Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (5 page)

“Lucy Watson!”

I rear back. “Lucy? The coffee shop girl?”

“Yes. One of my sisters lived in the same dorm as her and saw her shooting up her freshman year. Right before she sat down to eat!”

I can’t help but be impressed. “That’s hardcore. You really think she’d be injecting drugs in the middle of the college cafeteria?”

“Why? Do you want some of your own?” Josie says in disgust.

Obviously my lack of dismay over Lucy’s supposed drug addiction is a sign of moral depravity. I’m okay with that. I finish the coffee cake off before answering.

“No. I get random drug tests and wouldn’t be able to play if I test positive, so no.” There are guys who smoke weed to help with the pain. We have lots of guys on Adderall, too. Painkillers are handed out like candy by the team doctors, but I’m trying to avoid those aids as long as I can. Once you go down that path, I think it’s hard not to lean on them too much. “But anyone who is so addicted to drugs that she’d shoot up in a public place can’t function like she does.”

“So you know her?”

God, what’s with the fricking inquisition? “Yeah, we’re seeing each other,” I lie. I figure Josie’s not going over to confront her about this, so my lie is about the safest one I’ve ever uttered.

Josie’s mouth drops open. “Why’d you even come tonight, if you’re already dating someone?”

Now it’s my turn to be offended. “You said it was a study group.”

“And you believed me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hell, maybe I shouldn’t venture outside the Gas Station. It’s too complex out here. “This is college, and study groups do exist. A lot. College is to study groups as libraries are to books. They go together.”

“But you’re a football player. A starter, right?”

“So?”

“So you don’t need to study.”

“Maybe not, but that’s because I’m smart, not because I get a pass for being a football player.”

“I thought…” She trails off and looks down at her papers in frustration.

I help her out. “You thought I was a dumb jock and would be grateful for your attention?”

She purses her lips. That’s exactly what she thought. “I can share my sorority sister’s outline with you.” She shoves a set of papers toward me.

“Thanks, but I don’t really need it. All of us dumb jocks get free tutoring.”

Josie picks up her phone and presses something on the screen. She turns it around to face me. With a plastic smile, she says, “How do you like this?”

It’s a Snapchat picture of me looking at Lucy like she’s the tastiest treat in the entire place. The text overlay reads
Matty Iverson can win at football, but he loses at life.

“Thanks for taking the picture from the right.” It’s apparent I should be offended, but Josie’s game is too obvious. Anyone will read that and know
she’s
the one who got turned down. “It’s my best side.”

She releases one of those silent screams, the kind where she swallows most of the sound but you still know she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Her bag is packed in seconds, and she takes off in such a rush her hair slaps me across the face.

“You forgot your cider,” Lucy calls over. “You look like you could use a beer, though. We sell that, too.”

“We were just studying.”

Lucy turns to look in Josie’s general direction. “That’s an unhappy study partner you have there.”

“We had a misunderstanding. She thought this was a date and I thought it was a study group.”

“So you’re not losing at life?”

Apparently the Snapchat is spreading faster than an STD in a frat house.

“When it comes to you, apparently I am.”

She rubs a knuckle under her chin. “I get off in fifteen minutes and I need to eat something. You can join me if you want.”

I brighten. “Really?”

My obvious enthusiasm earns me a slight frown. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s not an invitation for anything but sitting across the table from me while I eat.”

This is a date even if she won’t admit it. “Do I get to eat, too, or do I just sit and watch?”

Her eyebrows squeeze together in a rather adorable way. “You had coffee cake and apple streusel.”

“I’m a bottomless pit, or so my mom tells me.” My hand falls to my stomach, and her eyes follow in a gratifying manner. Maybe I’m not striking out because the way her gaze is eating me up right now tells me she’d like a side of Matty with her meal.

“Great. Meet me out front in fifteen.” Then she spins around and goes back to bustling behind the counter. As if I’m not even here.

Or hell, maybe she’s inviting me to dinner to tell me exactly how much she doesn’t want to see me again. That would actually be a little on the crazy side, which means I should walk away, but she’s hooked me good. So good that, at this point, I’d pretty much follow her pretty ass anywhere.

“
O
kay if we
go to Crowerly’s?” I ask when I meet Matt outside the Brew House. To his credit, he doesn’t make a face when I suggest the vegan restaurant. Or he has no clue what they serve.

“Lady’s choice.” He sweeps out a hand, indicating I should lead the way.

“It’s vegan,” I tell him.

“All the better. We both know I’ve had enough sugar and carbs tonight to send a small kid into convulsions. Are you sure you didn’t give me two pieces of the coffee cake?” he accuses.

“We are closing in an hour,” I admit. “It would’ve been tossed out if it didn’t sell. Besides, I didn’t expect you to eat it all.”

“Look at me.” He holds his arms out wide. “Do I look like a guy who turns down cake?”

I can’t stop myself from looking at him. He’s got the classic V-shape with the broad shoulders and trim waist. Nothing about him says “coffee cake eater.” More like bland chicken and a boatload of vegetables. Of course, he works out two hours or more a day, so maybe he can eat all the cake he wants.

And why do I even care? “I guess not.”

Crowerly’s is only two blocks down, and neither of us says another word until we’re seated across from each other in the booth.

“Did you come to the Brew House tonight because of me?” My tone comes out sharper than I intended, but he doesn’t seem insulted. If anything, he looks amused.

“Nope. I told you, I thought I was coming to a study group.”

His expression is a bit too innocent for my liking. And damn it, he’s too gorgeous for my comfort. Somehow in the span of twenty-four hours I managed to forget how frickin’ hot this guy is. I can see now why Charity was all but drooling when she brought up his name.

“Right. Your study group.” I show him with my eyes just how much I believe him. Which is not at all. “And I guess knowing I work there had nothing to do with your thought process.”

“You give yourself too much credit, Luce. My studies happen to be my number one priority.” He smiles sweetly.

“First off,
Luce?
”

“Yup. We’re on a nickname basis now. You’re Luce, and I’m Matty.” His lips curve ever so slightly. “Unless you want to pick a different nickname for me. Something like…hmmmm…Gorgeous? I’d answer to that.”

I choke down a laugh and snatch the menu. I give it a quick scan just as the waitress appears to take our orders. I ask for a bowl of the butternut squash soup and a coffee, and when Matt winces, I look at the waitress and add, “If you could bring the whole coffee pot and just leave it here, that would be super. My friend
loves
the smell of fresh-brewed coffee.”

He glares at me.

The waitress just looks confused. “Oh, I’m sorry. We can’t do that. But I can bring you the jumbo mugs.” She glances, mystified, at Matt. “Is that all right?”

Matt sighs.

Once she’s gone, he turns to me in exasperation. “Really? Now you’re punishing me? For daring to ask you out?”

I can’t help but grin. “No, that was just too fun to resist.” I go serious again. “As for the ‘asking me out’ part, I already told you, I’m not interested.”

His blue eyes are smug. “Then why are we having dinner together?”

“We’re not.”

“You’re ordering food. I’m going to order something when she gets back after we talk about this menu—”

“Get the tofu fries and yogurt dip,” I interrupt. “They’re delicious. Actually, get two orders and I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

His lips quirk up again, as if he’s not at all irritated that I cut him off. “Okay, two orders of tofu fries and then we’ll be eating. Together. You do know what together means, right? Close to or in the proximity of another person.”

“Very nice, Mr. Dictionary.”

He folds his arms on the table and leans across. He’s so tall, and the tables at Crowerly’s are so small, he’s virtually touching me.

“I’m your man if you need some SAT words for your papers.” A naughty grin spreads across his face. “I’m a verbal guy. I like saying things almost as much as I like doing them.”

He doesn’t explicitly define what “things” are, but I’d have to be a total newb not to get his gist. He’s talking about sex things. Dirty things. Hot things. The image of this guy bent over me whispering exactly how he’s going to touch me, feel me, be with me? I’m going to need a pitcher of water not a mug of coffee. The whole idea of Matty—geez, am I really calling him Matty now? He’s in my head, and I need to push him out.

“How is that even true?” I say skeptically. There’s no way he enjoys talking as much as he enjoys screwing some girl.

“Never enjoyed a little dirty talk during your fun time?” He looks disappointed.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I think talking is overrated. Maybe you should practice one aspect—such as the physical—before adding in another component,” I say in my most clinical and repressive tones, but even as I utter those words, I know what he’s going to say in return. The problem here is that Matt could probably turn anything into a sexual innuendo.

“I’m a big believer in “practice makes perfect,” and I don’t get my feelings hurt in the face of criticism, which is why you should test out both my physical and verbal skills. Say, tomorrow night?”

I’m saved from answering when the waitress appears with our two big mugs of coffee. Matt shoves his aside and places his order for fries and dip—Crowerly’s version of it, at least—and a glass of water. The water appears moments later, as if the waitress can’t stand being away from him for even a second.

“I’m busy tomorrow night. I have mock trial practice.”

“Nice. I like that. A real excuse. It helps soothe the sting.” He rubs his chest in mock pain, and I have to force myself not to stare at how well defined his muscles appear even under his T-shirt.

You don’t like muscles,
I remind myself.

“Let’s go back to this no-dirty-talking experience. What kind of guys are you dating?”

“Nice ones.”

“I’m a nice guy, and I love a little dirty talk. If you sat on my lap right now, I might say something like ‘I’ve been waiting all day to have your ass in my hands,’ and you could reply with ‘Matty, you’re so big.’” His falsetto brings a reluctant smile to my face. “I like
big, hot, strong
as adjectives. Just an FYI. And then I’d pull you closer so I could nuzzle your neck and say—”

The bell tinkles as the restaurant door opens and four girls walk in. I grab Matty’s water and gulp it down. His little tame sampler of dirty talk made me uncomfortably warm. This is exactly why I don’t date guys like him. I’d have to take an extra glucose shot every day just to keep up.

The girls must have spotted Matt because they bypass three open tables to walk by ours. As they pass, there’s a contest of who can flip her hair over her shoulder the hardest. I swear the last two eyefuck him so hard, it’s a wonder they make it to their own table upright.

To his credit, he’s more interested in the yogurt and tofu the waitress delivered.

“This is tofu?” he asks enthusiastically between giant bites. It only takes two for the entire thing to disappear into his mouth. He wipes off his mouth before telling me, “Tom Brady eats a lot of vegan dishes during the season. Says it keeps him healthy. I should try more of this stuff. I didn’t realize it tasted so good.”

I’m partly relieved the food has distracted him from his discourse on dirty talking but also partly disappointed. He’s...well, dammit, fun to talk to. Ugh. Why? Why can’t I smoosh Keith and Matt together? Matty’s personality with Keith’s safe and quiet attractiveness?

I eat my soup, which somehow tastes better than it ever has before, and I know it’s not because there’s a new chef. It’s because I’m enjoying myself so much.

He eats all but two of the fries and pushes the plate toward my side of the table. “Let’s trade. I want to see if I like squash soup because it sounds disgusting and looks a little like the pureed carrot shit I had to eat as a baby.”

We exchange dishes, but I don’t eat anything. Instead I watch as he uses my spoon to taste the soup. He pulls the spoon from his mouth with a pop, and I swear my entire body starts tingling. “Mmm. Good. A little spice and a little sweet. Don’t know how much of that is you and how much is the soup, though.”

This is like foreplay. I’m going to have to douse myself in a glass of water. Under the table, I squeeze my thighs together, but that movement only serves to remind me how little action I’ve seen downstairs. Between him licking the spoon and telling me he wants to
taste
me, I’m more turned on than I can ever remember being. Which really, really sucks. “Why are you flirting with me?”

He gives me a look that says I can’t be that dumb, but apparently I am. I blame it on him. “Because you’re smoking hot and I’d like a taste of you directly from the tap.” He sets my spoon down. “The better question is, why won’t you go out with me? I’m not bragging because there’s something between us.”

“Where do I start?”

He laughs. He actually laughs at that. “Geez, you have that many. Hold up for a sec. Need to put my big boy pants on.”

I roll my eyes. “How about you answer a question of mine?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Why are you trying so hard?”

“Honestly? Because it’s fun.”

I raise a brow in pretend confusion, but I know exactly what he means. “Fun?”

Cheerfully, he eats more soup, still using my spoon, before answering. “Haven’t had to try this hard in ages. Again, not bragging. It’s just the truth. I don’t need to work for it anymore. Girls come to me.”

“Right, you’re
so
not bragging.”

“I’m not.” He shrugs. That’s just how it is.” He pauses. “I play football.”

“I know.” His eyes light up, and I know what he’s thinking. I hold up my hand. “I didn’t ask around about you. I recognized you after you left last night. Why didn’t you tell me you played football?

“It didn’t seem important.”

“Bullshit. Being a Western State Warrior is a big deal on campus. Girls fall all over themselves to be with you.”

“Sure, but is that what kind of guy you think I am? Or maybe the better question is whether you’re the type of girl who’s impressed by that? Because I don’t see it.” He arches an eyebrow.

He’s got me there. “I’m not impressed by that stuff. It’s the other way around, actually.”

For the first time tonight, he frowns. “That’s why you won’t go out with me?”

“You could talk anyone you want into dating you. You could probably sell ice to a polar bear.”

“If that’s true, why are you still resisting?”

I think about my deal with JR, which was pretty much a non-issue until this moment. Promising to stay away from football players wasn’t exactly a sacrifice on my part—I have nothing in common with Ace’s teammates, and their lifestyles don’t mesh with mine. I’m not a prude or anything, even though Ace has accused me of being one from time to time. Having sex in public isn’t my thing. Nor is getting so drunk I can’t remember who I slept with the night before. I’m not a party girl. And I’m not interested in party boys.

Matthew Iverson, as attractive and as tempting as he is, definitely falls into party boy category. Or at least I think he does. I mean, he plays for Western—he has to be a party dude, right?

He’s also waiting for an answer. I settle on, “You’re not my type.”

By the way his brows shoot upward, I can see I’ve surprised him. “You’re anti-football or anti-athlete?”

“I’ve never dated either, so I can’t tell you.”

“It’s not fair that you’re anti-football player. It’s discriminatory. I’m going to need to speak to the Honors Council about this,” he jokes. “Who is your type?”

I toy with the last tofu fry. “I dated Keith, my co-worker at the Brew House.”

“Keith?” Matt’s forehead furrows as he tries to remember the rather unremarkable Keith. “He looks like a Ken doll. His hair is all—” Matt rubs his hand over his own perfectly mussed black locks.

“He uses a lot of product,” I admit.

“So you like metrosexuals?”

“No.” It never occurred to me that Keith is a metrosexual, but he did have more products in the bathroom than I do. “I guess I thought he was…” I don’t have a better word, so I just say it. “Safe.”

I’m kind of embarrassed at how weak my reasoning is. It doesn’t sound good stated out loud. I feel my cheeks starting to burn. Scrambling, I try to articulate a few better excuses. “You’re funny and attractive and any other girl would be thrilled to be sitting where I am right now.” I tip my head toward the table of four girls who still can’t tear their eyes away from Matty. “But I’m busy, you look like a lot of effort, and I don’t think you’re a good risk.

He bobs his head as he considers my defense. “Those are all good reasons, but they don’t really apply to me. The busy thing I can buy—hell, I’ve used that myself. But I look like a lot of effort? And I’m not a good risk? What the hell does that mean?”

I sigh. “You’re like a really expensive designer purse. I want it but know a) I can’t afford it and b) even if I could I’d be so obsessive about checking the condition that I wouldn’t even enjoy it. Plus, everyone else would want to touch it, hold it. Someone might even want to steal it, and that’d be a certain kind of stress I wouldn’t want to deal with.”

“You’re overthinking this, Luce.”

“I don’t doubt that I am. I look at things from all angles. Every. Single. Angle. Maybe that’s weird, but that’s what I do.” What I have to do. My whole life is about risk assessment. Can I eat this new food or that new food? Can I have one drink or two tonight? Did I get enough rest? Enough walking in today? Will tonight be the night my glucose levels go haywire and my roommates have to call 911 because I’m in a coma? I don’t want to explain this to Matt, so I choose a different story. “I’m this way about all of my life decisions, even the small ones. I was breaking out last year because of my shampoo, so I needed to switch. I spent a week researching dozens of different brands. After culling the list to ten, I made up a matrix listing all the ingredients, their function, and the comedogenic rating before settling on one I could still buy at the drugstore but wasn’t going to break me out. The process took three weeks.”