Full Contact: A College Reverse Harem Romance Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Books by Cassie Cole

  1 - Roberta

  2 - Danny

  3 - Roberta

  4 - Roberta

  5 - Roberta

  6 - Lance

  7 - Roberta

  8 - Roberta

  9 - Roberta

  10 - Roberta

  11 - Fernando

  12 - Roberta

  13 - Roberta

  14 - Roberta

  15 - Danny

  16 - Roberta

  17 - Lance

  18 - Roberta

  19 - Roberta

  20 - Roberta

  21 - Fernando

  22 - Roberta

  23 - Roberta

  24 - Lance

  25 - Roberta

  26 - Fernando

  27 - Roberta

  28 - Roberta

  29 - Roberta

  30 - Danny

  31 - Roberta

  32 - Roberta

  33 - Roberta

  34 - Lance

  35 - Roberta

  36 - Roberta

  37 - Roberta

  38 - Roberta

  39 - Roberta

  40 - Danny

  41 - Roberta

  42 - Roberta

  43 - Roberta

  44 - Roberta

  45 - Roberta

  46 - Roberta

  47 - Roberta

  48 - Roberta

  49 - Lance

  50 - Roberta

  51 - Danny

  52 - Roberta

  53 - Fernando

  54 - Roberta

  Epilogue

  Bonus Chapter

  Sneak Peek - The Proposition

  About the Author

  Full Contact

  By Cassie Cole

  Copyright © 2019 Juicy Gems Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior consent of the author.

  Edited by Robin Morris

  Follow me on social media to stay up-to-date on new releases, announcements, and prize giveaways!

  www.cassiecoleromance.com

  Books by Cassie Cole

  Broken In

  Drilled

  Five Alarm Christmas

  All In

  Triple Team

  Shared by her Bodyguards

  Saved by the SEALs

  Forbidden Crush

  The Proposition

  Full Contact

  1

  Roberta

  I swirled cheap beer around in my red plastic cup, cringed as I took a sip, and gazed around the party. It was at one of the frat houses—I couldn’t remember which—and was crammed with students. Rap music blared from a speaker system in the other room, but it was so loud that it made every room in the house vibrate with bass.

  I hated these kinds of college parties. I’d gone to a few when I was a freshman, but now that I was in my fifth year at Appleton State University I was over the get drunk as quickly as possible scene. I glanced at my phone—it was 10:45 at night. I would have left, except…

  My roommate, Aly, poked me in the ribs. “You don’t look like you’re having fun,” she said over the loud rap music. She’d dragged me out here because she didn’t want to show up to a party alone.

  “I’m not having fun,” I replied bluntly.

  Aly swayed her shoulders in a dance. “You should at least look like you don’t hate everything and anything. You’re bringing the mood down.”

  I gestured around the room. “The mood looks fine to me.”

  Half the women here were sorority girls dressed like they were going to a Miami nightclub rather than a campus frat party. Cocktail skirts, high heels, and enough makeup and hair product to burn the town down. All of them were dancing wildly around one of the kegs, cheering while a tall guy in expensive jeans and a popped collar polo shirt danced his way over. He bent over to grab the keg with both hands, and four of the girls lifted his legs in the air to help him do a keg-stand. They chanted “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” while he sucked beer directly from the tap. Upside-down, his polo shirt fell down over his head, revealing the flattest, most defined six-pack of abs I’d ever seen in my life. It was like they were painted on with a freaking brush.

  One of those guys.

  The girls cheered as he finished the keg stand and lowered himself to the ground. The polo shirt was stuck over his face, but he made no move to fix it. Instead, he dropped down on his heels and began doing that Russian dance where the person crosses their arms over their chest, then squats low while kicking their legs out in front of them one at a time. It was totally ridiculous in isolation without the right music playing in the background, but the sorority girls squealed like they’d just won the lottery.

  “I’d like to bite off a piece of him,” Aly said. “That’s Lance, the wide receiver on the football team. He’s got a reputation for taking home a different girl every night.”

  I stared at my roommate. “Right, because that’s hot,” I said sarcastically.

  “What’s hot is that body. I love a guy with a tattoo sleeve. Mmm.” Aly shook her head and turned back to me. “Okay, well maybe you’re bringing my mood down. I wanted you to have fun.”

  Aly was dressed every bit as nice as the sorority girls. Her little red dress was practically glued onto her body, hugging every curve. Meanwhile, I’d worn jeans and a comfortable top. The dress code for frat parties had changed a lot since I was a freshman, apparently.

  “I’m fine.”

  But Aly remained focused on me. “Why are you so gloomy?”

  I considered lying, but I wanted her to get off my back. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a folded letter I’d found sitting in my dorm mailbox that afternoon. The rejection letter from the Appleton State University Athletic Department.

  Aly unfolded it and made a face. “You’ve been carrying this around in your pocket like a death certificate?”

  “It might as well be one,” I said. “I didn’t get the sports medicine job.”

  “Oh no!” Aly said dramatically. “Your life is officially over! You might as well drop out, start smoking crack, and live on the street begging for change.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her dramatization. I wasn’t in the mood to have my rejection ridiculed. “I need six credits of work experience for my master’s degree. That physical trainer position with the athletic department would have been perfect.”

  “Then get another one.”

  “That’s two semester’s worth of credits. By the time I find one, half the semester will be over.”

  Aly kept dancing with herself, clomping back and forth in her sparkly silver pumps. “Then take a summer class or something. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

  She didn’t understand. My master’s degree was in kinesiology, and I was in the five-year program, on track to graduate next May. Just two semesters away. But work experience was slim here in the little town of Appleton, Texas. Aside from the university, the only place to get work credits was the physical therapy office on the other side of town. And they weren’t hiring students—I’d already checked.

  The only other way to get kinesiology work credits was to drive an hour east to San Antonio. 110 miles round-trip of commuting per day would probably cause my old beater car to finally break down, and aside from that my schedule was so packed this semester I didn’t have time to waste sitting in traffic for two hours a day. Graduating with a master’s degree in five years instead of six was tough.

  “You’re right,” I told Aly to avoid any more arguments. “I’ll figu
re something out.”

  Aly pumped her hands in the air in time with the music, “There’s the positive attitude I like to see! Now come on. Enjoy yourself. It’s Saturday night, and classes don’t start until Monday. Relax while you can!”

  I sipped my beer as Aly danced her way over to another group of people, leaving me alone. I was somewhat introverted, so social events exhausted me. Aly may be the type of person who recharged her batteries at parties with loud music, but for me the ideal night was sitting on my couch watching Riverdale on Netflix.

  I’d been here half an hour, and was nearing my fill. The shitty news about getting rejected for the trainer position was the catalyst for me accepting Aly’s invitation, but now that I was here I could tell it was a mistake. The only enjoyment I was getting out of it was rolling my eyes at all the younger college kids trying to unwind before the fall semester officially started.

  I drank the rest of my crappy beer, tossed the solo cup in the trash, and turned to leave.

  That’s when the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my life grabbed my arm and stopped me.

  2

  Danny

  I swirled cheap beer around in a plastic cup and laughed while watching my roommate make a fool of himself.

  Lance grabbed onto the keg and allowed himself to be hoisted vertical into a keg-stand by four scantily-clad sorority girls. Everyone chanted as he sucked crappy beer through the tap. Lance loved to have his shirt off for the ladies, so when his shirt fell down over his face he didn’t bother fixing it. He even left it over his head when he came down from the keg-stand and began doing the Cossack dance on the floor, kicking his long legs out flawlessly.

  He was made for the spotlight. He loved attention, and thrived on it.

  When he was done, he grinned and high-fived people on his way over to me. His dark hair was all messy, but he didn’t care.

  “Bro, who died?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  He pointed. “You look like you’re at a funeral.”

  I shrugged. “I’m just tired.”

  It had been a long day. Most days were long during this time of year. Up at 4:30 a.m. to pack my bag for the day and head to the cafeteria for breakfast. Fueling for the day. Then an hour of strength and conditioning in the gym—heavy squats, deadlifts, bench press. The big three movements most days. Sometimes I squeezed in a shower after, but I usually didn’t have time. After that we had our team meeting with the coach to review the practice schedule. Then from 9:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. I had classes, lunch, and more classes. Classes didn’t even officially start for most students until Monday, but student athletes had to get an early start with tutors and aides.

  That was the easy part of the day.

  From 2:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. I watched game film with coach, reviewing things I needed to work on. Then we had actual practice for four hours until 7:00 p.m., which was the hottest stretch of the day here in Texas. Then extra conditioning if coach wasn’t happy with my cardio, and a shower after.

  Then we had two hours of study hall and dinner, which was mandatory even though classes didn’t start until next week. By the time 9:30 p.m. rolled around, the only thing I wanted to do was crawl in between my covers and pass out.

  “I’m tired too,” Lance said, though he certainly didn’t look it. He ducked into the kitchen and came out with a cup full of reddish-orange liquid. “Drink this.”

  “What’s in it?” I asked skeptically.

  “Redbull and Everclear.”

  I winced. “The last thing I need is to get simultaneously shitfaced and wired.”

  Lance shook his head at me in disappointment. “Bro. Tomorrow’s Sunday. The one day a week we don’t have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn for practice.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and waved at the party. “All of this awesomeness is going on, and you’re telling me you’d rather be sleeping?”

  “I like sleep.”

  “Then sleep with a girl,” Lance said, grinning at his own wit. “Granted, you’re a few notches down from my own brimming attractiveness, but you could have any girl here. They’d tear each other to shreds just for the chance to fuck you.”

  I looked around the party. All the girls who were over-dressed kept glancing over at me, trying to catch my eye. Smiling invitingly. Yeah, they were hot, but I wasn’t interested in a random hookup with an air-headed sorority girl.

  “I’m good,” I said.

  “Bro!” Lance made the word into a curse. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

  I patted my good friend on the back reassuringly. “I’m having a good time, Lance. You were right that I needed to come out and unwind. But I’m happy just hanging out.”

  Lance narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m gonna walk around and find a girl for you to dance with. Stay right here, bro.”

  He wandered away before I could stop him. He paused at a cluster of girls and said, “Ladies, my buddy Danny over there is looking for a friend tonight. He’s the sad looking fellow standing in the kitchen. Now, which one of you is the most flexible? Are any of you gymnasts?”

  I groaned and turned away from them, abandoning my cup of beer on the counter. It was time to get out of here. I began moving toward the front door…

  …And then I saw her.

  She stuck out for a couple of reasons. She was standing by herself rather than in a group like everyone else in the room. She was also the only girl within sight who was dressed casually. Jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers.

  But the biggest reason she stuck out: she was stunningly beautiful. Some curve to her hips and an ample chest pressed inside her tight shirt. Dirty-blonde hair pulled away from her face and running down her back in easy curls. Pouty cheeks and long eyelashes that fluttered as she looked around the room in boredom. Most of the girls at this party—and at Appleton State University in general—got dolled up for parties. High heels and $200 salon trips just to go to a kegger at an old frat house.

  This girl was different. She had an effortless beauty that needed no frills. And she seemed more mature, like all of this was beneath her.

  Before I knew what I was doing, my feet were carrying me in that direction. Lance called out to me from his cluster of girls, but I ignored him and floated across the room. One woman who had been watching me finally turned and tried to introduce herself, but I smiled and excused myself in passing.

  The girl I needed to meet gulped down the rest of her beer and tossed the cup in the trash. She was turning to leave.

  Shit!

  I shoved through the crowd toward her, terrified that I wouldn’t get to at least say hello to her, and in my hurry I reached out and yanked on her arm.

  She whirled, ready to get angry at me, but instead she only blinked.

  “Hey,” I said.

  3

  Roberta

  This guy.

  Oh man, this guy.

  He was handsome in a non-flashy way. A little taller than me, with a perfect jawline and wonderfully symmetrical face. His wavy blond hair was so perfect that it cascaded back into place as he ran his large hand through it nervously.

  “Hey,” he said in a smooth, deep voice. “Sorry to grab you.”

  “It’s okay,” I found myself saying. I wanted it to be okay.

  He smiled, and it was like everyone else in the room faded away. “I just came to tell you that you’re not meeting the dress code.”

  “Oh?” I said dumbly, not realizing he was joking.

  He jerked his head. “You’re supposed to put on high heels and a cocktail dress to come to a kegger. I’m going to have to ask you to go home and trade those sneakers for a pair of high heels.”

  I made a tsk tsk noise with my tongue. “I thought I could get away with it, but I didn’t realize security was so strict here.”

  “Afraid so. If your clothes are comfortable, then you’re not dressed up enough.”

  I found myself smiling back at him. It was nice knowing that I wasn’t the only one bemused by all th
e overachievers at the party. It also helped that he was so damn cute.

  “Then what’s your excuse?” I asked. “You get to wear jeans and a T-shirt but I can’t?”

  He shrugged his boulder-like shoulders. “As security, it’s important that I stay comfortable.” He lifted a foot to show off his New Balance shoes. “I may have to chase after someone. Hey, do you want a drink?”

  No thanks, I thought. I’m leaving. These parties aren’t my thing, and I’ve already been here too long.

  But what I said was, “Yeah, I’ll take a drink.”

  “Any preference?”

  “Beer’s fine.”

  He raised a blond eyebrow. “Is it really fine, or are you just saying that for simplicity’s sake?”

  “Well, it’s the same crappy beer in every keg I’ve seen,” I explained. “And I’m not about to drink the Redbull-Everclear mix they have in the bucket in the kitchen.”

  “You like craft beer?” he asked.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  He held up a finger. “Stay right here.”

  I watched him—specifically his muscular butt packed into his jeans—as he wandered away through the party crowd. Lots of people talked to him in passing. He seemed like a popular guy.

  Suddenly I flinched. I was breaking the number one rule of being a woman at a college party: never let a stranger get your drink. I’d been so enamored with the fact that a gorgeous hunk was talking to me that I’d just agreed to his offer without thinking.

  He returned with a pair of cans held together in one hand. Once again people tried talking to him on the way, both women and men, but he only smiled without slowing down. He held one can out to me when he finally reached me.

  “These were in a mini-fridge upstairs.”

  “Are you going to get in trouble for stealing them?” I asked.

  “Nah. The guy who lives here offered them to me when I came in.”

  I held up the can to get a look. The top half of the can was orange and the bottom half silver. The logo was two dueling pistols facing upward symmetrically, with Revolver Brewing in black lettering. Across the top was the beer name itself: Blood & Honey, American Ale.