Ruthless Heart - Steamy NFL Romance

3

Still, as I watched them, I wondered how the hell I had ended up being in the same bed as those muscles? I had absolutely no recollection of even speaking to Jett on Friday night, never mind getting up close and personal. God, I’d been more than up close and personal. My cheeks reddened as my whole body burned at the thought. Despite myself, I shrunk down against the tree, trying to disappear. Which was ridiculous considering, from what I knew and had heard from his bed on Saturday morning, Jett was no clearer on who I was or how he had ended up with me either. My ears had been pinned back all of this morning for any gossip involving Jett hooking up with a girl at a party on Friday night. It wasn’t uncommon, the guy was never with the same girl twice, and he didn’t appear to care that he had a reputation as a manwhore.

I had been drunk, so drunk. I knew I was. Even though I’d only been drunk a few times, that wasn’t my first time where I got wasted and had no recollection of what had transpired. However, I had the uncanny drunken ability to appear completely sober. I’d been told before that I didn’t seem drunk; my words, my actions, my behaviour, all were exactly the same as when I was sober. The only thing that was different was that my inhibitions were lower and I had absolutely no immediate memory of the evening once the alcohol took over.

Which is one of the main reasons me and alcohol didn’t mix. Rarely would I drink if I went to a party. I was happy as the designated driver or sober buddy.

However, on Friday, Mia had been sad because her most current love interest had been promoted to numero uno on the douchebag list. Mia had a s**t track record with guys. She always picked the too handsome, the too perfect looking, the blinding white teeth toothpaste model wannabe, whose looks hid that he was less than perfect underneath.

But, in true Mia style, she was never moping about a guy for long. If they pissed her off, she went out and found a new one, and she was so darn friendly and enthusiastic she ended up with no hard feelings towards her most recent breakup.

I knew all this. We’d been best friends since forever when our moms shared a babysitter to keep costs down.

When Mia said to me on Friday that she wanted to forget recent number one, she caught me at the right time. I had received another rejection from a publishing company about my short story. No reason given, just the generic thanks but no thanks. I’d been ready to drown my sorrow at a college party. The fact that I’d annihilated my sorrow was perhaps a question for later, I mused.

Jett caught my eye again. I’m not sure he had uncaught it, to be honest. I looked him over curiously, as the idea of me being in bed with him was just so ludicrous. I was close to believing aliens had abducted us both and put us in a sticky situation.

And sticky I had been.

I gulped audibly.

Jett may have used multiple condoms in our tryst, but I had remnants of a night of passion on my body that left me with no doubt that we had been active with each other. My lower body had ached in a way that I hadn’t expected. I knew the stories of how good in bed Jett Santo was. His bed-hopping expertise was as legendary as his quarterback skills, and I’d heard the girls in his group gossip about his “blessed” size. After I had finally stopped throwing up on his bathroom floor, I’d ignored his warning and crawled into his shower to clean my skin of sweat, of everything, but mostly of him. I’d found my clothes scattered about his room, and slowly I had gotten dressed. It was game day for the Saints, he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

His room was clean, neat, almost obsessively so. It was bigger than my bedroom, but then it would be. The Santo brothers were legacies. This college was named after them after all, Cardinal Saints College. Their “dorm” house was an old plantation style white building with numerous rooms, which stood proudly amongst the trees at the edge of the sprawling college grounds.

As I had looked around Jett’s room, I’d realised that the only thing messy was the bed, which I’d tried to avoid looking at, but eventually I’d approached the wide double bed and saw the evidence of our night. The faint bloodstain on the sheets marked the end of an innocence, in body if definitely not in spirit.

Over the weekend, flashes of us together had begun to seep through, beginning to fill in the blanks. Slowly, I was remembering his touch, his kiss, his lips, which had been…everywhere. I felt my cheeks heat as I watched him now making his way to the cafeteria, completely oblivious to who I was and what we had shared.

I lost my virginity in a night of drunken s*x with a guy I disliked, and I only had a fuzzy recollection of what had happened.

Some girls said they wished they could forget their first time. The irony was, I really wish I could remember mine.