Dancing with the Varsity Bad Boy

Chapter 12

Jordan's POV

***

"You didn't tell him?" Why didn't she? She could have ruined my future. One word from Beckingham and no one would draft me, no matter how impressive my record is. So why didn't she tell him?

"Why would I tell my father that the boys he trusted to look out for me disappointed him? I don't want my dad to worry, he worries enough about me to begin with. Learning you all forgot me would shatter any trust he might have had in you. He trusts football players, believes your good guys, and I don't want to shatter that illusion," she says, grimacing, her voice tight as her back arches in obvisous pain. But her words hit their mark all the same.

She doesn't believe We're good guys? She doesn't trust us to have her back.

She has every right to feel that way. The team hasn't exactly done anything to gain that trust over the years, or even in the past 24 hours.

"Besides, I'm not a malicious bi'tch who goes around ruining talented players futures. That's not my style," A tight smile pulls at her lips. Even now, while she's in pain she's putting on a brave face. When Chris came in with her wrapped around him like a koala, I had a rush of possessive anger. I'd clamped that down as soon as I felt it. No way am I examining that emotion too closely.

"Do you need help?" I ask, watching as she slowly sits up and peels her clothes off, leaving her in a leotard, and tights with a flimsy little skirt around her waste. Violet doesn't reply, and while I know I should look away, give her privacy, I can't seem to drag my gaze away from her as she peels the stretchy material down her slim hourglass body. Her black sports bra covers her breasts, as she strips off her tights, completely ignoring me. Her black lace panties and bra are the last things she strips off before pulling a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top out of her bag and dressing.

"Enjoy the show?" She asks, her tone dripping with sarcasim. I smirk at her, watching with fascination how those eyes of hers turn green. the blue and brown banished to the edge of her irises. Getting to my feet I pick up the clothing she dumped at the foot of my bed and drop it in the hamper. Her cheeks flush as I handle her underwear.

"You really shouldn't strip in front of a hot bloodied man," I tell her, walking around my room and collecting a fresh pair of boxers. I watch her from the mirror as I pull my top off, then drop my jeans. She glances at me, her cheeks heating before looking away when I drop my boxers and get changed into a fresh pair.

Without saying a word, I sit beside her on the bed and watch as she takes her night medication, her throat exposed when she tips her head back to drink some water so the pills go down easier.

"And why not?" Violet challenges, her eyes narrowing at me. I lean closer, forcing her to lean back.

"Because we're men, not saints," I warn her, my voice husky, blood pumping south. She smells divine, roses and apples with a hint of spice. She grins at me, her eyes glittering with mischief as she leans closer until her warm breath brushes against my lips. The beer is still buzzing through me, but when her lips press against mine, it's no longer the drink I'm buzzing with. Her hand wraps around the back of my neck, pulling me closer as she bites down on my bottom lip. I groan, slipping my tongue into her mouth to deepen the kiss, and she tastes of sweet temptation and wicked sin, of mint, and apples, and spice.

She pulls back, pushing me away with a hand on my chest.

"You sleep on the couch tonight," she smiles sweetly, her lips red from our kiss.

"W-What?" I stutter, my mind in the gutter, wondering if all of her tastes as good as that kiss did. She points to my sofa bed.

"You don't just kiss a guy like that while on his bed and tell him to sleep somewhere else," the words rumble in my chest and I crawl up the bed, forcing her down on her back, that seductive smirk still on her lips.

"Oh Jordan, I just did, and now I'm going to bed," she pats my cheek, my gaze glued to those lips of hers, lust curling deep in my stomach.

"Is that an invitation to share?" I grin at her, and she rolls her eyes, her hands on my chest, attempting to push me off her.

"You don't know me Jordan. When you know me, know me so well you can tell what I'm hiding behind my mask, then maybe you can share my bed. Enjoy the memory of that kiss," Violet pecks my cheek then shoves me off the bed so I land on the floor, the sudden jarring pain up my arm enough to snap me out of the lust stupor she put me in.

"Is that a challenge?" I ask, my gaze trailing down her body as she stretches under the comforter before she curls up on her side again. I'm baffled, stupidified. No woman has rejected me, ever! I've got a reputation, women come to me, I don't go chasing them, I don't need to. All I have to do is flash a smile, say some sweet, meaningless words and they drop their panities.

But this creative little bookworm, just rejected me?

I stalk over to the sofa bed and pull it out, grab a pillow and a blanket from my cloest and huff as I get into my make shift bed, turning the lights off.

Violet shifts about, the comforter rustling with her movements. Guilt sits like a lead weight in my gut, and I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. Turning on my side, I flick the lamp on, and Violet turns to face me, her cheeks blochy with tears she's refusing to shed.

"Eric told me about the school shooting," I tell her, earning me an eye roll.

"He's not spoken about it before, or told me about Bradely, or what happened to Gypsy," I swallow thickly, remembering the pain in Eric's eyes when he told me about his desperate efforts to revive his friend, only to realise he couldn't save him. The haunted horror when he told me about Gypsy, and what the sick fu'cker did to her, forcing the rest of the school to witness her torture.

"I couldn't leave him like that. By the time Mikey and Xavier got back Eric had already had four cans of beer, I'd had two. Mikey saw the beer and decided we were having a house party." I shrug, they're shi'ty reasons to forget a commitment, but it's the truth. She doesn't say anything, just watches me until she lets out a quiet sigh.

"Gypsy had no choice but to tell me after the first night we shared our dorm room," she says softly, her eyes turning a dark blue with flecks of gold. Violet's body curls into a tight ball as she rocks herself back and forth like a traumatised child, pain swirling through her eyes like whisps of smoke. For a moment it's as though she takes a mask off, raw vulnerability fills her eyes, stealing the breath from my lungs before it's hidden again.

"You were dorm roommates?" I ask. She nods, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

"She woke up in the night, screaming for Bradely, Eric and her father. She screamed for someone to stop, begging them to stop. I crawled into bed with her, held her tight, and muffled her screams by pressing her face into my chest," her lips tilt in an almost smile, her eyes deep pools of pain, and sorrow.

"We didn't get much sleep the first months. One day, during my free time I pushed our beds together, and padded the wall side. For nearly the whole of freshmen year we shared a bed. She didn't have such vivid nightmares if I was holding her," Violet then frowns, her forehead wrinkling, and a little V forming just above her nose.

"She would call Eric, when the flash backs started and she was in class, or out but he was never there for her when she really needed him," A flash of anger crosses her face, and her jaw clenches.

"Is that why you don't like him?" I ask, having noticed the way she snaps at him, or the cold glares that could slice an iceberg in half aimed his way.

"He promised he'd be there for her. Told her to call him if she needed anything. She called, for six months she called whenever she needed her best friend. The day she met Tamsyn she had a intense flash back, a hockey player popped a ballon and it sounded like a gun shot. She freaked out, and called Eric, Eric never showed, instead Tamsyn was there and helped her. " Violet's forces out between clenched teeth, her rocking growing more frantic as she struggles through her pain.

Getting up I crawl under the covers with her, and pull her tense body against mine, her back to my front. She tenses, only relaxing when I slow her rocking, rocking the both of us to a steady beat. Slowly she relaxes, her breathing mirroring mine from being pressed against me.

"After that she realised Eric was never going to be there for her. He cares more about screwing girls, partying and football than being there for someone he once considered a friend. So no, I don't like him. If it wasn't for Gypsy still considering him her friend I'd have beaten the sh'it out of him by now for abandoning her," she finishes her eariler comment. I stay there with her, rocking her. She doesn't push me away thankfully.

"Ever considered that he's traumatised too?" I ask, and Violet turns in my arms to face me. I pull her flush against me, liking the way her body fits against mine. With one hand I hitch her leg over my hip and she hooks it around my leg as she watches me, searching my eyes for something.

"Yes," she says softly, her gaze dropping to my chest, her fingers tracing my tattoo. Shivers skitter down my spine at her touch and it takes everything to keep my body under control.

"His best friend died in his arms, his other best friend was taken hostage and tortured. He couldn't save, or protect either of them, so maybe, him not being there for Gypsy is less he doesn't care, and more, his unwillingness to remember?" I counter the argument she presented. Her lower lip juts out slightly in the cutest pout I've ever seen. Her eyes fluttering shut before she forces them open. When she speaks, her words are slightly slurred with exhaution, and I smirk at how easy she falls alseep when I hold her.

For some strange reason, warmth fills my chest, and I'm proud that I'm the one who helps her relax so she can sleep. It's a strange thing to be proud of as a man, that I was able to put a women to sleep.

"True, but he promised her. Don't make promises you don't know if you can keep them," she says in a near whisper and I pull her head against my shoulder as I turn to lay on my back, her body half draped over me. Her breathing evens out, and she's soon sleeping, her hand splayed across my tattoo, as though protecting what lays beneath it.