Third and Long: A Sports Romance (7 page)

“Son, I’m not asking. I’m telling. We’ve selected a bride for you. She’s upper crust. Appropriate. Beautiful and talented. She understands what it means to be an Oliver,” he says.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, anger dripping in my voice.

That sets him off. Dad doesn’t brook disagreement very well.

“You know exactly what the fuck it means. You’re an Oliver. Certain people expect certain things of you. These kinds of people don’t tend to care for your late night antics. It reflects poorly on your character. And it reflects poorly on the family.”

I’m silent on the phone as my father takes over my entire life, threatening to marry me off. In the back of my mind, I was always afraid this day would come. Part of getting into football was an escape. I thought if I earned millions, then my dad wouldn’t be able to touch me. When I was a kid playing ball in high school, I had these fantasies about disowning the family, going my own way. Stupid me comparing my potential millions to his very real billions. And I’m his only son.

“Who is she?” I ask, slumping against my locker.

“Katerina Prescott,” he says.

I know the name. She’s from New York, a fashion model. Her parents have their money in all kinds of stocks. Century of wealth just like us. So I should be happy right? I’m silent on the phone, yet my dad keeps talking.

“She’s beautiful. You should be happy. A wife, a couple of kids. All this media attention will go away,” he says. I’m not so sure about that, but that’s the bubble my dad lives in. Then I get it. He’s not saying they’ll leave me alone because I’m married, he’s saying that a wife will get me to settle down. They’ll leave me alone because there won’t be anything worth reporting.

“Sure dad,” I mutter. I’ll be in the billionaire bubble before I know it. Everything I’ve done, all the work I put in to make it to the pros will be for nothing.

“I’m glad we see eye to eye for once, son,” he says.

Then an idea pops into my head and out of my mouth. I’m not sure why I say it. Maybe it’s nerves, a touch of panic. Maybe it’s the shrewdest move I’ve ever made. Whatever the reason, I blurt out something that completely changes everything. I call an audible on the whole situation.

“I got engaged last weekend dad,” I say. “I was waiting tell you when the time was right.”

Dad hangs up the phone without even saying another word. That’s how I know he’s really mad.

Of course there is no girl. I don’t even know what I’m doing or why I said it. All I know is that I’m marrying some girl I’ve never met. I figure if I can bluff my dad for a few days that will at least give me time to figure out a way out of this.

I grab my phone and pull up the news, wondering what the fuck my dad was complaining about. Nothing I did this week was worth the paparazzi reporting on me.

Then I see it.

“Oh shit.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tamber

Gwen ambushed me last night when I walked through the door after saying goodnight to Logan. However I was feeling way too euphoric to put up with her bullshit, so I promised I’d tell her everything in morning.

First thing after walking out of my bedroom, she jumps on my back. Another ambush. She’s a goddamn ninja.

“So did you suck his cock?” Gwen asks, wrapping her arms around my neck, so I can’t drop her. There’s nothing like gasping for breath at eight in the morning.

Somehow I carry Gwen over to the couch and throw both of our bodies down on it. She wraps her legs around my arm like she’s Ronda Rousey, making it clear that I’m not going anywhere until I dish on all the gory details. To be honest everything that happened last night seems like such a lovely dream. I’m a real lightweight and those glasses of Pinot hit me harder than I thought.

Kissing Logan was a complete and utter accident. An amazing accident. I can still taste him on my lips. The sheer masculinity of his touch. Regardless of the kiss, I made myself clear. We are just friends. Next time I see him, I won’t be so tipsy, so easy to get.

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me,” Gwen says, my arm still between her legs. “Tell me I was right about that athlete cock.”

“We didn’t fuck or anything,” I say.

I start to feel guilty. I have absolutely no intention of dating anyone let alone a guy as dangerous as Logan. He’s the ultimate distraction: rich, famous, and utterly sexy. He would be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Yet I led him on. I let him kiss me. I told him I wanted to be friends and then immediately contradicted myself. I’ll be regretting that kiss for years.

I’d cringe myself to death on the couch if Gwen wasn’t on top of me.

“But you touched his cock?”

I burst into a red flame. My entire face feels like it’s on fire. Suddenly, I remember how it happened. I swear I was only trying to grab his thigh! Gwen cracks up. She’s so happy.

“It was an accident!” I plead my case. “We were just kissing, and—”

“Your hand slipped? Cool story babe,” Gwen says. She purses her lips and gives me the double thumbs up. “Are the rumors true?”

“Shit Gwen,” I blush again. “It went like all the way down to his knee.”

“Athletes. I’m telling ya! So do you like him?” she asks, her legs letting go of my arm.

I throw myself dramatically back on the couch like I’m Blanche DuBois. Do I like him? The fact that he’s already distracting me pisses me off. He’s such a handsome asshole. I’ve gone years without worrying about stupid things like boys only for Logan to crash headlong into my well-laid plans. The part that really annoys me is Logan’s status. He’s been a billionaire since the day of his birth. Everything has been given to him.

“He’s so perfect, but—”

“So have his babies,” Gwen interrupts me again. Rarely will she let me finish a thought. “Shit girl. Your whole thing is about making money. Just get his,” Gwen says.

“I would hate myself,” I say.

I’m serious. I’m not a gold digger. There’s no way I’d feel comfortable going from rags to riches. Cinderella I am not.

“Your morals are trash,” Gwen says releasing my arm.

She sits up on the couch and checks her phone. For every one athlete chasing after me, there’s probably a dozen chasing after her. Gwen’s known me for years, yet she doesn’t know my whole life story. I’ve only told her the parts that she asks about, and she doesn’t ask much.

I’m doing some hard thinking on the couch, and she can tell. Gwen gets up in a huff.

“You are impossible! Your whole thing is infuriating! What is the big deal?” she asks, heading into the kitchen.

“You really want to know?” I ask.

“Bitch, I’ve been trying to get you to tell me for years. Everyone always asks me ‘what’s the deal with Tamber, why’s she such a nerd?’ I tell them ‘beats me. Girl’s a mystery.’”

“You know my mom settled down with the first guy she fucked right? Her high school sweet heart?”

“Yeah. It’s a boring story,” Gwen says, grabbing an banana off the counter. “Remind you of something?”

“Oh geez Gwen. And no. It’s a bit small.”

“Go on,” she says, her eyes lighting up.

I disappoint her by avoiding the thing she really wants to hear about.

“The thing about my mom is that she had a scholarship. She was going to be a doctor. That first summer home she reunited with my dad. Couple of hot nights later, she was pregnant and school was a distant memory.”

“Fucking hell Tam. No wonder,” she says.

I leave out some of the worst details. No need to bring down the mood that much.

“So yeah, I don’t have much time for boys.”

“Shame. They aren’t all like your dad. You’re missing out,” she says.

“Oh yeah? What am I missing out on?”

“You’ll find out. When you fuck Logan, you’ll find out,” she says.

“That’s not going to happen Gwen. We decided to be friends. Besides I don’t even think he likes me that much. I know how fast he moves with girls, and he didn’t move very fast with me last night.”

It was only one kiss after all.

Gwen rolls her eyes hard. “You idiot. He’s moving slow because he likes you. If you were some random girl, he totally would have banged you last night.”

Not sure that makes me feel better. I get off the couch to grab a cup of coffee. If Gwen hadn’t ninja ambushed me, I’d be two cups deep already. Meanwhile I’ve got two books to read and annotate today. It’s Saturday, so surely I can’t count on The Party Girls to get anything done with our project.

I let myself take a break last night, and it was nice, but it was nothing serious. I can’t be. Getting wrapped up with Logan is the first step toward slipping down a dangerous path. Next thing I know he’ll be calling me up every day. At that point I’m no better than the do-nothing Party Girls.

“Shit,” Gwen says.

The creamer mixes with my coffee as my roommate corners me in our tiny kitchen. The look of her horror on her face makes me think someone died.

“You’re not going to like this,” she says.

Taking a deep breath, I brace myself and look at her screen. She has the
South Texas Dirty
pulled up. I wonder for a brief moment what they’re saying about Logan now. Then I realize that they publish all the time, and there’s only one person who Logan was with last night. They never report on girls like me. But there it is. The headline.

1 WEEK AFTER COACH SCOLDS HIM, LOGAN OLIVER III OUT LATE WITH NEW SLUT.

“New slut?” Gwen asks. “What the fuck! I wish you were a slut!”

Thanks Gwen. The picture shows me stumbling out of the Marquise Steakhouse. My face is blurry enough. The average person wouldn’t recognize me and they don’t have my name. It really does look like I’m stumbling shitfaced out of the restaurant.

“It was the heels! I couldn’t walk in the heels!” I scream.

Gwen gives me the side eye. “I saw you last night. You stunk,” she says.

“Okay I drank a little too much wine, but still!”

I’m mad. Quietly, I walk into my bedroom, and Gwen knows not to fuck with me right now. She thinks my rule about staying away from boys is crazy. So nice to have my rule validated so quickly.

Running shoes, running shorts, tank top, hoodie. Time to hit the track.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Logan

When Coach Ainsworth called me into his office, I thought for sure he’d be giving me kudos for getting in an extra practice with Cam. Instead he sat me down and gave me a long winded lecture about optics that ended with him showing me another headline on the
South Texas Dirty.
Coach isn’t the kind of guy that follows the gossip blogs. The boosters on the other hand—and it’s the boosters that keep everyone like him employed around here.

I told him it was an innocent date. I didn’t even get drunk. We only kissed, and I took her home.

In the end it doesn’t matter if Coach believed me or not because his point is the same one my father is always trying to make: people expect certain things of me. Once again everyone needs me to behave a certain way. I can’t take it anymore.

I can’t believe the
Dirty
wrote that shit about Tamber. I feel terrible. If I ever find the guy who wrote that article, I’m going to knock him out. Not to mention the snake-in-the-grass paparazzi that took those pictures. They were waiting outside the Marquise Steakhouse, waiting for the valet to bring my BMW around. The sneaky fucks must have been hiding in the bushes.

Someone tipped them off. It might have been the hostess. It might have been the valet. Either way I’m not going back there. I texted Tamber, and then I called her. She didn’t answer either. I’m sure that she’s seen the story by now.

I think about going to her apartment, but the last thing I want to do is lead the paparazzi right back to her door. Then it hits me. I know exactly where she is.

I’m halfway out of locker room when Cam stops me. By now all the other guys on the team have filtered in and our regular practice is about to start.

“Yo, man we ain’t done yet. Where you going?” he asks.

“Did you see that shit online?”

“The
Dirty
? They’re trash. Who cares?” he asks.

Cameron “Cam” Phelps is a good guy. Modest upbringing. Religious family. He expects the best in everyone. That’s why Gwen ate him alive. He thinks people brush off gossip. There are certain people in the world who think guys like me, rich guys I mean, see horrible things written about us everyday without a care in the world. They think we can ignore it, like we have some emotional armor greater than them. Here’s the secret: that’s why everyone thinks we’re assholes. We have to be. Some of that shit really stings.

“Tamber cares. She’s a sweet girl.”

Sweet like sugar.

Beautiful like a rainbow.

“Shit sorry man,” Cam says.

He sees the anxious look in my eyes, and he knows that I have to run. He promises to cover for me if Coach starts asking questions. The outside door bursts open, and I hit the flat of the field in a dead sprint. My head is down and I’m going full bore, hoping that Tamber is exactly where I think she is. She runs when she gets mad. She has to be there.