unfolded the letter. In the next breath, he began reading aloud. “My dearest Ender and Edric.” He tried mimicking Camille’s voice, which meant he sounded like he’d smoked a carton of cigarettes and chased it down with a Brillo pad. “I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. And I hope college life is treating you well. I’m writing because Adelaide will be attending UC Berkeley in the fall. You remember Adelaide, don’t you? Jeff Vikander’s granddaughter.” Edric looked up from the letter. “Adelaide Vikander?” He paused. “Tomboy with buckteeth and acne… teeth so crooked they looked like they were throwin’ up gang signs?” Then he proceeded to make gang signs with his hands.
“Yep,” I said, popping the P sound. “That’s her.”
“Wasn’t she a little… erm, different?”
I kept my eyes on the road and said nothing. She was definitely different.
Edric stared at me before dropping his gaze back to the letter. He continued reading aloud. “Adelaide will be staying with you boys. The guest room will be perfect for her and since I’m paying the mortgage, I get the final say, ha ha.”
“Keep on reading,” I instructed. “That’s not all.”
“Please look out for Adelaide,” Edric went on. “My dear friend, Jeff, passed away last year and he appointed me her legal guardian. I love her dearly like my own child… my own blood. Now I know Adelaide’s not like other girls. About ten years ago, she was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. These days they call it Autism Spectrum Disorder. Her doctor says she’s on the far end of the spectrum, or high-functioning autism, so to speak. But I prefer to call it Asperger’s and Adelaide’s my little Aspie. She’s a highly intelligent girl who’s tuned into some people more than others. Sometimes she just needs some help understanding a social or emotional situation, and that’s where you boys come in. Ender, since you’re the older and more mature one, I’d like you to look out for her. College life is, in large part, about the social scene, and I’m afraid Adelaide might have a tough time adjusting. I need you to be her safe place or, rather, her safe person… someone she can seek out to calm herself if she becomes too overwhelmed.” Edric stopped and slanted his gaze at me. “Adelaide has Asperger’s and Camille wants you to be her safe person?” He sniffed like a disapproving aunt. “You—
you
—of all people?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
He scrunched up his face, looking like he’d just sniffed a fart. “Because you’re a dick who avoids affection like it’s the plague—or worse, a computer virus.”
I frowned. “I don’t see how that makes me a dick.”
“That girl who lost her shit tonight—you didn’t even know her name.”
“I know her name,” I said coolly. “Leah.”
“Last Friday,” Edric pressed on. “You hooked up with Mindy, and instead of giving her a ride home after she spent the night, you got her an Uber.”
I shrugged.
Your point?
was clearly implied even though it wasn’t verbalized.
“Hello?” Edric said pointedly. “
The walk of shame
has been replaced by
The morning after Uber
.”
“But she didn’t walk home, did she?” I countered. “I got her an Uber.”
Edric simply shook his head and resumed reading the letter. “Please don’t treat Adelaide as if she has a disability. To me, a disability is about what is missing. But with Adelaide, it’s more about what is abundant than what is missing… an over-expression of the very traits that make us all unique.” He paused and took a sharp intake of breath. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Don’t know.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Shit!” I jammed on the brakes and cut across two lanes. The tires squealed as I swerved into the parking lot. “Almost missed that turn.”
“So she’s here?” Edric stared at me. “Adelaide’s here?”
“Yep.” I swung into an open spot and threw in the clutch. The car gave a sudden jerk, the front wheels screeching to a halt. “Her Qantas flight arrived about an hour ago.”
As I cut the engine, Edric finished reading the letter. “Please take good care of Adelaide. I trust you boys will. Ender, please be good to her… the two of you used to be inseparable. Bosom buddies, I used to call you two. And Edric, please make sure she has lots of fun at college. I’ve enclosed her itinerary. Love from Down Under, Camille.”
We walked down the baggage claim of the international terminal, but there was no sign of Adelaide.
“Maybe she left?” Edric offered. “Maybe she—”
“Erm… excuse me,” came a lilting voice from behind us. “Is that you, Ender?”
I spun around and almost did a double take. “Adelaide?”
“That’s me!” She gave a little wave. “Wow. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hardly recognized you.”
She hardly recognized me? I hardly recognized
her
.
Yeah, she was dressed like a skater girl—T-shirt, jeans, and Converse high tops—but she no longer struck me as a tomboy.
Gone were the buckteeth; gone was the haircut like a mushroom cloud.
She had freckles running along the bridge of her nose and perfectly straight white teeth. Her dark hair now poured down her steep cheekbones, tumbling past her shoulders in waves. She glowed with a rare kind of beauty. A natural beauty.
Adelaide wore no makeup, not a trace of it, and she was in crazy good shape. With her athletic physique and golden tan, she had the look of a sexy beach volleyball player who’d just stepped foot from the sand. A competitor who played rough and tough and could probably take a guy out using a volleyball.
But there was also a softness to her features, an unguarded sweetness to her smile.
My brother cut me a look. I knew that look.
An unspoken message passed between us.
Adelaide’s a babe.
Meanwhile, her gaze flicked past me. “Edric? It’s good to see you.” Then she caught my eye and smiled. “And you, too, Ender. Just like old times, eh? It’s great to see both of you.”
“The pleasure is ours,” Edric said theatrically. Stepping forward, he reached for the handle of her carry-on. “Just one bag?” he asked.
“Correct,” she said, gesturing to the giant backpack on the floor. “Everything else I need is in there.”
“Here,” I offered. “Let me help you with that.” I lifted the monstrous backpack and slung it over my shoulder. “What you got in there? A dead body?”
“Huh?” She blinked.
“So how was your flight?” I swiftly changed the subject as we started for the exit.
“Awful,” she said, barely containing a shudder. “I hate being in planes.”
“Why? You have a fear of flying?”
“Well,” she said. “My issues with flying aren’t related to a fear of a crash or an accident. I’m mildly claustrophobic, intensely averse to the unwashed masses, and generally uncomfortable with most kinds of changes which flying represents. So you coop me up in a small metal tube with a bunch of strangers who invariably will include no less than one toxically over-perfumed woman and two screaming children, and I’m not exactly in my comfort zone. Not to mention, my ears pop because the plane is flying forty-five thousand feet above sea level. Factor in time zone changes wreaking havoc on my internal clock and circadian rhythm, and I end up getting zero rest. So to answer your question, I don’t have a fear of flying. It’s more like an extreme aversion bordering on hatred.”