Whiplash: A Sports Romance by Tabatha Kiss Page B

in the morning on a Saturday .”
    He attacks my neck, leaving a line of kisses from my ear to my collarbone. “I had to be on campus anyway,” he says, sliding his fingers beneath my blouse. “Coach wants to get in one last practice before the game today.”
    “Aren’t you going to be late?”
    “Probably,” he breathes, kissing me again. He leans down to cup my rear and lifts me up to pin me against the wall with little effort. “But I wanted to be sure you’re still in on our deal…”
    I quiver as his hard package presses against me. “Yes, I’m still in.”
    “Good.” He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth. “Because I want to fill this little mouth of yours, Eliza Pierce…”
    I moan, imagining his salty sweetness on my tongue.
    He gives me one last kiss and drops me back down. “Are you coming to the game?”
    “Uh…” I straighten my skirt. “I don’t think so.”
    “What? You don’t like football?”
    “Not really.”
    Junior chuckles. “But your dad is Cary Pierce .”
    “Yeah… that’s kinda why I don’t like football,” I say, only half-joking.
    “Where can I find you after?”
    “Here.”
    His lips curl. He slides his thumb along my bottom lip and I know exactly what he’s imagining putting there. “Bye, Ellie.”
    I nod, fighting all temptation in me to let him have it right here and now. “Bye, Junior.”
    He opens the door and steps outside into the hall.
    I take a long, deep breath. Then another one. And another one.
    It’s only eight in the morning and I already need a new pair of panties.
    It’s gonna be a long day…

 
    Chapter 11
    Junior
     
    Pure adrenaline.
    There’s no other way to describe it. The call of the screaming crowd — most of which came just to catch a quick glimpse of Cary Pierce. The rehearsed rhymes from the cheerleaders. The weight of the pads on my shoulders. It all comes together with the pouring sweat and pulsing blood and that’s what it creates: Pure, unfiltered adrenaline.
    Add in the taste of Eliza Pierce’s lip gloss still clinging to my tongue and I’m surprised I’m even conscious right now.
    I look straight ahead and stare into the faces of the defensive linemen, each one of them just itching to dart forward and take me out. Their black eyes give a nervous twitch and I fight the grin from spreading across my face.
    Earlier tonight, that twitch was nonexistent. They knew who we were. They knew the reputation this school has, just like everybody else does.
    We’re a bunch of losers.
    Not so much anymore.
    We’re twelve points ahead. Twelve. That’s a bigger lead than we’ve ever had. The other team thought they had this in the bag but since the start of the fourth quarter, they’ve been sweating a little more than we are.
    I glance to the sidelines and I lock eyes with Cary Pierce. He nods at me with his arms crossed over his chest and for a moment, I think this is all just a dream.
    If someone walked up to me when I was ten-years-old and told me that someday I’d be the quarterback for a college football team coached by Cary freakin’ Pierce , I’d have said they were full of shit. Especially when they added in the part about feeling up his hot daughter in a dark, empty classroom.
    With eyes forward, I lean down to prepare for the snap. The world spins in slow motion and I turn my head to check the positions of the offensive line one last time, my cleats digging into the turf just twenty yards from the end zone.
    “Hike!”
    The center snaps the ball back and I catch it as the defensive line shoves forward with hell in their eyes.
    My eyes shift to the wide receivers on either side. The one to my left struggles to make it past the cornerback but Ty bolts like lightning around the fray.
    I pull my arm back and throw it over their heads, arching it far down the field a split second before a two-hundred-pound mass topples me to the ground. I roll them away and pulse up onto my knees to watch the play unfold.
    Ty sprints and