Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) Read online

  Big problem.

  Flora waved a hand in front of my face. “Hullo?”

  I blinked and looked at her before leaning over to pick up my comforter, which had landed on the ground during that over-the-top make-believe sex session.

  “I’m so sorry, Bee. I can’t believe I walked in like that.”

  “It was nothing,” I lied, answering the inevitable question. “Nothing happened.”

  “So I heard,” she said, watching me make my bed. “None of those bitches gave me a heads-up before I barged in and ruined everything, but they had no problem filling me in just now. They said you two were going at it loud enough to wake the dead before I got home.”

  Cal had done that for me. To defend my honor, or whatever, against Lana, who’d always been a bitch. And I had to admit, it felt good to see her face when he told her he was going to the Spring formal with me, even if it was a lie. And then carrying me home so I wouldn’t have to ruin Flora’s boots? He didn’t have to do those things. That went above and beyond our Pop-Tart deal.

  Not to mention the kissing part.

  That so-called affection shit was definitely not part of the agreement. So why? Why had he done it?

  God, sometimes I wished he’d be the asshole I’d taken him for the day we met. It would make whatever we were doing easier. But every day that passed, I only seemed to like him more.

  I stopped, ripped the comforter off the bed, and wrapped it tight around my body. Then I threw myself back on the mattress and let out a groan.

  “It was just for show. Lana was being a jerk and he wanted to shut her up. It was all fake,” I muttered miserably.

  “Oookay,” she said, clearly confused. “So then why were you two obviously making out for real when I walked in?”

  I lifted my head and threw up a hand. “That’s the part that’s getting me. I honestly don’t know.”

  Flora grinned and clapped her hands together in glee. “Not to brag, but maybe it was my makeover. You do look super hot.”

  I nodded. “Probably. Damn you.”

  She cocked a hand on her hip and frowned. “I expected more of a ‘thank you’.”

  “No,” I moaned. “I’m in big trouble. He’s being nice to me, Flora. Really, really nice.”

  “The bastard!” she shouted, collapsing on her bed. “Someone ought to string him up and whip him with a wet noodle.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t get it. I know I said it wasn’t possible, but I don’t think I’m immune to this particular football player’s charms.”

  She studied me. “Are you seriously admitting that you’re falling for Cal?”

  I buried my head under a pillow. “I think I’ll just stay under here for the rest of my life,” I mumbled.

  She whooped loudly. “No. Hell no. This is a good thing, don’t you see?”

  I ripped the pillow off my head. “How is it a good thing? He’ll rip my heart out and eat it for breakfast.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Um. How do you know that? Because he’s a football player?”

  “Duh.”

  “Oh, little Bee,” she said, coming over and sitting on the edge of my bed. “Football players eat Wheaties for breakfast, not human hearts. He hasn’t done a single thing yet to convince you he’s that guy you think you hate, has he? What makes you think he’s going to start now?”

  I shrugged.

  “Life is about taking risks, girl,” Flora said, patting my side.

  “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”

  “I say you should go for it.”

  The thought made my stomach clench. Go for it? I didn’t even know what that would entail. Maybe showing up to his apartment in nothing but his Panthers football jersey and a sign that said, “Take me, I’m yours”?

  “Sleep on it, kiddo. You’ll figure it out,” Flora said softly, making her way back to her own bed as I stripped out of my clothes and got into my t-shirt and boxers.

  I tried to sleep after that, but I tossed and turned so much during the night that Flora threw her pillow at me and growled at me to chill out.

  By the time the first rays of sun peeked into the room, that feeling in the pit of my stomach had only grown, and I knew that if I sat back quietly and let things continue on the path they were on, it would only get worse.

  I climbed out of bed, feeling like I’d run a marathon. My sheets looked as rumpled as they had when Cal and I jumped all over them.

  We had another therapy session scheduled for the next day I could talk to him then. After all, we were both adults. Time to start acting like one. I had to tell Cal straight up what I was feeling and why this couldn’t continue beyond our physical therapist/patient relationship.

  Then, I’d go back to life as usual.

  And, again, the thought made me feel inexplicably cold inside.

  * * *

  Cal

  Wednesday, at limited practice, my knee felt like ass.

  What the hell had gotten into me the other night? I’d told myself I needed to take it easy so I could heal up. I’d told myself that having Bee around was a good way to keep other girls at bay so I could concentrate on getting myself back in shape. I’d reminded myself over and over that I didn’t need any distractions pulling my eyes off the prize.

  And what the hell had I gone and done?

  Tweaked my knee again.

  It was Bee’s fault, really. She’d looked so damn hot Monday night I couldn’t think straight. It wasn’t supposed to be a date, but it sure as hell felt like one. I’d spent most of the night thinking with my other head, saying goofy things and laying on the charm. I’d carried her home and jumped on her bed like a fucking moron and why? Because I’d wanted to impress her, like a kindergartener with a crush. And if her roommate hadn’t come in, I would’ve tried to impress her a hell of a lot more, too.

  When the team had started to scrimmage, every move I made sent pain screaming all the way up to my hip. It was so bad, I couldn’t even pretend like I had it together. I tried, at first. I said, No matter how it feels, just work through it and take it like a man. But whenever Andrews threw to me, I was never in the place down the field where he wanted me to be. I couldn’t get there. A toddler with a load in his pants could’ve made it before me. I only made one completion, out of countless attempts.

  But not Weber.

  Fucking Weber just kept landing them, one after the other. By the end of the practice, even the third-string guys were looking at me and shaking their heads. I felt like a sad cautionary tale: Don’t be like Cal Samskevitch. He had it all, and he royally fucked it up.

  “Hey, man, you feeling all right?” Weber asked me after making a particularly heroic grab that had Coach—who was about as emotional as Mr. Spock—pumping his fists in celebration.

  “I’m fantastic,” I ground out as I hobbled to the sidelines to get my water bottle.

  “You sure? Because you looked like you were wincing—”

  “I’m. Fucking. Fine!” I snapped, slamming my bottle on the turf and glaring at him.

  Weber took a step back and held his hands in surrender, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Whoa. Sorry. Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m just asking a question.”

  Who knew? Maybe he was genuinely concerned about me, but all I could think was that this was the prick who was hammering the final nail into my coffin. If he didn’t exist, maybe Coach would’ve worked harder to make sure I recovered so I wouldn’t lose my scholarship. Maybe he would’ve brought in some serious PT guns from the city to work me over, instead of sticking me with Mind-fucking Bee Mitchell practically every god damn day.

  Yeah, I felt sorry for myself.

  Which was probably why I about-faced and grabbed Weber by the face mask, yanking him toward me until we were helmet to helmet. His eyes widened because I’d surprised the fuck out of him. I’d surprised the fuck out of me, too. Almost like I was standing outside myself, I heard my voice spilling everything I’d bottled up inside me for the past few weeks.
r />   “Listen here, you little shit. This is temporary. Understood? You’re a fucking backup and the minute I get my knee back, I’m going to rip you a new asshole. Got it?”

  The second the words were out there, I felt worse than garbage, but there was no going back. Weber shoved me off him, dropping back into come-at-me stance.

  “Are you serious right now, bro? You want to do this?”

  “Samsky, get your ass over here,” Coach barked from ten yards away.

  I stepped back from Weber and made my way toward the coach, doing my best to act like nothing was wrong. “Yeah, Coach?”

  “That’s it for you today.” His jaw was stiff and I knew he wasn’t asking a question, but that didn’t stop me from trying.

  “For that?” I waved a hand toward Weber, who had already moved on and was having a catch on the sideline with the QB. “Coach, that was just jawing. Me and Weber are fine. Ask him.”

  I was pretty sure Weber would back me up on that. Football was a volatile game. It wasn’t the first time someone had gotten pissed off on the field and shot off his mouth and it wouldn’t be the last.

  “I don’t give a shit about that. You’re limping, son. Go in and see Bob. I’ll be there in a few.”

  I thought about arguing further, but what was the point? It wasn’t like I could go out there, wreck shop and prove him wrong. So I walked off the field and into the locker room, my chest tight with dread.

  When I sat down on the therapy table, Bob didn’t take too long with my swollen knee before giving me the verdict. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s not looking as good as we’d hoped at this point, Cal.”

  “Ya think?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, Doc, you went through medical school to be able to tell me that?”

  He gave me a pitying look.

  “What the hell does that look mean?” I snapped at him. “Am I done for? Just tell me straight. I mean, hell, they shoot horses for less, right?”

  Bob began to shake his head as Coach arrived. “Come on, Samsky, you just need to—”

  “Lay off it. Check. Take it easy. Check. I’m doing all of that and it’s not fucking helping,” I bit out, pulling my pant leg down over my knee. “Maybe I need the help of some real PTs from the city or something instead of being saddled with a fucking student.”

  Bob raised his eyebrows and said, very levelly, “Are you having a problem with Bee, Cal?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

  I was having a problem with everyone at that moment. But the second I said the word, I wanted to bite it back. Bee didn’t deserve that. And neither had Weber or Bob. I, on the other hand, deserved all the shit that happened to me, including this bum knee.

  The two men exchanged glances and then Coach leaned in to pat my shoulder.

  “We’re going to leave things as they are for now. You take some time alone and think about how you want to comport yourself and how you want this team to view you going forward.”

  He looked so disappointed in me, it was like a blow to the gut.

  “We’ve had a great run, Cal. The guys see you as a leader. If you can’t play right now, at least you can give us that. This?” He gestured toward me with a shake of his head. “This isn’t you. Get through your PT today as scheduled, and lock up when you’re done. We’ll have a talk about how to proceed tomorrow once you’ve gotten some rest. Understood?”

  I didn’t answer, my brain still stuck on the words that had me reeling.

  We’ve had a great run.

  And Coach obviously felt that run was over. Which meant I was through. They just didn’t want to tell me they thought my knee was never going to be strong enough to play.

  I went through the rest of Bob’s examination without so much as a grunt, keeping my eyes trained on the locker in front of me. The guys came in and showered after practice, and meanwhile, I just sat there, on the bench, ignoring their stares.

  They were probably talking shit about me now about the Weber incident, but as much as I couldn’t blame them, I didn’t have it in me to apologize. The blood still coursed, hot through my veins. I’d never had so much rage inside, with no way to get it out. Before the injury, football had been my out. My go-to whenever things went bad. I’d run it off with my buddies, and that had a way of magically solving everything.

  That was gone now, and I might never get it back.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, stone-still, but when I looked up again, the locker room was empty except for Bee as she strolled in for our scheduled PT session.

  The sexy clothes and the make-up were gone, but even through the anger, I wanted her. Which only made me madder.

  So yeah, maybe I’d betrayed her with what I’d said to Bob. But hell, she’d betrayed me too. She knew I was supposed to be focusing on ball and instead she’d gone out of her way to tie me up in knots. I hadn’t slept, I could barely run. If I hadn’t been with her the other night, I could’ve played today. It was a shit way to feel, and totally unfair to her, but none of that mattered.

  “We’re not doing this,” I said flatly.

  She took one look at me and her eyes widened. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?” I snapped.

  She frowned and looked at the clipboard on the table next to me, her face dropping as she read. Crap. So you’ve got some new swelling, Bob said? Can I take a look?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She wrote something down on the clipboard and looked at me expectantly. It was up to me to roll back my pants so once again my shit knee could be poked and prodded at. But I didn’t. If one more person touched it today, I’d go ballistic.

  “Cal, come on,” she said gently. “How do you expect it to get any better if you—”

  “I don’t expect it to,” I growled at her, slamming one fist down on the table. “Not anymore. Not with a bunch of fourth-rate PT clowns giving me fourth-rate advice. It’s getting worse. If I didn’t know better I’d think you all wanted me to fail.”

  She stared at me, her mouth a straight line but her eyes filled with hurt. “I didn’t ask you to pick me up,” she said quietly.

  “Maybe not,” I muttered. “But you gave me those doe eyes and that smile and you sure as shit didn’t make me put you down.”

  She blinked at me and her cheeks flushed.

  I was on a roll now, and there was no stopping the poison spewing out of me.

  “I know how you feel about football players. We’re all lower than shit. So that’s probably what you were looking for all along, right? To grab me by the balls and twist me around? So congratulations, Bee. Mission accomplished. I want you. And I want to play ball. And now I can’t have either of those things.”

  She sucked in a breath like I’d slapped her, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get away from her…away from this place. I swung my legs off of the bench and nudged her aside.

  “I’m done,” I growled, staring hard at the floor. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. “I’m not really feeling the healing right now. And you know what? I don’t think I ever will. So let’s just call it over right now. You write whatever you have to on your little clipboard and then go. I’m hitting the showers.”

  She didn’t say anything for one beat, two. After the third beat, it hit me like a bolt of lightning.

  I didn’t want her to leave.

  Here I was, doing everything in my power to drive everyone who cared about me away, even though I sure as shit didn’t want to be alone right now. Not when I felt like the whole world was caving in around me. But she was already bending down to pick up her backpack, and I couldn’t blame her one bit.

  “All right, Cal,” she said softly, her voice cracking a little. “See ya.”

  Then she skipped into a jog, pushed open the door, and disappeared.

  I’d hurt her. No doubt about it. Maybe some sick, twisted part of me had thought if I shared the wealth of heartache, I’d feel less miserable.

  Instead, watching the door swi
ng behind her, I’d never felt worse.

  12

  Bee

  I rushed down Panthers Alley, away from the locker room, the ache in my throat growing with every step.

  So much for telling Cal how I felt. I’d spent the past two days going over it in my head a thousand times, what to say, how to say it. And now, he never wanted to see my face again.

  Maybe I should have been pissed at him. After all, I think he’d called me a fourth-rate PT clown or something. But the insult wasn’t what stuck in my head. After all, I’d seen the condition of his knee. He tweaked it good, setting his recovery back weeks. He’d had a really bad day, and it wasn’t so long ago that I’d been sprawled at the bottom of the stairs in the snow taking my crappy day out on him.

  I could forgive that.

  What I couldn’t stop thinking about was the other thing he’d said. It was one of those blink-and-you-miss-it moments, sandwiched in between the you-sucks and the get-losts. Those three words grew roots in my mind.

  I want you.

  It wasn’t just the words. It was the utterly broken look on his face when he’d said them. Gone was the football player ego, the pomp, the strut, the dazzle. All this time, I’d been trying to make sense of him, trying to gauge what was bluster and what was real. But there was no way this was a lie. For the first time, the façade was gone, and I saw the real Cal.

  Before I knew it, I’d slowed to a stop, students swerving around me on the slushy sidewalk as I stood, frozen in place.

  He was feeling alone and defeated and vulnerable and he’d pushed me away. But there was no doubt about it. Cal and the despair on his face followed by the I want you bomb he’d dropped would invade my sleep if I just walked away now without talking it through and making sure he was okay.

  I whirled around and raced back to the locker room, then yanked open the door. I stalked past the coaches’ offices, mind racing through potential bombs of my own that changed as quickly as my emotions:

  The angry, Fuck you, you fourth-rate football player!

  The aloof, So, I just wanted to confirm that we’re ending your PT sessions for good.