Blitzed by the Brit: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 2

  I remind myself that I should be grateful for this interview. Charles is the most famous guy on campus right now, single-handedly given the responsibility for reviving the football team’s fortunes which have been on a decades-long decline. Every guy wants to be near him, hoping to look better just by being in his presence.

  And the women…. I think it’s safe to say that every single woman—and many of the attached ones too—would love to be sitting in a sauna with Charles right now. Not many of them would keep their clothes on like I insist on doing.

  I take some satisfaction from knowing that Peter is probably upstairs sitting in the college’s newspaper office, furious in the knowledge that I’m conducting this interview and not him. That satisfaction quickly disappears when I try to cross one leg over the other, only for the top leg to slip off because they are both so sweaty.

  This interview needs to be over, and quickly.

  Charles must be able to read my mind, because he gets up and puts another two scoops of water on the coals.

  “I won’t look,” he says. “If you want to strip off a few layers, I will answer all the questions facing the wall.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I lie. And I don’t trust him for a second. If I strip down to my underwear, he’ll get up and open the door to let the entire football team see me half-naked. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve seen me in a highly-compromised position, and I’m not about to make the same mistake twice.

  I pick up my pen and pad of paper, the pages already wrinkled in the damp heat, and try to focus on the task at hand.

  “You know, phones can record conversations now,” Charles says cheekily.

  “I’m well aware of that. I’m also aware that phones and water don’t mix. If you want to move this interview to somewhere sensible, then by all means I will use my phone.”

  “On second thought, maybe it’s best not all my comments are recorded for posterity. I’ve gotten in trouble like that before.”

  “For the first time today, I think you’ve just been completely honest with me. Miracles will never cease. Now, let’s get this stupid interview over and done with.”

  “Yeah, let’s crack on. I have a party to go to tonight. Fire away, Becky.”

  “It’s Rebecca.”

  “Sorry, Becky, my bad.”

  I take a deep breath to try and calm the anger building inside me, but the hot air filling my lungs only makes me feel worse. I clutch the pen to stop it from slipping out of my grip and remind myself how important the college paper is to me and to my future.

  If this gets me a job as a journalist, it will be worth it. Besides, I’ll have to interview worse people than him. Probably. Maybe.

  “Why did you transfer to this college?” I ask.

  “Oh, well, it’s always been a dream of mine to study at such an illustrious institution as… what’s this place called again?”

  “Hilarious. I’m just going to write down ‘it’s the only place that would take my dumb ass.’ That sound accurate?”

  “No,” Charles replies pointedly. “If you must know, I came here because my dad lives in this town. He moved to the states from England when he split up with my mother. If I’m going to go to college somewhere in America, it might as well be the one closest to him.”

  I scribble ‘father’ on the paper. With my sweaty hand and cheap plastic pen, each word takes more effort to write than an entire sentence, so for once I keep my notes brief.

  I know all this stuff anyway, but I want to hear it from him firsthand. I need him to trust me if I’m going to get any decent answers from him later.

  “Where did you go to college in England?” I ask.

  “I didn’t go to university. I left school at sixteen to play rugby.”

  “Sixteen? Is that even legal?”

  “Yes, in England it is. Standard leaving age is sixteen, and there wasn’t much point me staying in education when I had a training contract from a big team in front of me.”

  “So there’s no such thing as ‘college rugby’ in England?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “You really hate the idea of being educated?” I ask.

  “I have nothing against education, but the whole system of playing sport for no money really confuses me. Tens of thousands of people will be showing up for these games, and I won’t get paid a penny. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

  I nod, and scribble some more notes. I can’t really argue with that point. The system is a mess, and in this case it’s even worse. My college intends to build its entire football program around this guy, but he won’t see a cent. Not until he’s professional. I hate sports, but I also hate people putting their health on the line while being exploited by the college I used to admire.

  “So after leaving school at sixteen, you played rugby for a few years. How did that go?”

  “You know, I might have left school at sixteen, and you might be the educated one, but at least I know how to use Google. Seriously, you could have got the answers to all these questions within sixty seconds if you looked them up online. Now who’s the dumb one?”

  Well that has to go down as a low point. A footballer just called me dumb. He’s wrong, but it’s still kind of humiliating.

  “I already know the answers to these questions,” I point out.

  “Then why ask them? Unless…. Oh, I get it. You’re just dragging the interview out so you can spend more time in here with me examining my body. Shame you didn’t bring your phone with you. I’d let you take a picture, but I’m sure you keep a mental one in the wank bank for later use. Is it still a wank bank for women? Maybe ‘fap trap’ is better? ‘Rub hub?’ Do they work?”

  If it’s possible for my cheeks to get even redder, they definitely do. Once again, I’m grateful for being in this sauna to hide my embarrassment. I don’t know what you call the female equivalent of a wank bank, but Charles is definitely in there. Right now, he’s the sole occupant which means that the next time I’m alone I am definitely going to be picturing him in his skimpy little towel. He knows that. I can deny it all I like, but he knows. I opt to ignore him.

  “They’re softball questions,” I explain. “I’m asking them because it helps establish a rapport, and gets you used to talking before I ask the hard questions.”

  “Bollocks. If you wanted to build up a rapport, you just had to take off a few layers of clothing.”

  “Funnily enough, I prefer my method.”

  “I still think you’re just making the most of the view. Just admit it, it will make you feel better.”

  I sigh so loudly it sounds more like a groan. A deep, orgasmic groan. I blurt out everything I know about him before he can comment on the sexual noise that just escaped my lips.

  “You were born in Leicester, but you moved to London at the age of seven when your parents split up. You went to a local state school and achieved mediocre grades before signing for Northampton Rugby Football Club at the age of sixteen. At the age of nineteen you transferred to West London Rugby Football Club because you wanted to play alongside Oliver Cornish. While there, you won a vote for fans’ player of the year, and there was talk about you being called up for the England team. Then, out of the blue, you suddenly decided you want to play football—American football—instead and look for a transfer to the NFL. Unfortunately for you, because you’re only twenty-one you can’t just jump straight into professional football. The best route for you to make it to the pros is to play well for a college, so here you are.”

  I let out a deep, satisfied breath. That felt good.

  “You about done?” Charles asks.

  “Would you like me to recite your statistics from the last few years?”

  “That won’t be necessary. You did leave out one little detail though. I didn’t leave England ‘out of the blue.’”

  I frown, and dislodge sweat from my forehead, watching as it drops down onto my skirt. “I read a lot of articles. None of them mentioned a reason for leaving.”r />
  “I’m pleased to see not all information about my private life is available online. My mom died.”

  “Oh shit, I’m really sorry.” All that information I have in my head, and none of it mentions his mother dying.

  “That’s okay. I kept the information pretty low-key. It’s not the only reason I moved over here, but it played a big part.”

  “The other reason being your father?”

  Charles nods. “Sure, that as well. I just fancied a change.”

  This is one hell of a change. Charles isn’t the first person to switch rugby for football, but it’s still rare and I can’t find any cases of it working out particularly well. The ones that did make the switch didn’t do it at such a young age. Charles has to spend the next year in college just to make the transition. He’s a dumb jock, but a brave one, I have to give him that.

  “Come on then,” Charles says encouragingly. “Let’s move on to the tough questions.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I don’t want you going easy on me. I want you to give it to me hard. Hard and fast. Think you can do that?”

  “I’ll try,” I snarl through gritted teeth.

  I skim past a few more softball questions on my pad of paper, but before I can spit out my next question, the door bursts open and three guys from the football team are suddenly standing in the entrance with their phones pointing in my direction.

  “Come on, Charles,” the guy at the front says. “You’re supposed to be balls-deep in her by now.”

  “Yeah man,” the guy to his right says. “We laid her on a platter for you.”

  They’re filming me, just like they had done with my ex-boyfriend. I’ve been set up again. How stupid am I to keep falling for this shit? It’s taken me a year to move on from my one serious relationship and the embarrassment that followed it, but they haven’t forgotten. I’m still the talk of the school, everyone laughing behind my back and often directly to my face.

  “Charles, what the fuck is going on?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Save it. Just get the fuck out of here. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  Charles gets up and pushes the three footballers through the door as if they didn’t each weigh two hundred and fifty pounds.

  Real smart, Rebecca. Now you’re still stuck in this sauna until they all decide to leave.

  I can’t believe this is happening again. People think I’m clever, but if they could see me now they’d realize I’m a complete idiot. I’m the butt of all the jokes again. When will I learn that these football jocks are all the same. Even the English rugby playing ones. Stupid, arrogant, and mean, the lot of them. I’ll be happy never to talk to one ever again.

  Chapter 2

  Charles

  I’m a running back. I’m built for speed not strength, but right now I’m so pissed off that I easily push three linebackers through the door and out of the sauna. I ignore their pleas to ‘lay off’ until we’re ten feet from the sauna and hopefully out of Becky’s earshot.

  These idiots have been the bane of my life since I arrived. I admit, I came here with certain expectations of college athletes based on television and films, but I’d expected those stereotypes to be proven false. So far, they’ve only been reinforced.

  I know they’re not all like this. Some of the guys on the team seem pretty cool, but the ones that make the most noise are the stereotypical jocks. They’re painfully obvious. Somehow they actually have women throwing themselves at them; it blows my mind.

  I wouldn’t mind so much, but now this Becky girl has lumped me in with them. She thinks I’m just another dumb jock and the fact I didn’t even go to university doesn’t exactly help matters. Not that my lack of education should matter. I left school at sixteen because I hated learning, not because it was too difficult. Plus, I’d been offered a training contract and the promise of £10,000 a week once I was eighteen to play the sport I loved. The stupid thing would’ve been turning it down.

  I suppose the mandatory college education thing they have here isn’t all that bad. Most of these guys don’t end up making it in the pros, so at least they’ll have a degree to fall back on. It makes sense, but it gives them a huge ego. Say what you want about athletes in the UK, at least they aren’t tricked into thinking they’re clever by professors who give them grades far higher than they deserve.

  “You’ve got a sure thing with her,” Davis says loudly. He speaks like he’s always on the football pitch trying to make himself heard. I’ve already seen it get him in trouble during an exam when he tried to get an answer off the girl next to him.

  “He’s right,” Colin says. “She screwed half the team a couple of years back. She’s famous for it.”

  “You mean the girl sat in the sauna with a knee length skirt and a blouse done up to her neck?” I ask. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same person.”

  “She loves football cock,” Justin says. “She hooked up with the quarterback a year or so ago, and he used to let the whole team have a go on her.”

  “Do me a favor,” I reply wearily to a set of blank expressions. I guess that’s another phrase to add to the list of ones that don’t translate well over here. “None of you were on the team last year. I’m sure it’s just a rumor.”

  “Everyone knows man,” Justin insists. “You ask anyone. You should be thanking us for offering her to you first. I wouldn’t mind a go on her myself.”

  I’m supposed to be fucking grateful. That’s how it worked. They’re giving me this girl as a gift, so that I’d let them hang around with me. Fucking Neanderthals.

  “You told me it was a guy in there,” I say. “I went in there practically bollock-naked.”

  “I bet she loved it,” Davis says. “I’m amazed she let you keep the towel on so long.”

  These guys wouldn’t last five minutes with my old team. I thought attitudes like this had died out decades ago, but I guess that’s wishful thinking.

  “I reckon you got the wrong girl.”

  “Sounds to me like you just don’t know an easy thing when it’s placed in front of you. I thought you rugby boys were known for slinging your dick around just as much as us. I guess we Americans are a little more red-blooded.”

  Please God, don’t tell me these guys represent American men. I fail to believe that’s true, but so far my best experience with an American guy has been the TSA officer who’d greeted me at immigration. That must really say something about the guys at this college.

  I desperately want to bring these fucking idiots into line, but I need to think about team morale. I’ve only been in town a week and they already worship me. I somehow need to maintain an image as a team player while not descending to their level. Might be easier said than done.

  “If she’s as easy as you say then I’m not interested. Where’s the fun in an easy lay? I prefer a challenge these days.”

  “Fair enough,” Davis says. “I can see the appeal in that.”

  Like fuck he can. These guys will shag anything that opens their legs for them. “Now get the fuck out of here in case I change my mind. I prefer not to have an audience when I’m fucking.”

  The guys laugh and head back to the locker room. I hope to God Becky didn’t hear any of that. There’s no way she’s an easy lay. Not that I really care that much, but I can usually tell these things. That cold demeanor isn’t fake. Becky wouldn’t be easy to get into bed, and more’s the pity.

  God damn, that girl is fine. I’m never lost for words in front of women, regardless of whether they’re fully clothed, in their underwear, or stark-bloody-naked. But this time… holy shit, I have no idea what to do.

  Despite what all the guys just said, I know she’s the shy, timid type, and not easily fooled by my charm. I guess I could try being myself, but I’m not even sure what that is anymore. I act like a cocky ass in front of women without even thinking about it. How many times did I ask her to undress? Three? Four? I don’t even want her to
undress. She looks fucking stunning in that skirt and blouse, and even better when she’s covered in sweat with her clothes stuck to her body. Sometimes less is more, and now is definitely one of those times.

  Speaking of covering up, I grab a larger towel and wrap it around my waist, throwing the small one into a laundry bin. It’s not that I’m embarrassed to be practically naked in front of her, but I need a little more help being discreet. My cock throbbed the second I laid eyes on her, and it’s been threatening to jump to attention ever since. There’s no hiding it under a small towel, and I have the distinct impression she won’t take my raging boner as a compliment.

  I walk back into the sauna, but I wedge the door open to let out most of the heat, and then turn off the coals which are electrically heated as opposed to sitting over a fire. It’s still going to be hot as hell in here for a while, but eventually she might stop sweating and relax a little bit.

  “I have no idea what those guys were on about,” I lie. “They’re immature idiots, but unfortunately for the time being they’re also my teammates. Anyway, I got rid of them, so you don’t need to worry about us being overheard, or filmed, or anything else.”

  “Thanks,” she replies softly. Yeah, there’s no way this is the same girl who screwed half the football team.

  “It should cool down here in a bit.”

  “Thanks. I was just about to undress, it was getting so hot in here.” I stare at her regretfully until she smiles and says “I’m joking.”

  She’s cute. Really cute. And sexy. She’s like one of those girls in an American comedy where she’s a nerd, and the cool guys try to turn her into a prom Queen, except it’s obvious she’s already gorgeous. Her glasses and formal attire disguise her beauty about as well as glasses disguise Clark Kent from anyone who isn’t a complete idiot.

  I want to ask her out. I want to test whether this British accent works as well on American girls as I’ve been led to believe, but I already know what she’ll say. She thinks I’m just a dumb jock, and she’s clearly after someone more on her intellectual level. That’s not me. Sure, I’m not stupid, but I’m not exactly smart either.