Page 5 of Running Play (Gods of Campus #1)

Christian

“Wow, she’s smoking hot,” I say, pulling my head away from her retreating frame.

“Damn straight,” Randy agrees, turning back to me.

Her blue eyes were stunning, standing out against tanned skin and golden waves that cascaded down her back. Having her body pressed against mine—if only for a moment—was nice. I mean, no self-respecting, hot-blooded male would complain.

“What I could do with her between my sheets,” Randy says, shaking his head with a smirk.

I roll my eyes. Just what I need, more girls in his bed. My room sits right across from his, and let’s just say—sound carries. Not that I’m one to talk, I know I’m no saint, but him? He’s on a whole other level.

“Yeah, well, keep your dick in your pants,” Seth says, his deep voice echoing through the empty hallway. “We are already late for class, and if Coach finds out, he will have us running suicides.”

I sigh at the time. He’s right, and as much as I would rather turn around and go after the pretty blonde, I don’t want to be on Coach’s shit list. Coach Taylor is the University’s football coach and is a father figure to his players.

He’s tough, but fair; expecting us to work hard with no excuses for poor performance on or off the field.

He likes to remind us that only a small few will get drafted, so everyone needs a plan outside of football.

The NFL won’t be in everyone’s future, and we all need back-up plans, so no slacking off at school.

His push and attitude for this stems from his best friend in college who was a star on the field.

With several contracts on the table with leading professional football teams, his life was set.

Future NFL star who tragically ended up breaking his leg senior year, the injury so bad he could barely walk, let alone play.

He fell so heavily into depression that he ended up taking his life the following year.

It’s a fucked-up story, and one Coach never wants to live through again.

Hence, we are constantly reminded to keep our grades up and options open because our career is never promised.

Bringing me back to the present, my best friend continues on with his manwhore ways. “I don’t know, she looked like she could be worth the pain,” Randy says, blowing out a breath.

I shake my head at him as I part ways from my friends. Following the blonde’s lead and also not wanting to be late as I jog up the stairs to my class.

***

After a full day of training and classes, I drive the short distance home and pull my truck into the driveway.

My friends and fellow teammates, Randy, Seth, and Walsh just moved in, and like typical guys thought it would be a great idea to move the weekend before classes started.

It’s an older, white two-story house with a small front porch and large back deck that overlooks a massive backyard, our home for the next two years.

I jog up the front steps, pulling the door open and throwing my keys on top of a moving box in the small foyer.

To the left is a full kitchen and dining area that leads to the back deck.

To the right of the foyer is the living room which leads to Seth’s bedroom and private bathroom with his own door to the back deck.

Upstairs are the remaining three bedrooms, and one shared bathroom.

Dropping my bag at the bottom of the stairs, I head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I reach into my pocket as I feel my phone vibrate against my leg, my mom’s face lighting up the screen.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, Christian, how is my boy? How was your day?”

I shut the fridge and place the water on the counter with a stretch of my back and a sigh. “Good, just got home, classes and practice all went well. The house is still full of boxes, but we are getting there. Some teammates are coming over this weekend to help us, so we should be sorted soon.”

I remove my hat and run my hand through my hair as I look around the kitchen and the few remaining boxes lining the walls .

“Lovely,” my mom says, and I can hear her smile through the phone before I sense a change in her tone. “I was also calling to see if you have spoken to your brother?”

I sigh . I was expecting the question, but lately just hearing anyone refer to my brother has me agitated.

That saying of ‘what the fuck has the idiot done now’ plays on repeat.

Tyler also inherited our family’s athletic genes but chose the hockey route…

or maybe hockey chose him because he was so naturally talented at it.

He is a force to be reckoned with on the ice, with the ego to match; he dominated in high school and got a scholarship here because of his abilities, but in college the guys are bigger and the games harder and faster.

He’s only a freshman, but if he puts in the effort, he could see some decent ice time this year.

“I haven’t spoken to Tyler since he helped us move, but I’ll be heading to tryouts so it will be mandatory for him to be there. Everything okay?” I ask the question but already know the answer.

“Well, you know Tyler, he won’t tell me anything, but he sounds so tired all the time. I rang him Tuesday afternoon and I’m sure I woke him.”

I can feel the worry in my mom’s voice, “I’ll check on him tomorrow.”

I hear her sigh in relief. “Thank you, Christian, I would really appreciate that.”

“It’s fine, Mom. I’ll do my best to check on him regularly, between me and Dani, we will keep him in line. ”

She laughs; it’s weak, but I can also hear her tension ease. “I look forward to seeing you all this weekend, and dad and I are both very excited for your season to start.”

“Yes, not long now…we have a strong team and a great chance of going all the way this season.”

“I saw on the television that your university was the one to watch this year. They even mentioned you and Randy and your decade of playing together, and how the team will go far over the next few years. Every game, you both keep getting better and better. I’m so proud of you both.”

“Yeah, I watched that, too, no pressure,” I joke, picking up the water bottle and spinning it around in the palm of my hand.

“Also, that the Cyclones were a close second,” Mom adds.

My jaw clenches like any true Raptor just hearing the word Cyclone.

They are our biggest competitors, and the rivalry between the two universities has always been intense.

Even now, the sports broadcasters don’t mind pinning Randy Harrison and the Cyclone’s quarterback, Luke Cole, head-to-head and labeling them as the ones to watch.

Even though they are both juniors and aren’t the first-pick quarterbacks for their teams, they will be next year once the seniors graduate or are drafted.

Already the competitiveness between the two is intense, but add in Cole’s love for social media, or mainly his social bashing, and their small dislike has grown into full-blown hate the past year .

From age ten, Randy and I have been inseparable since we lived just down the road from each other.

Growing up, my parents, along with Randy’s, always went above and beyond to support our football talents.

They always made sure at least one parent was there to relay the scores and stats and cheer us on.

What our moms know about football could rival any man’s knowledge.

Surrounded by sons who love the game, the passion and desire to see their sons succeed was high on their list. At least now at college most games are televised so they don’t have to make the trek to come watch in person.

“I have no idea how you boys handle the constant pressure along with your studies; you both are doing so well. I was just telling Kat that yesterday.”

“It’s good that you are still always catching up with Mrs. Harrison. Randy and I couldn’t do this without the two of you. Look, I better go, but I’ll see you and Dad this weekend.”

“Of course, let me know how things go with Tyler, please, and make sure he comes home on the weekend.”

“I will.”

“Love you, Christian.”

“Love ya, Ma.”

I look at the mess that surrounds me and let out a groan. The house is currently empty, and I don’t want to waste an opportunity. Fuck the boxes as I shoot off a text .

Me: What ya doing? How was practice?

Jasmine: Long but just finished!

Me: Wanna come over?

Jasmine: I need a shower.

Me: So do I. Join me.

Jasmine: Be there in 10.

I empty my bag into the washing machine and jog upstairs for a quick room clean.

Not that Jasmine would care; hell, she helped unpack my room.

I had to call her just yesterday to ask where my track pants were.

The place was a wreck before she turned it into a bedroom.

I noticed after she left that I have a bedside lamp that she must have bought for me.

I need to remember to thank her for that—and realize I can thank her in lots of ways that don’t involve words.

I head back downstairs just as the front door opens and Randy strides in, his arm slung around Jasmine’s shoulders. So much for the house to myself.

“Hey, man, look who I found pulling into our driveway in that hot car of hers. I wish she was here to see me, but ever the gentleman, I thought I would escort her in, regardless.”

Always the player, always the charismatic one, he can’t help the words that flow like a waterfall from his mouth.

A light sprinkle of sweat peppers Jasmine’s forehead, decked out in her tight cheerleading shorts and crop top, showing off her tanned stomach.

She is a stunner, a senior, and head cheerleader.

Her parents are loaded, so she always wears the latest fashion, and the sexiest lingerie sets that consist of nothing, and probably cost more than my car.

“You’re sweaty,” she says, stepping out of Randy’s grasp and flicking her black ponytail over her shoulder. Even though she is a year above us, she looks tiny standing next to Randy’s large frame.

“I know. So are you. Let’s take a shower?”

“Pass,” she says, pushing her hands off his chest with their usual ‘just friends’ banter.

I look him square in the eyes. “Shower’s full, fuckhead.”

Jasmine shoots me an easy smile.

It’s nice how easy Jasmine and I get along, and how easy it is for her to interact with my friends.

We have never been official, both able to sleep with other people, but both showing respect and limitation when it comes to our friends.

We are protective of each other to the point where people might think we are together.

For Jasmine it’s quality over quantity. She is not big on sleeping around as she’s generally too busy with school and practice.

Her days, like mine, are crazy busy without the added relationship stress and gossip.

She is gorgeous, confident, and popular; her presence is as noticeable as the black Porsche she drives.

Smart, a successful attorney in the making, just like her mother and father.

She is tall, athletic, and the picture-perfect cheerleader.

Fierce, intimidating to the point of being near flawless, but never a bitch, then again, I doubt anyone would want to cross her.

We have somehow become the power couple of the school without being an actual couple.

Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch to me in question, or maybe more a statement. “Shower.”

I reach for her gym bag. “Let’s go.”

“I need a shower too,” Randy says to our retreating back.

“Use Seth’s,” I yell, throwing my head back over my shoulder as I follow Jasmine up the stairs.