Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (3 page)

I shake my head. “No. You?”

Rick laughs. “We’re headed upstairs. Don’t leave without me. You’re the only one who knows the nighttime key code to the dorm, alright?”

“Rick, how many times have we done this? I know the drill. Just be sure to wrap it up before you fuck your woman.”

His girlfriend laughs. I can’t ever remember her name. Rory? Something like that.

“Like I’d let him fuck me otherwise,” she says with a chuckle.

They disappear upstairs and now I’ve thoroughly lost the trail of my mystery woman. I push through the crowd, beating feminine hands off of me. One of them grabs my ass and it’s all I can do to tear myself away from her.

I could fuck any woman I want to here tonight. But there’s only one girl I actually
want
to fuck. Now I have to find her.

CHAPTER FIVE

ESTHER

I run away from Saint like he’s on fire. I don’t even know why he walked over to me. But he’s bad, bad news. I can’t get involved with someone like him; I shouldn’t even be
seen
with someone like him. I shouldn’t even be here.

Tears prick at my eyes and sweaty bodies push against me as I try to make my way to the other side of the house. I open several doors and accidentally walk in on at least half a dozen people having sex.

I’m blushing so hard my ears feel like they’re on fire. I find the last room and realize with a shock that I’ve found wonderland.

It’s a library.

“Oh, thank you, Heavenly Father,” I whisper.

There’s a plush, leather armchair next to a round mahogany side table. I pull the chain on a Tiffany lamp and enjoy the orange glow. I pace around the room, trailing my fingertips across well-worn paperback spines.

I land on a copy of
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
and pull it off the shelf. This book is like running into an old friend. I snuggle up with a cashmere throw and drape my legs over the arms of the chair, cracking open the book and getting lost in a more familiar world than the one I’m sitting in currently.

I’m so intensely involved with the story I don’t even hear the door open. I don’t hear the footsteps growing closer and closer. I don’t even realize I’m not alone until a masculine voice whispers a foot away from my ear.

“Good book?”

I yelp and drop the book on the floor, pulling the throw up around me absurdly, as if I’m actually naked and someone walked in on me in my bedroom.

Then I realize who it is.

It’s Saint.

“You scared me!” I say unnecessarily, trying to calm my racing heart. But looking at his blue eyes is making it hard for my heart to stop running at a million miles an hour.

He laughs, giving me the cock-eyed grin that lights up TV screens across America every single Saturday. “Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.” He crouches down and picks up the book, looking at the title. “Mark Twain fan?”

“Obviously,” I spit back at him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Alright.”

“I’d like my book back, please,” I say sternly, holding out my hand.

“You hate me. What I can’t figure out is
why
?”

I gape at him. “How can I hate you? I don’t even know you.”

“And I really, really don’t even know you. And you won’t give me your name, either, so that’s making this even more difficult.” He stands up and paces around the room, staring up at the bookshelves. “Though I guess Shakespeare had it right. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

“You know Shakespeare?” I ask him. I silently scold myself for that. My plan is to avoid Saint. Not to keep talking to him.

“I’m not just some stupid jock after all,” he says. He bites his lip and smiles at me. “I’m going to guess your name.” He pauses, staring at me hard. I cross my arms over my chest as his eyes dart south. “Ruth. No. Alexa. No. Hmmm…”

The harder he stares, the more I blush. I look away from him, hoping he hasn’t noticed the effect he’s having on me.

“I’m not telling you my name,” I say.

“Why not? You go to Fullerton, right?”

I hesitate. “That’s not really any of your business, either, I don’t think.”

He walks closer to my chair and I stand up, dropping the blanket and pulling at the hem of my skirt as if thirty more inches of body-concealing fabric is suddenly going to appear there. “I make you nervous.”

It isn’t a question.

“I really shouldn’t even be here,” I say. But I’m frozen in place.

Saint walks closer and closer to me. Soon, he’s only a foot away from me. I can smell his cologne. I can see his rippling muscles underneath his tight, black t-shirt. The hint of a tattoo peeks out from under his sleeve and I can’t help but stare. He sees where I’m looking and rolls his shirt up. “It’s a cross,” he says. “For God, you know.”

I shake my head. “I don’t really need to know-“

“Because it’s against the honor code? Right. So is saying
fuck
.” He takes a step closer to me; I’m glued to the floor. “So is being at this party.” Another step forward. “And so is this,” he’s inches away, and my heart is thudding so loudly it could substitute for a drum in the marching band tomorrow at half time. His lips brush against mine so softly I wonder if they really connected. Then he kisses my left cheek. Then my right cheek.

I feel like I can’t breathe.

He steps back and holds the paperback out to me. “You should take this with you,” he says.

“That’s stealing,” I stutter.

“You need to loosen up a little. Delilah,” he replies, walking out of the room.

“That’s not my name!” I yell after him, clutching the book to my chest.

But he doesn’t respond or even turn around.

I know who Delilah is. She’s no biblical role model, that’s for certain.

CHAPTER SIX

SAINT

I walk into the locker room bright and early. No one’s in here yet.

I take a hot shower even though I bathed last night. I can’t get Delilah out of my mind. No woman has ever played hard to get with me. Ever. She’s the first.

I stay in the steaming water so long my fingers turn to raisins. I shut off the tap when I hear the voices of my teammates echo through the locker room.

“Saint!” Rick calls out to me, pulling open the shower curtain. “Naked again, I see. I’m assuming that’s how you were last night. I couldn’t find you, man!”

I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist, my hair dripping. “Yeah, I turned in early.”

“And left me to fend for myself. You broke Man Code.”

I shove him out of the way with a smile. “I’m sure you found a way to spend the night someplace cozy and red-headed.”

Rick smiles at me. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, if it isn’t golden boy, here early again.” The voice of my mortal enemy fills the air.

My hand pauses on the door to my locker. “Scott,” I say as a greeting. It takes a lot of restraint for me to not call him Fuck Face, which is my preferred nickname for him.

Scott leans against the lockers. “You ready to not fuck this game up?”

Scott is a third-year senior. Really. Seriously. I think he’s going to die as a senior at this university. I took his place as quarterback my sophomore year. He’s hated me ever since.

“You ready to actually throw a pass better than your grandma does?” I snap.

Scott gnaws at the toothpick between his teeth. I know he does it because he actually wants a cigarette. But, like most things, smoking is against the honor code. “Nice comeback.” He walks away and I can finally breathe again.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Rick mutters as he walks past me.

“Never do,” I reply loudly. I start getting my pads on. I’m dressed before half the team is even in the locker room. I guess I’m supposed to say “I like being a leader” but honestly I just like intimidating them.

There’s one final thing I have to do before I take my place for the pre-game pep talk. I walk over to the mirror with my face paint and slide on two streaks of royal blue paint. We’re the Fullerton Sharks. Royal blue and lime green are our colors. I take out the bottle of lime green paint and a small brush and call over to Rick. “Rick!”

“You need your makeup done, princess?” he calls back to me. But he walks over and takes the brush. “What verse are we doing this week?”

“Judges sixteen four,” I reply.

Rick furrows his brows. “I’m not familiar with that one.” He shrugs and gets to work. Rick has a minor in art. He plays the tough guy but I’m certain that if his father didn’t want him to be a lawyer he’d be painting all day long.

Rick snaps the bottle of face paint closed. “Alright. You wanna take a look?”

I take the bottle and shake my head. “Nah. You always nail it. Thanks, brother.”

He slaps me on my shoulder pads. “Don’t even mention it.”

After I put away my face paint, I make sure to stand in the dead center of the room so everyone has to go around me to get ready. I say nothing, but go over my incantations in my head. This is the rush I live for. The slow build of adrenaline. The waiting. Knowing there are several thousand people in the stands above my head waiting to cheer me on. Plus the few million people watching this game live on television.

I’m in my element.

I live for this.

Coach walks into the locker room and everyone stops what they’re doing. He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and puffs out his chest, taking his time to gather his words. I know it’s all a show, but it’s part of our ritual. You don’t fuck with rituals.

“You boys ready to serve God and country on that field today?”

“Yes sir!” we cry out in unison.

“Good. Now this team might look like they’re going to just lay down for us on that field. Their record isn’t good. But we don’t let that stop us from playing the best! Darn! Football! That we possibly can!”

The locker room cheers.

“Now, move in for the prayer circle.” Pads bump into one another as the team pushes toward me. Rick is on my left. Scott is on my right. I resist the urge to spit in his face. We all put our arms around one another as best we can with our safety gear on. “Saint, you wanna take this one?”

“Yes, Coach,” I reply. I take a deep breath and bow my head in reverence. “Heavenly Father, please watch over us today on that field. May we walk away victorious and all in one piece. We give all the glory to you. May you look down on us with pride as we spread your message across the country. Amen.”

“AMEN!” the team echoes.

We separate and it’s game time.

Time for me to do what I do best.

Kick some fucking ass on the football field.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ESTHER

The October sky above my head is bright and clear. I’m already sweating through my thick wool sweater; the weather is playing games with all of us. This morning it was forty-five but as the yellow sun climbs higher and higher in the sky, the temperature is climbing like it’s late August and not early October.

“I told you not to wear that hideous sweater,” Romy says to me as I push my sleeves up. She’s wearing her Fullerton Sharks t-shirt with a pair of dark wash jeans.

Game days are the only days where the women are allowed to wear jeans. Romy hates mine; she calls them mom jeans. But I don’t care. It’s the only style I feel comfortable in. It’s rare for me to wear anything that even comes close to being form-fitting.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I felt absolutely naked in the outfit Romy forced me into the other night.

Romy links her arm through mine and we march with the rest of the school toward the shiny, brand new stadium that was built entirely with money Saint brought into the school. My heart starts to pound as we show our student IDs to the ticket takers. I can smell the field. The popcorn. The hot dogs. The sheer anticipation of the game.

There’s no beer, of course. I’ve always wondered what a professional, real stadium smells like. Maybe one day I’ll find out. Romy and I find our seats. She leans back, resting her foot on the chair in front of her and pulling out her cell phone to text.

I can’t rest the way she is. I’m on the edge of my seat, bouncing.

“Would you stop that? You’re shaking the whole row,” Romy says without looking up from her phone.

“Who are you even texting?” I shoot back. “Your boyfriend is in the locker room getting ready.”

“I have friends you don’t know, Esther. My whole life isn’t just you and Rick.”

Rick
. That’s right. Maybe one day his name will stick in my head. “You didn’t come home last night. I had to sneak onto campus alone.” I think back to how scared I was entering the dorm building, padding down the industrial carpet back to my room. I’d changed clothes in the bushes after I couldn’t find Romy. I half expected for the Dean to be waiting for me, ready to expel me.

Of course, that didn’t happen. Campus was quiet and I even managed to take a shower without running into anyone.

“Obviously you were fine without me. You’re smart, I knew you’d make it back safely.”

I grab her phone so she’ll listen to me. “I don’t like that you’re out all night.”

“Why? You’re not my mother.”

I sigh. “Yeah, but I’d prefer for my best friend to not get expelled. What were you even doing last night?”

Romy laughs and takes her phone back, shutting off the screen and slipping it into her pocket. The seats around us are filling up rapidly. “You know what I was doing, even though you don’t like to talk about such filthy, dirty things.” She wiggles her eyebrows and my face turns bright red. “Seriously, Esther. You’re twenty-one years old and you’ve never had so much as a sip of alcohol. Much less been kissed.” Romy looks at me like she’s trying to x-ray my brain. “Did you have fun last night?”

I shrug. “I got some reading in.” But my tone gives me away.

Romy punches me on the arm, pulling her feet down and leaning in towards me. “Tell me more, tell me more! Like, does he have a car?”

I laugh at the
Grease
reference. “It’s nothing. Nobody. I was actually reading and he interrupted me. That’s all.”