62. Carson
I shoot down the road, shaking off the happy family vibes radiating out of Football Frat right now. I mean, what the actual fuck?
Hockey guys and their girlfriends? Kids running around like it’s a fucking Christmas movie?
As if Thanksgiving coming up isn’t bad enough. Zander’s taking over our fucking house with his daddy bullshit, and I’m done.
I don’t want to live with a toddler. Yes, she’s damn cute. And yes, when I found out what that prick Fisher did to her, I wanted to smash the guy’s head in. How dare he scare her that way? That fucker!
I didn’t even find out about it until the early hours of the morning. I got home at like two and Zander was still up, sitting in the darkness and stewing. He told me everything, and I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t called me. I would have been there in a heartbeat. I could have helped.
But he probably thinks I hate his little squirt .
I don’t. She’s fucking adorable, okay?
She just doesn’t belong at Football Frat, and no one seems to understand that.
I am a junior in college, and I should be partying it up and having a good time, not living with a kid who still shits their own pants.
Shaking my head, I drive a little faster, heading for the one place I know I shouldn’t go. But the reminder text came through twenty minutes ago, and I could only respond with an “I’ll be there.”
I can’t seem to stay away, even though I know I should.
If I get caught, there’s a strong chance I’ll get kicked off the team. Coach doesn’t care that I’m one of the best wide receivers Nolan U has ever had. He cares more about character and shit, the type of men he’s training in his football program. It’s not about results; it’s about integrity and all the other horseshit he won’t shut up about.
Despite all that, football has been a lifeline for me. I really shouldn’t risk losing it.
But as I pull up next to the curb and spot her waiting on the sidewalk, I know I’m gonna go. I’m gonna cross that street, because she’s a fucking tractor beam.
She has been ever since I met her three and half weeks ago…
I turned up to practice a little hungover.
Anyone would think that was a crime against humanity the way Coach was acting .
“If you can’t be here ready to give it your all, then you shouldn’t bother coming!” he barked at me.
I resisted the urge to give him the finger and then tried to prove that I was fucking capable of being slightly buzzed and still giving it my all.
He saw straight through my bullshit and made me stick around after practice.
“I wanted your best, and you gave me barely half of what you’re capable of. So you can stay behind and run a few more drills, sweat that stuff right out of your body.”
“What? That’s bullshit!” I’d snapped at him, my insides raging as my roommates tried to signal me to shut the hell up and just take it.
“You’re gonna give me five minutes of up-downs, then you’re gonna give me five on the ladder, then five around the cones. I’ll set up a course for you.”
“No,” I barked like an idiot.
“Okay.” Coach nodded, his calm smile riling me up another notch. “Let’s make it ten minutes of each, then.”
“I don’t want to do that shit!”
“Then turn up to my practices sober!” Coach yelled. “Now, you get your butt on that field, and you give thirty minutes of your best.”
I stood my ground, my upper lip curling as I threw my helmet down with a smack.
“Forty-five minutes, then.” Coach crossed his arms. “Are we gonna make it a full hour, or do you just want me to pull you from the game this weekend?”
“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath, my pulse hammering as I ran a hand through my sweaty hair. I couldn’t be benched again. I fucking hated that.
Spinning with a growl, I stalked over to the cones .
“Sorry, man.” Grady winced as I passed him, but he didn’t stick around to run the drill with me. Fuckwit!
Even Zander bailed. He usually would have stayed for moral support, but he’d been stupidly distracted with this whole ex-girlfriend/new daughter shit.
So there I was, stuck on the field by myself.
Coach popped out to check on me once, hollering some new instructions at me, then punching me directly in the nutsack when he ended with “And when you’re done, pick up all the gear. Once it’s stored away properly, you can go.”
It pissed me off, but I got through my fucking drills. My head was pounding, and I couldn’t fucking wait to get out of there. All I had left was the cleanup, which was damn unfair. So I was a little hungover. Give me a fucking break!
Snatching one of the balls off the ground, I hurled it down to the other end of the field.
My chest was heaving as I watched it bounce off the grass and ping toward a Black girl who was standing on the sidelines watching me.
Fuck, how long has she been standing there?
I frowned at her, ready to bark her off the field and tell her she was trespassing. But I figured I may as well check her out first. She was pretty hot. Long black hair with a wave to it, lean body with a decent rack. She had a sweet curve to her ass, which was obvious in those tight jeans she was wearing.
Shouting at her was possibly the wrong move. What would actually make me feel better was getting in those pants. If anything can put you in a better mood, it’s a quick fuck to release some of the tension, right ?
Sauntering toward her, I was about to smirk and do my chin-raising gesture, but she looked away from me, walking over to the ball I’d just thrown.
Her gait was a little weird. Was she limping?
I frowned, studying the way she awkwardly leaned down to grab the ball, but then she was pinging back up straight, pointing at me and yelling, “Go long!”
Yeah, right.
Those skinny arms?
I ignored her, moving forward to collect the ball, then unhinging my jaw when she sent a perfect spiral down the field.
With a surprised blink, I spun and sprinted after it but missed, the ball bouncing wildly near my feet before I picked it up and threw it back.
She hobbled to the side, getting herself in position and catching the ball before giving me a pointed look and saying again, “Go long.”
This time, I did as she told me, watching the ball like a hawk and making a perfect catch.
Damn, what an arm.
Spinning back with a curious frown, I jogged toward her, throwing the ball back as I went.
She caught it and passed it back to me when I ran forward.
Cradling the ball against my side, I stopped a few feet away from her. “Who are you?”
Her smile was slow and beautiful, stretching over her face and sending this weird spark through my chest.
“The name’s Nylah.” Her brown eyes glinted. “And you are? ”
“Carson.” I pointed at myself. “What are you doing here?”
“Just waiting.” She shrugged, her smile kind of cryptic.
“For what?”
“Nylah!” Coach Jones shouted from the other side of the field. “That boy doesn’t have time to chat!”
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering how Coach knew this chick’s name, until she went and made everything worse by saying…
“Hey, Dad.”
“Dad?” I whipped back around to look at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
She snickered and shook her head. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Attitude.”
“That’s the lamest insult ever.” I shot her a dry look. “You know that, right?”
She laughed. “I’ll keep working on it, then.” With a playful wink, she waved goodbye and then walked across the field toward her father.
Her father.
Fuck.
So not worth going there.
Gripping the back of my neck, I raised my hand to acknowledge Coach when he barked a few more orders, then got back to collecting all the gear, but not before pausing to watch the hottie walk across the field and give her father a hug.
Coach caught me watching, and I quickly averted my gaze.
You stay away from that chick, Carson. Stay the fuck away .
But have I listened to my own advice?
That would be a big fat nope.
Getting off my motorcycle, I check the road, then run across it, coming to a stop next to the girl with the sexy smile and glinting brown eyes.
“Hey, Trouble.” I smirk down at her.
She grins up at me. “Lame.”
I can’t help a short laugh. This chick is a piece of work.
“How’s it going, Douche Nugget?” Her flirty smile makes my chest tight.
I try to hide how much she affects me and manage a soft “Lame” before shrugging and tipping my head toward the movie theater behind me. “So, are we doing this or what?”
“Let’s go.” She turns and walks toward the building.
I trail after her, trying not to notice how fucking hot she looks in those pants. The little tank top she’s wearing under her jacket shows off a strip of her stomach, and I want to trail my fingers over that smooth skin so fucking badly.
But we haven’t gone there yet.
It’s bad enough that I’m going to the movies with her.
If Coach finds out, I’m dead.
But since when has the threat of death ever stopped me from doing what I want?
Dude, you are so fucked.
Yeah, I’m well aware.
But like hell I’m walking away now.
Nylah Jones is something else .
A forbidden fruit I have to taste… but also so much more.
She’s fire, and I will turn myself to fucking ash if it means I get to spend more time with her.
Carson and Nylah’s sizzling, forbidden romance will be available in June 2025.
Get ready for witty banter as this good girl and bad boy clash and flirt and fall in love. This steamy romance will send you on a roller coaster of emotion.