But what if he’s right? What if she thinks this thing with us is more? Shit.
“It’s not like that Brody. You know she’s just a warm body when I need a distraction.” I need to change the subject and fortunately my rescuer arrives at our table in form of a petit, dark haired woman that is like a second mother to me. Emma Morgan is one of the nicest women I’ve ever met, a real Southern belle, but get on her bad side and she’ll make your life difficult. We always laugh at Coach Morgan when he’s had a fight with his wife – he storms into the locker rooms and mumbles incoherently about marrying a woman like his mother. But he adores his wife and both his daughters. He’s the kind of man I wish I could be. Maybe someday.
“Hey Mrs. Coach,” I tease affectionately, knowing how much she hates it when we call her that. She swats my arm playfully with a dishtowel and chuckles. “You boys better be behaving over here!”
“Of course we are Mrs. Coach, we’re the most well behaved boys on the team,” Brody quips. He’s lying. We both know how much shit we’re capable of getting ourselves into, especially when we team up. We’ve been partners in crime for what feels like forever.
“Can I get you boys the usual? Bacon, eggs, french fries and coffee?”
“Yes please ma’am,” Brody and I respond in unison, causing us to laugh. She smiles at us affectionately for a brief second and then saunters off to place our order.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Brody’s expression harden suddenly, his playful disposition evaporating in the blink of an eye. “Well if it isn’t the she-devil herself,” he barks. I turn to look at who he’s talking about and immediately regret my decision when Rebecca walks through the door. Her fiery red hair flicks over her shoulders as she sashays her way toward our table. Her hips sway and her signature sneer sits firmly on the edges of her ruby red lips. She’s gorgeous but the problem is she knows it. She flaunts it, uses it to manipulate the people around her. She uses her body for that too and as much as I hate to admit it, Rebecca was a real hell cat between the sheets. Our ‘relationship’ was purely physical and until now I still hadn’t been with anyone who could get my body to react the way she did.
I notice how the normal physical reaction I have when I look at her isn’t there anymore. Yup, it’s time to move on. Love ‘em and leave ‘em I always say.
She stops at our table and glares at Brody. “Ha, that was almost a good one Brody, come up with that all on your own?” she snaps. She turns her attention to me and I stiffen. “Hey babe!” she drawls. “Why didn’t you call me last night? I missed you.” Her voice goes from virulent to syrupy sweet in less than a heartbeat. I never noticed before and if I’m being honest I hate it. She bites her lip and traces her long nails up my arm suggestively. I’m waiting for my dick to stir, a tell-tale sign that her flirty little moves turn me on.
But there’s nothing. Not even a twitch.
“I was busy Rebecca.” My voice is cold and flat and I know I’m being an asshole but it’s time to end this. I didn’t sign up for a girlfriend and certainly not a possessive one at that, which Rebecca knew from the start. I should’ve known she’d get attached, they always do.
I hear her say something but it falls away when my eyes land on someone else. My breath catches in my throat and it’s like all time is standing still, freezing this moment before it flies past too quickly. Nothing else exists.
Her blonde hair is pulled up high in a messy bun with a few loose tendrils hanging in her face. She’s wearing a white sundress that compliments her sun kissed skin and red cowboy boots that make her legs look they go on forever. God have mercy… those legs… My mind goes straight to conjuring up images of seeing her in nothing but those red boots.
Damn…
I don’t think Blondie could get any hotter but then she proves me wrong when she laughs, a light choral sound that echoes through every bone in my body and settles itself in the core of my stomach. I am completely transfixed, my eyes following her every move until she disappears into the kitchen.
“Hello, Grayson? Are you listening to me?” Rebecca’s screech is like a cold shower. My heartbeat slows, returning to its normal rhythm and everything around me comes back into focus. “Yeah Rebecca, he heard you! But he was too busy checking out Huntley Morgan to give a shit about what comes out of that mouth of yours,” Brody growls. I inwardly curse myself, not for staring but for doing it so shamelessly. But I couldn’t help it. My eyes were drawn to her like magnets and I wouldn’t have been able to look away even if I wanted to. I’m a hot blooded male after all and when God makes something that perfect, its only right to show some appreciation for His handy work.
Wait, did Brody say her name is Huntley Morgan? How the hell does he know who she is?
Rebecca huffs and storms off to her friends’ table while Brody snickers. He finds this situation hilarious. “Thanks Bro,” I snap, irritated. “Now I’m never going to hear the end of it.” Not that I care. “Whatever, it’s time someone put that she-devil in her damn place. She doesn’t own you Gray. You yourself said she was nothing more than a warm body and last time I checked that did not equate to girlfriend status.”
I can’t argue with that. He’s right.
“How do you know her name anyway?” I ask sounding a little too eager, even to my own ears. My curiosity has gotten the better of me. Her name alone has piqued my interest. Brody takes a second to realize who I’m talking about and then looks me dead in the eye while formulating his response. His mouth pulls up into half a grin and I know I’m caught. It’s the first time in two years that I’ve shown a real interest in a girl. I stop myself from thinking about it though.
Don’t go there Gray… You need to move on…
“Mrs. Coach introduced us when I got here. She’s the niece Coach has warned us all to stay away from.” There’s a warning in his eyes. “So be nice Gray, but don’t be whipping out that entire home grown Southern charm all at once. She’s not just another freshman you can toy with.” I grin. No girl has ever been able to resist my ‘home grown Southern charm’.
The kitchen door swings open and Huntley heads straight for our table. I watch how her dress flows with the movement of her legs, hitting her just above the knee. The closer she gets the further up my gaze travels, ending on her face when she stops in front of us. “Here you go, two coffees,” she says, placing our coffees on the table. “Your food will be out in a minute.” She smiles at me and Brody clears his throat. I’m gawking like an idiot. When Brody kicks me under the table I snap out of the stupor and gingerly smile back at her. “Thanks” is all I manage to say since my voice has pulled a Houdini on me. How convenient.
“Huntley, this is Grayson,” Brody says, waving his arm in my direction. “He’s our star quarterback and my pain in the ass best friend.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Huntley.” She sticks her hand out and I take it. My hand looks gigantic in comparison and envelopes hers easily. “So you’re the brat Coach has been talking about non-stop,” I tease, glad to have returned to my confident self. The slight blush in her cheeks is barely noticeable but hell it’s so cute. “Promise me you won’t believe everything he tells you,” she whispers. “I’m not half the trouble he makes me out to be.” She’s being playful.