Decker: A Standalone college romance: A Boys of HGU Novel Read online

  Copyright © 2021 Victoria Mcfarlane

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ASIN: B0918Q9F41

  ISBN: 9798519566797

  Contents

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Epilogue

  DECKER

  Boys of HGU

  Book 2

  VICTORIA

  MCFARLANE

  “To be wild and courageous – to be wildly courageous – that is my goal.

  To love you through the storms and the starless nights, to hold your hand and always bring you back to life.”

  - Anita Krizzan

  One

  I was heeding my friends warning. Vincent Decker, the next guy on my list of Hillgrove Titans to interview, wasn’t going to make this easy.

  That much was clear and those walls, they were sky high and reinforced. I needed him to trust me, there was no reason for him not to unless there was something in his past that he wanted to keep a secret. The prospect just made this even more interesting.

  When the paper decided to ask me to do this job, I was reluctant, sports, they weren’t my thing, I preferred topics of debate, environmental subjects, politics maybe, but I was a people person regardless, I loved learning all the things that make a person tick and whilst Peyton had warned me to be cautious with Vincent, all I wanted to do was dig and then dig some more to get through the dirt until all the good stuff underneath came out.

  What could he possibly have that he wants to protect so much? He was a God on campus, notorious playboy, effortless charm, and he had a group of friends willing to take a bullet for him.

  Peyton, my roommate, and best friend, had told me to be careful with him, acting like he’s a delicate little flower at risk of wilting should I push too hard or go too deep.

  If he were a flower, he’d be a rose. Not because they’re beautiful, but because they were protected by thorns. In order to get to the good part you would have to battle the vines that slash and scar your skin, but you do it anyway because the flower itself is too pretty to ignore.

  It felt strange referring to the man himself as a rose, it is not an analogy I would usually use to describe a man of his caliber but it’s the only way I can define him. His beauty, because yes, the man was beautiful, in a way that should be gracing sports magazines and TV screens across the globe, was one that caught me off guard the first time I came face to face with him.

  I avoided the football crowd, other than going to games, it wasn’t my scene, much preferring the solace that comes from living my days in the library or coffee shops. I’d seen him around but never up close. Peyton was close with him and really, I should have made more of an effort to get to know the guys a long time ago, but hindsight is a real bitch.

  I would just have to go into this like I have all the confidence in the world, I’ll ramp up my own charm to counteract his. I’ll use whatever means necessary to get what I need.

  I know! It’s awful but desperate times call for desperate measures and this assignment is going to look amazing on my resume one day.

  I finish off an article for a different project, send it off to the editor and pull my shit together. I’m meeting Vincent in less than an hour at the library.

  Tugging my hair from the messy bun I’ve had it in since I rolled out of bed this morning, I wince at the birds nest it’s trying to resemble, calculating how long it will take to wash and dry it. I decide I don’t have time and beat it down with a ton of dry shampoo and a battle with my hair brush. A little mascara and lip gloss later, I change my yoga pants for black ripped skinny jeans, my combat boots, and an oversized jumper that I half tuck into the band of my trousers.

  With my bag slung over my shoulder I dart from my dorm room. Power walking across campus is my only choice seeing as I’m now running late, something I’d rather avoid and by the time I get to the library my lungs are burning from the intense cardio.

  I say intense because sports or anything that includes cardio is not exactly my forte. I’m a yoga girl.

  Trying to get my breathing under control I step into the warmth of my favorite place on campus, inhaling the scent of books and ink. I wave to Juliet, a girl from my English class who also works part time here and she smiles from behind the desk, turning her attention back to the guy waiting for an answer to whatever question he just asked.

  Finding Vincent is easy. Just look for the God amongst men and you’ll find him. I soak in his glory, the defined structure of his face, high cheekbones, a jawline built for cutting and Romanesque nose. His mouth is so perfectly plump and surrounded by a thin layer of dark stubble. Dark hair, naturally highlighted with copper tones is short at the sides, tapered with an expert fade to a longer, shaggier top that he’s pushed away from his brow. Dark, low set brows frame the most gorgeous pair of green eyes I’ve ever seen.

  His eyes meet mine from across the library and whilst I try my best to look friendly, giving him a smile as I approach, he simply peruses me with disdain, eyes dragging down the length of my body and not liking what he sees.

  I mean I’m not supermodel material, but I wouldn’t say I was unattractive. Maybe I just wasn’t in his league. I stifle a scoff and stop at the table, showing teeth with my smile as I look down at the football star in front of me, “Hi Vincent,” I reach out a hand, “I’m Demi, I know we’ve met before, but those circumstances were a little wild so how about we start again?”

  The first time I met him personally was at party with Peyton not so long ago. It was at a time when she was struggling with her feelings for Fletcher, her deceased boyfriends’ brother and Decker’s best friend, and things went from normal to chaotic in a matter of seconds. That’s a whole other story for another time though.

  He leans back in his chair, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, causing the biceps to pop and strain against the cuffs of his tight white tee. I swallow thickly, forcing myself to ignore the display. I’m only human after all and hello muscles.

  “How about we just cut to the chase, your place or mine?”

  It catches me off guard. That was not the vibe I was getting from him at all but as the shock wears off, I realize what he’s tryin
g to do. My eyes narrow in on him, noting the tension rolling through his shoulders, the way his pulse point jumps in his throat. I’ve become somewhat of an expert on body language.

  “I can assure you, Mr Decker, that is never going to happen.”

  He grins mischievously, a little boyish, playful even, and I suddenly feel like a mouse being toyed with by a large cat.

  “Never say never, sweetheart,” he leans over the table, the collar of his tee dropping until I can see a glimpse of the hard bronzed expanse of his chest, “But if a little bit of chit chat is what you need, Miss Atwood, let’s talk.”

  My heart rate spikes. He was serious. And he was using his charm, expertly I might add, to disarm me. I feared for a moment that it was working but then the assignment crashes to the forefront of my mind. This was a job, and I took my job very seriously. I would not be deterred by his very natural sex appeal nor his smile or the wicked glint in his eye that promises everything I’ve never dreamed of.

  “So tell me,” I say after I’ve taken a seat across from him and settled my laptop in front of me, using the few precious seconds to secure my equilibrium before I have to look at him again, “What is it you’re trying so hard to hide behind this playboy exterior?”

  I level my eyes with his and hold.

  Something settles in his gaze, something a lot like acceptance of a challenge I had just unwittingly put before him.

  With his eyes on me, cool, collected, he smirks and says, “Now what makes you think I’m hiding anything?”

  He’s good, I will give him that, but I’m better and he’s an open book as far as emotion goes. People think they can hide what they truly feel by masking it with indifference but all that does is highlight the fact that you’re concealing something, no matter how small. “Well, most people don’t instantly use sex as a way to get out of a conversation.”

  “Well I’m not like most people,” he says dryly.

  “I can see that” I admit, cocking my head to study him, my eyes roaming over every beautiful inch of him. He could have been carved by the angels with a face like that, “But whatever it is you’re trying to do, it isn’t going to work. I have a job to do and as far as I am aware this interview is mandatory.”

  He grumbles something under his breath that I don’t quite catch before saying louder, “My name is Vincent Decker. I moved to Hillgrove as a kid, met the guys and came to college. The end.”

  “And where did you live before Hillgrove? Did you move with your family?”

  The moment I say family his whole body stiffens. It happens so quickly and then is gone in the next second that I almost miss it. Shutters come down over his eyes and his mouth flattens, any wicked playfulness there gone.

  “I’m actually going to rain check this meeting,” he growls, “last minute practice.”

  Lie.

  “Maybe another time.”

  He stands abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor loudly in such a quiet space, and reaches around to pull his jacket on, a hand tugging through his hair.

  “Mr Decker,” I stop him, my hand landing on his forearm. Even through the material of his jacket I feel the heat of his skin, the smell of him assaulting my senses, threatening deliria. “Whether it’s now, or later, we will be having this meeting. It will be over a few sessions so I can fully understand your story and write up a compelling article. Whatever it is you’re trying to hide, I will find out what it is.”

  “And what if I don’t want you to?” He growls, the rims of his nostrils flaring as he stares down the straight edge of his nose at me, the green of his eyes luminescent against the bronzed hue of his skin.

  “Then you’re just piquing my curiosity further, I’m a reporter, it’s in my nature to dig.”

  He snatches his arm away, “Well maybe you should just learn to leave well enough alone.”

  I watch him storm his way through the library, not caring who he shoves or knocks out of his path to make his escape. My stomach twists. Sports journalism wasn’t my thing but this, investigative journalism, now that got my blood going.

  I stay in the library and pull up a new document and an internet tab. If he won’t give me what I need, I’ll do some research and we’ll approach it a different way.

  A google search of Vincent Decker doesn’t bring up much other than articles about his play on the field and videos of his games. I click on one, a recent interview after the game a few weeks ago. He’s all smiles, a sheen of sweat giving his face a sort of glow as cameras flash and the lights of the stadium glint off his skin. As the HGU Titan Wide Receiver, his footwork is an impressive skill to watch, the way his legs carry him across the field, the way his body leaps as if he’s suddenly grown wings and can fucking fly to catch a ball. The video jumps to a playback of the game, I don’t notice I’m watching him, number twenty-five until he leaps into the air to catch the ball Fletcher has thrown to him. He sails into the air, catching the ball and tucking it into him as he lands with the grace of a cat and then takes off in a sprint, dodging and passing the opposing teams’ defensive players. I’m sure he’s about to be taken out by one of the guys until he passes into the end zone and slams the ball down.

  I literally jump in my chair, a cheer ready to rip from my throat until I realize where I am and that I’m watching footage.

  Football was never a big thing for me or my family but watching this, I can’t help but get sucked into the game, watching the team play like a well-oiled machine is captivating. I find myself clicking through playbacks and interviews, taking it all in.

  It’s research, that’s what I tell myself. It’s not because watching Vincent Decker on the field is the equivalent of doing an addictive substance or maybe it is, because both would be just as disastrous for my health.

  I’m not even going to pretend I don’t like the way he looks in the gear, those tight football pants do wonderful things for him and there’s this tantalizing air of mystery around him when he’s dressed completely, the helmet covering his beautiful face, the lines of black paint beneath his eyes making the green of his eyes pop.

  By the time I realize it, I’ve wasted an entire afternoon watching game footage and it’s started to grow dark outside the library with most students already gone for the evening.

  “Enjoying game footage?” A male voice says from behind, startling me. As if I’ve just been caught watching something unfavorable, I slam the lid of my laptop down and turn to the voice, scowling. When I see it’s just Ross, a senior reporter and supervisor for the Hillgrove Reporter, the paper I write for I settle down. He knows my assignment, he’s the one who gave it to me, so catching me watching plays shouldn’t come as too much of a shock.

  “Something like that,” I laugh, tucking my laptop into my bag, “what are you doing here?”

  He hooks his fingers into his bag and jerks his head towards a stack of books behind me, “Got some studying to do but maybe I can skip that, and we can grab a drink?”

  I almost tell him yes, a drink after dealing with Vincent and then the hours of watching him on my laptop have earned me at least one cocktail but I realize I didn’t get anything done this afternoon. My notebook, on the page titled, VINCENT DECKER is regretfully blank, and I plan on filling those pages with as much information as I can get my hands on.

  He thinks he can hide from me.

  Ha.

  He wishes.

  Two

  I’ve never met a person like her.

  She didn’t even do anything, no probing questions, no sly ways to wrangle information out of me, she simply stared at me like she could see right through my bullshit to everything underneath.

  It was unnerving and I had to get the hell out of there before she figured out just how much I was lying through my teeth. Did I think she bought my lie about training? No. But she wasn’t stupid enough to call me out.

  The gym is gloriously empty when I roll up and I use the next two hours working the shit from my system. Her blue eyes, the way they held
mine, the small tilt of her lips when she knows she’s onto something, the rise and fall of her chest as she takes a breath between words.

  Nope.

  I would be wise to stay away. Make up excuses every chance I get so we didn’t have to do this fucking interview or breathe the same air. Sure it was mandatory, but coach isn’t going to kick me off the team just because I refuse to speak to a journalist, she isn’t even a sports journalist so it shouldn’t matter.

  Hell, I’ve dealt with the press, as a top pick it was common for me to be harassed by the reporters trying to get a story or a comment and they were easy to deal with. No comment. Brush off. A joke or a bit of banter and they were happy to go on their way.

  Demi Atwood wouldn’t be happy with that. I could already tell the girl was going to cause me trouble and we hadn’t even truly started yet.

  No one knew the shit I went through as a kid, Fletcher, and Colt; my two best friends knew some but not all. The only other person on this planet that has any idea is my sister Savvy and her memories would be blotchy and weak having been so young when the worst of it went down.

  I try not to remember that time but it’s hard when the memories are as much a part of you as the air you breathe to survive.

  What to have breakfast along with a healthy dose of reminders of all the days we went without a basic meal. Not because we were poor or had no food, no, no, it was punishment.

  I bend my elbows, lowering myself to the floor and then back up, sweat dripping onto the mat beneath my face. My vest clings to the skin on my back, drenched in sweat, the front fairing no better. Heavy music pounds in my ears, the vibrations of the music tingling my ear drums. Healthy, not even a little. Was I about to stop? Hell no.

  One, two, three, I count my press ups, feeling my muscles spasming and shaking under the strain.

  When my arms can’t take anymore, I move to my legs, squats, lunges, leg presses, I do them all until the burn in my muscles overpowers the panic in my head.