Chaos & Love, page 4
part #1 of Blood and Iron Warriors Series
“Wait! What! Where are you going?” Complains Wyatt, who snuck in while I was daydreaming.
Ty’s biceps are huge, nearing the size of my thighs, and his thighs are as big as my waist, with striated muscles.
Just, wow.
“Huh?” I ask Wyatt, who gets my attention by waving at me.
“Hey there, Rayne, focus.” Wyatt gives me a sardonic smile.
I’ve so been caught devouring Ty.
“Where are you two going? Together?” He asks. Wyatt’s brown eyes are lit up with the knowledge he caught me, but his eyes darken and brows pinch when I glance again at Ty, before shaking away my daydream.
“Western Civ., eight o’clock,” I sing, knowing the little shit has the same class. “We want time to grab food. Besides, unlike your lazy ass, we were here early.”
Wyatt curses and shuts down his machine, followed by Bay and a couple others. Someone complains about cyborgs and not being lazy, but I wheel around and pull up my drenched shirt, showing my abs.
“Hard work is about showing up, so quit your belly achin’, ya crybabies. For tough guys, you whine a lot. I’d have expected you big boys to beat my ass here. Hell, only one cyborg made it early. So sad!”
As I laugh, Dylan yells, and I flee from Kevin, one of the defensive linemen, who chases me, yelling he’ll show me who’s a crybaby. I escape into the women’s locker room, laughing at the lame threats of retribution and whining.
Ha! Crybabies!
• • • •
The walk to class is like trying to herd a giant wall of hyperactive kittens. It’s an impossible chaos that’s kinda cute, and yet like banging your head into a wall.
I’m surrounded by five vile, ramped-up mountains, who are in fine form as I’m bombarded from all sides.
“You’re not skinny like those other dancers my mom’s always talking about.”
“I’m a contemporary and jazz dancer, you overgrown gorilla.”
“Did you see that great ass?”
“No, you oversexed heathen!”
“Can I show you my cock?”
“Sure, if I can post it on social media as an example of what not to do to impress a woman.”
“Can I eat you out?”
“Yes, when you buy me a ring and put me on your life insurance.”
“Okay, will you suck me off?”
“No, I don’t do casual hookups, and yes, that would count.”
“Do you have any dirty friends I can hook up with then?”
“No, but if I run into some, by all means, let me know your requirements and I’ll hook you up.”
These boys are disgusting and have no boundaries. The shit that comes out of their mouths is offensive and I should probably slap them, but they make me laugh and I can’t bring myself to be mad. They aren’t serious—except about the great ass, they wanted to know if I saw it.
And maybe about sending me a dick pic…I think they’d do that.
My morning isn’t what I was dreaming of when I came to school; it’s better.
Their jostling and laughter surround me as we walk up to the two giant doors leading into a cavernous lecture hall with ten minutes to go.
The cold of the air-conditioning hits us like an arctic blast as soon as the doors open, and I shove the blustering beasts out of my way, feeling as bright as the sunlight we’ve left outside until I hear my name.
Lightning-fast tremors lock me in place as I close my eyes and brace myself, feeling my balance get iffy.
I knew I’d see him again, just not here.
I can do this.
Ty’s wide back blocks me from seeing Gabe. When he glances back, our eyes catch, and instead of stepping away, he grips my elbow gently, pulling me up the ramp, away from my fears and away from the confrontation.
“Baby doll, come on.”
Bay’s hand falls to my shoulder, his mass blocking Gabe’s access from behind, as the rest of the boys supply a moving barrier of muscle and mayhem.
Ty walks us all the way to the back and sits me between him and Bay at the end of the aisle, our backs to the wall. Wyatt sits in front of Ty, Kevin in front of me, with Mike at the end.
As they settle in, Kevin and Mike, the two defensive linemen, realizing there’s a problem, fill the silence, openly stressing about surviving class.
They surround me physically and emotionally with jokes and laughing affection, and it makes me want to hug them all so hard, the emotion overwhelms me.
Warmth slides around my closed fist, Ty’s hand easily enveloping my whole hand, easing my tension as he gently squeezes. When I look at him, our connection melts any hesitancy to accept the offered heat.
“Thanks.”
“No biggie. Don’t let him throw you, okay? You got this.”
I nod and refocus, pulling out my laptop and textbook.
“You guys got the first reading done?” I ask.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Coughs Bay as the other two linemen stare blankly for a moment.
Their faces are frozen with genuine horror, and it’s comical to see this early in the semester.
“Yes.” Wyatt slips in a smirk, glancing at Ty.
“And fuck yes,” Ty says, smiling down at me.
“Wait! You three are a no, but Wyatt, who forgot about class, did the assignment?”
“First, how did you know there was an assignment?”howls Mike. “And fuck, Wyatt, it wasn’t him who knew. It was the goddamn fucking cyborg!”
“It’s called the Internet. If you haven’t looked at the rest of your classes, do it. You may need to. Badly,” I tell him, reaching to stroke my nails down the side of his neck.
Mike’s head lolls back, giving me more access, looking like he’s about to stroke out. It’s funny, because he reminds me of a puppy who wants to be petted, so I keep gently scratching.
“I’ve already read, and I’m ready to prep flashcards for the midterm. Wait, why would Ty only tell Wyatt? That’s not nice.”
Mike’s eyes are closed, fluttering as he mumbles, “Wyatt and Ty are roommates, rat bastards!”
He glances at Ty, who’s glaring at him.
Mike flips him off then rubs his head into my hand and closes his eyes again. “Yep. No team loyalty there. Fuckers didn’t tell anyone else, it’s just selfish.”
Ty slams his book down on his desk and mutters something under his breath.
“What was that?” groans Mike as I run my fingers through the peach fuzz on his head.
“Keep it up, fucker, and I won’t help later,” Ty threatens, his voice low and menacing.
Grinning at him and winking at me, Mike kisses my hand, sits up, and grabs his stuff out of his bag. “I feel you, man, I get it.”
I don’t know what just happened, but as the professor walks in, Gabe’s wrathful gaze aims my direction, causing painful prickles.
I can feel his anger, but I try to ignore him. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of ruining my day. He doesn’t get to do that.
Forcefully shifting my focus back to the guys, I ask Wyatt, “Did he have to tell you?”
Wyatt looks at Ty and shrugs. Neither of them looks like they feel bad.
“Neither of you told the others? You suck! They’re right.” I shake my head at them, which just earns Ty’s laughter.
Bay bumps me into Ty’s shoulder and smiles. “That just means you’re our new study buddy. You don’t want this many of the freshmen football players to fail, do you?”
“No.” I bump him back. “We can’t have that, can we?”
Halfway through class, I see Gabe glowering at me again. I try to let it slide over me, but my heart races, my nerves rising fast.
I’m losing focus.
A heated hand slides over the back of mine, engulfing and slipping gently between my fingers, draining away the cold, changing the rhythm in my chest, allowing me to exhale my fear.
Resting my head on his massive shoulder for just a moment, I whisper, “Thank you.”
I let go of Gabe’s anger and embrace Ty’s warmth.
Chapter Six
Tyler Blackman
My first day is packed. Between classes and practice, I’ve got no time to waste. I can do it all if I stay focused. It’s what I have to do. It’s what I’ve always done. I always hit it. It’s what my dad taught me early. You never miss.
I have to be perfect. Always.
“I don’t give grades away in this class, Mr. Blackman. Football players do not get special treatment here, so don’t bother having your coach call me. Perform or transfer.”
I love you too, asshole.
My construction degree is going to be fun. Not.
My key professor is hostile as shit. He let the whole class know he thinks ballplayers are stupid. It didn’t occur to him I earned my way into the program based on my grades, which I did, but I can’t drop the class.
I have a strict class schedule I had to agree to with my dad for him to let me come to school, and this class is one I need.
I’m aware the rest of the team is taking easier classes. Hell, everyone made sure I was aware, even Coach. But he doesn’t understand.
No one does.
Dad always says, “Focus,” and that’s what I’ll do. We have an agreement: I do what he wants, and I get what I want.
Ball is my choice; construction studies is his. He made it clear, I have to do both perfectly, so our family name and company look good, or he pulls me out of school. And he will in a heartbeat.
We have a construction company, Blackman Construction, and I need this degree so I’m an asset to the company. I have to serve a purpose or I’m useless to my dad.
He’s made sure I’m tough enough. Years spent doing our personal field drills, and any time I messed up, field time punishments.
Shit, the man pummeled me, punching me so hard, so often, I don’t feel it anymore. Not from anyone, on or off the field. It hasn’t been easy, and I haven’t always appreciated it, but it’s made me the way I am.
I guess it worked.
I don’t know how to make everyone understand. I can’t just get by, I have to excel.
And I will.
I’ll ace my classes and be the best on the field. It’s either that or he’ll flip out, and I’m not losing this chance to play, or live away from home. Away from him.
I’ve got this. Shit here is just like home, it’s just on a different scale. I go to class and study, it’s just more intense. I’ve been hit before, now it’s just harder and faster. At least here, if I miss a route, Dad won’t be hitting me. And girls, well that isn’t much different either.
Girls were all over me before, now just at a higher volume and a different kind. Not sure I’d say better though.
At home, at least they knew me, I grew up with them. These girls—some seem slightly crazy, desperate. They’re hot, but they’re nuts.
Coach keeps warning us to watch out for the jersey-chasers: girls looking for a meal ticket, looking to bed and get pregnant by someone with a rich future.
He sounds like my dad, without the angry quality. “Wrap that shit up” is regularly preached in the locker room, and the coaches seem genuinely concerned we’ll get taken advantage of.
So far, I’m sticking with the athletes. They’re crazy too, but they have other things going for them besides bedding a football player. Plus, I’m not worried. I’m straight-up with every girl I spend time with, and I’m straight-arming every single one of them. The Heisman Trophy’s got nothing on me.
I’m not letting any girl make my already-complicated life worse. They’re friends or stress relief. I’ve got no time for anything else.
After today, stress relief is one of the main things on my mind when I hit the elevator to my room and see a flash of red hair.
Shay.
She’s a stress relief. One of the few cheerleaders not looking for a boyfriend, she always seems eager to fall on a CU Warrior’s “sword,” so to speak, and it’s something I need already.
I’ve only been gone a few weeks but Dad has called at least twice a day to see if I’m staying focused, and I just don’t have time for him.
Every call is another hour I don’t have to get stuff done.
The tight bundle of sex who jumps into the elevator with me is less crazy than most. She’s direct, so I don’t have to waste time explaining things—something I appreciate as the doors close on us.
“You finished for the night, Ty?”
“Why?”
“I was wondering if you had time to help me stretch?”
“Seriously?” My eyebrow arches automatically.
She has to do better than that. We’ve already tested the waters, so it’s not as if we don’t know what the other can do.
“No, gorgeous. I wanna fuck.”
She rakes my abs with her nails and kisses my chest, making my blood pound and my thoughts blur. Which is good. I don’t want to think about shit teachers, almost pounding Gabe, or Dad.
Silently, we walk down the hall to my room. I’ve got a window for physical release, and I’m taking it.
I flip the whiteboard by our door, signaling to Wyatt not to come in.
Closing the door, I drop my bag, and pull her legs so she straddles me on my bed.
My hands roam, my mind blanking out. I don’t think, my body taking over like it always does. My skin heats. The pounding drum in my veins eliminates everything, even the pain from practice.
I love sex. I love how whatever plagues my mind disappears. Skin wipes away whatever ugliness built up in my mind, erases the pain in my body, stopping everything. I never remember much, other than if it satisfies and eliminates whatever is happening in my head.
“Come here.” I pull her over me as I stretch out.
She’s going to put an end to this day for me.
• • • •
I’m on time. I always am. It keeps my coaches happy and lets me schedule my workouts the way I want.
My luck yesterday was off the charts with Rayne. We’ll see if she shows again. I know my skepticism isn’t nice, but the guys didn’t show this early either. Most people don’t show at five thirty. But fuck all if I don’t hear music through the frosted glass. Sure enough, there she is, starting her warmup.
Damn. She’s fucking beautiful.
Of course, she’s wearing tiny workout shorts and a sports bra this morning. As if that isn’t distracting as hell.
Friends. Yeah. We’re just friends.
Her soft, ripped abs are athletic but feminine. High dancer calves. Slim, muscled thighs perfect for…
Fuck friends…
“Hey, Cyborg!”
Shaking my head, I respond like I’m not thinking about stripping her. “Hey, baby doll. Starting off the playlist nicely.”
Focus on something other than how much I wanna rip off your clothes and bury multiple parts of myself in you.
“Yeah, well I’m good that way. Gotta mix it up.”
“So do I,” I mutter under my breath.
“Getchya ass up here. What class do you have at eight today?” Her smile lights up the room and makes my breath nearly stall out.
Her smile gets to me. After getting laid, you wouldn’t think a mere smile would have this effect, but hers does. She could rip me apart if I let her, but we’re just friends. And I don’t have time—
Damn it!
I hop on the treadmill and smile back. “Calc II. And where the fuck are your clothes?”
She shakes her head and laughs.
“Seriously, how the hell am I supposed to concentrate and stay on this machine with you like that?” I complain.
“Maybe you aren’t.” She keeps laughing. “I had to watch you half-naked.”
I like that.
I heard Wyatt teasing her yesterday about checking me out. She didn’t deny it, which makes me feel better about constantly ogling her when she isn’t watching.
We run for about thirty minutes then the doors open and what feels like half the team pours through.
“Yo, my man, Cyborg,” Randy hollers.
Randy plays cornerback, and like me, he’s big for his position. And by big, I mean huge. His nickname’s Tank, and he’s been hitting me like a machine of war for weeks. When he comes at me, he’s like a giant black rolling freight train, with long black braids and tats, ready to stomp my ass.
He walks in with McVey, and the two of them head straight for us. When McVey tries to grab the treadmill next to Rayne, Randy blocks him.
“What the hell, man! This is my machine,” Randy says, looking at Rayne. “Hey, sweet thing. How you doin’ this fine morning?” The Alabama boy’s switch to southern drawl is hard to miss, and he keeps up the charm offensive, irritating me. “I missed seeing you the last few days.”
McVey and I look at each other with a “WTF” expression, then back at Randy.
“Hey, big guy!” Rayne smiles. “My schedule changed for school. Ty and I were here yesterday and today at five thirty.” She continues with a smile, “Morning, Dylan. You feeling perfect this morning?”
She waves at the rest of the team, who call and whistle with affection.
“Hey, you big, beautiful Warriors!” I’m reminded she knows my team, that everyone knows and loves her, and it sits in my stomach like lead.
“I am perfect.” McVey smirks at her and strokes his abs. Damn show-off! He squints at Randy. “See, she knows I’m perfect, so my machine. And I’m the QB, so I outrank you. Find another machine.”
Randy shakes his head and looks down at him. “Step off, little man. I’m a senior, and I’m bigger than you.”
“We both beat Cyborg.”
“That’s right.” They both turn to me as we keep running. “Move, freshy!”
Rayne gives them a wicked look. “Nope! He was here first. I’ll fuck with both of you if you fuck with him.” Her side-smile is devastating.
“Well, shit, Rayne, that’s no fun,” Randy complains. “How the hell are we supposed to decide?”
You stood up for me!
“Who was the first person here?”
“Bullet, by two minutes,” Randy admits, sniffing at McVey.
“Then ‘Bullet’ gets the machine. You wanna pick? Get here first.” Her smile is blinding, like the sun, and we all turn and soak up every bit we can. She doesn’t even know she does it.
