Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(29)

Panting, I lie on the bed, feeling drained. I certainly am. I sit up and clean up, but I still need a shower; I'm soaked with sweat. I have morning classes, then practice.

Leaning against the shower wall, I let the water scald my back and think. My mind is not made up. To be blunt, I'd hoped jerking off while thinking about Ana would get her out of my mind. I want it to be purely physical. I can be as poetic as I need to be, the truth is she's hot as f*ck and even if she was a total bitch it wouldn't matter. I'd be another one of those drooling idiots ogling her while she walks around campus, trying to look down her top in class.

No, it's more than that. It's her smile and her laugh and the sadness in her eyes that cries out for someone to do something. She needs a knight.

Ah damn it, Jason.



My first two classes are a struggle. I try to keep her out of my mind, but I space out during the lectures and think about Anastasia the entire time. I know there's something wrong because I'm not thinking about her breasts or her ass. Well, not exclusively anyway.

When you think about f*cking a girl, you're horny. When you're fantasizing about walking with her, it's more. Guilt creeps along behind me like a lurking creature, following me from class to class and then to practice. I told myself those feelings were dead, that I'd never let anybody get to me again. I told myself I don't want to. I'm better off alone. Better off taking care of myself.

On the field, I'm unfocused, distracted. I miss throws, fumble the ball, run out of energy too fast in wind sprints. The thought of Ana weighs me down until I sit on the bench and hold my helmet between my hands, staring at it.

"Powell!"

Coach Richter is five feet, eight inches of angry, demanding football coach. He constantly works his jaw like he's chewing on an invisible cigar and carries a clipboard like an infant, always cradled to his chest. He glares at me with the intensity of a betrayed father.

"What's wrong with you? You're off your game today, son."

"Just thinking. Distracted."

"Your academic advisor called me yesterday afternoon. She says you're in danger out of falling out of the program."

"Yeah. Bad grades. Math."

"If you sounded like you gave a shit, I'd be a little mollified. Mollified. You English majors like words like that, right? Am I getting through to you?"

"I'm listening, Coach."

"Listening and hearing aren't the same thing. What is it that's got you out of sorts, Jason?"

"Nothing."

"Girl?"

I shake my head.

"That's one of those yes-nos. You gonna get so twisted up about her that you'll put your whole life on the line? I hope she's special."

"She is."

"That was sarcasm."

"I know."

He rolls his narrow shoulders. "You're the big man on campus, Powell. Do whatever you need to do to forget this girl. There's others. They're lined up around the block pitching panties in your window. Get it out of your system and get ready to get your head in the game. We're playing the Badgers again this weekend."

"I know."

"After that performance last Saturday, I'm wondering if I should just walk out on the field and let them run the ball into the end zone until they get tired. It'd be a more effective defense than we put up. That shit you pulled with the fake pass isn't going to work every time. If you want—"

"I know."

"You're not accomplishing anything here. Get off the field and don't come back until you're ready to focus. Shower up and get lost, Powell. If this keeps up, I'm pulling you off the starting roster."

I stand up, looking through him, and slow-walk to the locker room, and shower again. Afterward I sit on the worn wooden bench in front of my locker in a towel and look through my folded hands into the floor.

Last Tuesday I wouldn't have needed that speech. I'd have been giving it. Last week I had two focal points in my life: my grades and football. There was no room for anything else. I went to the Deerhead on Saturday expecting to dance with some girl, go home, take care of myself, and keep my head in the game.

Now I don't know where my head is and it feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.



Ana



My phone bleats at me. Incoming video call.

Now what? I can't stand another salvo from Mother right now. She must be furious if she's awake this late back home, to message me in the middle of the day. I slip my phone out and sigh in relief.

It's Konstantin, my brother. I glance at the time; I have a good hour before my next class. I chew my lip; I can't talk to him with Bjorn and Thorlief following me. Damn it. The call ends, and I send him a text.



Can't talk now. Bodyguards.



Ah. I forget, it's the middle of the day there, yes?



Yes, brother.



I saw The Royal Exposé.



Apparently everyone has. What of it?



Are you seeing this man?



I sigh. Loudly. Thorlief glances at me.



I studied with him.



Is that a euphemism?



I can just picture my brother hunched over his phone, laughing at me. The image brings a smile to my lips. Konstantin has always been the dearest of brothers to me, the only true family I have. It is him I miss most of all from home. I barely speak with my other siblings; Mother did everything she could, it always seemed, to keep us apart from one another. Perhaps she was afraid we'd gang up on her.