Chapter 2
KRISTOFER COLT “KC” BEAUMONT
Pa stared at me, his lips pulled into a tight frown.
He looked frazzled, his short dark hair an uncharacteristic mess and his clothes askew, but since Barber had left the house strutting this morning like the cat who’d eaten the canary, I imagined they’d had “fun” before Barber had left for work.
He was always put together, unless Barber happened.
“What?” I asked.
“KC.”
I groaned. I’d fucking known this would become an issue.
Pa never stopped worrying, and I loved him for that.
He was the first person in my life to care about me.
He’d adopted me when I was eleven after my heroin addict mother had vanished, maybe died.
I’d tried to pickpocket him. He’d saved me from a life on the streets.
After all these years, Pa still took his job as my parent very seriously. Sometimes too seriously.
“Pa,” I mimicked, giving him the same expression he was sending my way.
“See? I can make that face, too.” I took a large sip of my morning orange juice.
I had a nutrition plan to stick to, and if I didn’t get my protein or calories in, my trainer would have my ass.
I’d already shoved down three eggs filled out with a pile of egg whites, oatmeal, almonds, and blueberries.
Oh, and also a protein shake that wasn’t on the plan.
“You were up a little after five this morning to exercise. When do you sleep?” Pa grumbled, glaring at me from where he sat at the kitchen table. He’d arrived home yesterday after a month-long job. “You’re putting too much stress on yourself. You’ll make yourself sick.”
“Says you.” I took another long sip of my juice.
I was already behind for the day. It was 8:30 a.m. and I had to drink a smoothie in an hour to reach my protein goals.
Getting bigger was the objective, especially since my QB continually picked at me about gaining muscle.
He was an asshole, but not wrong. “I have to go to class. I’ve got Strategic Management and Business Policy.
” I made a face. “Fucking hate the prof.”
“Want me to kill him?” Pa raised an eyebrow. We’d had livelier conversations about what type of pasta to have for dinner. Killing a man was easier for Pa than the decision between fusilli and penne. Death didn’t faze him, which was all part of the assassin package.
“No, I don’t hate him that much. It’s only been a couple of weeks since I started the class.
” My lips twitched. I was not going to smile.
Nope. I was supposed to be the sane one of this family.
He’d specifically told me that I had to go to college and get a legal job.
That meant not having conversations with him about who he should or shouldn’t murder.
Pa smirked when I huffed. “It was a question.”
“He’s my professor. You’ve spent too much time around your boyfriend.”
Pa laughed, a polite sound that echoed gently around the kitchen.
My heart ached. I missed him when he went away for work, and I hated that I barely had time to spend with him, but the new semester had just begun and my football coach was attacking this season with a vengeance.
He had a rivalry with the St. Loren Armadillos.
We were playing them in two weeks, and if we didn’t kick their asses .
. . . Well, I didn’t want to know what would happen.
“I’m glad you’re home,” I whispered, striding back over to give him a tight hug.
He stood so we could get a better grip on each other, and my chest turned warm while cozy happiness filled me.
He fit under my chin perfectly, reminding us both that I wasn’t a little boy anymore.
Pa had a hard time accepting that, though.
“Me too.” He pressed a kiss to my temple despite the height difference.
I would never be too old for a kiss from my pa.
He was more than a parent—he was my best friend.
“Wow, you’ve really bulked up!” He patted my shoulders.
“I can’t believe how solid you got with only a month of football practice under your belt. ”
“Speaking of, I have football practice this afternoon, so I won’t be home until late.”
Pa made a disgruntled sound. “You’re working too hard.” He sent me a sharp look, the kind he gave me when he thought I was pushing myself.
I shrugged. “I’m in college.”
“You don’t need to play football.”
I sighed. Another argument we’d had since I was in high school.
I didn’t want to play pro, but NGU had given me a scholarship to play for the Riders.
Pa argued he could easily pay my tuition, but I wanted to stand on my own two feet.
Not to mention, I enjoyed playing football.
It was fun, despite Coach’s yelling and our shitty quarterback who thought he was the MVP of the universe.
“I want to.” I nudged his shoulder with my hand. “Please stop. I don’t want to fight. You just got home.”
Pa held up his palms, relenting. “Fine. But you know how I feel.”
“I know.”
He patted my cheek, and I said goodbye before exiting our home and getting into the orange Jeep Recon he’d bought me for my twentieth birthday. I’d left it in the driveway last night and I was surprised he hadn’t complained about it, since there was plenty of room in the garage.
It was veering toward quarter to nine. I needed to get my favorite protein smoothie from the gym bar close to campus, so I sucked down my orange juice as fast as I could without spilling it on the tan seats.
By the time I reached the gym, a boxy brick building stuck in the middle of a wide parking lot, I was cutting it close. Class started in fifteen minutes.
“Fuck.” Could I skip my smoothie? Hell no.
My trainer, Hawthorn, had calculated my protein intake when I’d requested he work with me on my diet, and I didn’t want to mess it all up for him.
He would never forgive me. We’d worked hard to set up a nutrition plan tailored to my training regimen.
Plus, I had a point to prove to the QB. Fuck him.
I was going to get big enough to lift a car.
I could sneak into the back of the lecture hall and hopefully the prof wouldn’t see me. Mind made up, I rushed into Fitness Yums, the gym bar, as fast as I could. The regular employee, Mikayla, was behind the counter, and her slim face lit up when she saw me barrel through the door.
“KC, hi!” Her smile was blinding. If it’d been any other day, I would’ve stopped to talk to her, mention how cute her pink-and-white striped dress was, even though I was positive it wasn’t the correct uniform.
“Hey, Micki. Sorry, I’m late for class. Do you think you could make my usual morning smoothie?” I nearly crashed to a stop in front of the counter, my chest heaving because I’d run from my Jeep. My thighs were already burning because of my early morning exercise.
“Of course.” She shot around to the counter behind her and went to work, and all I could do was watch her desperately while I kept checking the time on my phone screen.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Damn it. I was never late. What happened this morning?
The recipe for the smoothie Micki was making had been sent to the gym bar directly by Hawthorn in an attempt to help me juggle classes with my nutrition.
The drink was filled with whey isolate protein, chocolate milk, peanut butter, avocado, and olive oil, which sounded disgusting but was delicious.
A perfect combination that gave me the carbs and protein to keep up with my intense routine.
I had to keep my weight up, which was a pain in the ass with how much we were going into overdrive on the field.
Micki spun on her heels, her blond ponytail swinging with the motion, and presented me with the plastic cup, her grin proud. “Record time.”
I laughed when she shoved it at me and waved to the door. “I need to pay.”
“Come back later, after class. Go! Weeman will give you hell if you’re a minute late. Trust me. I had him last year.” She winced. “I’m still traumatized.”
I leaned over the counter to plop a kiss on her cheek. “You’re the best. I’ll be back later.”
She giggled as I hurried out the door, but I didn’t get far.
I crashed into a strong chest. I huffed out a gasp of shock as I fell back a few steps, my smoothie crushed between me and the other man, the plastic lid flying off when the contents exploded out the top.
Smoothie went everywhere, a mess that splashed across my white T-shirt and down my Nike shorts.
“Fuck.” I glanced up at the man I’d run into, opening my mouth to apologize profusely, but the words caught in my throat.
Shit, he was tall. I didn’t have to look up often.
I’d seen a lot of hot guys in my life, ones who made me question whether they were human or gods, but this stranger took the cake and ate the entire fucking thing. He was a statement piece that belonged in an art museum, not standing on the sidewalk with boring people like me.
“Damn. I’m so sorry.” The tattooed deity brushed his palms down my chest, attempting to wipe the smoothie off my tight shirt, face twisted in apology.
My nips hardened under the caress and I sucked in a breath. I couldn’t force out any words.
“I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he said.
Words still escaped me or maybe I never knew how to speak in the first place. My tongue grew heavy and every time I opened my mouth, nothing came out.
He shook off his hands and glanced down at my face.
Yeah, he was taller than me by at least a few inches. Fucking hell. My mouth went dry.
“Are you all right?” he asked.