Samaritan gesture has allowed me a leg up—literally. Planting a foot on his chest, I shove him back. He growls something inaudible—my cue to move.
Shaky fingers gripping the wall, I flip onto my stomach and roll off. I’m weightless, toppling down the soft incline. The sky spins blue and white and I smile, marveling at my own evil genius, until everything jerks to a stop. I suck in a sharp breath and watch my ball cap fall to the mattress below.
I’m hanging upside down, stuck on something. Tightening my abs, I curl up. His hand is locked around my ankle like a manacle, and his dark gray stare glimmers down at me, devoid of the calm restraint he’d been mastering. He’s baring a smile like the Big Bad Wolf would give to Goldilocks—or in my case, Little Bo Peep. I thrash against the vinyl, trying to wrench free, but he captures my other ankle.
“I think its time we had a talk, don’t you, Peep?” I drop back, twisting left and right, as he begins the slow reel. Blood pools in my face, and my hair whaps the wall with angry snaps. My fingertips claw the slippery surface, trying to latch onto something as he draws my body slowly up. It’s no use. I’m a fish and he’s the hook. Caught.
Chapter Six
Preston
Playing college football, I’ve dealt with a fair amount of bullshit—overly aggressive players, unreasonable coaches, and disgruntled fans to name a few. Compared to my teammates, I know I’m a patient guy. But being beaned with a hot dog, then knocked in the head and stepped on by a blonde with a bug up her ass is about as far as I can stretch.
I draw her up until the top of the inflatable hits her hips and her body drapes over it. Straddling the wall, I rest a firm hand on the middle of her back. The feel of her legs and the sight of her shapely ass so close to my face stirs my blood, which is already riled from the beat-down she’s been giving me. I grit my teeth and swallow a hard breath.
“If you’ll agree to talk to me,” I say, “I’ll let you up. If not, I’ll be happy to sit here and admire the view.”
She arches her neck and snaps me a dousing glare.
“Look, I get that you’re pissed at me, and you might even be entitled. but I need you to tell me what happened. I asked my coach and all of our assistant coaches about your letter. No one remembers getting it. Tell me what I did to piss you off.”
“It’s not what you did . It’s what you didn’t do.” She smacks a balancing hand on my thigh and makes a rushed effort to sit up. I hold her arm, helping until she’s mirroring my position, straddling the top of the wall. She shoves a wave of hair off her cheek and lets loose.
“I needed you to serve as a witness at my hearing on Friday.”
“What hearing?” I ask, but her words plow over mine.
“And you couldn’t even manage to show up for a twenty-minute hearing!”
“Wait, wait. Are you talking about a hearing with the athletic board?”
“The fact that you don’t know what I’m talking about really, really bothers me. You got arrested, too. Did you not get in any trouble?”
I palm the back of my head, nerves sprouting in my stomach. This is worse than I thought.
“When’s your hearing?” she asks, “Or did you get out of it somehow?”
There’s no way to soften the blow. I have to tell her.
“My charges were dropped.”
A huff of air escapes and she scowls. “Your charges were dropped?” she asks, a note of accusation in her tone.
“Yes. That’s what I said. My charges were dropped.” My voice is starting to take on the frustration I feel.
“You football players deserve every bit of the bad rap you get.” She throws herself into a backward dive off the wall, intending to ditch me again, but this conversation is not over. In fact, it’s just beginning.
“Hey.” I reach an arm out, catching her behind the knee, but she’s too far gone. The momentum pulls us both down, and for a panicked second, I’m worried I’m going to crush her on
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia