Beauty and the Running Back Read online

  By Colleen Masters

  Copyright © 2016 Hearts Collective

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

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  DEDICATION

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  Beauty and the Running Back

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  by Colleen Masters

  CONTENTS

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  PART TWO

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Stepbrother Billionaire

  PART I:

  Chapter One

  Fall

  ***

  Dean

  Muggy, late August air hangs heavy over the field as my teammates and I assemble for the first practice of the season. It’s only seven in the morning, but I’ve been awake for hours. I can never sleep the night before a new season kicks into gear. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember; since I was eight years old and playing pee wee football. More than Christmas, more than my birthday, more than getting my driver’s license or getting laid for the first time, the first practice back on the field is what I’ve always looked forward to more than anything else.

  I suck a deep breath into my lungs as I stride across the Rayburn University football field. My home turf. I know this acre of land better than any other place on earth. Since freshman year, my entire life has revolved around this stretch of grass. Sure, I’ve technically been doing the whole “college” thing too, but let’s be honest. The real reason I got into Rayburn in the first place was the fact that I was the best goddamn high school running back on the East Coast. And this year, I’m gonna show the world that I’m the best college running back this conference has ever seen.

  A loud yawn sounds out behind me, and I don’t even need to turn around to know who it is that’s still waking up.

  “Sonofabitch,” Bryan “Buck” Wallace grumbles, “This coach’s early bird schedule is gonna be the death of me.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Buck, my best friend and the top wide receiver on the team. He and I have been roommates, partners in crime, and each other’s wingmen since our freshman year here at Rayburn. We kept each other company while we bided our time during our first year on the team, waiting for the senior players to graduate already so we could get a shot at starting. Last year was a real breakout season for both of us. Buck finally got to start as the Rayburn Red Birds’ wide receiver, and I got to start as running back once the reigning running back graduated and was drafted to the NFL. The fact that my newly-pro predecessor happened to be my big brother Tom only gave me that much more to prove once I got to start. And this year, now that I’ve established myself as a force to be reckoned with on the field, I’m out to win. Big time.

  “Wake up, Mary Sunshine,” I bark, pounding Buck on the back as we trudge across the field, “We’ve got a new coach to impress.”

  Along with my big brother and a handful of other excellent football players, our school’s legendary head coach also moved on after last season. Us younger guys were bummed to lose out on playing for Coach Baker, but hopefully this new guy will bring some fresh ideas to the team. This is the first time we’re meeting the guy, Coach Nathan Cahill. He was an assistant coach down in South Carolina before coming up here to our New Jersey school, and from what I can tell he’s damn good at what he does. A bit of a hard ass, to hear some tell it, but I’ve got plenty of practice dealing with guys like that after growing up with my dad and Tom. No matter how much of a tough bastard Coach Cahill turns out to be, I’ll have dealt with worse.

  “You boys ready for this?”

  I glance up as a big, solid hand lands on my shoulder. Parker Royce, our quarterback, has appeared between me and Buck, flashing his pretty boy smile all over the damn place. I swallow a grumble of annoyance as he shows up at my shoulder, inserting himself into my conversation with Buck. Parker’s a senior here at Rayburn, the most established player on the team—and he’ll be the first to tell you. Royce may be a kickass quarterback, but he suffers from a bad case of RWBS. Rich White Boy Syndrome. With his Abercrombie model looks, hefty trust fund, and reeking sense of entitlement, Royce has always rubbed me the wrong way. I’ll work with the guy on the field, no question. But there’s no way we’re ever gonna be as chummy as he seems to think we already are.

  “How was your summer, Royce?” Bryan asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “Fuck your share of rich bitches on Daddy’s yacht?”

  I turn away before I can laugh right in Royce’s WASPy face. Buck has never had any filter to speak of, and is far less willing or able to pretend he can stand Royce for a second. Bryan and I both come from working class towns; me from Trenton New Jersey, him from Western Massachusetts. And whereas I can mostly just ignore Parker’s obnoxious golden boy act, Bryan has much less of a tolerance for his bullshit. More than once last year our team suffered on the field because of the simmering ill will between Buck and Parker. I swear to god, I spend more time mending fences between them two of them than I do on my classwork. Though really, that’s not saying much.

  “Maybe if you’re real nice to me this semester, I’ll bring you back home to the Cape with me over winter break,” Royce says, giving Bryan’s dark mop of hair a tousle, “I’m sure it’d beat hanging out with the meth heads over in your hometown.”

  “Why don’t you show up to my hometown in your fucking Prius and see for yourself how much fun we can be?” Bryan shoots back.

  “It’s a Tesla. Not a Prius,” Bryan says, strolling out ahead of us toward the coaching staff, “Not that you’d be able to tell the difference.”

  “Do you think anyone would believe it was an accident if I broke his fucking arm off?” Buck growls as we approach the coaches.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, we need that arm,” I reply, “If we want to win the championsh
ip this year, that is.”

  “Ugh. I know,” Buck grunts, “Don’t remind me.”

  “Relax,” I tell him, “Royce’ll graduate at the end of the year, and then it’ll just be you and me running this place. Unless you get arrested for attempting to murder our quarterback before then.”

  “Eh. We’ll see what happens,” Buck shrugs, as we step up into the circle of our teammates to meet our new coach.

  Coach Cahill stands at the center of the field, flanked by his staff. He’s a tall, ruddy, blonde guy. Built like a bull, if not in the fighting shape he must have been in during his own days as a college football player. His small blue eyes regard us all with unreadable focus, his mouth a straight, serious line above his thick jaw. Compared to Coach Baker—who was all earnest tough love—I can already tell that Coach Cahill is going to be a goddamn drill sergeant. But if he thinks this strong, silent act is going to intimidate me, he’s got another thing coming to him. I lift my chin as his eyes swing my way, letting him know in no uncertain terms that Dean “Crash” Carter doesn’t scare so easy.

  “Let’s cut right to the chase,” Cahill says with a slight southern drawl, “I’m Nathan Cahill, and there are three things I love above all else in this world: God, family, and football. You respect all three and we’ll get along just fine. If not, well… Do your best not to find out happens if not.”

  Well this is off to a great start, I think to myself. Nothing better than a good round of threats first thing in the morning…

  “Why don’t we get you boys all woke up,” Cahill goes on, “Give me ten wind sprints to start the day off right.”

  The entire team stifles a groan as Cahill blows his whistle, sending a piercing bolt of sound through the quiet summer morning. I smile grimly as I trot on over to the end zone and take my place among my teammates. Call me a masochist, but there’s nothing I like better than the sweet ache in my lungs after a series of wind sprints. The most trying, challenging parts of football are the ones that make me feel most alive. Why else would I be here, busting my ass on the field every season? Cahill may have three things he loves above all, but my list is much shorter. I live and breathe for one thing, and one thing alone. The game. Nothing has ever come close to touching the love I have for this sport, and nothing ever will.

  Another blast of the whistle sends me shooting forward, effortlessly outpacing my teammates. But hey, I’m the star running back of this team. That’s what I’m here to do.

  Jessa

  I let the screen door clatter shut behind me as I step out onto the wraparound porch of my family’s new home. I’ve got to hand it to Rayburn, they sure know how to treat their staff right. Our digs back in South Carolina were plenty nice, but nothing compared to this stately, three-story victorian we’ve been hooked up with here in Jersey. But then again, Dad was just an assistant back in the South. Maybe this is just the treatment one can expect, being a head coach.

  Pulling my sun-highlighted blonde hair up into a ponytail, I circle back around the house and head for the garage. My high-waisted denim shorts and white tank top are so well-loved that they fit my petite but curvy frame like a glove. My trusty old bike is waiting for me, propped up against the detached garage. I wheel it down the driveway, amazed at how quiet this neighborhood is. Then again, the houses all around us make up the faculty housing of Rayburn University, and school is still two weeks away from being back in session. I’m sure once classes are in full swing, this place will be as hectic as any other college campus we’ve ever lived on. And by now, there have been plenty.

  I hear the door swing back open behind me as I hop onto my bike. Glancing back, I see the tall, broad shape of my father appear in the doorway.

  “Where are you headed so early in the morning?” he asks gruffly.

  “Dad,” I reply as patiently as I can, “I thought we agreed that you were gonna ease up on tracking my comings and goings now that I’m, you know, an adult?”

  “You’re still living in my house, aren’t you?” Dad replies sternly.

  “If you’d be more comfortable with me moving into the dorms, I’m sure I can still—”

  “No daughter of mine is going to live in some seedy, sin-filled dormitory,” he cuts me off, wrinkling his nose.

  “Well then, I guess we’re at an impasse,” I reply.

  I knew this living arrangement was going to pose some challenges, but damn. Not a week in and me and my dad are already at odds. I guess that shouldn’t surprise me—he and I have been locking horns since about the time I started kindergarten. My dad, Nathan Cahill, is every inch the patriarchal southern gentleman. He’s devoted to the church, his supposed place at the head of our family, and whatever football team he happens to be coaching at the moment. My mother, Marianne, is happy enough to let him rule our roost, no questions asked. But I, the headstrong youngest daughter of this deeply traditional family, have never been quite so content to let my father’s authority go unquestioned.

  And that’s not going to change anytime soon, whether we’re living under the same roof again or not.

  “I’m just headed to the campus garden,” I finally allow, throwing dear old Dad a bone, “I signed up for some volunteer shifts over there.”

  “Why don’t you wait a minute and I’ll give you a lift,” he replies, “I’m headed over to the practice field in just—,”

  “I’d rather get some exercise, explore the area,” I tell him, “Thanks, though.”

  “Fine. No skin off my nose,” he grumbles, disappearing back into the house.

  I shake my head as I push off the driveway and start pedaling toward campus. Dad’s been acting so strange toward me ever since I got back to the States. I just got home from a year abroad in Spain. I was WOOFing (Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms) over there, picking up as much of the language as I could while leaning about organic farming. Gardening and environmentalism have always been interests of mine, which is part of the reason why I decided to take a gap year and volunteer on a farm in northern Spain. The other, much larger reason was that I wanted some time away from my incredibly conservative family before starting college.

  My father nearly blew a gasket when I informed my parents I’d be taking a year off to travel before college. Traipsing around Europe, unchaperoned and flying solo, was not how my parents envisioned me spending my eighteenth year. But seeing as I saved up the airfare on my own and would be fed and housed by my hosts in Spain, there wasn’t much Mom and Dad could do to stop me. I hopped on a plane, touched down in Madrid, and traveled by train into the exquisitely beautiful countryside. It was the most exhilarating, challenging, and eye-opening experience of my life. Not to mention the sexiest.

  I admit, another huge impetus for getting out of the country after my eighteenth birthday was to start exploring my sexuality far away from the prying eyes of my parents and our small South Carolina university town. My upbringing was distinctly sex-negative, with both my parents expecting me to wait until marriage to “give myself” to someone. I was banned from dating any boy who wasn’t a member of our church, and even those boys were off limits until I turned sixteen. I spent most of high school sneaking out to parties and dances just to scrape together the semblance of a social life. But even though I managed to have my fair share of fun during those stolen nights, I still graduated from high school as a capital V virgin.

  My parents’ conservative outlook on sex and sexuality was more persuasive than I’d like to admit when I was little. It wasn’t until I hit puberty and started reading all about the female body, feminism, and sex that I realized my parents’ way of thinking wasn’t the only way—and it certainly wasn’t mine. Still, the shame and stigma they associated so directly with sex hasn’t been so easy to discard. A lifetime of fear and misinformation will take its toll on even the most curious person.

  Luckily, my year in Europe was everything I could have hoped for on the romantic front. With my bright blonde hair and sea-green eyes, I garnered plenty of attention from t
he local guys, as well as the other foreign volunteers working on the farm. And while my work on the farm was time consuming, I found plenty of opportunities to steal away with Andoni, the charming son of my host family to whom I took a serious liking. During my time off from my work, Andoni showed me all around his hometown, introducing me to the incredible food and wine of Northern Spain. He also introduced me to sex, to how wonderful physical intimacy with another person can be. I wouldn’t say that we were in love necessarily, but our deep friendship is one that I will always treasure. The sex we had wasn’t incredibly adventurous, but it was so, so sweet. I couldn't have had a better first partner, that’s for sure.

  I bike across the sleepy campus, passing the practice football field along the way. The gigantic football stadium is on the other side of campus—a huge structure that can seat as many as fifty thousand people. It’s easily the most expensive structure on campus. But that makes sense, given how important football is to the Rayburn University community. They didn’t crack into D1 without taking this stuff seriously.

  For years while I was growing up, I promised myself that I wouldn’t end up at a football-centric school when it was time for me to go away to college. If I had my druthers, I’d be going somewhere with a much better creative writing program, which is what I plan to study. Somewhere like Columbia, or Cornell. But I chose to extinguish my ivy league dreams when I realized that my dad’s job here at Rayburn meant I could attend the school for free. Student loan debt is no laughing matter, and I realized that I’d be crazy to turn down the opportunity to dodge it. Sure, coming here means I’m still living with my parents, and that I have to double major with education at their behest…but I’m still incredibly lucky. I’ll never forget that.