Page 1 of Scars of Anatomy
Unknown
The sharp sound of Coach’s whistle rings through the air, signaling the end of practice. It takes me only two seconds to claw off the sweat-drenched T-shirt clinging to my body, because of course Coach would put me on shirts the hottest day of the year.
Running off to the sidelines of the football field, I instantly find my water bottle and take a few swigs, dumping the rest of the water over my head and letting it run down my body in an attempt to cool down.
“Good job today, Bronx,” Coach says as he walks by, clapping a hand on the top of my back, right over my tattoo.
Splayed across my back in black ink, shoulder blade to shoulder blade, is the word UNKNOWN in big, bold letters. While Miller is the name stitched on the back of my jersey, I feel like it’s not my real last name. That it doesn’t fit.
My mother got pregnant when she was a teen, and doesn’t know who my father is.
She was either too high or too drunk to recall who she hooked up with at some random party.
Therefore, I had to settle for her last name and questions about this unknown variable in my life.
Given my mother’s track record, I don’t expect my biological father to be a stand-up guy, but it would have been nice to know.
“Damn, man. Adrianna really did a number on you.” I hear my best friend and roommate, Chase, laugh.
He runs up next to me, bends down to grab his water bottle, and then, guzzles it down.
Out of breath, he grabs a towel to wipe the sweat running down his face and body.
Lucky bastard got to be on skins today. “Did she break off all her nails?” he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes as he rubs the towel over his sweaty light-blond hair.
I furrow my brows, momentarily confused, until I realize he’s talking about my back. That would explain why it stings so bad—all the sweat seeping into the cuts from her nails digging into my back last night.
I can’t help the smug smile that tugs at my lips. “Maybe,” I quip back.
He lets out a booming laugh, wrapping the towel around the back of his neck.
“It’s not even the first day of classes and you two are already going at each other like that?
” He shakes his head, an incredulous grin on his face as he gestures to my marked-up back.
“It’s going to be a long semester for you, man.
Maybe she’ll actually lock you down before graduation,” he teases.
“She wishes.”
If there’s one thing everyone on this campus knows, it’s that Bronx Miller doesn’t date. E ver. I won’t even take girls back to my own room. I go to their place or wherever is convenient, we have some fun, and then I leave. When the deed is done, it’s just that. Done.
Some girls are repeats, especially Adrianna. But that doesn’t mean anything other than that they’re a fun time. Adrianna doesn’t seem to understand that, though.
She’s been after me since freshman year when we met at an opening weekend party.
A raven-haired, emerald green–eyed beauty with a body that could rock any man’s world—and as captain of the dance team, it’s no wonder why she’s so popular at Garner University.
It’s also no wonder why she’s my most frequent repeat either.
Adrianna is the hottest girl on campus, and she knows it.
If people didn’t know any better about my reputation, they would think Adrianna and I were a couple because of how much time we spend together. Again, she’s just my most frequent repeat. Nothing more.
Adrianna has always wanted more from me, though.
She’s always wanted to put an exclusive label on us and feed into the clichéd fantasy of the quarterback dating the captain of the dance team.
From the beginning, I told her no strings attached.
I’m not looking for anything serious. These are my golden years, and I plan on having all the fun I can before the NFL calls my name.
Football has been a passion of mine since I was a kid.
It started out as a hobby my mom forced me into so she could get me out of the house so she could get high or do god knows what else.
Then I started taking it seriously, hoping the skills could help me ward off some of the drug-addicted and abusive boyfriends she had.
In a way, football saved my life. Literally. Aside from making me physically stronger, football gave me a future I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Because of it, I was able to go to college, something I didn’t think I’d get to do.
Growing up, I never thought I’d amount to anything. I always thought I’d end up like my mother, a lowlife living in abandoned houses without more than forty dollars to my name at a time—or dead in a ditch somewhere before I got out of my teens.
Thankfully, I found sanctuary in football instead of drugs.
By my senior year of high school I had college recruiters coming to my games, offering me full scholarships because of how well I could play.
Lord knows I would never have made it into college based on my grades. That’s how I ended up at Garner.
I’m in my senior year now, and I haven’t slowed down one bit. I’m training harder than ever, and NFL recruiters are keeping a sharp eye on me. My goal is to get drafted after graduation.
“You going to the party tonight?” Chase asks as we head to the locker room, referring to the annual bash thrown by one of the biggest frats the weekend before classes start.
“What do I look like, a saint? Hell, yeah, I’m going.”
Chase cuts the engine of his truck and we jump out. The streets are lined with cars, forcing us to park a few blocks away. Even from here we can hear the thumping of the music indicating that the party is in full swing.
Eventually, we make it to the large house and walk up the steps, which are littered with people trying to get in.
Even with all the people occupying the front and back yards, the house is jam-packed with people standing shoulder to shoulder.
After fighting our way through the front door, Chase and I are intercepted by a handful of people wanting to chat before we can finally make our way to the kitchen, where we grab two red Solo cups of beer from the counter.
“Yo, Bronx!” I hear someone yell, and I turn my head to see Brennen, the team’s wide receiver, waving me over. He’s wearing his favorite olive-green button-up shirt, which complements his dark skin and bright hazel eyes. He claims that shirt gets him laid more often than not.
Pushing through the crowd, I make my way to the dining room, where the beer pong tables are lined up.
“Be my partner?” Brennen asks with a hopeful smile, tilting his head at the tables.
“Sure thing.” I down the beer in my cup, ready to play. “Who are we up against?”
He jerks his chin at two guys standing in the corner. I recognize one from the baseball team and the other is a total preppy frat boy I don’t recall ever seeing before.
“At least give me a challenge,” I scoff, causing Brennen to laugh.
“That’s my boy! Let’s do this, Miller.”
Not even ten minutes later I send the ball flying, sinking it into the last cup and solidifying our win. Cheers ring out and Brennen claps me on the back before pumping his fists victoriously in the air.
“They don’t call you the beer pong champ for nothin’!” Brennen yells, excitedly shaking my shoulders.
He picks up two of the other teams’ remaining cups on our end of the table and hands me one. He taps his cup against mine in cheers, then tosses the alcohol back.
Just as the cup hits my lips, a small, delicate hand wraps around the plastic, fingers brushing mine, pulling it from my grasp.
I look down to see Adrianna with my cup in her hand, smirking devilishly over the rim before tossing back the liquid herself. Wolf whistles fill the air along with some hollers, and Adrianna looks pleased with herself.
She’s in a skintight, strapless black dress that leaves little to the imagination. Her heels are tall and strappy while her makeup is bold and edgy, her eyeshadow smoky and lips painted a dark red.
I grab her waist, pulling her flush against my body. “I believe that was my drink,” I say, peering into her piercing green eyes.
“Oops.” She tries to feign innocence, biting her lower lip and batting her dark lashes. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispers huskily into my ear, “I can make it up to you later.”
I growl, my fingers flexing into her skin possessively. “Or you can make it up to me now,” I challenge.
She grins. “Slow your roll, hot stuff. I just got here. At least get me another drink and dance with me first,” she says, already squirming out of my hold before grabbing my hand and leading me to the dance floor.
Adrianna giggles against my lips, her fist wrapped around the front of my shirt as she pulls me blindly down the dorm hallway. I’m not entirely sure how we ended up here, all the way across campus from the party, but I do know what her intentions are.
Since day one Adrianna has made it her mission to be the first and only girl in my bed.
She was actually the first to find out about my rule—not letting girls into my room—since she was the first to be rejected.
She’s been rejected more times than I can count, but she’s persistent. And tonight won’t be any different.
As we rounded the corner to my room, her lips sealed to mine, her hand dips into the back pocket of my jeans. She sneakily grabs my key, assuming I don’t notice.
I let her walk me to my door, thinking she’s about to get away with finally accomplishing her goal.
Backing me up against the door, I let her fumble blindly with the key.
I thread my fingers through the dark hair at the base of her head, fisting the silky smooth strands with just enough grip to pull a moan from the back of her throat, teasing her.
When I hear her successfully slide the key into the slot, I place my hand over hers, stopping her.
She whimpers in protest when I take the key from her grasp and separate our lips.
“Not so fast, baby,” I say.
She lets out a groan, pulling back with a look of annoyance on her pretty face. “Bronx! Come on, we’re right here,” she whines, gesturing at my door.
I shove the key back into my pocket before leaning against the door and hooking my thumbs through the loops of my jeans. “You know the rules,” I remind her casually.
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that accentuates her breasts and jutting out a hip to show off her curves. “Really, Bronx? Can’t we just forget about your stupid rules?”
“I wouldn’t roll your eyes at me if I were you,” I purr, pushing off the door and advancing toward her. She retreats until her back is pressed against the opposite wall, my body trapping her there. “We can still have fun elsewhere. If you behave.”
She pouts, looking up at me with those mesmerizing green eyes. “But I want you now.” She seductively runs her finger along my jaw and down the vein of my neck, ending the trail of her wandering fingers with her palm flat on my lower abdomen.
I lean down, letting my lips rub against her cheek before fanning my breath over her ear. “Who says we have to go far?”
Taking her by surprise, I hook my hands around the back of her thighs and hitch her up to wrap her legs around my torso. She gasps as I press her body harder into the wall, my hips grinding against hers.
“Are you going to be good?” I grunt into her ear.
She bites her lip hard, nodding.
“That’s what I thought,” I say before claiming her mouth with my own.
She threads her fingers through my hair as I swallow her moans. My tongue slips past her parted lips to explore, licking deep into her mouth as she writhes with pleasure.
Making sure I have her secured against me, I pull away from the wall and walk backward down the hall.
“Where are we going?” she murmurs against my lips.
“You’ll see.”
Rounding the end of the hall, I grab the door handle of the men’s communal shower room and pull it open. We tumble inside the empty space—no one is in here at three in the morning—and I lead us into a stall.
I push her up against the cool tile of the wall and she lets out a small hiss as her burning-hot skin meets the hard surface, not appreciating the drastic temperature change. Reaching for the knob, I turn it to full blast and warm water pours down on us.
“Bronx!” she scolds, whining about how her dress and makeup are going to be ruined.
I mold my lips to hers, silencing her cries of displeasure, which quickly turn to moans.
Skimming my hands up her thighs and over the curve of her ass, I push her short dress up to her waist, exposing her black lace panties. I place her on her feet and sink to my knees, pulling the thin scrap of fabric down her long tan legs to pool around her heel-clad feet.
Before standing, I look up at her. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly as she looks down at me, soaking wet, dress bunched up to her waist with nothing but desire in her eyes.
As I stand, I pull my soaking-wet T-shirt over my head, struggling as the fabric clings to my body.
I let it drop to the floor with a plop before reaching into my back pocket for my wallet.
I fish out a condom and unbutton my jeans, pushing the fabric down my legs along with my boxers.
I tear open the foil packet with my teeth, then roll the latex on, gripping her thigh and hooking it around my hip before pushing into her. Sweet little moans pass her lips and mix with the pattering of the water before my name echoes off the tiled walls with a scream.
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