Tackled Read online

  "Don't touch me."

  "When Colton told me you were a virgin, I thought there was no way someone who walks around the way you do — like you're just asking for it — was actually a virgin."

  Like I'm just asking for it?

  Okay, now my blood is boiling.

  What did my brother Daniel teach me? I rack my brain for the ass-kicking techniques my brothers were always forcing me to learn when I was a kid. None of those are going to come in handy with a massive football player.

  "Colton wouldn't tell you anything," I hiss.

  "Obviously," the creep says. "He blurted it out. Trying to make sure I knew you weren't a slut. Which, well, is clearly not true."

  He… blurted it out trying to defend me?

  "He didn't brag about nailing me," I say, the realization finally hitting me.

  A smile creeps across his face. "You're available now," he points out. "And right here for the taking."

  "Fuck you."

  He reaches down to my thigh and yanks the side of my skirt up, his other hand pushing my bag aside and squeezing my breast.

  "Get away from me, you pig," I say loudly, struggling against him. His face is close to mine, and then I remember.

  "Bottom part of the palm of your hand up to the nose," Daniel said. "If someone's bigger than you, you pull that hand back and fucking push their nose into their skull."

  "That's gross."

  "Whatever, brat," he said. "You'll thank me some day."

  I do it. I whip my hand back and I shove my palm upward just as hard as I can, colliding with his nose. I hear a crunch, and he stumbles back a step, his hand over his face.

  I make a mental note to call Daniel and thank him profusely.

  "You little bitch," he shouts, lunging toward me but I'm already out of the way.

  "Dillon Parker," comes a booming voice through the hallway. "Back the fuck up right now and sit your ass down!"

  It's Coach Walker. He looks at the guy with his hand over his nose, then at me. I'm slightly disheveled and clutching my bag against my chest. I don't know how much the coach saw, but he sizes up the situation immediately.

  Coach Walker takes out his cell phone and puts it up to his ear. "I'm calling to report an assault," I hear him say. "At the athletic department. By one of my players."

  "It was a fucking joke, and she broke my fucking nose," Dillon yells.

  "Nice shot," Coach Walker says to me. "You're all right?"

  I nod. "Totally fine."

  A couple of big guys who emerge behind the coach move in front of Dillon, blocking him from going anywhere.

  "Were you here for me?" the coach asks.

  "I came here to turn in my resignation," I say, my voice faltering.

  "Related to this?" the coach asks. "Because this isn't tolerated. Not at all."

  "No, related to…" I stop. Related to my believing this guy over what Colton said? I swallow hard. "Related to nothing. I'm…moving on."

  Shit. Moving on.

  I have to teach in fifteen minutes.

  "I need to go," I start.

  "You need to stay here until the cops take your statement," Coach Walker insists.

  "The cops?" I squeak. I thought he called campus security, the rent-a-cops with the beer guts who are a campus joke. I could just tell them I'd give a statement later.

  "I saw one of my players assault you, and assault is a crime," he says, matter-of-fact.

  "I have to teach," I explain lamely. Of course, I'd also like that guy to pay for groping me.

  "Can you call someone?" Coach Walker asks.

  I clear my throat. "Yes, actually."

  When I call Sable and ask her to teach the intro sociology class for me, she squeals. "What the hell for?" she asks. "You know I don't teach."

  That much is true. Sable has an allowance now that her parents have resigned themselves to the fact that she's in grad school. "I need you to do this for me," I beg softly into the phone. "You can download the syllabus from online. It's the second class. It's literally basic, basic stuff. It's intro sociology, Sable. Just bullshit your way through."

  "What will Dr. Richards say?" she squeals.

  "He's not even here this week. He went to that conference. Please, please cover for me."

  "What's happening? Are you okay? You weren't in an accident or something, were you?"

  I walk around the corner, out of sight of the coach and the players. I hear Dillon groaning from the end of the hallway. "I wasn't in an accident," I tell her. "I'm at the athletic center."

  "With Colton?" Her voice goes up an octave.

  "No, not with Colton."

  "Miss Rae?" A uniformed man gestures at me from a few yards away. "We'll need to get a statement."

  "Shit," I mutter. "I have to talk to the cops."

  "The cops?" Sable asks. "What the hell is going on?"

  "That creep from Colton's team groped me," I whisper. "I have to go. Please cover for me."

  "What?" Sable's loud screech is audible even when I hold the phone far away from my ear.

  "I'm completely fine," I assure her. "I'll tell you the whole story when I get back."

  * * *

  It takes me an hour to get finished with the cops and then for Coach Walker to talk to me, assuring me that the athletic department takes sexual assault seriously and that Dillon will be kicked off the football team and, if he has any say in the matter, off campus. I don't know if he's worried I'm going to sue the athletic department or what, but he was serious as a heart attack.

  The cops encourage me to file a restraining order.

  I just want to go home.

  I'm walking out of the hallway, into the middle of the commons, when I see him taking long strides through the building, moving with a purpose.

  Colton stops short, just for a second, when he sees me. Then he walks over to me, his expression pained, and picks me up. He doesn't say a word to me or anyone else, just storms out of the athletic center with me scooped up in his arms like he's daring someone to ask what the hell he's doing.

  "Put me down, Colton," I order once we're outside.

  "I'm not fucking putting you down," he says. "I'm taking you to my truck."

  "My car is parked in the parking garage! Put me down. Why the hell are you here, anyway?"

  I should be happy to see him. Especially now that I know he was telling the truth, that he didn't say all of those things about me. I am happy to see him. Except that I'm annoyed by the fact that he just waltzed into the athletic center and caveman-carried me out of there.

  "I'm here because I'm taking you home."

  "I have a car," I protest, squirming in his arms. "And I don't need you to ride in on your white horse and rescue me."

  Colton doesn't put me down until we're right beside his truck. And he doesn't just set me down. He drops his hand from behind my legs and pulls me against him so that I slide right down his body before my feet touch the ground. The familiar spark of electricity, the attraction that was there before, runs straight through me.

  "Too fucking bad," he says.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You heard what I said. Too fucking bad if you don't need me to rescue you."

  I bristle, the throbbing of my palm from where I hit Dillon reminding me that I broke a guy's nose an hour ago. "I can rescue my own damn self just fine," I say firmly. "Who called you? Sable?"

  "Yeah, and she didn't know what the hell happened, but she said someone groped you, so I'm taking you out of here and then I'm going to kill whoever touched you."

  I exhale heavily. "Look, I'm fine. He tried to grope me. Or I guess he got a handful of boob. Over my shirt," I clarify. Colton's eyes go big and his nostrils flare. "Don't get all crazy. It wasn't a huge deal."

  "Some asshole grabbed your boob but it's not a big deal?" Colton asks. His face is turning red.

  "That guy," I say, sighing. "The one you got into a fight with before. Dillon Parker."

  "Dillon put his fucking hands on you?"