Chapter Three
Austin
"Hawkes!" Coach shouts, his hands on his hips and a thunderous scowl on his face. "Get your head out of your ass before I lodge my boot up there with it!"
I blink, doing a quick glance around to realize the whole fucking team is in formation on the practice field, waiting on me to get my shit together.
Shit. I spaced again.
"Sorry, Coach!" I yell, jogging over to take my place in front of Killian, who chuckles, amused by the clusterfuck that is now my life.
Even after calling the play, my mind isn't with it. It's on the goddamn photos currently plastered all over the internet. If Serena has seen them, she's probably losing her mind, and I'm sure she's seen them. Everyone and their fucking dog has seen them by now.
If it weren't so concerning, it'd be almost funny, but there's no room for humor when I'm positive Serena may actually murder me.
I was pulled into a meeting first thing yesterday morning, forced to explain that, no, I wasn't getting sucked off in the hallway at Stu Mancini's, despite how it looked. It was a case of bad timing and shitty angles. I think management believed me.
I'm not so sure about the rest of the world, however.
Serena is legitimately going to kill me.
In her defense, I don't blame her.
In mine, I tried to stop the photos from leaking.
But…that ship had already sailed. The fucker who took the photos wasn't interested in playing nice.
Not that I'm really surprised. Scandal sells, and me getting sucked off in the hallway of a fucking party is all kinds of scandalous.
Who cares if it's true or not? It's the perception that counts.
Right now, the entire world is trying to figure out who Serena is. Frankly, I'd just like to know where she is. I'm dying to see her again. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since the party, and that's a problem for me.
I'm not the guy who loses his mind over a woman, and yet…she's turning me into that guy.
I don't hate it.
The way I see it, we've got two options.
We can ignore the whole thing, which will only make it worse.
Been there, done that, have the articles to prove it.
Or we can date. That probably won't stop the gossip, but at least they won't keep viewing her as some random chick I fucked at a party.
She's not some random hookup. I don't do that.
It's pissing me off that people are acting like she is.
In this world, sex sells. The truth doesn't. They don't want to hear that she tripped, spilled wine on me, and touched my dick by accident. Hell no. They want to hear that we're fucking. The best way to shut them up is to give them what they want…on my terms. It'll salvage her reputation.
I'm honest enough to admit that this isn't entirely about that, though.
It's about the fact that I haven't been able to get her out of my head.
Those gray eyes and that smart mouth are haunting me.
I've jerked off to the memory of her hand on my cock so often over the last few days that the bastard may be permanently chafed.
I want her. I want her calling me names. I want her fiery attitude. I want her on her knees. I want her hands on my body. I want those gray eyes locked with mine. And I'm willing to play dirty to make it happen.
Let's face it, the only way it'll happen is if I play dirty. She isn't going to give me a shot if I don't, not Serena. So…we date.
As soon as I find her.
"Hawkes!" Killian shouts, a warning in his voice.
I glance up just in time to see Jasper Werth tackle Dakota Bowling, sending him flying across the green, directly into my path.
I jump a second too late.
Dakota plows into me, knocking me flat on my back.
"Jesus Christ," he growls, landing beside me like a fucking meteor striking earth. It's an apt description for the man. I'm big. He's a goddamn giant. "You good, Hawkes?"
"Yep," I wheeze, still flat on my back. "You good?"
"Yep." He glances over at me, his gaze as somber as ever. "Where are you right now?"
"Wish I knew," I mutter, hauling myself upright in time to see Coach storming across the field toward us, his face red.
"Shit," Dakota groans, hopping to his feet. "My bad, Coach."
"Save it, Bowling." Coach points at me. "Off the field, Hawkes. Before you end up with a goddamn broken neck."
"I'm good, Coach."
He snorts, his dark eyes narrowed at me. "The hell you are. Get off my field before we have to carry you off. And get your goddamn head screwed back on. I need it on the game if we're beating the Knights."
"Fuck." I tug my helmet off, scrubbing a hand through my hair. "Sorry, Coach."
"Don't apologize. Just get your shit together."
"Yes, sir," I mutter, jogging toward the sidelines.
"You good?" Killian asks as I pass him.
"Fucking peachy."
"Right," he snorts.
I flip him off, but it's not like he's wrong. I'm losing my damn mind. Oddly, I don't hate it nearly as much as I probably should.
"I'm disappointed," Killian says three hours later, shooting me a shit-eating grin. "I kinda wanted to see Coach put his boot up your ass."
"Fuck off," I mutter, shaking my head as we stride toward the locker room, side by side. By some miracle, I managed to get it together enough to rejoin the last half of practice. Coach rode my ass the whole time, but I survived.
Killian laughs beside me. "Seriously, man. You good?" He peeks over at me. "You're never off your game like that."
"I'm fine," I growl.
"You worried about those photos? You know they'll be on to something else soon."
"It's not the photos worrying me." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Serena is going to kill me."
"Serena. That's the chick?"
I shoot him a death glare.
"It's just a question, motherfucker."
"She's not just a chick."
"Ah." He grins. "I see."
Fuck my life.
"Killian, shut the fuck up."
"Didn't even say anything." His quiet laugh says plenty, though. He thinks I've lost my damn mind. Hell, maybe I have. Who the fuck knows?
"I have no idea where she is. It's driving me crazy," I admit.
"Uh…"
"What?"
Killian points down the hall.
I follow his finger with my gaze, my heart slamming against my ribcage when I realize what he's pointing at. No, not what. Who.
Serena is standing against the wall on the far end of the hall near the doors to the parking lot, her arms crossed over her tits. Fuming.
Fuck me.
"Is that her?" Killian asks.
"Yeah, that's her." I laugh at how goddamn mad she looks. Christ. She's even more beautiful than I remember, with her dark hair up in a messy bun, her face clean of makeup, and her curvy frame swallowed by a Washington Carvers' jersey.
"Good luck," Killian mutters, chuckling when he clocks the murderous look on her face. "I'm not going anywhere near that."
"Good call."
He gives me a fist bump, then turns in the opposite direction, not wasting any time hurrying several yards away. The fucker doesn't vanish, though. Hell no. He's too nosy for that. Instead, he lingers just far enough away not to be in the danger zone.
I stride toward Serena, my heart in my throat, and my dick throbbing. Fuck me. She's actually here. I was certain I was going to have to use my resources to scour the metro area for her.
"I guess the saying is true," I say, grinning as I draw to a stop in front of her.
"What saying?"
"If you think of the devil often enough, she shows up."
Her scowl is almost as beautiful as her eyes. "If anyone is the devil here, it's you, Austin Hawkes." She jabs me in the chest with one pointy nail. "You're such an asshole!"
"So…you saw the photos?" I tease, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward me until she's right in front of me, her head level with my chest. I don't know why I thought she was taller.
Maybe it was her fuck-me heels at the party, but I'm damn near a foot taller than she is.
"Gotta say, I'm jealous as hell that I didn't see your ass from that angle before the rest of the world did, princess. "
I wonder if she'll make that same adorable sound when she's bouncing on my cock?
"You did not just say that," she hisses, her eyes flashing dangerously as she wrestles her hand out of my grip. I let her go, mostly because I don't want her hurting herself.
"I did." I pause, grinning at her. "But I can say it again if it helps."
"You're insane!"
"So you said. I believe you also said I was off my rocker, concussed, and delusional."
"All still true," she snaps.
"I so missed that smart mouth of yours."
"Austin, my ass is all over the internet!" she growls between clenched teeth. "Like, my whole ass. All over it! My brother called me because he saw my ass on the internet."
"It's a great ass. Five stars." I smirk at her. "Want me to write a Yelp review?"
Who knew her face could go that red without her head actually exploding? Christ, I love the way she looks at me when she wants to kill me. It's sexy as hell. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'll be jerking off to the memory for the next few days.
"I swear to God, if you don't fix this, I'm going to tell the whole world that you have a shrimp dick."
"A shrimp dick?" I cock a brow at her, choking on laughter.
She holds her finger and thumb a millimeter apart. "Tiny. Minuscule. Can't see it from space."
"Those photos tell a different story about my MVP, princess." Her ass isn't the only thing all over the internet. I've already been offered three different brand endorsements for underwear. It's been two days!
"I hate you so much." She fishes in her pocket before yanking out her phone.
I watch in amusement as she shoots me a baleful glare and then types in her code and clears her throat.
Her tone is dry as she reads. "'I can't believe what a desperate, bottom-feeding trollop she is.
I hope she steps on Legos every single day for the rest of her miserable life.
Also, her hair looks like something died on her head. '"
Jesus H. Christ. Whoever wrote that shit needs therapy, and lots of it. Parasocial relationships are terrifying.
"That's savage," I say.
"It's your fault!" She jabs me in the chest again, harder than before. "You're letting them think I was…"
"What?"
"Servicing you," she growls.
I groan at the thought of her servicing me, which is apparently the wrong reaction. She stomps on my foot with the heel of her boot and then hits me in the stomach, growling wordlessly.
I double over, laughing my ass off while she glares at me like she's about to tackle me to the floor and choke the life out of me.
"Serena, you know how to fix this," I say when I can breathe again, ignoring the throbbing pain in my foot where she stomped on it.
"We go out. You get photographed on my arm, and they'll think you're my girlfriend.
Suddenly, it's not a big deal anymore. It's just a nosy reporter catching two people in a relationship in a private moment in a not-so-ideal place. The trolls can eat shit."
She gives me a look so withering it's almost frightening. "Or—and this is just a crazy, off-the-wall idea—you could tell the truth about what happened. Preferably on camera."
"No can do," I say, mock regret in my voice. "I'm riding this out. I like my plan better."
She makes a strangled sound, half fury and half despair. "I would rather step on Legos for the rest of my life than be seen with you in public again, Austin. I hope you get a paper cut on your tongue and then have to eat a whole bag of salt and vinegar chips."
Ouch. She's big mad.
I lean in, placing my mouth next to her ear. "I'd rather eat you."
She jerks back so hard her phone flies out of her hand, clattering to the floor. "You're a menace," she seethes, but her breathing is ragged.
She may want to hate the idea of us together, but she doesn't. Not entirely. This is good news for me, because the more I think about us together, the more I fucking love the idea.
She stoops to grab her phone, clutching it like a weapon. "I am not dating you. I am not, under any circumstances, becoming your fake girlfriend. Or your real girlfriend. Or your anything. You need professional help. Like, a whole team of highly qualified specialists."
I give a lazy shrug, like I'm not dying to follow her all the way out to her car to see if she'll let me in. "I'll keep that in mind. But if you change yours, you know where to find me."
"I will literally never change my mind." She turns, storming toward the doors, the Carvers jersey straining over her ass.
I watch her go, unable to wipe the dumbass grin off my face. "Come see me when you come to your senses!" I call after her.
"Never!" she shouts back. The doors bang shut behind her, and I swear I hear her cursing the entire planet.
Killian strolls up from the other end of the hall. "That go how you hoped?" he asks.
I run a hand over my jaw, still grinning like an idiot. "Better."
He shakes his head, like he can't believe what he just witnessed, but I see the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're a sick man, brother."
"She's going to murder me," I agree, the thought sending a weird thrill through me.
Killian just laughs.