The Jock's Secret Crush

SETH

I've been living a pretty fucked up life for as long as I can remember.

After mom and dad divorced, all I have done is bounce between two homes, one where I was told I wasn't needed, and the other where I wanted to be but couldn't because hey, the judge don't feel the same.

And that was the start of when everything went from bad to worse.

I could write sagas about the shit I have done, but that book would be like five hundred pages long and a story so sappy, it would make the strongest person cry. And I wasn't here to open old chapters, or rewrite them, or talk about it. I wanted to forget, I needed a clean slate and coming over to stay with my mother was the best option.

I had moved forward in my life. I'd come really close to destroying it, but the stubborn bone inside my body wouldn't let me.

Here I was in a small town of Bountyville with no one having a clue as to what kind of a person I'd been. I planned to keep it that way.

Over here, I was the new captain of the Hockey team, a straight-A student, a guy the girls would happily get their hearts broken for, and someone who was for the lack of a better word, respected, which was a fucking ironic because respect is something that I never got where I lived before.

I was at a party that I hardly cared about, but I was here because I wanted to 'Fit in.'

Our school had won a game, my first one since I joined two months ago, and being the power forward, I'd managed to score the most points.

This was a celebration for the win.

And celebration I mean, lots of food, and girls.

I looked around the room and every one of my teammates had a girl with them that they would be fucking tonight.

Staysha Wade was sitting in my lap, kissing a trail from my cheek to my jawline. Staysha was nice, she knew I didn't do any type of relationship, and she was more than okay with the arrangement of us fucking each other blind and going our way. No texts, no calls, none of that complicated shit. I needed someone to blow off steam and she was more than willing.

But something that night wasn't making me concentrate on her kisses, or turning me on.

"Let's go find a room?" She whispered into my ear, and then her tongue licked the corner of my mouth.

Staysha was jabbering non-stop but my eyes were following one particular girl in the darkness by the pool. She was talking to one of the other girls. Her mousse brown hair were in curls, her oval face glowing beneath the moonlight. Her eyes were filled with tears, a pink hue covering her cheeks. I wondered how I hadn't noticed this girl before.

At first, it was curiosity, and I didn't think this girl would become my obsession and the star of my nightly fantasies in the near unforeseen future.

She was wiping her tears and then dragging a tall guy away from the party, the guy looked totally stoned by the way. She continued to point fingers and screaming at him. While this went on, my teammates were discussing girls and bets. I wish I was sober to shut them up and tell them it was wrong, but I was too drunk to focus on the seriousness of the situation.

And I also have no idea what my future awaited me.

"Man, I'd tap that. Have you seen that booty?"

"Yeah, man." Another teammate said I think it was Shane. "She's well endowed in those areas." I vaguely recalled him making the boob gesture with his hands.

"Sweet-Potato Emily might be hiding a pornstar's body." Roland chuckled evilly.

I should be fucking ashamed of what these boys were talking about, but I sat there and listened.

"Tell you what boys," Roland said, "If any of you could fuck her by the end of this season, I'll give you mofos a thousand dollars."

"Count me out," Shane muttered, taking a swig of his fourth or fifth beer. "We all know that's not gonna happen. She's definitely not the type who would spread her legs easily."

"That's the challenge, you idiot."

I raised my hand. "Make it two thousand and I'll fuck her."

I hadn't even seen or asked which girl these bunch of idiots were talking about.

I was already sure I wouldn't recall this party, or this conversation, or this stupid bet the next day.

"My man, Monroe!" Roland cheered, slapping me on my back. "You have my word. You fuck Emily Vasquez and the money is yours."