Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (13 page)

“
D
oes he
?” That asshole. I can’t believe he’s breaking the locker room code. Maybe it’s all friendship to Luce, but Ace hasn’t gotten the message. Jack’s not this way with his sister, Ellie, and Hammer’s been trying to pawn off his little sister to any teammate willing, despite the unwritten locker room rule of no sisters, no girlfriends. None of us has taken him up on this. His little sister is fucking terrifying.

She gives a small, noncommittal shrug as if she’s slightly embarrassed she brought it up, but now that it’s hanging out there, I want to address it. At least I know what some of the things are in her
con
column.

“I don’t know that I like hookups more or less than any other guy,” I say diplomatically. But what in the hell am I supposed to say? I’ve had my share of hookups, but what college guy hasn’t?

She makes a humming sound, which doesn’t sound like approval or disagreement.

“I mean, I’m not a virgin, and I don’t believe in the whole myth that sex saps your energy.”

She hums again. Christ, could she say a few words? I’m dying here. If I had a collar, I’d be tugging on it. “I make sure everyone has a good time. Remember rule number one?” She nods, another wordless gesture. “You can jump in here anytime.”

Lucy swallows and smiles a perverse little grin. “No, I was enjoying the show.

“You little shit.” I grab her knee and squeeze it through the blankets. She doesn’t even flinch.

She takes another baby sip of her orange juice. “Can I ask you another question? I don’t want you to be offended.”

“Well, we
are
besties…” I gesture for her to continue.

“Why is it so many of you athletes are such…well, players? Ace showed me that Instagram feed. I agree hookups aren’t a bad thing. I’ve had a few of my own, but that
many?
”

My first reaction is to growl at the thought she’s had
any
guy but me, but then I realize how frickin’ hypocritical that is. It never occurred to me that the multitude of times I’ve had my picture taken with a pretty girl would slot me into the risk category.

I scratch my head, trying to think of the most non-offensive way to explain this. Because me saying I just take what’s offered to me on a nonstop basis isn’t going to win points. Not with this girl. Hell, probably not with any girl I wanted to have a relationship with.

And is that what I want? A relationship?

I guess so, because I wouldn’t be chasing after Luce this hard if all I wanted was a lay. I knew where to get that, how it feels to have that non-emotional hookup. Somewhere along the line, maybe after I heard her sigh the second time at the coffee house, I thought
I want to be the one to make this girl sigh with happiness, not with frustration
. Then she slayed me with her soft eyes and her smile and her hilarious risk assessment ideas.

I need to find the right words to make her understand that I belong in the reward column.

“Football is hard,” I start. “To be a college athlete at this level, football is your number one focus. Sure we say we’re student athletes, but we spend six hours a day doing football crap and two hours doing schoolwork. Our job is on the field. That’s what we’re paid to do. We go to practice, travel to the games, work with the trainers, watch film, and when we’re not doing those things, we have to be lifting, so there’s not enough time to develop a relationship.”

“But they do happen. I mean, Ahmed’s been dating someone his whole time here.”

“Ahmed’s girlfriend is one he had from high school. In fact, most of the girlfriends are pre-college. Or maybe the guy met his girl during his redshirt season where he didn’t travel and wasn’t playing every weekend.”

Her head tilts to the side as she considers my words. “So you’re saying it’s just easier to sleep with multiple people? Why not the same one over and over?”

“Because you sleep with anyone more than a few times and it gets messy. Feelings start to develop and then everyone ends up unhappy.”

Her voice is low, soft when she says the next unexpected statement. “You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.”

I swallow and look away from her. Her words stir up a few uncomfortable memories. But somehow I find myself spilling them. My mouth opens, and the words fall out, as if I need her to know that I tried hard to be something other than the prototypical college athlete. “I dated a girl during my redshirt year. You don’t do much as a redshirt because you aren’t going to see one down of football on the field. The most important task is strength and conditioning and learning the playbook, but it’s not the same thing as actually playing. She was a fun chick and the relationship thing seemed doable. Then I started the second game of my redshirt freshman year after Donovan Highsmith got injured. I never gave the position back. Coach noticed me and told me I had a real chance of going pro, but I had to give it my all.”

“And your girlfriend didn’t understand?”

“She…yeah, that’s a nice way of saying it.” Megan, my only college girlfriend, had turned from being a sweet, fun girl into an unhappy, demanding one. I could never spend enough time with her.

She wanted to go out and I wanted to go to bed at nine so I could be alert and energized for a 6 a.m. run. The only time I drank was Saturday after a game. Never before. My classes were designed to accommodate my football practice and playing schedule. She wanted me to take classes with her.

In the end, she spent more time screaming at how horrible a boyfriend I was than we did having sex. “I disappointed her a lot. Didn’t want to do that again. I was a shitty, shitty boyfriend,” I finish. And that wasn’t the worst of it, but Luce doesn’t need to know the details of my failure.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think your philosophy not only makes sense but is kind of honorable.” Her hand creeps across the covers to touch mine.

Her words lift something inside I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying for a while now. My breakup with Megan hadn’t felt honorable at the time but, looking back, it was the best thing for both of us. I fold my fingers around Luce’s, hoping I’m not holding too tight. Hoping she doesn’t realize how I’d like to have her hand in mine for the foreseeable future.

“So where’s your ex now?”

I shrug. “No clue. She graduated. She was a year older than me and I’m a fourth year junior. I suppose she has a job and is somewhere living an adult, responsible life, dating junior execs and middle managers.” At least I hope she is. “How about you? Any guys moping around campus because you broke their hearts?”

“Nope.” She pops the last bit of dry, uninteresting toast in her mouth before answering. “My sole boyfriend was in high school and he broke up with me my third week of school. He goes to Cal Poly and decided he didn’t want to try out the long-distance relationship thing.”

“That sucks,” I say, but in reality I’m thrilled.

“You look torn up over it,” she says sarcastically.

Have I mentioned how much I enjoy it when she busts my chops? Because I do. I grin unrepentantly. “I’m sorry you got hurt, but not sorry you’re single.”

“That’s honest, at least.” She tugs her fingers, and I reluctantly release her. The plate is empty, and it’s obvious she’s getting fidgety. I guess I can’t keep Goldie here if she wants to leave, no matter how much I’d like to. “It doesn’t really matter whether you’re a player or a monk,” she says.

“Are we back to the risk assessment?”

“Partly. Tell me what else you’re interested in other than football. Because Ace? Ahmed? Jack? The only thing they ever talk about is football.”

“Hey, it’s not my problem the offense is full of guys who are one dimensional. I’ve got other interests,” I protest and get to my feet.

“Like what?”

She doesn’t even look at me. Under her disinterest, my near nudity feels awkward and embarrassing. I swipe the flannel sleep pants off the floor and shove my legs into them.

“Like…” Fuck, what
is
the last non-football thing I’ve done besides drinking and screwing? “I like movies.”

“As in you review them? Study them? Write papers on them?”

“I think that shit moves movies from the fun column to the work column.” I do a mental inventory of the bathroom. No towels on the floor. No condoms. No random bits of underwear. Deciding it’s safe, I offer it to Luce. “You need the bathroom?”

“That’d be great.” She pops in and closes the door.

I know she’ll hear me talking because the door is as thin as two notebooks pressed together. “I like basketball.”

“That’s a sport. Falls under the same rubric as football.”

Shit. It sort of does. My eyes fall to the chair by the window. “Reading. I like to read.”

The rustling inside the bathroom stops. Aha. She likes that. I should have gone there first. Of course she thinks reading is an important skill. Girls like guys who read. There’s a whole Instagram feed for that, which I know because Hammer and I were on it and have scored more than one out-of-town lay because of it. Last year, during our championship run, a newspaper did a piece on the secret lives of the Warriors football team.

Hammer and I were in the same Lit class, and we happened to be reading
Moby Dick
. We took that book with us everywhere, not because it was a great read, but because it was so frickin’ boring. We had to force ourselves to finish it. Coach caught us one day and dragged the public relations person in.

We were told to wear our football pants and team workout T-shirts for the article so the outside world would believe we were something more than dumb jocks. As if we sit around the locker room with pants on. What a crock!

“What’s your favorite book?” she asks.

“I don’t have one favorite book.” I try to keep the triumph out of my tone. Don’t know how successful I am.

“Name one and don’t be so smug.”

Not very successful.

“It’s a series. Harry Potter. I grew up reading that series.”

“What’s your Patronus?”

“Ah ah ah,” I say. “You’re not getting that out of me. I’m not near drunk enough.” Tell her the spirit animal I picked out at the age of eight? No.

“I work at the Brew House. If you tell me what it is, I’ll make your Patronus out of foam.”

“That’s tempting, but still no.” I lean against the door, thinking this is probably the least sexual but most interesting conversation I’ve ever had in my bedroom before. “Can you really do that? Make pictures out of milk.”

The door opens and Lucy appears in skinny jeans and an oversized off-white sweater that hides all the good parts, including her ass. But she still looks sexy as hell. It’s like the wrapping on a present. I can’t wait to peel it off her.

“Actually, no. The most I can do is a leaf and a heart.” She drops her folded pajamas into her bag and picks up her insulin case. “I’m not quizzing you anymore, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but favorite character of the series?”

“Snape,” I answer immediately.

“Really?”

“You think I was going to say Ron?” I’m slightly offended.

She laughs. “No. I don’t think Ron is anyone’s favorite character. But don’t most guys like Harry or, I guess, Draco?”

“Nah, Snape was the best. He had a big heart and was courageous.”

She chews the corner of her lip. “Also a bully, but I can see where you get the other characteristics.” Lightly, she tosses her case from one hand to the other. “So no class for you today?”

I shake my head. “Nah. I attended last week. I don’t want my professors to keel over in shock by going too often. Besides, this is my break. I don’t get a fall break, Thanksgiving break, and only about three days off at Christmas. Even Spring Break is out because we’re in the middle of spring ball, so I don’t go to class full-time until after Signing Day. All the professors know this and deal with it.” It’s a perk of being on the championship winning team, and I take full advantage of it. “What do you have?”

“Policy and Prose, which is about writing persuasive legislative works.”

“You interested in politics?” I ask in surprise, halting in the middle of clearing away the breakfast shit. She just didn’t seem the type—not that I really know what that type would be.

“No, I’m interested in policy. I’d like to get a job at a think tank and just write all day. That’d be my dream job. It’s one of the things I like about mock trial. It forces you to look at one problem from both sides. We have to present both defense and plaintiff sides of the case.”

“Cool.” We need smart people writing our laws. Her black case catches my eye. “Do you need to give yourself a shot? I assume you can do it yourself, but I’m here to help if you need it.”

“Yes, but I’d rather not while you’re here.”

“Gotcha. I’ll take this stuff downstairs. You have everything you need before we leave?”

“Before we leave for where?” Her forehead crinkles.

“Before we leave for class.”

“I thought you weren’t going to class.”

“I’m not. I’m walking you to class.”

As I exit, she’s still sputtering.

I
n the end
, I let her go by herself. I know full well she doesn’t want to be seen with me because of Ace. Isn’t that a kicker? I’ve never had a problem with someone—girl or guy—wanting to be seen with me. Where the hell did he think she was going to sleep? Shit, that he just kicked her out and didn’t make sure she had a safe place last night really rustled my jimmies.

Even if I did have a friend like Luce whom I hadn’t tried to bone a hundred different ways, I wouldn’t have made her sleep in the living room of a house that saw more action than a brothel in Reno.

“You want to tell me what the hell that’s about?” Hammer questions when the door closes. “When we gave you all that information, I thought you’d use it to, like, persuade her to help our cause. Not into your bed.” He stops and glares at me. “Are you trying to use your dick to convince her that Ace needs to move?”

“I don’t know whether to be chuffed or disturbed you think my dick is that powerful.” I scratch my chest, debating whether I want to go over to the athletic facility for something to eat or just rustle up a mid-morning snack here. Five pieces of bacon and a piece of toast aren’t enough to keep a bird alive.

“Seriously, man. Sleeping with her? That’s low, buddy.” Hammer follows me into the kitchen.

“I’m not. Or I did sleep with her, but that’s all we did. Sleep.” The refrigerator is alarmingly empty. During the season, we almost always grab food at the athletic center. Dinners are on campus. But we’re in that weird period of no practice and no games. There’s only the morning weight training that we’re unofficially required to attend daily, and so we’re eating more at home. So much so that we only have a half gallon of orange juice, a case of beer, and what looks like a brick of moldy cheese. Hammer must have used the last of our food to make breakfast.

“Brother, you can tell me. I’ll only judge you for today.”

“I’m not lying to you. Shit, I can’t believe I’m trying to convince you I didn’t sleep with a chick.” I throw up my hands. “Why don’t we have any food?”

“Because going to the grocery store is more painful than an enema?” Hammer suggests. “Look, I believe you. But how’d that happen? She just trip and fall into your bed? She pass out on the way to class and you carried her home?”

“How about her apartment was being fumigated, she was supposed to crash in Ace’s room, he brought home a jersey chaser, and she was stuck sleeping on a couch in their living room?”

Hammer’s mouth drops open. “You’re fucking me.”

“Nope.”

“Duuuude.”

“I know.” I head for my room and start dressing. We need food and probably some basic supplies. I check the toothpaste in my bathroom. Yup. Almost gone.

“What is wrong with that guy?” Hammer asks. He has three sisters and ever since his away-game hijinks with his ex, he’s turned over a new leaf. He’s been pushing his sisters at his teammates because he loves us and knows—despite our occasional propensity to be dogs—that we’re decent human beings and would make good partners…eventually. Actually, if there’s a guy who should be giving advice in a women’s magazine, it probably
is
Hammer. He claims he’s a reformed man.

“This stuff is fucking with Ace’s head.”

“I don’t know, man. You don’t treat a friend like that,” Hammer says dubiously.

“Don’t make me defend him anymore. He told me yesterday he’s not moving.”

“The D guys are already watching the boy on YouTube. The backfield was talking about him over at Bish’s place and they were more excited than they would be if a whole busload of prostitutes were dumped off.”

Bishop Green is charge of the backfield—the captain over the safeties, corners, and defensive backs.

“Terrific,” I say in a tone that conveys it’s anything
but
terrific. After shoving my feet into some boots, I grab my keys. “Come on. We need some food. Once we have something to eat, we’ll be able to think more clearly.”

I think of Luce and her diabetes. I wonder which kind she has. No wonder she made sugar-free cookies. She probably has to watch every bite that enters her mouth. What a drag. “And I need to call my mom.”

“What for? You sick?”

“No. I’ve got a med question for her.” I motion for him to go get socks and shoes on. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten.”

Hammer gives me a suspicious look but leaves without argument.

Mom answers on the second ring.

“Hello, Matthew,” she says in her brisk manner. A stranger might assume she’s cold. They’d be wrong. Although she’s a pediatrician with a busy practice, she’s always made time for me and has come to a surprising number of games. “What can I do for you?”

“What kind of food can I buy for a diabetic?”

“Vegetables,” she answers immediately. “Stay away from corn. There’s a high sugar content in that. Essentially green things. Fruit is okay but not great because, again, sugar. Apples are good because they are high in fiber. Fish is low in saturated fats. Speaking of fats, fatty foods aren’t necessarily bad. You should take her out for sushi,” Mom suggests. “This is about a girl, correct?”

It is, although why I’m considering Lucy’s dietary needs in my grocery planning, I’m not sure. Or, at least, it’s not something I’m ready to examine very closely. The kiss the other night rocked my world in an unexpected way. “A friend of mine has it. I just want to be careful.”

“I can send you a list. You could buy her some sugar-free items as a treat. Only in moderation, of course.” I roll my eyes, which, if I did that in person, would earn me a slap on the ear. “Sugar alcohols like sorbitol are fine. Does she have type 1 or type 2?”

“I have no idea.” Just like I have no idea what sorbitol is. “Is that important?”

“Not for you, dear. I have to go now.”

I caught her in between patients, I realize. “Okay, thanks.”

“Love you, dear.”

She hangs up before I can respond in kind.

Hammer’s at the front door, punching something into his phone. He slips the device into his pocket when he sees me. Guilt is all over his face. “Who’re you texting?”

“No one,” he says innocently. At my steady glare, he caves. “Okay, Bish. It was Bish, all right? He had a good idea.”

“What is it?” There’s no point in not asking. Hammer will, well,
hammer
away at this idea of theirs until I give it a hearing.

“She’s in mock trial, right?” At my nod, he gains enthusiasm. “You need to present this to her as a case.”

“I’m not studying to be a lawyer,” I remind him. The conversation is put on pause until we both climb into my Rover.

“You’re the closest thing we’ve got. The only other guys that come close are Jay, who’s a psych major, and Eggers, who’s studying humanities.”

Jay’s a second-string linebacker and Eggers is a cornerback.

“I’ve never understood what a humanities major is.”

“Fuck if I know.” Hammer shrugs. “The point is, you’re the captain of the defense now that Masters has declared for the draft, so even if you weren’t into the law like you are, you’d still be the person to do it. And she slept in your bed last night.”

Goddammit. Since when do I have to be the “leader” of this team? I don’t mind calling the plays on the field. That shit is fun. Even going to the center of the field and trying to intimidate the opposing team’s quarterback during the coin toss is high on my shits and giggles list. But dictating what’s right or wrong for our team? That’s the fucking coach’s job, not mine.

“Hammer.” I shoot him a quick glare. “You did not tell Bishop she stayed overnight.”

Hammer looks guiltily down at the phone he’s pulled out of his pants pocket. “He saw her coming out of the house, and I might have said something about how you’ve got an inside track on her.”

I take a deep breath and count to ten so I don’t give in to the urge to pull over, rip off Hammer’s arm, and beat him with it. “What exactly did you say?”

“That you had the inside track.”

“I thought you were all incensed that I was using her.” I slam the brakes a little harshly at the stoplight. “And now we’re telling the entire team Luce and I are fucking.”

“No way, brother. I told Bish the whole story about her getting kicked out of her apartment and then Ace dragging some girl home from the Gas Station.” He waves a careless hand. “Bish already knew that because apparently Ace had sex with the girl in the storage closet before they left.”

“This is why we need to be drinking at the Playground and not out and about,” I grind out between my teeth. The boys had convinced me that going to a bar on Tuesday night would be okay because there wouldn’t be many people out. But once word leaked that the team was there, everyone showed up. I dragged the defensive guys home with me when the bar started filling up.

“They better not be talking shit about Luce,” I warn.

“No. It’s all good,” he assures me. “So you gonna do it or what? Because if anyone can convince Ace to step aside for Mr. Texas, it’s his BFF.”

I hesitate. Hammer’s not wrong there. Ace and Luce have some kind of relationship, even if I’d prefer to deny it existed. But it’s strong enough to put me in the risk column even after last night. She was still holding back this morning.

But if I could present it someway to her… Hell, it would make my life so much easier. If
she
were to persuade Ace to move to safety, then Coach would be happy, the boys on D would be happy, and the offense would have to accept it.

The major potential downside of this is if I piss her off by even bringing up the subject. Last night, she was steamed when she thought Jack and I were talking about Ace. She clearly knows something, and if she thinks I’m trying to use her? My dick and balls would be cut off and stuffed down my throat before I could blink twice for help.

I’d even put myself in the risk assessment for that. But maybe if I just laid it out for her…like Hammer suggested. As if I was making a case for Ace, and she could decide for herself if it made sense to sway him one way or the other.

“I’ll think about it.” But the sick feeling in my stomach tells me it’s not a good solution. Obviously Ace is whispering Iago-like into her ear that the football team is full of shitty guys. If she takes this wrong, there’s no coming back from it.

Plus, I don’t like how Ace is so influential with Lucy. On the flip side, maybe she’s influential with him. But using her would be crappy.

I swing into the parking lot of the grocery store. Hammer joins me inside the store. I pick up a basket. We exchange a look and both shake our heads. I put the basket back and grab a cart.

“Let’s get our shit and get out.” Hammer heads toward the snack food aisle while I loiter in the produce section. I throw a few plastic containers of veggies into the cart and then go find some frozen fish.

“What the fuck are you buying?” Hammer asks me as I roll the cart toward the checkout aisle. “Did you get an email from the trainer?” He looks me with concern. “Shit, do we have to start earlier this year?”

“No, I didn’t get any email. This is just…” I rub the back of my neck self-consciously because I’m buying food for a woman who I haven’t even slept with. I’m fucking wooing her with broccoli heads and apples.

“Just what?” Hammer prompts.

“Just thinking I should eat better. Set a good example,” I improvise.

“Then I guess this is all for me.” The bastard shakes his bag of Doritos.

I force myself to turn away before I start drooling.

“That’ll be sixty-eight fifty,” the clerk says. She smiles prettily up at us.

Hammer leans forward. “You’re gorgeous, honey. What’s your name?”

“She’s sixteen,” says the kid at the end bagging the groceries.

The girl shoots the boy a dirty look. Someone’s not getting laid. He shrugs philosophically. “Didn’t want a Warrior to get suspended for some underage tail.”

Hammer reaches out and daps the bagger’s fist. “My man, you’re all right.”

“No problem. Want me to carry this out for you?” He lifts the plastic bags.

“We got this,“ I say before Hammer can adopt the pimply-faced kid and bring him home with us.

“Congrats, by the way,” the kid calls after us.

“Close call there.” Hammer wipes a hand across his forehead.

“Were you really thinking about picking up the checkout girl?” I ask incredulously. Maybe we do take fucks too casually. Hammer gives a tiny shrug.

“She was cute. No harm in flirting. Maybe getting her number. Townies are good for a little variety, right?”

“Right,” I say faintly.

On the way back home, Hammer lays out the plan he and Bishop have cooked up, the checkout girl already a distant memory, so far behind he can’t even remember seeing her in the rearview mirror.

Somehow I don’t think gathering a list of all the quarterbacks who never made it to the next level is going to be very convincing. On the other hand, I can’t come out and say, “Hey, your buddy Ace can’t be quarterback anymore. Want to help me convince him moving to safety is the right call? And, oh by the way, I think you’re sexy as hell. Can you introduce me to your mattress before we ruin your best friend’s life?”

I think I better get used to eating broccoli instead of chips for the next couple of weeks.