Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (14 page)

“
S
o when you
were kissing him, did you feel bored and weird, like this guy’s tongue feels like an uncooked piece of meat? Or was it more like, holy hell, we should set up a national kissing booth because this guy could retire this country’s debt in one day,” Sutton asks as we go for our mid-afternoon walk.

I hate exercise, but I need some kind of regular activity daily or my BG levels go haywire like they did this morning. Sometimes, no matter how careful you are, a diabetic can fall into dangerous levels of too high or too low blood sugars. Or sometimes, like me, you drink too much your freshman year and your roommates call campus security because they can’t wake you up from your hypoglycemic coma and your dad ends up having to pay a huge ambulance bill he can’t afford.

“Definitely the latter. It was so good I’m considering giving up sex for the rest of my life because everything hereafter will be a disappointment.”

“Girl, why did you not have sex with him?”

“Honestly, because at first he wasn’t my type.” Before Sutton can voice her disgusted astonishment, I hold up a hand. “Yes, I know. He’s so good looking that he’s probably Mother Teresa’s type, but every guy I’ve ever been attracted to in the past has been pretty much the opposite of Matty.”

Sutton arches her eyebrows. “Matty? You have a little nickname for him.”

“Everyone calls him that,” I protest. Although…Ace calls him Ives. I hide my cheeks inside the collar of my coat just in case I’m blushing. I don’t need Sutton to see that and use it against me.

“Fine, what are your other reasons, Miss Risk Averse?”

“He’s a player. There were so many pictures of him with his arm around a girl on Instagram, I got tired of scrolling. Ace says Matty’s dick has seen so much vag it’s now writing journal articles for
OB GYN Today
.”

“Make him double up.” Sutton shrugs. “And what the hell is Ace’s problem? He’s no angel himself. I can’t believe he brought some girl home and expected you to watch him.”

“I’m not happy about it, but isn’t Ace’s warning even more meaningful? Because he clearly knows what he’s talking about. Like you’re a film major, so I respect your opinion on films. Ace is obviously getting his degree in random hookups.”

One of the girls from my PoliProse class runs by. Sutton waits until the girl passes before turning to me. “I know you don’t believe me, but I think Ace is really hung up on you.” This time it’s her turn to hold up a finger and ask me to wait. “Hear me out. Your mock trial thingy is big on hypotheticals right? I always hear you practicing with Randall, ‘assume the sky is green and the grass is blue. That would make everything inverse, correct?’”

“You do a nice imitation. Maybe next year, you can be on the trial team.”

“I love you, Lucy, but never in a million years. I find it really boring.”

“I know. I don’t care.”

“Which is why we’re friends, but going back to Ace, let’s do a hypothetical, ’kay?”

“Go ahead.” It’s not like I can say no. Sutton would hound me until I listened anyway, even if it took climbing into my bed tonight and whispering it in my ear.

“Let’s assume Ace is in love with you but he knows you don’t love him back. He decides he’ll wait you out. Someday you’ll wake up and see the amazingness that is him.” She ignores my rolling eyes. “Until then he has to ward off any potential suitors. He does this two ways. He first tells the team you’re off-limits because he’s close to you. He’s called ‘dibs,’ so to speak.”

“Because we’re property and therefore dibbable.”

“Right.” Sutton nods, ignoring my sarcasm. “After warning away the team, he prevents any potential slippage by making sure you have a bad opinion of his teammates. These are all prime, datable alpha males. Girls flock to them but some girls, like you and me, base attractiveness on personality. So if we believe they’re stupid assholes likely to cheat, it doesn’t matter how good looking they are. You, especially, are going to slot these players into the ‘no’ column.”

“Your hypothetical doesn’t work because Ace and I have no feelings for each other besides friendship. I’ve known Ace since he was a snot-nosed eight-year-old. Any potential romance between us died out long ago, buried under a pile of bad-smelling clothes.” I tick off a list of reasons why. “Ace didn’t learn about deodorant until he was way past puberty. When I think of Ace, I don’t think dreamy male, I think of his constant farting in the fifth grade. He thought it
hil
arious to point his gas cannon in my face.” Sutton wrinkles her nose. “Exactly, thank you. I had to complain to his
mother
before he stopped. Plus, he has
horrible taste in movies. Do you know what he wants me to see this Thursday?”

“No. I’m scared, though.” She looks alarmed.

“You should be.
Expendables 3
. Need I say more?”

“Okay, but these are all the reasons you’re not in love with Ace, which I believe 100% because I don’t get any vibe that you like him, which is why I sorta can buy into your ‘Matty isn’t my type’ thing. But none of those are reasons why Ace isn’t in love with you.”

“Does a guy who’s in love with someone else bring a girl home and try to screw her in front of said love interest?”

Sutton bobs her head back and forth. “Fair enough. But maybe he’s one of those tortured, Byronic heroes who can’t stop hurting everyone around him because he’s in so much pain himself.”

“Oh, Lord, Sutton. You definitely think with the creative parts of your brain.” I throw up my hands. “You’re conjuring up a scenario that doesn’t exist.”

“How is that different than what you’re doing with Matty? All your excuses about not dating him involve things that haven’t happened. You don’t have any proof he cheated on someone. So he enjoys the ladies. Big whooping deal. In fact, didn’t you say he dated someone his freshman year and it broke up because he didn’t pay enough attention to her? That’s not the same as cheating on her. It’s not like you want some guy breathing down your neck. You’ve got a lot of shit on your plate. It would be a relief to go out with someone who’s as busy as you,” Sutton argues. “Plus, you spent the night with him and he didn’t even make a move. That doesn’t say player to me. He’s totally respected all your boundaries. I know you like to play it safe, but right now, honey? You’re being chicken.”

She’s right. There is a difference between being cautious and being cowardly. I grab my head. “I keep going around and around in my mind about this. You’re right. He doesn’t come off like a guy who just wants to get into some girl’s pants.”

“So why are you holding back? Why are you punishing yourself?”

Sutton’s practically echoing Matt’s words.
Sounds like your risk assessments keep you from having fun as opposed to keeping you safe.

“You look stressed, Goldie.”

My head whips up and there’s Matt standing outside of the small university bookstore at the south end of campus. Sutton and I have walked nearly two miles arguing about Matt and I’m just now realizing it.

“This is a goddamned sign,” Sutton hisses in my ear. “You can’t escape this, Lucy. A higher power is conspiring to get you two naked. Give in or the apocalypse is coming.” She backs away without even introducing herself to Matty. “I’m blaming you if the zombies come,” she yells and starts running in the other direction.

He lifts his T-shirt to his nose. “Do I stink?”

“No. Sutton had an emergency.” A meddling emergency.

“Your roommate,” he identifies. “Not the one I have class with but the other one? Which one is taking up my spot on your lease?”

My lips quirk up. I can hardly believe he remembers what we talked about our first night together. But then it was only a week ago. Still, how many guys remember their flirtations in such detail? “That would be Sutton. Charity and I had a class our freshman year and we met Sutton in the fall. She had problems with her roommate, and an apartment over on Oak came open.”

“Good call.” He nods approvingly. “I’ve heard Oak’s a nice place.”

“Were you getting a study aid?” I tip my head toward the bookstore.

“Nope. Buying some guy porn.” He holds up the latest Ludlum thriller. Under the pretense of inspecting the book, I let my eyes drink him in. He looks like a modern day James Dean. Black leather coat unzipped over a dark blue Warriors T-shirt. His eyes are as blue as an untouched robin’s egg. Jeans barely contain his powerful legs. Black boots finish off the bad-boy look.

It doesn’t help anyone that his long hair is mussed from the beanie that’s half hanging out of the right coat pocket.

And I kind of hate that my heart sings and sighs at the sight of him. But I’m done fighting my attraction to him. What’s the point? I’m in college. I’m supposed to have fun. He’s not the same kind of bad as drinking five shots of tequila at a frat party. He might feel as heady, might make me just as reckless, but I’m not going into any coma after having sex with him.

Besides, the sex would be good exercise. It would actually be healthy for me to sleep with him. It would be good for both my mind and my body. If I did him just once, I’d be taking only a tiny risk. The smallest. The minutest. It’s almost not even a risk to be with him once.

Unless you become addicted,
whispers my internal risk advisor. I order her to shut the hell up.

“Maybe you don’t need that book tonight.” I take a bold step forward and pluck it out of his hands.

I
’m speechless
. She’s literally rendered me completely without speech.

“Just for tonight?” I manage to croak out when her confident look starts to falter under my stupid, stupid silence.

“What else do you want?”

Fuck, so much, Goldie
, I think, but so I don’t scare her off, I say, “I’d like to date you.”

“You told me you were a shitty boyfriend before.”

I’m not the wordsmith she is. I want to put my true feelings out there as best I can, but I’ve never had to say anything like this before. Not even to Megan did I articulate my feelings, but looking back that’s probably because I didn’t have many beyond,
she’s a nice girl and a good lay.

I’ve had plenty of sex since then but nothing like the kiss in the kitchen. Nothing like Lucy. Her golden hair shines with its own sort of light, and I can’t stop myself from curling a wayward lock around my finger. “Yeah, I freely admit I sucked at the boyfriend thing before, and you have every reason to think I’m going to fail at this, but I’m going into my senior year. I’ve been doing the practice, school, game thing for three years now. I think I can add in a girlfriend to the mix without throwing everything off.”

“I don’t know.” She hesitates. “A date?”

“Yep. Movie. Dinner. Long walks on the snow-covered sidewalks since we’re in the Midwest and not the coast and it’s winter.”

She’s silent too long, and I don’t have the first clue what’s going on in her head. I’m hopeful she’s going to say yes, but the longer I get nothing, the more worried I become.

“Admit it. You’re curious. Our kiss was hot the other night,” I remind her. So hot that I’ve been thinking of it nonstop.

“My friend Sutton says players like you only have one night stands because your enormous egos can’t handle knowing that you aren’t good in bed.”

“Your friend Sutton has never slept with me.”

“She’s one of the few then.”

I walked into that one. “Then you owe it to yourself to give me one night and see if I’m worth it. One night to see if we’re even compatible. How about that?”

If she won’t agree to a date, then I’ll have to use tonight to convince her that whatever risk grade she’s assigned to me is outweighed by the rewards I can provide.

Dusk settles in, and the newly lit campus lights give her a fairy glow.
Goldilocks, you’re sleeping in the right bed tonight.
Her eyes fix on my face, and she studies me for at least two long breaths. She ends her inspection with a firm nod.

Her somber face switches instantly, and she gives me a brilliant smile. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, one night.”

She takes the lead, marching briskly toward her apartment. “Do you have condoms?” she asks. “Because I don’t.”

“If I say yes, are you putting a check in the
con
column?” I ask warily.

“No, it’d save us time. Otherwise we’ll have to stop somewhere.”

“Maybe we should stop anyway,” I suggest because I only have the one. I’ve carried a condom in my wallet since I was twelve. My mom gave me the first one after I had my first embarrassing wet dream, and she found me shoving my sheets into the washing machine.

“Why? Don’t you have any?” she asks.

“I only have
one
.” I emphasize the number. Her eyes widen.

“You think we’re going to need more than one?” She laughs.

Some guys’ nuts might have shriveled up. I view this as a challenge. “Goldie, we’re going to need at least three.”

“No way,” she scoffs, but as she realizes I’m not kidding even a little, her laughter turns to skepticism. “Really?”

I resist rubbing my hands together. “You can keep count.”

We stop at the store and buy a box of condoms. The clerk smirks and starts to make a dumbass comment but between Lucy’s withering look and my warning glare, he wisely rings us up silently and tucks the box into a brown paper bag.

“I forget sometimes that you’re a world-class athlete,” she mentions as we climb the steps to her apartment. “And sex is an athletic event. You know Paul Brown believed women shouldn’t be allowed around his Cleveland team because they sapped the players’ energy.”

“First, the only athletic event I’ve been involved in for the last couple of weeks has been seeing how much I can drink in one night and second, please, I want you to sap my energy. I want you to sap me until I’m dry.”

“You can stop now,” she says repressively. “I get it.”

I guess my dirty-talk skills need work. We stop at her door. As she fits her key into the lock, she says, “I have roommates, so you’ll need to be quiet.”

I run a finger across my lips. “Done.”

Lucy doesn’t really get it, not yet at least. But I want her bad enough that I’d dress up as a woman if it got her clothes off and us on her bed.

For all her worry, the apartment is dead silent when she opens the door. Her roommates are either hiding in their rooms or they’re at dinner. Given the quiet in the apartment, I’m guessing dinner.

I help Lucy out of her coat, then take mine off and drape it over my arm. I’m not sure where she wants me to put my stuff.

“You can hang your jacket up and, um, take your boots off?” It’s more question than instruction.

I like that she’s unsure what to do with me, that
this
event is foreign enough there’s no practiced routine of where the visitor’s coat and shoes go. I toe off my boots and drape my jacket over hers.

“Do you want to watch some TV?” I ask, trying to give her an out and desperately hoping she doesn’t take it.

“No. I don’t want that, do you?”

“No.” I lean down and brush my lips across hers because it’s been a while since I’ve kissed her and I need to feel her sweetness against me. She sways into me, her body telling me all I need to know. “Lead the way,” I mouth against her lips.

“First door.”

A floor lamp flicks on when she hits a switch. Her room is small and white, and I feel sort of like Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians. “Your bed is really small,” I say inanely.

“Maybe you’re too big,” she suggests.

I give her a cheeky wink. “Said no guy ever.”

Fortunately, she laughs. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No.” My need for food, water, football? They seem like distant desires in the face of the fierce ache I have for her. I feel like I’ve wanted to touch her for forever, even though I’ve only known her a few days. When she starts to pull her sweater over her head, I stop her. I sit down at her desk chair, which feels miniature. I pat my leg. “I would like you to come here.”

She walks over and stops in front of me. I position her between my legs and lay my head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat. It flutters, excited and nervous against my ear. My own pounds like a herd of stampeding horses is trying to escape from my chest.

With shaky fingers, I slide her sweater over her head. Underneath she wears a thin silky thing and no bra. Her pert nipples poke against the fabric. I run my hands up under the material, tracing the bumps of her spine, the jut of her shoulder blades. Her eyelids shutter down when I reach the tender base of the back of her neck.

I don’t want to rush this. I might not get another chance to touch her again.

The tiny strap of her top slides down her shoulder, the fabric snagging on one erect peak. My mouth waters, and I can’t wait another second without laying my mouth against her bare skin. I nudge the fabric down with my chin. She helps me by wriggling her arm out from the strap, first one and then the other.

I take another moment to admire her. “You’re beautiful,” I say, unable to keep the reverence out of my voice. “So beautiful.”

Her fingers find their way to my scalp, scratching and scraping through the strands then lightly pushing me forward.

I blow a stream of hot air against one nipple and then the other. She shudders, and it’s like a live electric feed running from her body into mine.

Fucking Christ
, but I want her so damn bad.

I take one succulent tip into my mouth and cover the other with my hand. She’s smaller than I expected but twice as delicious, and as I swirl my tongue around her nipple, I can’t help but think she was made perfectly for me.

Her fingers sink into my scalp, pulling me closer. We both shift. I slide to the edge of the chair; she straddles me. I keep sucking, and she keeps pressing closer and closer.

There’s a moan that fills the air, a guttural sound of need and want. I don’t know if it’s mine or hers. It’s probably mine. In my life, I can’t remember ever wanting anything as much I want her.

I’ve hungered for wins on the field, championships, success, but never a person. Not until Luce.