12. Cam

CHAPTER 12

CAM

T hat was a close one.

If the storm hadn’t kicked up out of nowhere, I definitely would have kissed Sloane out there on the sandbar.

Another mistake to add to my increasingly long list of fuck-ups.

No matter how badly I want to feel her lips on mine, taste her, breathe her in, deep down I know I shouldn’t go there.

Besides being Coach’s daughter, she’s too good for me, too pure. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things I don’t want her to know about, let alone get dragged into.

Sloane shouldn’t get involved with me and all my screw ups. She has marriage and babies and white picket fences written all over her. I want to play football and stay out of the headlines.

Even if her hand fits perfectly in mine.

Her smile lights me up from the inside out .

And being in a room with her makes it easier to breathe.

It’s not enough.

I’ll never be enough.

I’d be selfish to make her mine.

No matter how badly I want her.

I need to keep my distance. Get my life back on track, then get the hell out of Thunder Creek for good.

As soon as we’re back at the house, I cut the engine and unlock the doors, darting from the car to the safety of my room. I can’t trust myself sitting in such close proximity to her, the intoxicating scent of her filling the air, wrapping around me and making it hard to think.

Nope.

Focus on football, Crawford. Keep your eyes on the prize—and off of Sloane’s tits.

I slam the door to the bedroom shut, lean back against the flimsy wood door, my chest heaving hard from the mad dash. I’m rock fucking hard, my dick bulging in my swimsuit. I peel the wet fabric off my skin, the shorts slipping to the floor in a soggy pile.

Fisting myself, I slide my hand up and down the hard shaft, stifling a groan. I squeeze my eyes shut and work on picturing any female other than Sloane Carter.

But there she is, gazing up at me through a thick fringe of dark lashes. Her eyes wide, the golden flecks in her irises glimmering as she licks her full bottom lip. Seductive, enticing.

I dip my head, smashing my mouth against hers. She tastes delicious, like sweet nectar from a ripe fruit plucked straight from the forbidden vine.

I work my dick harder, faster, growing longer and bigger by the second. Imagining my cock driving into her, her pussy hot and wet as our flesh slaps together. Her nails claw at my back, digging into the skin she slathered with sunblock. Every muscle in my body’s tense as I drill into her, over and over and over again.

Faster, Cam.

Harder.

Fuck me, Cam.

The base of my spine tingles, my balls tightening, and I’m close, so fucking close to release. I squeeze harder, picturing the two of us joining together, her tight pussy milking my cock.

“Sloane—” I hiss, catching the long rope of cum with my T-shirt. “Fuck…”

Collapsing back against the door, my muscles relax as the tension I held onto all day leaks from my body.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Cam? You okay?”

I freeze, my heart rate rocketing back up as Sloane’s voice carries through the door.

“Yeah, fine. Just wanted to get out of my wet clothes.”

“Oh, right. Okay.” Her voice wavers and she sounds disappointed.

“I’m jumping in the shower, but I’ll be quick.”

“Take your time,” I yell back, covering my naked dick even though I realize she can’t see me through the door. Still, hot embarrassment flames through me.

I really, really hope she didn’t hear anything.

No way could she have heard that, I’m sure I was quiet.

I clean up as best I can, the close call further solidifying the plan. The sooner I get picked up by another team, the sooner I can get out of Thunder Creek. And that will be best for everyone involved.

I lay low the rest of the night, doing my best to avoid Sloane. Finally Monday rolls around and I sneak out early, hanging around town until it’s time for practice. I head over to the high school, a mix of nerves and excitement pinging through me.

Apparently, it doesn’t matter if I’m playing in the pros or with teenagers at my high school alma mater because I’m as nervous walking onto the Thunder Creek High field as I would be jogging into any bigger stadium in the nation.

Probably because I have as much—if not more—to prove here right now.

Dumb? Yes.

Irrational? Yes.

Still fucking feeling all the things? Hell, yes.

Pulse racing, I hustle over to Coach. He’s heads-down, staring at the clipboard and planning out practice.

“Crawford!” He barks my name, and there’s a totally different vibe on the field than we had on Saturday when it was just the two of us. It’s as if he’s setting the standard for the team, the entire upcoming season, which I can appreciate.

“Yes, Coach.”

“You’ll be running drills with one of the quarterbacks, Langley. He’s a sophomore and this would be his rookie season playing QB. But Rex graduated, so we need someone to take his place.”

Coach drops his voice low, so only I can hear. “Between you and me, Langley is my top choice. But there’s a junior, Dalton, who thinks he should get the nod to step up. I have to be fair about it and do what’s best for the team. Work with Langley and see what you think.”

I suck in a breath, the wheel of anxiety starting to churn deep in my gut. Coach wants me to help vet the QBs?

“You got it, Coach. Any particular thing you want me to work on with him?”

“He needs to be able to read the field. But he’s also gotta be able to get it into your hands. So let’s run some routes, see how he does.”

“No problem.” I toss my bag onto a bleacher and start my stretching routine, reaching to the sky and opening up my lungs. Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and try to focus on football. But my mind’s still swimming from yesterday, at least half of my thoughts coming back to Sloane.

Get your shit together, Crawford. You have a job to do.

“Afternoon, boys!” Coach’s voice booms over the field, echoing off the empty bleachers. “Welcome to the unofficial start of football boot camp. We’re going to work hard, learn the plays, and condition all summer so we can be the winningest team in Georgia. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach!” Thirty-six voices belt out the familiar phrase and I’m transported straight back to my own high school football days, back when I was still trying to make it. Everything inside me is jumpy, amped, and I’m ready to play ball.

“We have a week left of school and afternoon practice. Once summer officially begins, we’ll run practice every morning, Monday through Friday. First we’ll have conditioning, then we’ll run drills. Saturdays are optional practices, but I hope you’ll be able to make at least some of them. Those will be the scrimmage practices. Afternoons are reserved for lifting and meeting with the trainer. ”

Heads nod as the boys dial in, absorbing Coach’s words as if they’re gospel. Which—let’s be honest—they kind of are.

“Next year will be a transition year, with a bunch of the seniors graduating. That doesn’t mean I don’t expect us to take home the title. Just means we need to practice harder and longer to figure things out and gel as a team. Some of you may have noticed this guy—” Coach slaps me on the back. “Cam Crawford, one of my former star players. He’s been in the pros the last few years and he’ll be here at practice, helping me out.”

All eyes swivel to me and I stand taller, straighter, a part of me wanting to impress these kids.

“That’s enough chitchat for now. Everybody run four laps around the track and then we’ll break into teams for drills.”

Groups form, players building alliances as we all take off around the track. I jog at a nice, easy pace alone, warming up my body. The afternoon sun’s beating down, hot and strong, and the humidity’s so thick my skin’s sticky with a light sheen of sweat after only one lap.

I finish in the middle of the pack and head over to the bleachers to hydrate while the stragglers limp in.

“What are you doing back here, in Thunder Creek?” A kid about five inches shorter than me with tightly buzzed hair stares over at me. He kicks his leg up on the bleacher and bends toward his toes, stretching out his hamstring.

“Like Coach said, I’m here training with him. Getting back to basics.”

“I heard you got cut.”

Word travels fast. This kid is up on his football intel.

“I’m in between teams right now is all. What’s your name? ”

“Dalton. I’m the new QB for this team. You play wide receiver, right? So you’re gonna be my man for the summer or something?”

“Maybe. We’ll see what Coach says. He’ll probably try you out with a few different players, since I obviously won’t be here during the season. Fresh out of eligibility.” I shoot him a wry smile, but he doesn’t return it.

“Right.” Dalton draws the word out, giving me a cold stare.

“Drill time, boys!” Coach blows his whistle, waving everyone over to the center of the field. I’m not torn up about cutting the conversation short.

“Dalton, you’ll be working with Stevens. Langley, you’re with Crawford. My O-line will be running the Over the Middle drill with Coach Baker. The D-line is working on the forty-five degree drill with Coach Mack. Any questions?” Coach glances around, but no one raises their hand. “Alright, then. Let’s get to work.”

The huddle breaks and players group up according to the assignments. Dalton, Stevens, Langley, and I follow Coach to the far end of the field. Coach stoops down and picks up two footballs, tossing one to Dalton and the other to Langley.

“With Rex gone, we’ll be needing a new quarterback this season. One of the two of you will get the starting position; the other will be back-up. This is your chance to practice your skills. You boys are lucky to have a pro in town to show you how it’s done.” Coach tips his ball cap at me and my chest tightens, nerves firing.

I’m not sure how lucky they are to have me, but it’s nice to hear Coach say so.

“Baker and I will be watching you both all summer. We’ll make the decision at the end of camp, before school starts. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach.” All four of us respond in unison and then Coach pulls out the playbook, reviewing the list of plays. Langley listens intently, drawing the various routes on his hand with his index finger while Coach talks. Dalton stares off into the distance and looks bored.

“Hit it, boys. Dalton on the left, Langley on the right.” Coach points the two quarterbacks to their respective spots and then blows his whistle, the sharp tweet signaling the beginning of the first play.

I jog to mid-field and spin, ready to receive the pass. Langley rockets the ball in my direction, but overshoots by at least ten yards.

“Shit,” I mutter, landing on the turf empty-handed. Kid definitely has some work to do.

“Again!” Coach shouts. The whistle blows and the ball flies in my direction. I jump into the air, the ball slamming into my hands this time.

“Nice one, Crawford.” Coach shoots me a thumbs-up and Langley grins.

“Next play! Corner route, go!”

The whistle shrieks and I take off, running straight before cutting forty-five degrees toward the sideline. Spinning around, I spot the ball but can’t get there before it tumbles to the ground.

“Again!” Coach screams and I jog back to mid-field and repeat. Then repeat again and again, Langley overthrowing or underthrowing every damn time.

“Son, respectfully, what the hell are you doing out there?” Coach calls out to Langley.

Langley drops his head, staring down at the turf and shaking out his throwing arm .

“Take five, boys. Get a drink of water and regroup.”

I take the opportunity to head over to the bleachers and grab my water bottle, squirting the cool liquid into my mouth before swiping at the sweat dripping off my face. I forgot how freaking hot it is here.

“Lang, that the best you got?” Dalton calls out to Langley. The poor kid’s standing near me, his lanky arms folded across his sweaty chest.

“Piss off, Dalton,” Langley hisses, brows scrunching together.

I watch for a second as Dalton grins before ducking his head and chatting with his receiver. I’m impressed Langley doesn’t flip Dalton the bird—guess that’s one of the main differences between the pros and high school. That and the fact that Langley didn’t just deck him, I suppose.

“Ignore him, Langley. We’ll get it figured out. Come on.” I motion him back onto the field, then hustle to take my position. We run the drill five more times, and I only fumble it once.

“See? You got this!” I shout, pumping my fist high in the air as I make the completion.

“Time!” Coach calls, waving his arms in the air. “Good practice today, boys. Go home and rest up. I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

The team grabs their gear and heads toward the locker room. Langley lags behind, chucking his stuff into his duffel bag one item at a time.

“Hey—” I call out, shuffling up to him. “Keep your chin up. You’ll get better.”

The kid shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling, defeat etched on his face. “Sure.”

I reach out, squeezing his shoulder. “Trust the process. If Coach thinks you can do it, you can. He picks winners. Consistently, year after year.”

“Yeah. But he didn’t pick me yet for a reason.” Langley zips up his bag, avoiding my gaze.

“But he thinks you have it in you. That’s what matters right now.”

“Sure. Dalton’s gonna get the spot, I know it. He’s bigger than me, throws harder and farther. He’s a sure thing.”

“With that kind of attitude, yeah.”

Langley stands, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his Thunder Creek T-shirt.

“That’s easy for you to say, coming from the pros. You don’t know what it’s like being here, not getting picked.”

I huff out a breath, my gut squeezing. “Sure. Believe it or not, I have a pretty good idea of what that feels like.”

“Bro, you’re in the league.”

“ Was in the league. Trying to get back there. Everyone has ups and downs, man. Even once you go pro. The good news for you is you’re a rising star. I’ll take that any damn day of the week.”

Langley peers off into the distance, up at the blank scoreboard. A long minute passes and I stoop to grab my gear.

“Thanks. It was cool of you to stick around and give me a pep talk.” His voice is quiet and warmth spreads through me, from my gut up through my chest. I rise to face him.

“No problem. Keep your head in the game.”

Langley nods and waves, trotting off to the locker room and I pray that I can heed my own advice, keeping my mind on football and off the coach’s daughter.