Filthy Forward : A Hero Club Novel Read online

  After I catch my breath, I stretch, straightening my right leg to lean over and grab my foot, then repeat with the left.

  “Great work today. I’ll look past the fact that you had me waiting over an hour for you today since you made up for it. I may have let you win, but the effort you showed deserved it.”

  I stand up and face him. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “What?” He looks shocked. I can’t imagine he’s stupid enough to not understand where my wrath is coming from, yet, here we are.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s Saturday and you know damn well I was out last night drinking. I’m sure the girl you were with last night was real happy about you leaving at the ass crack of dawn to spend time with another girl.” Green was never my color and although I was nauseous this morning, jealousy looks even worse on me.

  “What makes you think I let her stay the night?” My jaw drops at his retort. “Or better yet, maybe she’s still there waiting for me. Some women are into the sweaty post-workout look. And I’m not spending time with another woman; you’re just a girl I’m coaching. Who and what I do off the field is none of your concern.”

  My face is hot and not from exertion. “Right back at ya, Coach, but you made it your concern last night when you forced me to leave the bar early and alone.” Would I have gone home with the dude I was with? Not a chance in hell. But Tatum doesn’t have to know that. He needs to reap what he sows.

  “It is my concern when one of my players is putting herself in danger and when you’re wearing heels high enough to break your ankles.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a deep breath. “I’m going to talk to Paxton today about implementing a dry season for all of you.”

  “Are you kidding me? We’re in college and this is my senior year. I’m not going to stop partying because some washed up ex-pro player decided to come boss around a bunch of chicks to exert his power.”

  His chest heaves with anger and his jaw is locked. He looks down at me and I don’t avert my gaze. I stare back and raise my chin an inch higher.

  “Go clean up. I’ll see you tomorrow at five.”

  “But it’s Sunday. Don’t I get a day off?” My muscles cry at the thought.

  “No.” He walks away and I watch his toned ass and legs carry him to the parking lot as he hops in a tiny gray car. Stupid hot bastard.

  “You look like shit.” I roll my eyes as my deadened legs carry me into the living room of the soccer house. “And you smell like it too,” Lindsay tells me, scooting to the other side of the couch.

  “Screw you.”

  “I’d smell like you any day if it meant spending extra time alone with Tatum,” Kelli tells me on a sigh.

  “Please, take my place, I’m begging you.” These sessions feel less like practices and more like pure torture.

  “He can’t be that bad,” Kelli says. Her rose colored glasses are showing.

  “He’s implementing a dry season. Say goodbye to drinking and partying and general fun. He plans to talk to Paxton about it today.”

  “Can he do that?” five of my teammates ask in unison.

  I shrug. Then a plan forms in my head. “I guess we should live it up tonight before Coach tells the rest of us about it next week.”

  It’s summer and the semester hasn’t even started yet. Just because Tatum told me he was going to suggest it to Coach, doesn’t mean it’s set in stone. We’re going to go big tonight and we have Coach Trevino to thank for it.

  Chapter Five

  Tatum

  “What exactly are you getting me into?” My buddy Chance stopped by since his wife is visiting her mom in Chicago with their son for a week. Unfortunately, he brought his pet with him, which would be okay if it were a dog or even a cat and not a fucking goat.

  “What am I getting you into? Dude, you brought your fucking goat to my house. At this point, you owe me.”

  Chance and I go way back. We played together in Australia for a year when I was a rookie, back before his injury. Now we both live in California and we keep in touch more frequently, especially now with my leave of absence from my pro team.

  He laughs and scratches the creature named Pixy under its neck. “Leave the bugger alone; he’s not hurting anyone. Tell me about this soccer team.”

  I asked Chance to come guest coach with me next week since Paxton is on a week-long family vacation.

  “The girls are great. There’s a lot of talent and they’re all respectful and open to learning. Well, except for one.”

  “There’s always one.” He chuckles, but he doesn’t know Bria.

  “Not like this one. She’s a real brat and she’s the captain. Her name is Bria Campbell. She’s the star forward, a real mouthy piece and undermines me at every opportunity. She’s the most frustrating girl I’ve ever met.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. It’s loud and unexpected and the goat agrees with me. It freezes and topples over and I jump out of my seat. Chance warned me this could happen, but it’s freaky to see firsthand.

  “He’s fine, but you’re fucked.”

  Since I’m up, I head to the kitchen and grab us a couple beers.

  “How do you figure?” I hand him a bottle and sit back down on the couch and he looks at me like I’m stupid.

  “You’re totally into this chick.”

  I scoff and down a large sip of my drink. “Your kid must have you sleep deprived because you’re talking crazy.”

  “Whatever you say, man. The sooner you admit it to yourself and to her, the happier you’ll be. You don’t want to let her get away, trust me.” Chance and his wife, Aubrey, had a tough go for a while there. It took her a long time to admit she even wanted to be with him.

  “Even if I did like her—which I don’t—she hates me. You’ll see on Monday.”

  We drink beer and order pizza. The goat gets up and wanders around my house, leaving hair and who knows what else in its wake. Sports Center is on the TV and an elephant appears in the room the minute the sportscaster mentions my team.

  “Are you going to fill me in on what’s going on or are we going to continue to ignore it?”

  I sigh and take a drink of my beer. Chance has been through a lot in his life. An injury took away his soccer career, but a stupid, drunken decision has taken mine. He’s spent time in jail, which is likely where I’m headed. Yet, despite his criminal record, he is one of the best people I know. Hell, because of his criminal record, for hurting the person who hurt his sister, it makes him one of the best people I know.

  Which is why I can’t tell him what really happened and why I’m off the team.

  “I’m good ignoring it for now.”

  “Wow, so it’s bad then.” I pick up my bottle for another sip but come up empty. “You know you can always ask Aubrey for help if you need it.”

  His wife is a lawyer, though I don’t think she handles this type of situation, but the offer is nice nonetheless.

  “Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”

  I change the channel, opting to watch the Dodgers play the Phillies instead of listening to ESPN rave about my soccer team’s winning streak even without their star player.

  I’m about to crack open another beer when my phone rings. The caller ID has me gritting my teeth and Chance notices.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Bria.” My words are pure grit and my friend has the audacity to laugh before rubbing a hand over his mouth to stop himself. “What—” I start talking into the phone. I’m not even able to finish the word before loud, drunken ramblings flow into my ear.

  “Tatum, Tatum, Tatum. Guess what? I’m drunk. And guess who I’m with?” Her voice is further away as if she’d pulled the phone away from her mouth. “Tell him. Just say your name. No, it’s not my boyfriend or my dad. Stop being annoying and say your name.”

  “Um, this is Tim.”

  “TIM! I’m here with Tim and he’s going to take me home and have his wicked way with me. I thought you sh
ould know—you’re not the boss of me and you can’t control me.” Her inflections are all messed up because she’s drunk and screaming and I’m downright pissed.

  “Jesus Christ, Bria. You need to go home.”

  “What I need is to have fun and take Tom home.”

  “It’s Tim.”

  “Oh, who cares?” she mutters under her breath.

  I don’t know whether to laugh or scream at her. It’s obvious she wants nothing to do with this guy and is using him to get under my skin.

  “Bria, you should get home and go to bed. Don’t forget about practice tomorrow.”

  “If you’re concerned about me going to bed maybe you should be the one to take me home.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and Chance chokes on his beer. It seems he heard her shriek through the phone.

  “Where are you?” I doubt she even registers the level of annoyance in my tone.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “No one.”

  “Are they hot? Give me the phone.” There’s an obvious struggle on the other end as another girl tries to steal Bria’s phone. “Hello? If you’re hot you can come meet us at The Rooftop. If you’re not hot then forget I said anything.” Giggles erupt while Bria yells and next thing I know, the line goes dead.

  I put the name of the bar into my phone’s GPS and find out it’s only a few minutes off campus. I’m sure the girls all walked there, but it’ll take me about twenty-five minutes to get to them and drag the spoiled little brat home.

  I grab my keys, but Chance stops me. “You drank a lot tonight. Let me drive.” I’m in no position to argue, so I don’t. I grab my hat and we head out.

  We get there and, as the name proclaims, it’s a rooftop bar and there’s a line of half-dressed women waiting outside beside equally as many douchebag guys.

  I don’t really want to walk up there and cause a scene, nor do I need any more rumors being spread about me, but it seems I have no choice. I pull my hat down as far as it will go and walk up to the door.

  I’m used to the VIP treatment at most bars, and particularly in LA. While I don’t want to draw attention to myself, I also need to get inside quick and back out even faster.

  I flash my ID to the bouncer who agrees to stay quiet as he lets me in. I walk upstairs and find Bria right away, hanging on the arm of some model-wannabe type with a creepy grin plastered on his face.

  I storm right up to them and yank her out of his arm. “Yo, man, are you like her boyfriend are somethin’?”

  I ignore them and the brat starts swatting at me and screaming.

  I lift my hat an inch and glare into her eyes. “You’re going home. Text your friends that you’re leaving and instruct them to do the same. Now.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Get it through your thick, soggy skull. This year, I am the boss of you, whether you like it or not. The harder you fight, the more I’ll push back. Accept it, and your life will be so much easier. Christ, Bria, I’m trying to help you.”

  She all but falls down the stairs; her feet are as useless as a newborn’s.

  “Yeah, my dad used to say the same thing.” The words she spits at me are bitter, and I pause at her tone but shake the thought away before continuing to drag her to the car.

  I push her in the back seat before climbing in the front. It takes her a minute to take in her surroundings.

  “What the hell? Why is there a goat back here?”

  Chapter Six

  Bria

  “Bria, wake up.” I groan and burrow under the covers to force away the bad person trying to wake me up. “I swear to God, Bri, if you do not get out of this bed right now I will throw all of your underwear on the lawn.”

  “What is your problem?” I hiss under the blankets. My brain is catching up and I know it’s my roommate tugging on my sheets in an attempt to stir me. I move the covers just enough to peer out of them, giving her my best death glare.

  “Our coach has called me six times trying to reach you and now he’s waiting outside to take you to practice. Get your ass down there.” She rips the blankets the rest of the way off of me and stomps back to her warm bed. So unfair.

  “Paxton called you? Shit.”

  “No. Tatum. He said your phone was turned off and if you didn’t get down there in two minutes he was coming up. So go. I don’t need him storming up here and seeing Mr. Cuddles.” As if her childhood stuffed teddy bear is the most embarrassing part of our room and not the bras and underwear strewn about.

  “If you turned your phone off we wouldn’t be dealing with him today.” More like I wouldn’t be dealing with him.

  “Who turns their phone off? And why do you smell like a farm animal?” Oh my God. It’s like I blacked out the part of the night where Tatum brought me home. And I’m pretty sure I met Chance Bateman last night. I don’t even want to remember what else I said or did last night.

  I throw my hair into a messy bun and grab a banana on my way out the door. All in all, I don’t feel as terrible as I thought I would. Just to spite my drill sergeant, I plaster on my best fake smile and hop down the steps to greet him. My head protests slightly, but it’s nothing a couple Advil can’t fix.

  “Morning, Coach.” I hop into the passenger seat and buckle my seatbelt. He climbs into the car, an angry grimace on his face.

  “You don’t have anything else to say for yourself?”

  “You sound like my dad.”

  “Good, because you’re acting like a child.” I roll my eyes and angle my body to face out the window. He drives to the field and hops out of his car the minute he puts it in park.

  I get out and slam my door, waiting for his instruction.

  “Let me guess. I’m heading to the track again today? More conditioning? More punishment?” I fold my arms over my chest as he pulls the cones from his trunk. He slams the trunk closed and turns to glare at me.

  “Tell me one thing and I’ll go easy on you today.”

  “Doubt it, but okay.” His jaw clenches at my retort.

  “Why must you challenge me on everything? You talk back, you’re insubordinate.” He keeps rambling, ticking my indiscretions off on each long finger. “God, if you keep acting like this, I won’t be able to train you anymore. I’m trying to help you but, Christ, you’re untrainable.”

  His words, along with the harshness in which he said them, got my attention. The thought of him quitting because of me left a sour taste in my mouth. My stomach drops and I realize in an instant that I like training with him. Not the pure torture he puts me through, but our banter. Picking fights with him is fun and I guess part of me thought he felt the same. It’s clear now—he doesn’t see it as fun. He really does hate me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble and his eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

  “What was that?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, okay?” I don’t know what it is, but he gets under my skin. “I know you’re trying to help me, but, if we’re being frank here, sometimes you can be a bit of a dick and it rubs me the wrong way. I’m not going to let you belittle and intimidate me just because you’re a man.” It’s taken a lot for me to get to this point, to not be afraid to stand up for myself and I won’t let Tatum revert me to the scared, broken girl I used to be.

  “I appreciate your honesty, but—”

  My heart drops. His tone gives away what he’s going to say next. “I’ll do better, well, I’ll try. Give me another chance.” Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine begging him for anything, yet here we are.

  “Bria, this is the first time you even admitted you wanted this.” He’s right. I’ve rebelled against him at every turn. “If you’re willing to work and learn, then I’m not going anywhere. I’ll try to be less of a dick if you keep your attitude in check.” I smile. “Oh, and I was serious about the dry season. Drinking leads to nothing but trouble, trust me.” His caramel eyes implore mine, silently begging me to trust him.

  I give him a curt nod and off
er my hand. “You got yourself a deal, Coach.”

  On Monday afternoon, the team heads to practice. Paxton reminded us he’s on vacation this week, but he’s not giving us any time off. Instead, we’re left with Tatum and all the girls are happy about it. But not me. I’m preparing for whatever torment he’s going to throw our way.

  Walking onto the field, I see another man standing beside him. I vaguely recognize him.

  “Who’s with him?”

  “Is he cute?”

  “Is it another coach?”

  The girls continue to whisper to one another about the new guy and I can’t help but roll my eyes. My teammates are a bunch of horny bitches who can’t keep it in their pants. I love them, but damn. We’re here for soccer, not an orgy.

  “Oh my GOD!” Lindsay shrieks from my right, all but blowing out my eardrum. “Guys, that’s Chance Bateman.” Squeals ensue and my mouth drops.

  Shit. She’s right. I guess I really did meet him the other night and his pet goat. I thought it was a weird dream, but it’s all coming back to me now. But what the hell is he doing here?

  Putting our bags on the sidelines, we gear up before jogging to midfield where Tatum and Chance are standing, waiting for us. The team rushes over, broad smiles on their face and excitement jumping through their bones. I jog behind, standing near the back. In part, it’s because I’m not as worked up over either of them as the rest of my team is. The other part of me, though, is intentionally hiding since Chance’s first impression of me is drunk and sloppy.

  “Ladies, today I’m joined with a good friend of mine to help coach you for the week. This is Chance, I’m sure you all know who he is.” A sea of ponytails bob around me as they eagerly nod. “Good. We’ll split up into two groups. Everyone on my right will join me for conditioning for the first half of practice. On my left, you’ll join Chance to work on your foot skills. Halfway through, we’ll switch.”

  I don’t know if starting or ending practice with conditioning is worse, but I’m on the right which means I join Chance and half of my teammates on the far end of the field.