Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
COLTER
I shifted the barbell, pushing up one last time before my muscles gave out. Holden lifted the bar into place and stared down at me when I didn’t move.
“You good?” He quirked an eyebrow, and I sat up.
“Yeah.” Wiping the sweat from my face, I accepted the water bottle he handed me.
“You’re far away today.”
I shrugged, guzzling the water. It was true. My mind hadn’t been on weight training at all. Instead, my thoughts were centered around a particular blonde bombshell who’d pulled me under her spell from the moment she’d collided with me. Her quirkiness had excited me, spurring me to soothe away her fears, and listen to the funny things she said.
She charmed me, and it hadn’t been because of who I was on campus or what I might give her. Mer had simply liked me, and that was a phenomenon I hadn’t experienced in years.
I wasn’t ashamed to admit I fell in love easily, and I had a knack for knowing exactly what a woman wanted. I could read their bodies and bring them pleasure most had never experienced. I liked being that guy. But after I discovered their secret, I grew bored and fell as quickly out of love as I did in.
Over the past three years, I’d gained a reputation on campus as the sweetheart fuck boy. Apparently, that meant I was a generous lover who gave a “boyfriend experience” but wasn’t actually boyfriend material—even without all the other Hayward bullshit interfering.
The sad reality was, they weren’t wrong. I hadn’t set out to be a one and done man, but I was. Mostly because I focused so much on what girls wanted, I didn’t explore the things that made me tick. I never built enough trust with a partner to explore. So, I’d told myself I wouldn’t be that guy anymore. I wasn’t going to fuck my way through the rest of Hayward and never develop a real connection.
But then I’d felt Mer’s body pressed against mine, and all reason had evaporated. I’d been spellbound. The past few weeks, texting with her had been so out of character for me, but I’d enjoyed every morsel of information she shared, always eager for more. Seeing her on campus today had been my highlight, and I hadn’t been able to hold myself back from making a move.
The kiss we shared was an out-of-body experience, and it had only been a peck. I’d need to take the whole weekend off to recover from anything deeper.
I dropped the empty water bottle into the bin so the equipment manager could wash it and grabbed the cleaning supplies to wipe our machines down. The rest of the team kept on training, though most were goofing off and shooting the shit.
“You want to grab something to eat?” Holden asked when I didn’t elaborate.
“Nah. I need to finish some prep work. You still set to move in tomorrow?”
“Fuck, yes. I need to get out of that house.” Holden’s jaw ticked, and I watched him with worry. He’d been really uptight lately, but he wouldn’t say why. Even after he’d apologized for his texts the other night he hadn’t expanded on where it had stemmed from. Something was different with him since he’d returned from camp, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with football.
My spidey senses told me it was about a girl, but that almost seemed as implausible as me being drafted first overall in the NFL. The two things did not go together.
Since becoming friends with Holden, he only had one goal—to be drafted in the first round. And unlike me, it was a real possibility for him. Holden was the real deal, and I didn’t know anyone who had worked harder. Because of that focus, he didn’t fool around like me and a lot of our teammates. Girls had never been his priority. He’d hook up after games, but it was rare, and always just sex. He didn’t date. Ever. So, for him to be hung up on a girl didn’t fit the football first motto he lived by.
“Everything okay at home?” I asked as we wiped down the bench.
Holden shook his head, shaking the bar harder than necessary. I watched as he debated with something before blowing out air and setting his eyes on me.
“My mom got married.”
“Congrats.” I smiled.
“No. It’s not like that.” His nostrils flared, and he glanced around the weight room before motioning for me to follow him. Once we were clear of the main area, he spoke. “She’s only known the guy for a few months. But it’s what my mom does. She meets someone and believes they’ll be the one to save her.” I’d never heard him talk about his mom with so much bitterness before. His dad… Well, that was a different story. But never his mom.
“Damn. That sucks. So, this guy? He’s awful?”
“Actually…” he stalled, “he seems decent. He’s filthy rich, so there’s gotta be some skeletons in his closet. All rich dudes have them, so it’s only a matter of when.”
“So, you’re worried about your mom?” I asked, feeling like I was still missing something.
“Yes. No.” He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “She’s a grown woman and will do what she wants. It’s this rich guy’s daughter I can’t stand.”
My intuition pinged, and my gut sank.
“Why so?” I asked, my throat croaking. Holden was too in his head to hear it, and continued without much prompting.
“She’s just…” He grunted, mimicking strangling someone in front of him. Turning, his blue eyes met mine, and I schooled my features from reacting. Holden’s usual indifference was gone, and in its place was a swirl of emotions—anger, worry, and something deeper. He blinked, wiping it away, and all that remained was the anger. “I can’t explain it. She’s just trouble. The quicker I’m away from her, the better.”
“That’s pretty bold from only having met her a few times,” I challenged.
Holden’s jaw twitched like he was grinding his back molars. “There’s history with Hope.”
His words sounded false. “But you don’t believe it?”
“I…” Again, he stopped himself. Holden was hiding something; that much was clear. “It doesn’t matter. I need to be far away from her. Football’s my priority.”
The way he said the familiar words sounded more like a reminder for himself and not me.
“Good thing you’re moving, then. I’ll be home around noon tomorrow after my shift. Let me know if you need help moving in boxes.”
“All right.” Holden slapped me on the back and headed to the parking lot. I waited until he was gone and turned toward the auxiliary gym where I’d left Mer. Sneaking in the top portion, I leaned against the rails of the indoor track that ran around the upper gym .
Music blared on the speakers below, and three girls danced before a table of judges. I scanned the girls gathered and instantly spotted Mer stretching alone. The rest of the girls crowded together, whispering and occasionally glancing at her. Mer ignored them, focusing on herself. The longer they whispered, the more I wanted to go down there and shout at them for being nosey bitches.
I snorted at the thought. What would they think if the former ‘sweet fuck boy’ told them to stick their attitudes up their asses? Just the thought of losing that stupid nickname almost had me marching down there to do it.
It wasn’t that I hated being seen as sweet. I was. What I despised was being labeled and slotted into a category that didn’t encompass everything I was. Just because I hadn’t had a girlfriend yet didn’t mean I wasn’t boyfriend material. Or at least that was what I told myself. I believed in the concept of love, even if I hadn’t found it yet.
But Hayward didn’t work that way. The hierarchies on campus dictated who was allowed to date whom, which was complete bullshit, even without the whole ‘fuck boy’ label.
I had an elevated status on campus because I played football, and my sexual prowess made girls want to sleep with me. But because my net worth wasn’t in the one percent and my major was in veterinary science, it kept me at the lower end of dating material. Which I believed was the real reason I didn’t have a girlfriend, and often wondered if it was me who had the problem, or if campus politics were actually to blame. Not that I’d wanted to date anyone after the first date, but it was a whole chicken-egg debate.
Regardless, I much preferred animals to girls, anyway, when it came to long-term relationships.
Holden and I were often referred to as sweet and sour. He had the whole broody persona he used on and off the field, keeping people at a distance. His disinterest in relationships and hookups made him unobtainable, elevating his status. Especially since everyone knew he’d play professionally. Women threw themselves at him, wanting him more because he didn’t care.
Girls wanted to reform Holden and bed me. Lock him down and only sleep with me. It was the worst type of oxymoron.
Fortunately, between my work study, football practice, classes, and job at the shelter, I didn’t have free time this year. Something I thought would help me stay away from girls and their vaginas. No temptation, no worries. I could go a whole year without sex. My right hand disagreed, but he didn’t get to control me.
It helped that I hadn’t been interested in anyone since learning what the girls of Hayward called me. Though, Hope had made it known she liked me, but I let her down gently. She claimed Holden wouldn’t care about bro code, but that wasn’t the reason I said no. Hope appeared like the complete package on paper—beautiful, popular, and intelligent—but there was no chemistry between us.
Plus, and this was something I’d never admit to Holden—she was mean. Not to my face or Holden’s that I knew, but I’d once overheard her talking to a group of girls, and it was brutal. I wouldn’t have believed it was Hope if I hadn’t heard it myself. After that encounter, I’d heard other grumblings from girls I slept with about things that made me question who Hope really was. How did I know she wasn’t pretending with me if she could act that well? No, there were too many questions revolving around Hope, and it wasn’t something I needed in my life.
Add in a secret I’d only shared with one person, and Hope would never be the one for me.
The music ended, breaking my musing, and the next group of three moved into position. My eyes immediately fell on Mer at the end of the line, and my heart picked up. Selfishly, I wanted her to make it so I could see her more. If she became a Wolfette, then she’d be at the games.
Music played, and I held my breath as the routine started. I had no frame of reference for what made a dancer good. And while I hoped Mer was good enough to make it, I’d also experienced her clumsiness multiple times on campus. But as I watched her dance, it was clear she wasn’t just good; she was fucking fantastic.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. My heart slowed, and I leaned forward, wishing I could be closer. Managing to pull my eyes away, I glanced around at the girls who’d been whispering earlier and saw the real reason they’d been doing it—jealousy and fear. Every single dancer on the sidelines looked on in envy.
Happiness raced through me, and I hoped it meant she’d be in. When the song ended, I pouted, wishing it wasn’t over. I wanted to watch Mer dance more.
The senior girls at the table whispered, and I watched with bated breath along with the dancers. When they separated, I could tell they weren’t in agreement. Kimmy picked up the megaphone, her voice shrill as she shouted into it.
“The following numbers have made it onto round three. Everyone else is dismissed. Numbers #12, #34, and #50, you have five minutes to stretch and give your music for your solo routine.”
I scanned Mer, searching for her number, and sighed in relief when I spotted the #50. Releasing a breath, adrenaline pumped harder at how close she was. There was no doubt in my mind she’d make it now.
The rest of the girls moved to the stands, their displeasure at being cut obvious as they shot daggers at Mer. Somehow, my girl ignored it and focused on herself as she prepared to dance again. It was the most confident I’d ever seen her, and I knew dance was where she felt the most like herself.
Number 12 went first, and her routine was good, but it had no passion behind it. I didn’t need to know anything about dancing other than I grew bored watching. She was a copy image of Kimmy, Brittany, and Leigh, the senior girls at the table, so she’d fit right in.
Next up was #34, and she was better than the copycat girl. Her movements were graceful and sharp. She took this audition seriously, knowing she had to prove she wanted it. Despite that, it didn’t have the same zing I felt when watching Mer.
Finally, it was Mer’s turn, and the gymnasium held its breath as Meghan Trainor’s “No” played. Instantly, I knew Mer’s skills far outweighed the other two. She jumped higher, spun faster, and had more passion in every move than either of them had. The others were performing a routine, but Mer was the routine. She flipped in the air with no hands, and I gulped, my heart jumping to my throat at the move.
I wanted to yell at her for scaring me, but she’d done it flawlessly, garnering gasps from the spectators. My eyes drank in every bit of her, not because of the tight shorts and tank she wore, but eager to see what she’d do next. She reminded me of Holden and how he was on the football field. Watching him interpret the plays and make moves was magical, owning every inch of the gridiron. Holden was meant to play football, and Mer was meant to dance.
If there were only two absolutes in the world, it would be that.
When she finished, I felt like I’d been on an emotional journey with her. My heart thumped wildly beneath my chest, and my palms were sweaty on the railing. Licking my lips, I waited with my heart in a chokehold. It felt more important than anything I’d ever done in my life.
The senior girls huddled together, more bickering back and forth this time. Leigh repeatedly pointed to her paper, trying to get a point across. It felt like forever before they stopped and turned toward the three girls standing before them. Brittany picked up the megaphone this time, a coy smile on her lips.
“We have two spots to fill this year, and we thank everyone who came out and auditioned for the Wolfettes! Let’s give a cheer for everyone!”
The group cheered, whooping and hollering as they rubbed their mismatched pom-poms back and forth.
“The first girl to earn a spot is #34. Come and get your pom-poms, Jenny!” She picked up a pair of teal ones on the table and shook them for the girl. Jenny ran forward, smiling as she accepted them, and hugged Kimmy and Leigh, who welcomed her.
“And our last spot will be given to Number 12! Come and get your pom-poms, Kara!”
I blinked, convinced I’d misheard. There was no way Mer hadn’t made it. She’d been better than both of those girls. Again, the need to jump over the rail rushed at me. I wanted to run to her and hold her. To soothe her and tell her it didn’t matter.
Mer turned and walked off, keeping her head high as she gathered her belongings. She jerkily shoved her feet into leggings and pulled on the tank she’d worn earlier.
“Which makes Number 50 our alternate,” Brittany snickered. Mer froze and turned back to the table. “Come and get your mascot uniform, Emmy .” Kimmy held the wolf’s head, an evil grin on her face. Leigh frowned, but didn’t intervene. Out of the three of them, she was the one I knew the least.
Mer looked between the table and the stands, and I knew she was debating whether or not to accept it. Finally, she stood straight, walked calmly over to the table, and took the costume. The five girls watched her, huddled together, making it obvious she was the outsider.
Rage pumped through my body, and I barely held myself back from making a scene. Neither of us needed that, though. Plus, I doubted Mer wanted me to fight her battles for her .
I didn’t know why they hadn’t picked her, but I knew it wasn’t because she couldn’t dance. For once, I was glad to be the confidant of the girls on campus. I’d use my network to find out what was happening. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but suspected Hope was behind it.
The rest of the girls dispersed, and I headed down the side stairwell, hoping to catch Mer before she left. She might not have made the team, but I’d be a smiling face for her. And maybe I’d get to kiss her again. Commiseration kisses were a thing, right?