TackledP: A Sports Romance(83)

He laughs, leaning closer to his right, angling his body like he knows I just thought about slipping away from him. "Or what?" he asks. "You're going to push me out of the way?"

"Don't touch me."

"When Colton told me you were a virgin, I thought there was no way someone who walks around the way you do — like you're just asking for it — was actually a virgin."

Like I'm just asking for it?

Okay, now my blood is boiling.

What did my brother Daniel teach me? I rack my brain for the ass-kicking techniques my brothers were always forcing me to learn when I was a kid. None of those are going to come in handy with a massive football player.

"Colton wouldn't tell you anything," I hiss.

"Obviously," the creep says. "He blurted it out. Trying to make sure I knew you weren't a slut. Which, well, is clearly not true."

He… blurted it out trying to defend me?

"He didn't brag about nailing me," I say, the realization finally hitting me.

A smile creeps across his face. "You're available now," he points out. "And right here for the taking."

"Fuck you."

He reaches down to my thigh and yanks the side of my skirt up, his other hand pushing my bag aside and squeezing my breast.

"Get away from me, you pig," I say loudly, struggling against him. His face is close to mine, and then I remember.

"Bottom part of the palm of your hand up to the nose," Daniel said. "If someone's bigger than you, you pull that hand back and fucking push their nose into their skull."

"That's gross."

"Whatever, brat," he said. "You'll thank me some day."

I do it. I whip my hand back and I shove my palm upward just as hard as I can, colliding with his nose. I hear a crunch, and he stumbles back a step, his hand over his face.

I make a mental note to call Daniel and thank him profusely.

"You little bitch," he shouts, lunging toward me but I'm already out of the way.

"Dillon Parker," comes a booming voice through the hallway. "Back the fuck up right now and sit your ass down!"

It's Coach Walker. He looks at the guy with his hand over his nose, then at me. I'm slightly disheveled and clutching my bag against my chest. I don't know how much the coach saw, but he sizes up the situation immediately.

Coach Walker takes out his cell phone and puts it up to his ear. "I'm calling to report an assault," I hear him say. "At the athletic department. By one of my players."

"It was a fucking joke, and she broke my fucking nose," Dillon yells.

"Nice shot," Coach Walker says to me. "You're all right?"

I nod. "Totally fine."

A couple of big guys who emerge behind the coach move in front of Dillon, blocking him from going anywhere.

"Were you here for me?" the coach asks.

"I came here to turn in my resignation," I say, my voice faltering.

"Related to this?" the coach asks. "Because this isn't tolerated. Not at all."

"No, related to…" I stop. Related to my believing this guy over what Colton said? I swallow hard. "Related to nothing. I'm…moving on."

Shit. Moving on.

I have to teach in fifteen minutes.

"I need to go," I start.

"You need to stay here until the cops take your statement," Coach Walker insists.

"The cops?" I squeak. I thought he called campus security, the rent-a-cops with the beer guts who are a campus joke. I could just tell them I'd give a statement later.

"I saw one of my players assault you, and assault is a crime," he says, matter-of-fact.

"I have to teach," I explain lamely. Of course, I'd also like that guy to pay for groping me.

"Can you call someone?" Coach Walker asks.

I clear my throat. "Yes, actually."

When I call Sable and ask her to teach the intro sociology class for me, she squeals. "What the hell for?" she asks. "You know I don't teach."

That much is true. Sable has an allowance now that her parents have resigned themselves to the fact that she's in grad school. "I need you to do this for me," I beg softly into the phone. "You can download the syllabus from online. It's the second class. It's literally basic, basic stuff. It's intro sociology, Sable. Just bullshit your way through."

"What will Dr. Richards say?" she squeals.

"He's not even here this week. He went to that conference. Please, please cover for me."

"What's happening? Are you okay? You weren't in an accident or something, were you?"

I walk around the corner, out of sight of the coach and the players. I hear Dillon groaning from the end of the hallway. "I wasn't in an accident," I tell her. "I'm at the athletic center."