Stars (Penmore #1) Page 2

  I found it hilarious at first, but that shit is starting to get uncanny.

  “You just missed this hot brunette. She had an awesome rack, which she kept jiggling, and I swear she was totally about to show me all of her goodies,” he continues, gesturing toward the stairs.

  I briefly shut my eyes before I turn to look at my best friend and roommate, replying with, “Please tell me you learned this from actually going up and talking to her? Please tell me you were not just standing here winking at her.”

  “Fuck, dude, don’t diss the wink. The wink works,” Andy claims as he high-fives our other team members walking over to join us. He’s my best friend, so I try not to cringe. “D, when you wink, it looks like you’ve got a disorder. I know Jase and Leyton made you that bet, but you won’t get any pussy this season if you keep trying to score with a wink,” I say as I scan the crowd for the hot brunette Andy mentioned. Usually I go for blondes, but tonight I’ve decided I’m not going to waste any time.

  After training so hard all week, I thought I definitely deserved some good head in the restroom as soon as possible and maybe, if she was willing, a quick tour of my Jeep Wrangler’s backseat. Not that I have ever met a girl here who hasn’t been willing to undress in the star quarterback’s backseat. It’s a hard burden to bear but I figure if that’s how the cookie crumbles, I might as well eat all that shit up.

  At least while I can.

  D waves me off and says, “You wait, man. My dream girl is going to love the wink.”

  Just then, one of the cheerleaders—Tiffany, or maybe it’s Kylie, not that I really care—struts past us, swaying her hips. Clearly, she wants to draw our attention to her ass. An ass covered in a short silver skirt that is so tight I already know panties won’t be a barrier this evening.

  She was also one of the cheerleaders who had been trying to catch my eye after I had an evening with one of her friends last year. Her friend must have shared all about our time in my backseat, because as I reach out and touch her lower back, her eyes turn toward me knowingly and her grin widens.

  “Babe, you got plans tonight?” I ask, sliding my hand slowly down her lower back and over her ass. The tips of my fingers lightly stroke the skin of her back thigh, where her skirt material ends.

  “Depends if you’re going to play hard to get tonight,” she replies huskily. She probably thinks that lowering her voice below what is clearly her natural pitch is sexy or something.

  I pass my untouched beer to Andy, nod to the other boys and lead her to the upstairs restroom. I’m hopeful that the faster I fill her mouth, the faster she’ll stop talking like a man. Before I have time to lock the door behind us, she is on her knees before me. Trying to work each button of my jeans with her teeth.

  And, no fucking way, she is growling like an animal.

  With the show she’s trying to put on, I’m struggling not to laugh as I carefully reach down and pop the final buttons; ensuring she doesn’t break a tooth and ruin my evening plans with a trip to the emergency room.

  As she frees me from my jeans and boxers, I can already feel myself swelling in her dainty hands. Shit. I really have been stressed if I’m getting worked up so fast over this fangirl.

  And I definitely need to figure out her name before I take her to the Wrangler. She’ll probably expect me to moan it as she works me.

  Not going to happen. I never lose control with a fan.

  Before I have a chance to appreciate the angle I have of her cosmetically enhanced breasts, she takes me into her mouth. Fast. She starts sucking at the tip of my cock, while massaging my tights balls in her hand. Thankfully, all animal noises have stopped.

  The pleasure builds quickly until I am intensely focused on every stroke of her tongue and the slurping noises she makes as she works her way up and down my throbbing shaft.

  I’m so focused on her movements and the sounds of her sucking that I miss it.

  I miss the creak of someone opening the bathroom door.

  I don’t hear the soft gasp of surprise mixed with hurt.

  It doesn’t register even for a second the click the door makes when it shuts with the lock twisted in place.

  PARKER

  Next time I go to a party, I’ll have to remember to bring my own keys for our dorm. Halfway home and I have to turn back to the frat house. Why? Because Keeley insisted that we would come back together. Therefore, we only needed one set of keys, which she put in her leopard print-covered jeans.

  I love that girl.

  All through school, it had always just been Millie and me. But over the past week, Keeley had slowly worked her way into my heart. The first day I moved in, I was in awe of her shining blonde hair that hangs like a waterfall down her back, plus her unique style that seems to always involve something with sequins.

  My awe quickly transformed into idolization after she spent her entire afternoon helping me unpack while dancing around singing to the latest Calvin Harris release. She is wild and fun. Everything I wish I could be.

  She also happens to be tone deaf and doesn’t care in the least that she subjects her friends to her ear-splitting cries. So she makes me laugh all the time. Unfortunately for me, she isn’t running around trying to get people to set up a karaoke booth like she had been when she first arrived at the party.

  Instead, she’s in the throes of passion with the bassist.

  As I walked the last mile back to the rows of houses all fraternities at Penmore are located on, I came to accept the fact that I was going to be subjected to couple after couple mid-grope or more. I was hoping that the first room I opened would be bright enough that I could spot her jeans lying on the floor and quickly make a getaway without either party noticing my appearance, but I knew that would be too good to be true.

  As I step through the wide archway of the frat house, I take a quick glance around. Nothing seems to have changed in the fifteen minutes since my departure. Terrible music is still blaring and the floor is still littered with dirty red cups.

  I notice the muscled blond hasn’t moved from his spot in the lounge room. The only difference is that now, most of what looks like the football team is surrounding him as he tries to catch the attention of a shy blonde girl in the corner. Her reaction to him winking at her makes me break out into a full-blown smile. I’m sure her facial expression mirrors my own from earlier this evening.

  I quickly move up the stairs toward the main bedrooms and restrooms.

  Just as I had predicted, after opening the first door I am immediately apologizing to a couple who gasp and cover their naked bodies with pillows when the light shines through.

  As I approach the second door, I’ve already decided to take it slower, less attention-grabbing.

  I have never thought of myself as a ninja when hiding my presence from Grayson over the years in school halls and during small-town events. Actually, I often worried I had turned into a full-blown crazy person who would inspire a Criminal Minds episode. But as I carefully turn the handle of the next door, I try really hard to summon any latent stealth abilities I may have been ignoring.

  I was going to be just like that funny ninja meme of a guy drinking someone else’s drink because the drink owner was distracted, kissing some girl.

  Yep, that could totally be me. Super stealthy.

  The sounds of a girl giving it her all aren’t hard to miss as I carefully poke my head into what must be a restroom. The shining white tiles combined with the horrible florescent lighting make me squint for a second, before taking the people in fully.

  I feel like I should be grateful that it wasn’t Keeley.

  I don’t know if you can still be close friends with someone, or at least friends without blushing, if you know what they look like as they work a cock. The ridiculous porn star noises they make in an effort to be sexy aren’t just embarrassing for the person making them.

  There should probably even be a name for it. Friendships ruined from seeing a friend slurping at a cock. Cocking up a friendshi
p? Friend-sucking?

  I’m pretty sure I would have been able to come up with the perfect name for ‘friend-sucking’, had I not noticed the hair or the football jersey.

  As soon as I saw the loose dark strands, I looked down. Seeing the number 27 had me sucking in a breath and trying not to cry all at once. After a second, I start to get a little annoyed.

  Is he ever going to ensure no one can observe his activities?

  I let my annoyance and anger wash over the hurt as I flip the lock of the bathroom door and shut it behind me.

  Fuck this.

  I’m going back to the dorm. I’ll sit out on the front steps until Keeley gets back or another girl with keys can let me in. Thankfully, it’s not a cold night and I’ll be busy.

  Busy thinking about what a fool I am.

  Over the past year, I’ve been looking forward to seeing him. I kept picturing the tilt of his lips when he tries not to laugh. The flash of anger that burns in his eyes when he jumps up to defend someone.

  And like my seven-year-old self, I started to believe that maybe I could try to introduce myself. It’s almost too embarrassing to admit that I even began to practice in the mirror again. And how does my seeing Grayson go? I figure it’s safe to say worse than the first time. I have to face the harsh reality of seeing him with some random girl.

  Sure, I’m not stupid. I know he wasn’t pining after me during his first year at college. Especially seeing as he didn’t even know who I was, what with my never-ending game of hide-without-the-seek. And I’m sure all the college football players probably have their pick of sorority girls and use that to their advantage. But even as I storm out the door of the fraternity, I can’t help but wish things were different.

  As I stomp down the path leading back to my dorm, I replay how he looked as she wrapped her mouth around him.

  Thick.

  Gorgeous.

  Mouth-watering.

  Which, while I’m hosting this pity-party inside my mind, also leads to me to think about my pitiful sexual experience.

  I have only ever had one boyfriend, and there was nothing exciting about what Temporary Troy was sporting beneath his boxers.

  Millie decided to name him Temporary Troy once he dumped me three months after we decided to date, which just so happened to be the night after my first time.

  We met at the state science fair and I thought he was just like me; he was quiet, insecure and not very attractive.

  I just didn’t know he was a sleaze-bag.

  He was packing limited material, didn’t care for foreplay and he still made it sound like our breakup and any sexual failures were entirely my fault.

  And currently, my entire sexual knowledge is made up of those firsthand encounters with that fuckhead or secondhand observations of Grayson Waters through a glass window.

  But seeing Grayson for the first time in a year, I’m reminded that I only get to observe the stars and my daydreams will never be realities. I need to get out of fantasyland and get used to the Temporary Troys of the world.

  I wasn’t ever going to be the sexy girl Grayson kept around.

  I wasn’t ever going to be confident enough to get on my knees in a crowded house.

  I definitely wasn’t ever going to be wrapping my mouth around anything that magnificent while growling like an animal. Not that I really wanted to pretend to be a lion. Or was it a bear?

  Either way, I needed to be realistic.

  I was going to be stuck with ordinary.

  Which I think meant it was about time that I stopped observing Grayson Waters and started to embrace my life.

  PARKER

  Keeley crawled out of her room just shy of twelve in the afternoon.

  I am not ashamed to admit that her forehead wrinkled in pain, and the sounds she started making while she hugged our bathroom toilet brought a tiny devilish smile to my face. I sat on the steps of our dorm for three hours last night. She finally returned heels in hand, with her silky blonde hair all over the place, practically screaming, “I just had sex.”

  She was also still feeling the effects of her six vodka and sodas.

  I worked this out after she broke out singing the Friends theme song because she noticed that I was waiting for her and dripping wet. I had been caught in the surprise nighttime showers. Showers that descended from the night sky as I made myself at home on the cement steps.

  I thought the showers really capped off the shitty evening I had.

  Then, Keeley decided to serenade me as we made our way to our room. After her third out-of-key rendition, I may have lost some of my patience. I let her pass out, fully dressed, on our incredibly scratchy and bumpy couch. I made no move to remind her we bought it purely for decoration. That it was a steal from the local thrift store because it was teeny-tiny and some of the old springs definitely poked you if you tried to get comfortable on its brown leather cushions. I just kept wishing she hadn’t left with the bassist. Then I would be none the wiser about what Grayson had been up to since leaving our hometown.

  “So, how you feeling?” I ask when she finally flops next to me on my bed. Her skin appears less green than when she ran for the bathroom, and her big blue eyes are wide and filled with her apology. “Honestly?” she questions as she stares at me from beneath her thick lashes. “I feel like shit for leaving you last night. I’m definitely having flashbacks of harassing you to the point where I would completely understand if you no longer wanted to live with me.”

  I look at her disheveled appearance, taking in her baggy grey sweats, forlorn expression and her sequin-covered UGG boots, and my devilish attitude melts. “It’s all good,” I state as I tap her knees and move toward my wardrobe. “I’ve decided after walking home last night, passed all these places I haven’t been to that it might be time to start checking out the campus and local hot spots, ” I continue as I pull the cupboard doors wide. “Want to come with me?” Thankfully, she just nods and doesn’t ask what I’ve been doing, if not checking out all the hot spots, when I’ve gone off by myself recently. I may have thought that the football team had to have a favorite joint they frequented during training breaks or classes close to the stadium.

  Unfortunately, I never saw a single player, which often resulted in emotionally devouring cake at every cafeteria until I eventually had to give up the search. It was either that or start going to the gym to work off all the cake. I’m not a big girl, but my voluptuous curves can definitely become more exaggerated if I spend weeks tasting every cake in a twelve-mile radius of the football field. And the gym and I don’t get along. There was an incident once with a treadmill I don’t like to talk about.

  Although, after seeing Grayson with a cheerful blonde who clearly had no gag reflex, the thought of seeing him somewhere now and possibly experiencing flashbacks of that frat party, turns my stomach.

  Maybe I am finally ready to move on and start my ordinary life. I figure a good way to start might be checking out the campus with my new roommate, looking at the place I’d made my home, rather than the ridiculous reason I might have moved for.

  GRAYSON

  Coach has us playing a practice game, and our defense is currently kicking our ass. Actually, they’re kicking my ass. I feel like I’m about to pass out. The last hit I took is still causing me to sway a little.

  I know as soon as we finish practice Coach is going to be all over me to explain what has my game off. He’ll be worried that it’s my dad or Nathan. He doesn’t know that I never let them screw with my game. It would almost be easier to use them as my excuse though. Much better than admitting I broke the rule of no drinking the night before practice. Also better than showing him the tattoo that the guys decided we needed for some team bonding last night. Currently, the itching is driving me stir-crazy and, of course, it’s on the shoulder of my throwing arm.

  “Waters, get your head out of your ass and start looking for Leyton!” yells Coach as we go back into formation.

  Leyton’s the best wide receiver thi
s team has ever had. He told me last night his agent was talking about the possibility of his graduating early and entering the supplemental draft before the season started.

  He’s a big part of the reason I’m so fucked up right now.

  I did my usual at the frat party, avoided alcohol and focused on pussy. But after Tiffany sashayed out of the frat house beaming, Leyton decided it was a good time to unload his crap on me. He thought I would understand, with all of the agents and teams constantly trying to approach me and sign me on. Except what he didn’t know—what no one knew—was that I was torn when it came to football. When I received Penmore’s athletic scholarship, I told Ma that I wanted to enjoy college life. I told her I wanted to attempt to have a semi normal life before dealing with managers, groupies, agents and all the bullshit that accompanied playing for the pros.

  Sure, going pro would mean that I could set my mom up. She’d finally have the life she deserved after having to dealing with the shit my dad and teenage-me put her through. Besides my mom, football has been the one constant in my life. I love the game. The rush of adrenalin and the fucking beauty of watching a ball I threw sail through the air; it’s pure bliss.

  But since I started writing when I was eight, I’ve had this feeling in my gut. This feeling that even though football was something I was good at, I wasn’t sure it was something I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Although, I highly doubted that anyone could be talented at more than one thing. My writing probably sucked ass, which meant I would need to pay attention in every one of the creative writing courses I finally had the courage to enroll in this semester. I’m just not ready to tell anyone yet, not until I worked out what I wanted more. Plus, I figured if I said my thoughts out loud, everyone would think I was crazy for throwing away an opportunity with the pros and probably have me committed.

  What I did know for sure was losing Leyton might really fuck with all our pre-season training. And even if I wasn’t certain about my future as a quarterback, I knew the team still deserved to succeed. So instead of following my usual routine before the season started, I spent a good portion of last night convincing Leyton, through shots of Patrón, to help us win another championship before he started talking to his agent. Definitely before he started setting his sights on the New York Giants. Which led to us drinking all night and deciding to bond at the sketchiest tattoo studio in town. Seeing as though I’m the only one on the team who doesn’t drink regularly, I’m the only one fucking up every second play today.