Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (4 page)

“You know this how?” Sutton challenges.

“He hit on
me.
At the
Brew House.
”

“You say that like the Brew House is a nun’s sanctuary. I know for a fact that you and Keith hooked up there.”

“First, we did not hook up there. We work there. And because we work together and spent so much time together, it was natural that we would sleep together. But do I have to remind you how boring it was? How I nearly fell asleep one time when we were having sex? If that’s not a reason to stay away from men turned on by the smell of coffee, I don’t know what is.”

Charity makes a face. “I suppose. Still, I think Matt Iverson would be worth at least one roll in the hay. You could do it for me. For womankind. You could test out the theory whether really good-looking guys actually know how to satisfy a woman. Report back as to whether he’s a dud or a stud.”

Stud. Matt Iverson’s hot body looks like he could take some abuse.
I keep that thought to myself lest Charity launch herself at me in frustration.

“Oh sure, let me go and sacrifice my night for you.” She sticks out her tongue at me. “How about this,” I say placatingly. “I’ll fantasize about him. I’ll probably have a better orgasm by myself, objectifying him, than
with
him.”

“True,” Charity says glumly. “If he really was good in bed, he’d be the unicorn, and then we’d wonder why he was single. Like, what is so wrong with him that he’s out trolling coffee houses for companionship? He should be able to go to the Gas Station and clap his hands and have a dozen babes at his feet.”

“Thank you. My point exactly.” But being right doesn’t make me feel better.

I
find
myself at the Brew House the next night. When Josie Weeks announced she was forming a study group for our Criminal Practice and Procedure class, I wasn’t interested. When she said they’d meet at the Brew House at seven, I couldn’t get my name on her list fast enough.

I tell myself it’s because I need to study, but the moment I walk in and set eyes on Lucy’s long blond hair, I admit it’s because I want to see her again. Despite her rejection, I’m still hot for her in a way I can’t remember feeling toward another girl.

Plus, focusing on Lucy, even if she did turn me down, is a thousand times better than dwelling on the ridiculous task Coach wants me to undertake. He’s the coach. If he wants a player moved, he moves the player. He doesn’t come to a linebacker with that request. I’m ignoring it for now. Ignoring it and, instead, applying my energies in a different and better direction: convincing sweet Lucy to go out with me.

At Josie’s table, there are two chairs and she’s sitting in one of them. Either everyone else is late or it’s just going to be the two of us. I ignore the way she’s patting the chair next to her and drag one around so I can sit facing the counter. This is a definite two birds, one stone moment.

“Did I scare everyone away or are we it?” I ask, pulling out my glasses and opening up the textbook. Lucy is mostly blocked by the machines, registers, and glass cases displaying sugary carbs, but I know she saw me when I walked in. I gave her a little wave and she frowned. She recognizes me. I’m taking that as a sign of encouragement.

“No, it’s just us. Isn’t that nice?” Josie’s words break up my inspection.

Whoops. Forgot why I was here for a minute. I quickly process Josie’s response.

“I definitely need a study group,” I answer diplomatically.

Her smile dims a watt or two but doesn’t completely disappear. “I’m glad I can be there for you.”

Spring semester is always a little harder for me to stay focused. I only have a few weeks of spring ball, but the rest of the time, my schedule is wide open. Most of the trouble we players get into is when we don’t have a coach breathing down our necks and 7 a.m. full pads practice.

From my limited study of Josie, I don’t know if she’s interested in sleeping with me or merely bagging, tagging, and hanging me trophy-like in her sorority house. In prior years, I’d have tapped that ass in a heartbeat. Nowadays, I’ve learned to be pickier. If we were at the Gas Station or a post-game party, the rules are pretty clear. Here? She might be angling for something more than I’m interested in giving.

Jersey chasers are a dime a dozen, always willing to take a ride on the football side, but you’ve got to be careful with the overly eager ones, the ones who aren’t just trying to make a trophy outta you, but a fuckin’ Lifetime Achievement award. As in, poking holes in condoms and look at that, you’re a baby daddy. I don’t know if Josie falls into that latter category, but she’s a little too eager for my taste.

Too eager?
Since when do I complain about eagerness?

A husky laugh draws my eyes to the counter again. Oh right. Since the hot blonde turned me down.
She
makes my dick move. I lean forward, wanting to be part of whatever is making her smile. Josie follows my gaze. Her eyes narrow with laser-like focus.

“Do you know Lucy Watson?”

“Nah, I’m not much of a coffee drinker.” I don’t go into my theory about sweat-infused water. My main drink of choice is Gatorade followed by Gatorade and vodka chased with a beer, which is why I’ve set foot inside the Brew House maybe a half-dozen times since I started attending Western.

“I’m not sure what her major is. Communications. Political Science? Something like that. She’s very strange.”

I swivel back to Josie, surprised at her bitchy comment. Usually when girls run down other girls in front of me, they have more finesse. It’s more along the lines of “she’d look so much better in a different dress” and not so much with the “she’s an ugly bitch, stay away” because even self-absorbed people realize at some point that those kinds of comments are off-putting. “In what way?”

“Why do you want to know?” She frowns.

I’ve spent enough time around women to recognize danger when I see it. Josie’s intuitive enough to sense she has competition. Actually the competition is all in her head, but that’s still a problem. I intentionally draw her attention away from Lucy by tapping my book. “Why don’t we start with the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine?”

This seems to work as Josie’s attention is diverted. Lucy’s saved and she doesn’t even know it. Josie and I buckle down to work for all of ten minutes before Josie hops on her phone.

“What do you think of this picture?” She flips her phone toward me. The display is filled with her and three friends wearing tiny bathing suits. “That was last year in St. Thomas. We were thinking of going back there this year.”

“Looks good,” I say dutifully. I’m a big fan of Instagram. And Twitter. And Snapchat. All of these things have made it exceedingly easy to find like-minded women—women who want one good night and that’s it. But I want to study now, and it’s a struggle to keep the irritation out of my voice.

My non-effusive compliment doesn’t deter Josie. Instead she pages through more photos and turns the phone around again. This time she’s wearing a shiny sparkly dress standing next to another girl in a sparkly dress. I can barely tell them apart. Idly I wonder whether they’d serve as a disco ball if we strung them up on the ceiling. Maybe we’d just need the dress.

“This was at the fall formal last year. I think I look heavy in this dress. What do you think?”

I squint. She looks as if she ate a diet of carrots and celery for two years. “I think you look nice.”

This time, she frowns. “Nice?”

“Yes. Nice. Pretty. Great.” I keep tacking on adjectives in hopes I hit on the right one, but I don’t inject enough enthusiasm in my voice. And my half-hearted efforts to compliment her kill her desire to study, if she ever had any in the first place. She buries her nose in the phone and after about five minutes of silence, I decide I’m thirsty.

As I wait in line, I stare at the board wondering what the best tasting coffee is for someone who doesn’t like coffee. Dark roast seems out. Maybe the light roast? Is that like a steak? The coffee beans are only slightly roasted and so still taste like whatever an uncooked coffee bean tastes like.

“Can I help you?” Lucy cocks her head to the side. Her long blond hair is caught up in a ponytail, the ones that I like wrapping around my fist while—

I cut off my train of thought when she clears her throat and delivers a well-mixed look of disdain and contempt as if she knows what I was thinking about just now and figures I’m not much good for anything else. Were her eyes this big last night? Were they this…soft? They look like a puppy dog’s eyes. Brown, warm, and endearing. If the puppy thought I was an idiot, that is.

“I’m trying to decide which is the best coffee for me.”

“I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”

“I don’t.” I shrug. Can I be more obvious? I don’t think so. Unfortunately, Lucy isn’t taking the bait. Another girl would be leaning against the counter, maybe twirling her hair around her finger. Lucy looks bored. That should bother me more, but instead I feel kind of energized by her dismissiveness. It’s sure as hell different. “You didn’t use my number.”

“I was studying. We have eight different kinds of tea.”

“I have the same problem with tea as I do coffee. Anything else?”

She opens her mouth to ask me what my problem is, then snaps it closed almost immediately. Hmm. Maybe I’m cracking her barrier a tiny bit.

“How about a spiced mulled cider?”

I perk up. “You can make that?” It’s January and as cold as a penguin’s ass, so spiced cider sounds great.

“Yup.” She scribbles something on the cup. I’m guessing it’s not her phone number because the vague smile she directs my way is the same one she gave the two students before me and undoubtedly the next one who will come behind me.

I shouldn’t feel a twinge of disappointment, but I do.

“Anything else?” she asks tentatively.

Because, like a dumbass, I’m still staring at her. I shift over to the glass case. “I could use an apple streusel.”

I’ll have to do an extra ten minutes on the sleds tomorrow to pay for that, but what the hell. We just won the championship. I have three weeks until spring ball starts. If I want to eat a piece of cake, this is the time.

“We make it fresh every day.” She recites the line with enough boredom to convey she’s tired of saying it. As she reaches inside the glass case with a pair of tongs and picks out the biggest slice, she asks, “Would you like it warmed up?”

“I don’t know, will I?” The words slide out, husky and provocative, and totally unintended.

Her eyes widen. “Ah, most people do.” She shoots me an irritated look and ducks around to heat up my cake while I feel like a total idiot. Not since sixth grade have I been so unpolished with a girl.

My phone buzzes.

Hammer:
Where are u? The chicks at the Gas Station are so hot tonight. It’s like winter doesn’t exist for them. God bless band-aid dresses.

Me:
Bandage.

Hammer:
Same thing. Where are u?! Do you think the Christmas break makes these Western girls hotter? I don’t remember them being so fine last semester.

Me:
How much have u had to drink? It’s only 8.

Hammer:
Where are u?

I sigh. If I don’t answer him, he’ll probably run out of the Gas Station and start yelling my name like the guy who keeps yelling “Stella!” from that movie my mom loves so much. Huh. I wonder if that’s why Coach named his daughter that. I give myself a mental head slap for falling down that particular rabbit hole and punch in a response to Hammer.

Me:
Brew place. Striking out.

Hammer:
Noooooo.

Hopefully, Hammer’s drinking with a friend tonight.

My phone vibrates again but this time the screen displays the number fifty-five. It’s Masters. Damn, I’m going to miss that bastard when he leaves school at the end of this year.

Masters:
Hammer texted me. Sounds like you need help.

I roll my eyes.
What’d Hammer say?

Masters:
Screenshotted the convo he could fit on one screen.

Me:
Hammer’s shocked to find out that there are women outside the Gas Station. Worse, they have the word
no
in their vocabulary.

Masters:
Situation appears dire. Look around. Do you see any adults?

I look up at Lucy, who’s talking to her co-worker and actively avoiding me. I think that’s a good sign.

Me:
My ball size indicates I’m the adultest thing here.

The microwave dings, and she slides the streusel out. That’s not a good sign. I no longer have an excuse to loiter here at the counter. I point to the first thing I see. “I’ll take one of those, too.”

“It’s
coffee
cake. This version is made with actual coffee.” I don’t even have to look at her to know her expression is hovering between
this guy is an idiot
and
when is he going to take his shit and go back to his table.

“Yeah, give me a big piece.”

She clearly thinks I’m short-changed in the big head. No clue what she thinks of me otherwise.

Me:
I haven’t been rejected this hard since I tried to block the punt in that game against OSU last semester.

Masters:
My wife says rejection is good for you. Makes you mentally tough.

Me:
You love saying that phrase “my wife.”

Masters:
You bet your fat ass I do.

Me:
You don’t think it’s completely strange that you’re 21 and acting like a Taylor Swift song?

Masters:
Bro, sorry you feel left out. Stop by later and I’ll give you a hug.

Me:
Fuck off.

Masters:
I have MY WIFE to do that for me. Thanks, though. Hug still stands. I’ll even let you smell me. MY WIFE says I smell delicious.

Me:
I’ve smelled you before, which is why I’m not sure how you convinced Ellie to marry you. She must have defective olfactory senses.

Masters:
Me and MY defective WIFE will be getting it on tonight. While u have only Rosie Palm.

Me:
Don’t worry. I get plenty of variety. Left-hand Laura sometimes steps in.

Masters:
Heard you were out with Josie Weeks. Be careful. She eats little linebackers like you for breakfast.

And the fact that I don’t even want to make a sexually charged comeback tells me exactly how I feel about Josie. Hope she doesn’t mind being just study partners. 

“Here’s your apple streusel
and
your coffee cake.”

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. Lucy’s cheeks are back to a normal color, and her smile is one that says any future flirtations from me are about as welcome as a nighttime visit from a spider.

“You ever going to use that phone number?”

“I already did.” She tips her head down toward the end of the counter. “You can pick up your cider down there.”

I open my mouth to say something extremely witty when her male co-worker starts shouting out my phone number. So that’s what she wrote on the cup. The entire coffee house looks up at the skinny, hipster dude with his hair gelled so immaculately he might actually be a Ken doll come to life. Lucy spares me a glance under her eyelashes, and I can’t help but laugh.

I lean forward. “I like that you have it memorized.”

She pinkens, and I walk back to Josie’s table, laden with goodies and the sweet knowledge I actually won a tiny round against the formidable Lucy Watson.

“You know she’s a druggie, right?” Josie huffs when I sit down and start eating.

“Who?” I shovel the last of the streusel into my mouth and dig into the coffee cake, hoping there’s enough butter and sugar in it to overcome any actual coffee taste. After the first swallow, I realize I
am
an idiot because the cake is gross. I take another big bite and wash the entire mess down with a chaser of Gatorade.