Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (18 page)

A
fter watching
Lucy make the closing argument, I’m convinced of two things. First, there’s no one better than her to convince Ace to move to safety. And second, why in the hell is she pawning this task off on Heather? The other guy had it right. That Heather girl’s good at curing insomnia but not much else.

“Jesus, that was good. I think you could sell baseballs to a football equipment manager. Here, these round balls are much faster than those oblong pigskins you’re using.” I hold out my hand, pretending to present a ball.

“Plus, no pesky deflation problems,” Luce grins.

I snort. “Why aren’t you doing this for your team? I mean, if that was practice, just off-the-cuff argument, you must be mind-blowing in competition.”

Her grin immediately falls off, and her shoulders hunch up. “It’s actually the reverse. I’m good in practice, good when it doesn’t matter, but during competition? When something is actually on the line? I suck hard.”

“I can’t see it. After watching you back there”—I jerk my head behind us to the practice room—“I just can’t envision you being anything but awesome.”

Hammer’s right. Luce is my best option.

“Thanks, but it’s true.” She takes a deep breath. “The summer before I came to college, I prepped for weeks for the mock trial tryouts. I wanted to be a lawyer. I’d spent four years in high school mock trial. Had a pre-law track all set out in front of me. I killed my tryout.”

“I’m guessing the story doesn’t end happily?” I take her hand and tuck it into my jacket pocket as we walk out of the room.

“Not once in the fifteen-year history of mock trial club here at Western had it fielded a winning team. We’ve never made it out of Regionals, let alone to a national tournament. After my tryout, everyone was convinced that I was the closer they’d been looking for. So we were at Regionals and we were slaying it. Randall delivered an awesome opening, and I nailed their expert on cross. Caught him making up facts that weren’t in the packet. I was so excited for the closing. So excited.”

Her eyes are gleaming in remembrance, but I know it’s not going to end well, so I brace myself. From what she’s revealed before, it’s not hard to guess what happens next.

“When I stand up to give the closing, I can’t remember a thing. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. It’s eight minutes of total silence. Do you know what that sounds like? What it feels like? It sounds like death and feels worse.” She looks pale, as if her mind—and her confidence—are back in that mock courtroom, suffocating under the weight of silence. “Closings aren’t for me,” she says in a shaky voice.

And neither are risks. I get it now, better than I ever did before. Being with Luce these past couple of weeks has showed me how rigidly she has to monitor herself. What she eats, what she drinks. I don’t blame her for being cautious. The one time she took a step outside her comfort zone, she was humiliated. It’s burned into her psyche.

Success in sports is almost entirely mental. The best quarterbacks have terrible short-term memory. You have to forget your mistakes or be paralyzed by them. Luce hasn’t moved on from that. Still…it says a lot about her that she didn’t quit on the team entirely.

“You’re tough. Anyone else would have quit and run away.”

“I love it too much,” she admits. “Like you love football.”

“I do.” I hesitate, gulping hard.

“What’s wrong?”

I grip her hand tightly. I’m afraid of how she’s going to react and I feel, foolishly maybe, that if I’m still holding her at the end of this, we’ll be okay.

“I hate coming to you like this. I really do, but you’re my last resort.”

Is she really
? my conscience chides me.
You haven’t really done anything to smooth this over with the team.
But Luce is clearly made for persuading people. It’s in her blood. She might not be able to do it in competition but one-on-one? She’d be able to persuade someone to willingly walk the plank. And hell, maybe she’d even want to do this. After all, Ace is her friend. She wants him to succeed, right?

“I really think you’re the only one who can do this.”

“What is it?” she asks warily.

We’ve reached her apartment. I draw her to the side, away from the center sidewalk and down toward the empty parking lot.

“There was a fight in practice today.”

“Oh no. Is that where you hurt your lip?” Her fingers come up to touch the corner of my mouth. “Ace wasn’t an ass to you, was he? He’s going through something right now.”

I nod grimly. “I’m fine. Ace is fine. Physically, that is.”

Her face falls. “Physically? Did the coach talk to him again?”

“You know then? He told you about the QB thing?”

“Yeah.”

“We weren’t supposed to tell anyone outside the team,” I answer, but even though Ace was supposed to keep his mouth shut, I’m relieved she already knows the general gist of the situation.

She shrugs. “Ace doesn’t really think the rules apply to him, and besides, it wasn’t like I was going to ESPN with this or anything.”

“Right.” I exhale heavily. “The situation is grim. I need to say something, ask you something really important.”

Her face pales under the harsh glare of the apartment’s floodlights. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

I try to think of the most positive spin on this that I can. “I’m only bringing this to you because I think it’s right.” Although I don’t know what’s right other than if our team keeps fighting like we did this afternoon, we’ll be a basket case this fall, and we’ll be lucky to win half our games, let alone make another run at the title. “You can say no, and I understand if you don’t want to hear this, but…I’d like you to make the case for Ace as a safety.”

“No,” she says immediately and turns away, but not before I see the hurt in her eyes.

My stomach falls somewhere around my boots, but I’ve started down this path and I might as well see it to the end.

“What if I told you that I want Ace to succeed?” I ask.

“So?”

“So this isn’t just about me wanting to win another title. I want that, but I’ll admit I’m not as hungry as I was before. A repeat is great, but my aims and goals are different now, and I bet that’s true for Ace. Only he’s not seeing it clearly because all he sees is embarrassment from losing his position.”

“I don’t really care.” She pulls away again. Hard, and I finally feel compelled to let her go.

I don’t like that she’s so far away from me, but I’m afraid if I step toward her, she’ll run inside and that will be the end of it. I grab the back of my neck but my anxiety doesn’t subside. “You know what the Heisman is, right?”

She nods. “The trophy given to the best college football player each year.”

“Do you know how many Heisman-winning quarterbacks fail in the NFL or don’t even get drafted? There have been seventy-seven winners and a third have been quarterbacks. Combined, they don’t have a winning record in the NFL. College success doesn’t translate to pro success for most quarterbacks. Ace won with us, but it was a team effort. In the pros, he’ll be exposed. If I were told that I was too small, too slow for my position but that I could have a shot in the pros if I played a different position, I’d move in a heartbeat. What do you think Ace wants?”

Ace wants to play in the pros, no question.

“You know what he wants.”

Yeah, she knows him.

“Right. I do. Have you heard of Scott Frost?”

“No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

I take a step toward her. Just a small one. I’m not trying to intimidate her; I want to convince her that this is the right thing for everyone. “He led his Nebraska team to a National title over Peyton Manning and the Tennessee Volunteers. He had a record of twenty-four and two when he graduated. Despite his extremely successful college career as a quarterback, he was drafted in the third round and played safety in the NFL. You’ve heard of Tim Tebow, right?”

“Who hasn’t?”

Her responses are terse, but she’s still here, so I barrel forward. “Lots of folks have said Tebow would be playing in the NFL if he’d only move to tight end. He’s big and athletic but has a shit arm and shit throwing mechanics.”

Not unlike someone else we know. I don’t say Ace’s name explicitly, but we both know who I’m talking about. “But Tebow wouldn’t move. He was too damn stubborn. It was QB or bust. And for him? It’s bust. He’ll never play in the NFL again. Julian Edelman with the Patriots was a college QB. Eric Crouch won the Heisman in 2001 as a quarterback for Nebraska. He played safety and wide receiver in the NFL, but because he wanted to play quarterback, he ended up in the Canadian Football League. Never came back to the NFL.”

“You’re saying that Ace has a better chance of being a pro if he moves,” she sums up flatly.

“That’s what I’m saying.” I nod with relief, feeling as if I’ve made a breakthrough.

“It’s still no.”

My relief fades. “You won’t even consider it?”

Lucy’s brown eyes flicker with annoyance. “No, I won’t. Because it doesn’t matter how solid your case is, or how well researched your facts are. Let me ask you this—if you were defending a murder suspect and needed to put a character witness on the stand, would you call up the sister of the guy your client is accused of killing?”

I see where she’s going with this, but she doesn’t even give me a chance to answer.

“Of course you wouldn’t! Because you know the witness’s loyalty lies elsewhere.” Lucy takes a breath. “Ace can be an asshole. He drives me crazy sometimes. But he’s like a brother to me, and I’ll always have his back. If he wants to keep being quarterback, then I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t support that decision, even if it’s not the right one.”

“Luce—”

“I told you, Matty. It’s. A. No.” She turns away.

Okay. It’s a no. I knew it would be a no. I always knew it, which is why I’d been putting it off, but after today I had to try. What else could I do?

“Where are you going?” I ask, hurrying to match my strides with hers.

She halts abruptly. “I won’t do it.”

“I heard you.” I place a tentative hand at the low of her back. Through her puffy coat, I swear I can feel the heat of her body. “And honestly, I respect it. It’s rare to come across that kind of loyalty these days.”

“Is this a trick?” she asks suspiciously.

“No.”

“You’re just going to accept my no?”

“I have to, don’t I?”

She ponders that for a moment, her brows scrunched together in confusion. “Then why do you have your hand on my coat?”

I look down at her in disbelief. Is she really that clueless? Under the heat of my stare, she blushes.

“I had to get the Ace thing out of the way. It would have bothered you like a pebble in your shoe if I hadn’t.” I don’t know that for sure, but their connection sure as hell bothers me.

Luce wrinkles her nose. “Not really. I think I could have gone a long time without hearing your litany of failed quarterbacks.”

“Doubtful. As a bonus, next time you play a trivia game in the bar, you’ll have a few obscure answers.”

I can barely see any of her body wrapped up in that silver, puffy monstrosity, but I still want her.

“Because that’s what I do with my time at the bar—play sports trivia games.”

“What do you do at a bar?”

She shrugs. “Drink, talk, dance.”

“Ask me what my second reason was for coming to your practice tonight.”

Her eyes meet mine, and this time there’s not a hint of confusion or embarrassment or shyness. Warmth heats my blood. “Why’d you come to practice tonight?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. I keep tasting you on my tongue. I keep feeling you under my hands. I look at you next to me on the sofa when we’re watching TV and I can barely keep myself from attacking you.”

“Do you think I’m a pushover?” she asks unexpectedly.

“Hell no.” I huff a small laugh. The woman has a steel-trap memory and doesn’t mind throwing things back in my face. Does she really think she’s a pushover? She’s so far from it, I’m surprised the word is even in her vocabulary. “Or you’d be at Ace’s place talking him into the switch.”

“Right.” She sounds surprised at herself. “I did say no, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Don’t bring up the Ace thing again,” she tells me. “Or I can’t do this between us.”

“I swear it.” I make an X across my chest.

“Then come upstairs.”

I nearly fall to my knees in relief. Then I take my own risk because I want to wrap myself around her all night. “How about my place? Your bed can’t fit the two of us. I’d like you to spend the night.”

It’s a risk that pays off because she says yes.

We talk about nothing on the walk to my house. The weather. I think it’s unseasonably warm. She’s wrapped up in her sleeping bag she swears is a coat. Underneath our meaningless chatter, the tension is ratcheting up.

I’m hard from the casual brush of her arm against mine. I start breathing heavily when she combs her fingers through her hair. I clench my fingers inside my pockets so I don’t drag her into the nearest corner and do her right there.

“Want something to eat? Drink? Your BGs okay?” I ask when we get to the house.

“I’m good. You hungry? Feeling faint?” she says with a slight tone of mockery.

Okay, I get it. Leave her diabetes alone. But I can’t help it. I care for this girl. I worry, but I’ll try to keep my concern to myself.

“I’m hungry all right. Ravenous even.” I know what I want to be eating and it’s not in the kitchen.

“Me, too.”

I close my eyes and thank God. Lucy gives a small laugh, and at that happy sound, I kind of lose it. I haul her into my arms and run up to my bedroom. Good thing no one comes out of their rooms, because I would have mowed them down.

Once inside my room, I let her feet drop to the floor, but I don’t let her go. We tackle our own clothes, too anxious to be skin to skin. Her coat falls to the ground. I whip my T-shirt over my head. She tugs her jeans down; I tear at my own pants. In between garments, we grab each other for a hungry kiss until finally, nothing’s between us. It’s just her smooth, perfect skin against my hard, rough body.