Free Stallion: A Bad Boy Sports Romance by Autumn Avery Page B

says, holding his hands up like I’m a bull that might charge at any second – which isn’t far off right now actually. “I didn’t realize you two were married already.”
    As soon as I hear the word “marriage,” I have to roll my eyes and laugh. Yeah, that’s right. Walker Johnson, twenty-two, on his way to the NFL, getting married . Benny laughs too, diffusing the unexpected tension in the room.
    As ridiculous as the notion was, a fantasy invades my mind. The wedding night. After all the lovey-dovey bullshit, Emmy would be all done up in a white dress. Maybe she’d have a garter belt on underneath. Stockings. Everyone would cheer, and I’d take her upstairs and flip that dress up and take her right there over the bed. That’s the kind of wedding night I’d have.
    I’d wear her out so well that she’d be nothing but a sweaty, blubbering, post-orgasmic mess, glowing from how many times I made her come. There’s nothing better than getting a girl drunk off your dick.
    I want to see her like that. I need to see her like that. She’s so goddamn professional and uptight. I want to see her when she’s been given a good fuck and is completely worn out. And it’s got to be me to give it to her.
    “So can we get your mind off tits and into statistics?” Benny interrupts. “How is it you’re taking a freshman class as a senior and failing it?”
    “Math’s not my strong suit,” I tell him. The only thing I want to be counting right now is how many times Emmy moans my name into my ear while I hold her up by her ass with both hands and pound her senseless.
    “Well, stats is basic stuff,” Benny replies. “Should be able to brush you up nice and quick.”
    I stuff the rest of the sandwich into my mouth and swallow. This is so not what I want to be doing right now. I don’t do tutoring sessions. I do two-a-day practices, sprint drills, hot chicks and raging parties.
    “I’m really not in the mood for this, Ben,” I sigh, sitting back in my chair.
    “Man up, dude. You afraid of some standard deviation and averages?”
    “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I admit. Footsteps from the hallway, and Pete, freshman linebacker, shoves my door open. He looks like he had about five too many last night and has to hold himself against the wall to keep from falling over.
    “John—Johnson,” he stutters. “Some chick’s here for you.”
    “Huh?”
    “Down…uh, downstairs!” He says happily, like it was hard finding the word.
    I stand up and clap him on the shoulder. “Have a good time last night, man?”
    “Hell to the yes,” he exclaims, almost toppling over. “Bro, you shoulda seen the legs on this girl…”
    Pete’s eyes sort of lose focus, and I can see he’s reliving last night, picturing whatever kind of shenanigans he got up to. It’s only Pete’s first year here, but he’s already a legend. At least among us guys.
    His first night here Pete brought two girls back to his dorm room and had a threesome on the top bunk while his roommate was passed out on the bottom. The guy woke up the next morning with one of the girl’s panties wrapped around his head. He transferred next semester.
    “Is it Cindy?” I ask Pete. She’s the only girl I could think of that would just show up without calling or texting. Cindy’s the only girl I ever had anything close to a relationship with. She was just dynamite in bed and was actually tolerable to have a conversation with. We had an on again, off again friends with benefits situation for a couple of months before she went and got a boyfriend, some uptight prick majoring in History.
    “Cindy…” Pete struggles to think. “Is she…does she have like…hair?”
    “Yeah, she’s got hair, man,” I say, brushing past him. “Back in a sec, Benny.”
    Someone spilled pretzels on the steps last night and no one’s cleaned it up yet. Typical. This place was always a mess. Tyler had suggested bringing in one of those topless cleaning