Fuck, I hate losing.
I ran my tongue gently over my lips like the movement removed the horrible taste of defeat from my mouth. The same feeling sank a weight in my stomach, twitched my fingers with irritation, and clenched my jaw tightly shut.
On paper, tonight's game was another solid, stellar performance for me. Our offense clicked efficiently, ate up the game clock with the defense pressed deep, my throws were accurate, and playcalls executed perfectly en pointe.
Tonight, I wasn't the USC player that the Trojans' fanbase ripped apart and blamed for the loss. Unfortunately, that fell on our kicker London Drake. In a game of inches, his first missed field goal of the season also cost us our first loss. Tonight's game was huge, against a PAC-12 rival that, in every USC player, coach, and fan's mind at least, wasn't as good of a team.
Better team aside, after sixty minutes and one bounce in their direction, the Huskies handed us our first bitter-as-fuck loss of the season. While I knew we wouldn't have won every game this season, tonight's loss stung...
Because it was personal.
The smirk and cocky glow that practically radiated from Logan across the dinner table from me, his arm slung over the back of Ellie's chair, felt like salt poured into an open wound.
Of course he's happy. They won and he's back with Ellie.
If I was back in Los Angeles then, like after any loss, I would've licked my wounds and buried myself in between some desperately willing girl's open legs while she almost orgasmed just from how our eyes met. Once her back hit my bed, she screamed out my name, and came undone while she watched as Jake Harrison, starting quarterback for USC, used her body for my own selfish pleasure.
Only difference with wins is how girls treat like my dick like it's the fucking Heisman trophy.
While I was no stranger to casual sex, beyond the irritation that I got tested weekly even though I always used condoms, a small part of my subconscious admitted that a random hookup every weekend lacked the same bite of excitement that some of my past relationships had held.
One in particular, who'd burn me alive if I called what we had a relationship.
Once I saw Harper before the ESPN interview at Husky Stadium, I knew from just one look in her direction, the flash within her light blue eyes, slight smirk on those sinfully full lips, one insult that shamefully turned me on more than any gasped recognition and I reverted right back to the high school version of myself. Both my brain and hands went on autopilot mode.
After Harper and I fucked behind Ellie's back our senior year of high school, we had genuinely parted on good terms. We kept in touch as casually as any of our conversations went. While Mom, Dad, and I waited at the bar for Ellie and Logan, I flipped through the latest example that still sat at the top of my text history.
me: Hey firecracker.
HER: fuck you.
A low chuckle escaped me at that response.
Every time.
me: If that's what you want, I'll change my next flight and get a layover.
me: Because we both know that's what you want, me laying over you.
A grin pulled across my mouth as Harper's typically irritated look, the spark of defiance and challenge in her eyes flashed through my mind. As usual, her insults never fell short.
HER: What I want is silence.
HER: What I want is your dick to grow gangrene and fall off.
"Don't lie," I murmured down at my phone screen.
me: Always thinking about my dick, huh?
HER: Fuck you're so annoying.
HER: If we were the last two people alive in a nursing home, then I'd put vaseline on the tips of your walker and push you down the stairs.
My phone chimed with a few subsequent insults, all of them about my dick, and eventually I had to put my phone down because riled up Harper turned me on like no one else. The last thing I wanted was a post-game dinner with my parents, sister, her boyfriend, and a hard-on.
Normal people flirt, not sure what the fuck is wrong with me that Harper's insults still affect me like that.
I hadn't felt such a strong physical reaction to anyone since high school. Just the sight of Harper's beautiful face, that tall, curved body, even if frozen in shock then pissed off at me, lit a fucking pilot light in my entire body. My hands went right between her legs, my mouth vomited whatever it wanted because my brain was fried, and even my cock went on full alert just from the mental images my dirty mind filtered through on the plane ride back to Los Angeles.
Thankfully security hadn't noticed and patted me down.
While I came on strong with my solicitation last weekend to Harper, which I fully intended that I followed through with, she never answered me. The longer the interviewer continued, the more Rachel blatantly showed her attraction for me, and the angrier Harper got, my sentiments shifted to how unfairly I'd toyed with her emotions.
I knew Harper's control-freak side hated surprises and could've easily told her I'd planned to be there in person, but fuck I liked her riled up. Once Ryder's name came up though, my arousal was doused like I'd submerged myself in an ice bath. Similarly, once Ellie and Logan arrived at the bar tonight, the atmosphere around the table filled with an uncomfortable tension.
My past with Harper was complicated and included far more mistakes than successes. But like my many mistakes, my resistance crumbled, so I diverged from Ellie's unresolved issues with our parents. With one smirk across the dinner table at my younger sister, I asked the loaded question, "So... How's Harper?"
Ellie nearly inhaled her sip of water at my casual question. After a few gags, very red cheeks, and a few back pats from Logan's palms, her watery eyes lifted up to mine.
I understood Ellie's reaction because my actions had been beyond erratic lately. I was uncharacteristically in less control of myself, which started when Mr. Reynolds the lawyer called me about the ESPN interview.
During our pre-interview call, I'd half-heartedly listened when Mr. Reynolds said that he'd cut off Rachel Sorenson if she asked inappropriate questions. Past performances showed I handled Rachel just fine and, like whenever another particular blonde was in the same room, Rachel hadn't caught my attention. But once Mr. Reynolds casually mentioned Harper also planned to be there, I'd booked my flight courtesy of ESPN five minutes later.
At twenty-four, Rachel was three years older than me and I'd known her for two years. She first interviewed me during my redshirt freshman year for an ESPN magazine article on upcoming college players. Her striking but unnaturally colored blonde hair and blue eyes fit my usual preference but I wasn't interested.
Rachel had other ideas and every time ESPN was in Los Angeles for USC's game coverage, she was too. Her presence, even when our game wasn't the featured game of the week, and the way she sought me out for more than pre- and post-game interviews were more than coincidental. With her tall, slim frame, decent rack, and gorgeous legs, Rachel was easily recognizable in the locker room, dimly-lit parking lots, or the team's hotel lobby.
With her obvious intentions, Rachel would've been an easy repeat score but the only way she'd ever undressed me was with her eyes. I had loose standards but fucking someone whose job literally involved digging through people's lives for headline grabs wasn't in my personal playbook.
"Wuh-what?" The reason for my minimal, but existent, moral standards choked out.
Logan chuckled from his seat next to Ellie. I ignored the knowing smile that spread across Mom's mouth whenever Harper's name came up in my presence, leaned as casually as I could forwards in my seat, then spoke slowly at Ellie, "How. Is. Harper."
While I assured Ellie I'd flown up here last week so I supported during the interview, which was partially true, my decision was a no-brainer once Mr. Reynolds informed me that the blonde I'd tried my best to forget for the two fucking years would also be present.
Despite how the number of girls who'd left my bed satisfied had definitely increased since I'd been with Harper, I wasn't the insensitive manwhore she thought I was. There was definitely one common theme, every girl I'd been with at USC wanted the star quarterback and nothing more. I was stupid if I hadn't used my elite status as the team's captain and leader to my advantage, so I had and definitely still did.
My problem was, the sex itself was a good release but predictable. Nails raked over my abs while I pistoned out my frustrations in missionary from a girl who's consent I had with one look left me satisfied but never sated. Girls presented no challenge, no resistance, just complete submission and agreement. My pickiness meant the girls were beautiful and their reactions and requests for repeats showed they enjoyed their time with me but they were shallow, even borderline boring.
They're not... her.
"Scarred after you showed up last week," Ellie retorted with a slight side pull of her lips towards her right cheek. "She's... okay. Her Dad's kicking her out in the spring."
My eyebrows shot up high because, not that we were close, but Harper hadn't mentioned that development to me. "How come?"
Ellie paused and gave me a look like Harper would murder her in her sleep for answering me, but she still shared, "She's been at Cabrillo longer than planned, so her Dad found her an internship to work at if she doesn't decide what she wants to study."
"I'm sure she'll figure it out," I replied casually because if there was one thing about Harper, independent and self-sufficient were both understatements about her.
"We'll see her a little bit at Christmas, a day or two." Ellie's shoulders slumped slightly at that.
A frown tensed my forehead as I vaguely remembered Ellie had missed Madison's embarrassing not-wedding at Uncle Anthony's a couple years ago because of UW's academic schedule. Ellie was back in classes when universities like USC were still on winter break for nearly three weeks but she'd secretly confessed was relieved she'd missed the not-wedding drama.
If my cousin had married Logan's Dad, then we would've been... I have no idea.
"So..." I narrowed my eyes at Ellie and Logan then dragged a finger between them. "How long?"
Like I predicted, Dad's shoulders, spine, and arms stiffened at my obvious statement. While the mental image of any guy with my sister sickened my stomach, who Ellie dated was her business. The only proof I needed from Logan was that he treated her well, protected her giant heart, and made her happy. Their sappy smiles, interlocked fingers, and random hugs and squeezes more than satisfied the last condition.
"Not long," Ellie replied to me but shifted her eyes to Dad. "And you're okay with it, right?"
"Dating, yes?" he huffed out quietly. "Living together, no."
Ellie's eyes rolled and the knuckles on her hand that held Logan's tightened. Like typically Ellie, she bit back her initial response, rolled her lower lip under, and tucked it between her teeth. After a few slow, obviously deliberate breaths, her eyes darkened and Ellie blurted out, "I had nothing to do with that."
My eyes shifted over to our unusually silent Mom. Her dark brown eyes, the only trait Ellie and I also shared, averted as my eyebrows lifted. While our parents hadn't been supportive of Logan when he and Ellie dated in high school, post-breakup Mom had confessed to me that they'd made a mistake.
Complete understatement and they probably never told Ellie.
My relationship was strained with Ellie, especially with what I'd done with Harper, but miraculously she'd forgiven me first. We weren't close with the distance, texted and called maybe once a month, but we were both busy in separate colleges. Just from their body language, the way her hand clutched Logan's during the interview, I knew he was important to her, which was why I'd asked if he treated her okay in front of Dad.
Even though that's a no-brainer, Dad needs to hear it as many times as it'll take to sink in.
Over the past three years, in my form of reparations, I'd sent only Ellie updates on my anger management therapy sessions. She never mentioned her own therapy progress but once I revealed the tie between my anger and guilt at how I'd failed my sister to my counselor, he suggested that I opened up my progress to Ellie. Years of suppressed and pent up guilt for not only when she was sexually assaulted but how I'd brought her to the party, led her to the situation, despite my best efforts, Ryder kicked my freshman-aged ass then ruined Ellie's reputation at school had manifested into an act-first, not-give-a-fuck-later anger problem.
USC's athletic department waived my mandated one-on-one anger management counseling sessions after I'd gotten through my redshirted freshman year with no conduct incidents. That outcome wasn't good enough for me, so I stayed in the sessions until the start of this year when I'd earned the starting quarterback position.
At my counselor's suggestion, now I attended weekly group sessions, where the most important thing I'd learned was how to listen. No part of me was ashamed I'd been fucked up, hit a rock bottom point before I realized I needed to be straightened out, and openly admitted that to anyone else who struggled with the same demons.
Still working on the mindless, detached sex but no one's perfect.
"Whoever's fault it was," Dad's sharp tone cut through my absent thoughts. "I don't like the living situation."
"Dad, we're all adults here," I reminded him. "Ellie's twenty, not fourteen, so back off."
Ellie threw me a weak but grateful smile, which faded as soon as Dad's face flooded pink. His lips curled upwards at the corners and his voice was laced with anger when he said, "I'll never stop caring about Ellie not being taken advantage of!"
Right when my mouth parted in Ellie's defense because she was obviously happy, Logan spouted off some romantic, commitment-related shit. I tuned out most of his words because, as expected, Dad completely misinterpreted them.
"So this -" Dad fumed and waved his hand in their direction. "Roommate setup was some kind of scheme? Getting into her pants first, then break her heart?"
My phone buzzed with a message, which temporarily distracted me from the thick, uncomfortable silence at the now shocked table.
RS: Behind you, handsome.
I groaned quietly but glanced over my shoulder and saw Rachel, dressed in a short, tight black dress with one long leg crossed over the other, elbows rested on the bar, and blue eyes locked right on mine.
How many times does one woman need the answer no?
I sighed, turned back to my phone, and typed up a quick response.
me: Can't. Family visit.
RS: It's in your family's best interest.
Apparently I have to tell her off in person.
"Fuck," I cursed more to myself then scanned my eyes around what looked like a Harrison family standoff. Dad's face had grown beet red, I was surprised steam hadn't poured out his ears, Ellie's eyes were narrowed and dark, with both Logan's hands on her shoulders, and Mom sat in between with her face hidden behind her fingers.
They need to sort this shit out.
"Excuse me," I muttered and stood up. "I'm going to the bathroom. Try not to kill each other and if the waiter comes back, just order me the steak or whatever."
I'd gotten about four steps away before both Dad and Ellie burst into loud arguments at the same time, and winced at how neither backed down.
I'm on Ellie's side but they need to sort it out between them.
"What do you want?" I pressed out once I stood a foot away from Rachel's shoulder. Seated at a bar-height stool, her very exposed chest came to about my shoulder height but I had no interest in a visual inspection of her cleavage. Technically, I was very interested because breasts were breasts, but the last thing I wanted was I led her on.
"Hi," she purred out in a low, suggestive voice that normally would've flicked some interest between my legs but tonight, with the backdrop of my sister's yells intermixed with our Dad's, annoyed was the only reaction I had.
"You didn't fly back with the rest of your team," she pointed out the obvious, shifted in her stool until she faced me, and gently slid her top crossed-over foot up and down the outside of my outer thigh and ran one hand over my closest bicep.
"Very observant," I replied flatly and palmed both hands onto the bartop. "I said, I'm here with my family, who I don't see -"
I cut myself off at the sight of my sister's small frame, visibly upset and marched right in my direction. With one movement, my hand extended and I grabbed her upper arm. "Ellie?"
"I can't do this!" Ellie's voice gushed out in a whisper, her eyes red and tears trailed down her cheeks as she brushed past me. "Sorry, Jake."
"Ellie, wait, what -" I started and stepped after Ellie when Rachel's hand on my shoulder pulled me back. "Fuck off, Rachel -"
"Wait," she whispered and pointed back to our table, where Dad now marched towards us after Ellie. I groaned at his loud stomps and tight fists.
"Dad," I intercepted him with a warning tone that he deserved right now. "Back of on Ellie's life, she -"
"Doesn't know what's best for her own good!" he snarled, shoved me aside, and continued on his marched tirade.
For fuck's sake. Dad's going to end up with a stroke some day if he doesn't dial back his blood pressure.
My mouth hung slightly open as Mom and Logan's frames stood up from the table. Logan wished me a good night while Mom hung back for a second. Disappointment filled her eyes as she looked at Rachel, but just pressed a kiss on my cheek and cash into my suit's pocket for the restaurant bill, and pointedly said, "See you back at the hotel."
"Rein him in," I grumbled and nodded in Dad's stormed out exit. By the view we had from inside the bar at least, right near the entrance door, Dad screamed his lungs out at Ellie.
I cupped one hand over my eyes, then rubbed my forehead a few times.
Two minutes then I'm separating them.
"So you're staying here, huh?" Rachel's still-suggestive voice barely distracted my attention, until a hand gripped my chin and directed my gaze towards hers. "Not with the team this time."
My shut-down excuse over and over had been privacy and player conduct. Like a continuous response loop, I'd always told Rachel that I wouldn't sleep with her while I shared a hotel room, disappeared from the team, or even just be seen in a hotel with a woman while our team was on the road.
I took the player conduct part seriously even though the coaches turned a blind eye towards any form of celebration that hadn't involved drugs, alcohol, or damaged hotel property. Plenty of guys slept with road girls and reality was I could've had any girl post-game that I wanted, but like I'd said, minimum moral standards.
"Not tonight." I sighed and looked back at my family, clustered outside the front of the restaurant where Logan and Mom now stood off slightly to the side while Dad and Ellie argued further.
"Well..." Rachel's voice dropped and she looked up at me from under her lashes. "If you aren't going to give me one thing that I want, then give me something else."
"What," I replied flatly because honestly, I owed her nothing and was beyond bored with her presence. The UW pre-game interview was a favor for Ellie and Logan's benefit, not mine. With USC's fanbase in the millions, I wasn't starved for media attention.
"A scoop, inside information, anonymous source," she replied quickly as her fingers trailed up and down my forearm. "All three of you reacted to Ryder Stevens, why?"
"Because if he's done what he's been accused of, then he's a giant shit-stain on our town, our school, and a piece of shit exemption against any hard-working guy who slips on the helmet for all the right reasons," I replied in a cool, even tone.
"I could've read that off an AP wire, Jacob," she murmured and gave one sharp pat on my hand. "There's more there, I know it and I'll find it."
"Dead end, Rachel," I informed her, which hopefully she realized meant more than just her nose sniffed into our past, put the cash Mom had given me in the bartender's hand as I pointed at our abandoned dinner table, then walked away from Rachel.
"Not going to happen between you and me either," I assured her over my shoulder. "Goodnight, Rachel."
"Not over Jake," she called back in a low voice. "Not over."