Falling For Dad's College Rival: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  She whines and hisses something about all men being assholes when I catch a glimpse of Brooke.

  I can see Mike her dad too, looking suddenly cozy with someone.

  Pity, I would have liked to have introduced him to Ellen here, whoever the hell she is.

  But something tells me it’s too late.

  Too late for me to hook Mike up with someone as a distraction, and too late for me to talk some more with Brooke.

  I’m no dummy, and I know an upset girl when I see one. All Ellen types aside.

  Brooke’s turned suddenly to leave, and I try to get her attention before she’s gone, but I have the sinking feeling she saw this woman hanging off me and got the wrong idea.

  Dammit.

  I’m not interested in some Barbie doll look-alike, and I don’t give a damn if I make a scene anymore.

  The thought of Brooke leaving, walking out of my life before she’s even in it is too much to even think about.

  Yanking myself free from her, I almost knock a few other people over in the process to get free from this Ellen creature.

  I shove my way through the crowd, figuring there’s only one other way out that Brooke could have gone, and by the time I get clear of the room I can see her outside.

  I call out to her, but a huge crash of thunder drowns out my voice.

  Feeling another hand on my arm my reflex is to raise a hand of my own to it, but it’s Dean Chambers again.

  “Oh, what is it now?” I snarl, looking back outside, ready to call for Brooke again, but only seeing rain starting to fall.

  “I just wondered if you might want to say a few words before dinner,” The Dean suggests, looking suddenly soured by my attitude.

  “Hang your dinner, Dean,” I rasp, looking back just long enough to tell him. To tell myself out loud.

  “If she goes now, I might never get another chance!” I call out, taking off into the night. The icy cold sting of hard rain doing nothing to dampen my drive, but only making it harder to see and slippery to navigate the cobblestone pavement.

  “Brooke!” I shout aloud, over and again. And in every direction, I can think of. I run a circuit of what feels like the whole college until my legs burn and my side aches.

  I’m panting for breath. Panting for her.

  My hands on my knees as I double over, more crestfallen than exhausted.

  It takes a while, and I’m soaked through, but I finally realize she’s gone.

  The rain feels hot now, my skin burning up under it. And once it feels like I’ve run around for nothing except to get soaked, it stops.

  A thin haze of mist rises from the old college streets as I make my way back to the hall.

  My car’s there, I guess I’ll head home.

  But passing by the hall, I hear the Dean calling out after me yet again.

  I groan loudly, trying to tell myself not to give the guy a knuckle sandwich for his troubles.

  Hearing him clopping after me, I spin on my heel, ready to tell him I’ve had enough for one night, when it occurs to me he might be able to help.

  “The girl,” I tell him quickly, cutting him off before he can even speak. “Mike Wheatley’s daughter,” I add, seeing a vague look of recognition in the Dean’s eyes.

  He can see I’m in no mood to fuck around and nods slowly but firmly.

  “It’s very important I speak with her, tonight,” I explain rapidly. “Now, can you tell me if she still lives with her dad and if so, I’ll need their address,” I add firmly.

  Chambers nods to himself and then half chuckles.

  “Trent? I apologize,” he says, lowering his voice and ushering us both over to a more private area, away from the other guests but also from the heavy drips falling from the ancient trees around us.

  “I thought I’d done something to annoy you, or maybe you were through helping me. But now I think I understand,” he adds with a smile, tapping the side of his large nose as he gives me a wink.

  “I’ll text you the address in a few minutes,” he says, leaning in to express the supreme nature of confidentiality he’s about to break.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, and I turn away toward my car. “Anything else I can do to help, with the college I mean...” I trail off.

  As long as it’s not tonight.

  Maybe not for the next few nights, if I have my wish granted.

  “Are you sure you won’t just say a few words, Trent? It would mean a lot. To me and to the college,” the Dean echoes, but it’s no good asking me anything now.

  I’ve made up my mind, what I want, and I’d trade every dime I have for another chance at tonight with Brooke Wheatley.

  I couldn’t care less if her dad was the devil himself. She’s mine.

  If she’ll have me of course.

  My old football injuries are beyond aching by the time I reach the car, and after I strip to my boxers, I change into a spare set of clothes I always have in the trunk. An emergency suitcase of stuff in case I get called away or have to stay somewhere on business.

  I’m changed and refreshed by the time I get the Dean’s text, followed by his call.

  “I’m just wanting to make sure she gets home safe,” is all he needs to know. “If there’s time or even a chance of it, I’ll see if I can stop by before the nights over,” I tell him too.

  The least I can offer in way of thanks for him doing me the solid by giving me her address.

  Pulling away from the college with a little too much speed, I hear my tires screech at the first corner as I speak the address into my GPS.

  I feel a similar thrill from her touch, knowing where she might be, racing to find her.

  And what exactly are you gonna tell her?

  Hopefully, too many words won’t be required.

  Like I told the Dean, I just want to make sure she got home safe.

  If she went home, that is.

  If she didn’t then I guess it’s plan B.

  Which I don’t exactly have figured out yet, but it would probably run along the lines of going back to the reunion and having her dad call her to make sure she’s okay. Followed by me going to her wherever she is.

  But I sense she’s just gone home.

  It’s turning into a terrible night, with the rain coming back with a vengeance.

  It’s too wet and windy to be out doing much of anything except staying warm and inside in weather like this.

  Just be home, Brooke.

  Just be home.

  Chapter Seven

  Brooke

  If I had somewhere else to go, I would.

  The idea of being home when dad may be bringing home a ‘date’ from his reunion is enough to make me feel worse than I already do.

  We’ve never spoken about having visitors or god forbid sleepover friends, dad, and me.

  It’s kind of always been the unspoken understanding that neither of us would have to worry about that ever happening.

  Stupid dress.

  I practically peel it off me and step out of everything else once the front door is closed and locked behind me.

  I’m soaked through and only want a hot shower, something in my belly, and then sleep.

  But I have this nagging feeling that tonight isn’t over yet somehow, and I’m dreading my dad coming home now more than anything.

  I just want to put all this stupid Trent Latham stuff behind me and move on with my life.

  Oh god.

  The thought of my whole life ahead of me is equally depressing, maybe more so.

  I groan, almost painfully once I do hit the shower. As nice as it feels, the thought of not seeing Trent again causes a lump in my throat that won’t go away.

  I’m not gonna cry over it. I’m not gonna cry over anyone anymore.

  I’m no stranger to being hurt, and it’s not as if Trent said or did anything nasty on purpose. He was nothing but a complete gentleman.

  Probably just not into younger, thick girls and that’s okay too.

  I tell myself all this and more as I gradually relax a little and feel warm enough to decide I’ll have a microwave meal, some ice cream, and an early night.

  I hope my dad does have better luck than I did, he deserves some happiness after all.

  Ah, crap.

  I should’ve texted him, called him even. Now it’s been so long since I left the damned reunion it’ll be awkward, so I decide to just leave it.

  Checking my phone I can see he hasn’t called either, so maybe he’s having too good a time for me to interrupt him anyway.

  With dad out, I can crank up the thermostat without him getting on my case and I slip into my comfy jammies.

  The ones with all the holes in all the wrong places, but they’re so damned cozy on a night like this and they just don’t make them like this anymore.

  My double serving of microwave mac n’ cheese beeps that it’s ready, and I wonder if I should watch a few episodes or a binge season of my favorite new series before the doorbell chiming turns my heart to ice.

  I freeze, feeling like an intruder in my own home. Like I’ve done something terrible and the whole world’s come knocking all because I bailed on my dad at his college reunion.

  I decide to ignore it, hoping whoever it is will just go away.

  Anyone important enough has my number and the house phones too.

  It wouldn’t be my dad.

  He has his own keys.

  The doorbell chimes a second and then a third time, making me start to worry.

  I’m here all alone, and whoever it is isn’t going anyplace anytime soon.

  What if it is dad? Maybe he lost his keys.

  Maybe there was an accident?

  And so it goes, round and round in my mind until I have to get up the courage to at least have a peek through the living room curtains.

  I creep down the hallway, hoping the sound of the wind and rain covers the creaking floor when the sound of a heavy knock makes me scream momentarily before I can cover my mouth.

  “Brooke?” Brooke!”

  It’s a deep, powerful voice. Commanding and strong.

  It sounds familiar, but nah. It couldn’t be.

  There’s a heavier thumping on the door, followed by the same voice demanding I open up or he’ll kick it in.

  “It’s Trent Latham, Brooke. Just tell me you’re safe,” he pleads, and I feel all the fear and worry rush out of me like a plug has been pulled.

  Without even thinking I rush to the door, hurrying to unlock and pull it wide open.

  There’s a rush of frigid air from outside, cutting through my jammies and finding every hole, every exposed bit of my flesh.

  But I don’t care.

  Anything’s worth it to see him again. Anything.

  I almost hug him. At least, that’s what I want to do but he takes me firmly by the elbows, asking me if I’m alright.

  “I heard a scream, my god Brooke, are you alright?”

  Hearing him so concerned, feeling his huge hands holding me up, I’m more than alright.

  But then I remember the reunion. Seeing him take out that drunk guy who groped me, and then coming back in with that… woman on his arm.

  I’m supposed to be mad at Trent Latham, and it’s getting mighty hard to even remember why let alone feel it when all I want is for him to hold me with those huge arms of his.

  Hold me in his arms so I can nuzzle into his perfect body.

  “I… I tried to catch you before you left,” he says almost sheepishly, loosening his grip on me and looking down at his feet.

  “You seemed pretty well occupied as far as I could tell,” I almost hiss. Not a hint of venom in my voice. Well, not much.

  His eyes rush to meet mine, and his hands take hold of me again.

  “I don’t even know that woman, I swear,” he says, setting his jaw tight, his eyes full of nothing but the truth.

  He’s got no reason to lie to me, about that woman or about anything else.

  “She seemed like she had a good grip on you, I just assumed—” I start.

  “Well don’t,” he says firmly, moving one of his hands up to cup my face, lifting my chin a little and making my breath shiver.

  “Don’t assume anything unless I tell you directly,” he adds just as firm like he’s as mad I am now that we even had such a stupid misunderstanding.

  “I just figured you might have another date is all, not just that woman who grabbed you,” I finish, wanting it to sound as if it’s no big deal but feeling like I need to sit down from the shock of my relief.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” he asks, his lip curling into a smile as his eyes move from mine, down to my jammies.

  Holding his gaze for a moment here and there as I feel my nipples stiffen in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.

  “My dad—” I say without thinking.

  Idiot!

  “I mean, I should call my dad and let him know what’s happened. He might be worried,” I tell him, watching him shrug and then look at me askew.

  “So you’re not gonna ask me in?” he asks, slightly taken aback.

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean…” I stammer, reaching out for him, grateful to feel his arm under my tiny hand. My eyes begging him not to go.

  “I just mean I should call my dad,” I murmur, feeling like I’ve taken my first breathe since he arrived once he steps in and I close the door behind us both.

  Trent doesn’t mention my dad or my need to call him. He glances around with a little frown nodding before he focuses on me again.

  I realize we’re both standing in the hallway, and I’m glued to the spot, totally unsure of what to do or even say next.

  “We could still go back,” he finally says. “To the reunion, I mean.”

  It’s my turn to look taken aback.

  “I didn’t want to go alone, really,” he adds thoughtfully, letting his eyes dance across my chest again before they move down to my hips.

  He lets out a low sound. The sound of a man who’s satisfied and likes what he sees.

  It’s not something I’ve ever experienced, but there’s no denying his interest.

  If that pant bulge of his is anything to go by anyway.

  Maybe it’s just the light.

  “I’m all wet,” I tell him quickly, watching his brows lift with amusement. “I mean, I got all wet in the rain and now I’m wet from the shower still… My hair,” I explain.

  He shrugs. “Dry it. Then you could change and we could be back at the reunion in time for the main course,” he says hungrily. Almost greedily as he catches my eyes moving over his body as much as his are still moving over mine.

  I open my mouth to try and make an excuse, but the idea of saying no to Trent Latham is almost as frightening as the idea of being alone with him in the house in my jammies.

  The feeling in the air between us is not my imagination, and I know that if I don’t go with him, he’ll have something else in store.

  Something I can’t even contemplate right now without feeling like I need to lay down.

  I stab a nod, telling him I’ll go get dressed. He nods with that satisfied look again, the same deep sound echoing through the hall as I feel him watch me walk into my room.

  “Make yourself at home,” I call out over my shoulder, having to lean against my bedroom door once I close it, and feeling so wet down there I struggle not to too moan or make too much noise as I get dressed.

  Each inch of fabric against my aching mound responds as though it was Trent himself down there.

  It’s my body’s way of telling me that here’s a man who knows what he wants, and he’s found a girl who knows what she really needs too.

  And I know Trent Latham is just the man to give it to me.

  Chapter Eight

  Trent

  Thank god she’s safe.

  But also, thank god she’s home.

  I didn’t mean to startle her by just turning up, but when I heard her scream I was ready to knock the door from its hinges to make sure she was alright.

  I’m glad too that she’s out of that dress. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but I can see more of her in what looks like her favorite jammies.

  My new favorites too.

  It’s ridiculous she could have imagined anything between me and that crazy woman hanging off me, who I still have no real memory of from college, but I can see how it would have made Brooke feel.

  Confusing more than anything, given that we were getting on so well having just met ourselves.

  I don’t want to dwell on it though. That woman and any others mean nothing to me. What I want is right in front of me.

  I only suggest going back to the reunion because it’s a little less forward than just asking her to come home with me.

  Glancing around her dad’s place while she goes to get changed, I can see he’s provided for them both but not much more than that.

  Yeah, I know. I hear it sometimes from a certain caliber of person.

  What would I know, how would I know what it takes to make ends meet?

  Well, the truth is when I started out I had nothing either. Nothing but my wits and my god given athletic ability. I put all my efforts into that to give me a start.

  Everything after that was hard work followed by more hard work.

  I think I have a fair idea about what it takes to make it in the world as much as I’m still in touch about the price of gas, eggs, and everything else that still costs money, no matter how much I have.

  But seeing Brooke here, in this little suburban house. It’s not right.

  She deserves more, she’s worth a million times more than this place.

  Maybe she likes it here with her dad. I don’t know, yet. But I intend to get to know Brooke a lot better before the night’s through. Even if we do end up missing half of the reunion dinner.

  “Is this okay?” she asks, breaking my little daydream as I look up from the couch in her lounge room.

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her without having to think or even look at what she’s wearing.

  She blushes and looks away, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

  “It’s not too casual?” she asks, not fishing for compliments, but I can tell she wants to be sure it’s okay.