Free Grid Iron Bad Boy: A Football Romance by Eddie Cleveland Page B

what he gets. The whole thing is messed up and my mind is racing. Did he call me his girl?
    “Whatever, man. I was just having some fun for fuck’s sake. I’m sorry. Just go,” he backs away with his tail between his legs like the little Chihuahua-man he is.
    Cameron wraps his arm around my shoulder, but never takes his eyes off the guard as he guides me in through the gate.
    We weave our way through the crowd and I can still feel the anger pulsing through him.
    “Hey, thanks for that. Don’t let it ruin our night, though. He’s just being a guy,” I lean my head against Cameron’s shoulder.
    “No, that’s not being just a guy. Not all guys are like that.” Cameron spits out his words.
    “That’s not what I mean. He’s a douchebag. For sure. I know not all guys are like that,” I start backpedaling.
    “Sorry,” his arm slackens as he unfurrows his brow. “I know you don’t. I’m just riled up by that piece of shit. I should’ve broke his face,” he snarls.
    “I think you put the fear of God into him. You don’t want to get kicked off the team this year for a loser like him. I’m fine, I promise.” I soothe him.
    “Ugh, we’re not off to a great start are we?” Cameron stops and looks down at me.
    “Well, I don’t know. It’s not every day that a sexy guy comes to your rescue.” I smile at him.
    “I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” he smirks back.
    And it’s not every day that Cameron Armstrong calls me “his girl”. I leave the thought unspoken. Tucking it away to keep me warm on a cool night.
    “Hey, how about I get us some drinks?” He drops his arm from my shoulder.
    “Sounds good, I’ll be here,” I look up at the stage. The last time I went to a concert it was to see Hootie and the Blowfish. I look around at the wild college kids surrounding me and the band setting up on stage. Something tells me this is gonna be a lot crazier than a Blowfish concert.
    Just a feeling.
    “I’ll be right back,” Cameron turns and walks to the bar. I gotta admit, I don’t mind the view as I watch him go.
    He slides up to the bar and instantly girls start circling around him. The wide eyed grins and way they’re pawing at his biceps makes my skin prickle.
    Cameron’s girl? That idea is a joke. So much for being different. I’m no snowflake, I’m just me. And, from the looks of it, Cameron has his pick of every girl in here.
    Why would he care about me?
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Cameron
    “ O hhh , Cammie! Your arms are so strong,” a young brunette with a face like a Barbie and a voice like a chipmunk struggles to circle her hands around my bicep. “I bet you could, like, bench-press me. Right?” She flutters her eyelashes at me.
    “Yeah, I could bench two of you. Easy,” I admit, keeping my eye on the bartender. When the chick behind the counter finally gives me the nod I’m not sure what to order. I don’t know what Chelsea likes to drink.
    Luckily the music kicks in, loudly assaulting our ears and gives me a second to figure it out. She doesn’t seem like a fruity cocktail kinda girl, but I doubt she wants to sling back a beer with me either. “Uh, two Long Island Iced Teas,” I finally blurt out.
    “I don’t want a Long Island,” the brunette pouts. “I drink Pina Coladas,” she sticks out her bottom lip in an exaggerated sulk.
    “Well, good thing it’s not for you then, huh?” I barely look at her from the corner of my eye. I can see she’s getting desperate for my attention and hope the bartender will hurry up on the drinks so I can leave what is about to be a scene.
    “Vickie, who’s your friend?” A redheaded version of the same kind of girl slides up beside us. “He’s cuuuuute,” she purrs as she shamelessly eye-fucks me.
    “Don’t you recognize him? It’s Cammie.” She waits for the redhead to get a clue, but no recognition crosses her face. Then again, that might just be her normal look. “Cameron Armstrong. From the Buffaloes,” she continues.
    “Oh! So