CHAPTER ONE
Cal
She’s here.
Awareness of her presence zings through me, even as I flirt with the pretty redhead standing in front of me.
Piper. That’s what Kilpatrick called her that time I tried to chat her up after practice a few weeks ago. Once I found out she was his sister, I steered clear.
But that hasn’t stopped me from being aware of her anytime she’s around. When she comes to our practices, the small hairs on the back of my neck rise, and like a dummy, I push myself harder, hoping to impress her, to claim her attention.
It hasn’t worked, though, at least not that I can tell. And who can blame her? I’m second string to her big brother’s starting quarterback spot. Who would be impressed by that?
Plus, she probably hates me as much as her brother does, since she actually seems to like her brother. Or at least I assume so, since she watches our practices and cheers for him, meeting up with him afterward.
My sister would never do that. She and I have a … contentious relationship.
But Piper and Kilpatrick appear to be the kinds of siblings who are also friends. Weird. And since I’ve made no secret of my resentment of Kilpatrick for showing up my senior year as a transfer and taking my starting spot, making it harder for me to get seen by NFL scouts, I’m assuming Piper dislikes me as much as her brother does.
He and his sister both showed up out of the blue at the start of the semester. He was brought along by the new coach—which is a whole other pile of bullshit as far as I’m concerned. I’m still mad about how they forced Coach Hanson into retirement after the way he busted his ass and pushed the whole team the last few years to get us an invite to be a Division I school like the administration wanted. And that’s the way they thank him. I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised that my own hard work as the starting quarterback my junior year—in the words of the local sports reporters, the young phenom who carried the team to a Division I ranking—was likewise rewarded by a replacement.
So my attraction to Piper is extremely inconvenient. Her brother is my biggest rival. She probably hates me. And yet I can’t shake this awareness I have every time she’s around.
I force myself to stop looking at her and refocus my attention on the redhead in front of me—Jenny, I think she said her name was. Jenny’s clearly into me with the way she bats her eyes and keeps dragging the tips of her fingers across her chest, subtly drawing attention to her ample cleavage, flicking her long hair over her shoulder or tucking it behind her ear. And I should be into Jenny. She’s everything I normally want in a girl—pretty and down to fuck.
But it’s the raven-haired beauty with the pale skin across the room that keeps drawing my eyes to her, despite my better intentions.
Not that my better intentions have done anything for me lately.
Look at my living situation. I try to be the bigger person, even going so far as to help my sister patch up her relationship with my best friend—a relationship that they kept secret from me, I might add—and what has that gotten me? An eyeful of my sister grinding on my best friend almost every time I come home since they got back together a few weeks ago. The knowledge that when I leave, they’re probably going to fuck on the couch. And Ellie, the little brat,lovesmaking me uncomfortable, waiting until I’m all the way in the room before she stops sucking on Simon’s tongue, all faux innocence with her, “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. Sorry, Cal.”
Yeah, right. Our house is old and creaky as all hell. No way she doesn’t hear me come in when I practically slam the door and stomp around to make sure I give plenty of warning that I’m home.
Maybe I should stop letting my better intentions rule the day. Maybe I should give my baser instincts a shot.
For example, now that I know how much one of my teammates dating my little sister gets under my skin, I can’t help but wonder how it would affect Kilpatrick if I started demonstrating my interest in his sister …
Would that mess with him enough to throw him off his game?
If so, I could get more playing time in the lead up to the postseason, not to mention the bowl game we’re due to play if all goes well.
With a murmured excuse to Jenny, I slip away from my spot by the breakfast bar and make my way over to where Piper holds court with a few of her friends and some of my younger teammates on the couch. As I approach, she tosses back her head and laughs at something Eli Foster says, and I take advantage of the opportunity to look my fill.
Her long hair is loose, flowing over her shoulders, teasing the tops of her tits. She’s got more there than I realized before, since I mostly see her in sweatshirts or jackets that hide her shape above her hips. She’s slight, so I figured she’d have small tits, but they’re plump and full, begging to be caressed, showing off in her shimmery spaghetti strap tank. It’s loose, low cut enough to give a hint of cleavage and skimming over her curves, and I can’t help wondering if she’s wearing a strapless bra or no bra at all. She’s paired the top with curve-hugging shiny leggings that make her ass look slappable.
Not that I intend to caress or slap anything without an explicit invitation. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about how good it would feel and how fun it would be, first for its own sake, but second, for the likely effect it would have on her brother.
A broad smile takes over my face just envisioning how mad he’ll get when I fuck his sister.
Like she’s as aware of me as I am of her, Piper’s eyes find mine, the smile still on her face from whatever Foster said that made her laugh.
“Hey, Piper,” I say, pitching my voice in that smooth as silk register that has girls handing over their panties in no time. “Can I get you a drink?”
Her mouth twists to one side like she’s trying to fight back her smile as her eyes wander down my body and back up again. “Hey,” she says on a suppressed laugh, her dark eyebrows rising over her glittering brown eyes. She catches her plump lower lip between her pretty white teeth, and I so want to reach out and free it before covering those lips with mine. But I have a feeling that would be too bold. We’ve barely spoken. And while she doesn’t seem upset by my presence, she’s not doing that breathless flirty thing I get from the girls who want me to take them into an empty room and fuck them right away.
That’s alright, though. I can still work with the spark of interest evident from her perusal of my body.
“What are you drinking?” I press.
