The One-Night Scrimmage Bonus Scene
(Chapter 3 Corey’s POV)
“Damn, I’ve missed this place,” Palmer says, unbuckling his seat belt from my passenger seat and staring at the beach house my parents bought when I accepted the scholarship to play football for Camden three years ago.
Every June, I invite my closest friends to stay here for a week before summer practices begin. It’s our vacation—our break from reality—but this impromptu trip to be here while a broken window is
replaced will have us here for only the weekend.
Grey pulls his truck up behind me with Mila in the passenger seat.
I considered coming up here by myself, but Palmer was quick to volunteer, and I couldn’t turn him down, not when I know the shit that Mila went through has shaken some memories loose for him, ones he’s been actively trying to ignore by laughing more and pretending everything is fine. I’ve tried talking to him about losing his mom when he was growing up, but it’s a subject he deflects even better than he does defenders on the field.
We gather our bags and meet on the front porch.
“Do they think someone tried to break in?” Grey asks, peering in the window beside the door, that suspicious side of him that grew wings this past year taking flight.
I shake my head. “A stray golf ball.”
Mila furrows her brow. “We’re nowhere near any golf courses.”
I shrug, unlocking the door.
The house smells stale. Unused. I’ve been trying to convince my older sister Anna and her husband Vic to vacation here for years, but they’ve only replied with vague assurances that they’ll come eventually. For now, they’re focused on starting a family, something they’re not sure is possible after two years of trying to conceive and not being able to.
“Careful,” Grey says, eyeing the large picture window in the living room that’s amazingly still intact despite being splintered into a million pieces.
“When is the window guy coming?” Palmer asks.
“Tomorrow afternoon.” I’m both exhausted and wired—the strange feeling I always have when I miss a morning at the gym.
“We should go out tonight,” Palmer says.
Mila slips her hand into Grey’s. “We should. We still haven’t made up for that night out in Orlando. Besides, you guys will be practicing for a hundred hours every day soon. We need to celebrate summer while we can.”
Grey shakes his head, the memory she’s recalling has a frown forming on his expression. “If you’d have stuck around for more than thirty seconds, that night would have ended so damn different.”
Mila tilts her chin up as she leans closer to him.
Palmer clears his throat. “We’re still here.”
Grey looks almost resentful about the reminder. “You in for tonight?”
“Of course he is,” Palmer says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “He’s obligated since he’ll be leaving us for a week.”
“How will you survive?” Mila teases.
Palmer flashes his trademark smile. “Brooklyn’s promised to keep me busy.”
“Brooklyn?” Mila asks, glancing from Palmer to Grey, who shakes his head. “Wait. Is she the cleat chaser who got wasted when we crashed the library for Hadley’s birthday?”
Palmer shrugs. “She likes to have a good time.”
Mila’s disapproval is evident as she stares at him for a long moment. “She climbed onto the statue of Camden and was humping it.”
The reminder of a brunette giggling as she clung to the iconic statue on campus has me looking at my best friend with a raised brow. He’s notorious for dating trainwrecks.
“We’re definitely going out,” Mila says. “We need to introduce you to a distraction.”
Palmer chuckles. “You think I need a distraction? Corey’s going home to see his ex again, and we all know what happens when he sees her…” I dated my ex, Breanne, for the first two years here at Camden. A constant on-and-off relationship that often had me forgetting which way was up or down.
I shake my head. “Not this time.”
The judgment melts from Mila’s expression as she looks at me, sympathy so damn potent it suffocates me.
I clutch the back of my neck, ready to end this conversation before they can weigh in further. “I need a nap if we’re going out.”
Grey nods. “We’ll head to the store and pick up a few groceries. You guys need anything?”
“Gatorade for our recovery tomorrow,” Palmer says.
Grey glances at me.
I shrug. “Whatever’s fine with me.”
“Go get some rest. We’ll pick up groceries and pizza for tonight and then go out,” Mila tells me.
I merely nod before heading upstairs, where most of the bedrooms are. I open a couple of the windows to get fresh air inside, hearing the faint sounds of the waves and birds before flopping onto the clean bed and closing my eyes.
I’m still groggy when we arrive at The Leaky Starboard. Our first year coming to this bar, the place was dead, filled with pool tables, darts, and old jukeboxes that constantly ate our quarters and played the wrong songs. But they had good beer on tap, didn’t check our IDs, and poured liquor with a heavy hand, making our dumbasses believe we’d found heaven. The second year we returned, they’d renovated, doubling in space. The new area was turned into a club scene while the back section was more or less preserved, keeping what had originally attracted us. This year, the club scene dominates more of the bar as as we make our way up the short set of stairs to reach an empty table toward the sleepy original end.
“Maybe we should stay a couple more days.” Palmer’s already searching the crowds, evidence that his relationship with the cleat chaser is nothing more than another distraction.
“My flight’s at eight on Monday,” I remind him.
He shrugs dismissively. “I’ll pull an all-nighter and drive back while you sleep.”
I leave the decision to Mila and Grey and turn my attention to the dance floor as the music changes.
Dancing, drinking, laughing—this is what I’d imagined—expected—my college career to look like. Outside of a few small windows, it’s been the total opposite. My days are filled with classes and homework, trying to get the best damn education I can while the rest of my time is spent at the gym and on the field, working toward a future I’ve dreamed of my whole damn life.
My attention stops on a pair of toned legs and slowly raises to take in a short black dress. Every damn thought is forgotten as I take in the stranger. Long brown hair I want to wrap around my fist, and full lips that I imagine need days to sample in order to fully appreciate. She’s fucking gorgeous.
She moves beside a man and smiles, posing for a picture, and I swear I feel my heart stop.
Everything inside me urges me to stand and track her down to learn her name and where she’s from, but my inner cynic keeps me firmly planted in my chair. While Palmer seeks out distractions to avoid being alone, I avoid them.
I twist in my chair in an attempt not to watch her and focus instead on my friends as they discuss plans for summer. It’s hard to focus and even harder not to turn and try to find the girl again. It creates a restless energy that travels through my legs and has me standing.
“Ready or order?” Palmer asks.
I shake my head. “I need to hit the head.”
He nods. “Want a beer?”
“Yeah.” I reach for my wallet, dropping a couple of bills to cover the round despite their objections. “I’ll be right back.”
I keep my gaze trained on the floor to prevent myself from seeking her out as I make my way to the restroom.
As I wash my hands, the reminder of the woman in the black dress’s smile melts my resolve, and I question if Palmer’s right. Maybe learning her name or convincing her to have a drink will be the bullet I need next week when facing Breanne.
I push open the bathroom door, prepared to look for her, and nearly collide with another person.
“Shit,” I mutter, taking a step back as reality mocks me.
It’s her.
The girl in the black dress stares at me as though trying to place me, and for a few seconds, fear and trepidation steal my thoughts, and I question if we’ve met.
She’s even more gorgeous up close, and it has me memorizing the striking shade of her blue eyes and the playful twist of her lips that defy the pink blooms of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
I shake the thought of us possibly meeting before away, knowing I wouldn’t have forgotten if we had. She would be impossible to forget.
“Sorry,” she says, blinking as she sags back, moving closer to a blonde wearing a silver dress, and nodding in my direction. “We’re doing a scavenger hunt and need to take a picture in there.”
“In the men’s bathroom?”
She nods and lifts the paper she’s holding.
I shift forward to read the pink sheet of paper.
“Bachelorette scavenger hunt,” I read before focusing on her, dread filling my chest like a dark and weighted cloud. “Are you the bride-to-be?” I force my tone to be a taunt to hide the jealousy seeping through my veins.
She leans back as though shocked or possibly appalled by my question. It pleases me too much.
“Me?” She shakes her head and clears her throat as she straightens. There’s a genuineness in her that is inescapable, and it’s another thing I like entirely too much. “No.”
“She’s single,” the blonde at her side tells me.
The cloud in my chest evaporates at her assurance, a clear approval of my interest. I nod my thanks and turn back to the woman in the black dress, picturing all the ways I’d like to remove it. “There are two guys in there. Once they leave, I’ll watch the door for you.”
The bathroom door opens behind me, and I use the excuse to crowd closer to her, catching the sweet scent of grapefruit as she shifts.
The guy pauses, looking across us before focusing briefly on the girl wearing the black dress.
Instinct or maybe the aftershock of jealousy has me leaning closer to her, warning him off with a single stare.
He lowers his eyes, reading my warning before he slips past us.
She starts to move, but the door opens again, and her weight shifts closer to me again. I have to stop myself from pulling her closer as a man with shaggy dark hair looks between us with raised brows.
“Excuse us,” she says, nodding again toward the door.
The stranger shrugs and lumbers past us.
I move first, checking the bathroom to ensure I hadn’t overlooked anyone else before turning back to the two girls.
“He keeps checking you out,” the blonde whispers too loudly,
Pink stains the cheeks of the girl wearing the black dress again, and I’m so damned tempted to whisper provocative words to see how deep that stain will grow, but her unease is evident as she shoots her friend a silencing look.
“All clear,” I tell them, pushing the door wider so they can step inside.
They slide past me, looking around the small space. “We should probably pose by the urinal so it’s obvious where we are,” the blonde says.
They move beside the urinals before the girl in the black dress raises her phone and burns the memory of her smile to the backs of my eyelids.
I watch as she hits a series of keys on her phone while considering the smoothest way to ask for her name and number.
“I expected it to be disgusting in here,” the blonde says, drawing the attention of both of us.
The girl in the black dress tucks her brown hair behind an ear as she looks around, stopping on me. “Thanks for your help.” The finality in her voice has that cloud returning to my chest, understanding the dismissal that tells me my part in their scheme is complete.
I nod and turn back to the hall, where they follow me. “If you need help with any more items on your list…” They won’t. A line of men will be all too happy to assist them. The reminder has me cracking my knuckles before I point out where our table is in the back of the original part of the bar. “I’m here with a few friends. We’ll help you out.”
The blonde grins. “We just might take you up on that offer.”
I glance at the girl in the black dress a final time, trying to soak in the final details before I turn and make my way back to my friends.
Two girls are at our table when I return. One of them is in my seat. Mila glares at the other, who leans closer to Grey with a prize-winning smile.
Palmer winks at me as I slide into the seat across from him and introduces me to them. I don’t hear their names, though. My attention is still with that woman in the black dress, trying to determine each expression and blush while kicking myself for not having the balls to ask for her name.
I turn toward the club, scanning over the crowds until I find her again. A tall guy with a barrel for a torso stares at her while another man flashes her a smile. It takes every ounce of my self-control to remain in my seat, studying their intentions and movements like a new play while Palmer carries the conversation.
It feels like hours pass, but it’s only minutes when a beer is set in front of me. I glance from the glass to Palmer. He raises his brow with a silent question that I brush away with a long gulp of beer, hoping it’s potent enough to flush away my growing interest in the girl in the black dress.
It doesn’t, but I force myself to pay attention. Be present.
I’m well versed in this practice, knowing how to compartmentalize so I don’t drown in my thoughts.
Mila has warmed up to the newcomers who have realized Grey’s off the table, but there’s still an air of formality that has a sense of melancholy sinking into my thoughts that has me missing previous years with the rest of our group.
My attention shifts to the woman in the black dress, feeling her stare again. She’s looked my way half a dozen times but never long enough for me to meet her eye. This time is no different, but when I find her, she’s at the bar without her blonde friend and a guy with dark brown hair approaches her. That same taste of jealousy that I’ve been choking on for the past hour coats my mouth as he leans closer to her, and she flashes him a smile.
“Who are we watching?” Palmer asks, leaning across the table. The girls who have joined us stare at me with varying degrees of intrigue and disappointment.
Mila cranes her neck. “Go talk to her.”
“Point her out first,” Palmer insists.
“Why?” one of the new girls asks.
Palmer flashes a broad smile. “Because I’m faster.”
Everyone laughs, even Grey, as I shake my head, knowing he would absolutely try to race me just to encourage me to pursue her and size his bets that I’ll avoid things with Breanne.
I watch the girl in the black dress, once again paying too much attention to the way her body speaks as loud as a voice in my head as she leans away from him, offers a guarded smile, studies him. I wait for that pink list to flash and see what item she asks him to complete with her, but she doesn’t, and before she has taken more than a sip of her drink, he leaves.
Confusion mars her brow, but it’s the defeat in her slumped shoulders that has that storm cloud returning.
Out of the corner of my eye, I note the blonde returning to the girl with the black dress, watch as she flashes her teeth and shows her doubt.
Jealousy splashes through my veins again, wondering what had her ready to talk to that clown when she was so quick to escape from me. The blonde grips her hand, and I watch as the two apply lipstick, staining another one of my thoughts with her flawless mouth.
Then their energy changes, and the two move, clearly having a target in their sights. They stop beside a man who grins lazily, happy to be their focus. He flexes, and both girls lean in and kiss his biceps while taking another damned picture.
Jealousy is abandoned as disappointment consumes me.
Palmer clears his throat. Everyone else at the table is discussing football, but Palmer stares at me before tilting his head toward the bar. “It’s our last year. Make it count.” He reaches for his beer. “I’ll catch a ride home with Mila and Grey. Go have fun.”
I push my chair back, unsure where this night will take me, but positive I’m unwilling to leave without at least learning her name.
(Ch 8 Corey’s POV)
My muscles are both too tight and too loose as I arrive at Camp. That orgasm fucking wrecked me.
The house is silent, and I’m so goddamned relieved because all I want to do is relive every second of the past hour. Every moan, every grind of her hips, every breathy little plea is playing in my thoughts on repeat.
I grip my bedroom door while picturing myself cupping her breast.
Her.
Fallon.
God, why did I ask for her name?
It didn’t matter.
It shouldn’t matter.
But for some fucking reason, it does. And I knew it mattered the second I saw her, which is why I
scribbled my number on the hotel stationary and tucked it into her purse, claiming it was to help with another item on her list, collect a guy’s phone number.
The reminder that I broke her anonymity rule is a loose floorboard, interrupting my haze of
Memories.
Did I come across as lame? Too eager? Too fucking desperate?
I make my way upstairs, passing the other bedrooms to reach the master suite at the far end. I cross the threshold and lock the door behind me. The moon reflects off the ocean a couple of hundred yards away, lighting my way to the ensuite, where I strip out of my clothes that smell like must from the cheap hotel. I lift my arm to turn on the shower and catch a hint of Fallon’s grapefruit perfume. It’s on my skin, staining me like her memories are staining my thoughts.
I close my eyes, picturing my hand on her breast, the contrast of our skin in color and texture. She was so impossibly soft and smooth, creamy against my suntanned fingers. The way she moaned and leaned into me, as though encouraging each move, has blood hurtling through my veins with a level of anticipation that hurts.
Goddamn, I want her again.
I set the water to tepid and step inside, the weight and softness of Fallon’s breasts taunting me every damn time I blink.
My shaft is hard as I stroke myself, imagining her hips wrapped around my waist as I spread her wide and sank into her. She was so wet. So damn perfect, and every sound she made contributed to my undoing.
I jerk off to the memory of her hips rocking against mine and the soundtrack of her begging
me not to stop.
Holy fuck.
I just had the best sex of my life, and I have no fucking idea if I’ll ever see her again. I’m not even sure she gave me her real name.
