Game Changer: #UofJ Book 2- A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Sports Romance (U of J)

by Alley Ciz

  The thick, soupy air inside the shower fills my lungs as I struggle not to hyperventilate from stimuli overload.

  He continues his washing, paying extra special attention to my breasts and between my legs. I whimper, unable to fight the sensations that have me on the verge of coming. “You need to take your own advice, Caveman.” The breathy quality of my voice negates any real authority.

  He continues to tease until the water starts to turn cold.

  #Chapter41

  “Listen, bitch…” I can’t stop the twitch of my lips as Em drops into the chair next to mine in the library. The narrowing of her eyes underneath her perfect, perfect eyebrows tells me she doesn’t find my amusement at her frustrated term of endearment funny.

  “Yes, Emma?” I lean forward, resting my chin on my palm and blinking at her with wide-eyed attention.

  “Don’t be trying to full-name me, missy.”

  Ooo, someone is in a mood. I snicker at my inner cheerleader, and the murderous glare I get from Em tells me it’s probably a good thing I’ll be sleeping at home tonight and not the dorm.

  “Want to tell me what has your panties in a bunch?” I ask, clicking the top of my highlighter in and out.

  “Oh good.” A flurry of movement follows in the wake of Q’s declaration as she takes the chair on my other side, the legs lifting and slamming back down with a bang. I wince, thankful I chose a table on the more deserted third floor. “You found her.”

  I close the lid of my laptop and slide it to the side. I get the impression my study time is over if the expectant looks on my two friends’ faces are any indication.

  “Wow.” I feign boredom, the pop-click, pop-click of my highlighter only adding to my nonchalance. “You two are in rare form today.”

  Q beams at me, her ass bouncing around in her seat in her typical ants-in-the-pants excited fashion. But not Em. Nope, she’s making this pinched expression that has me wanting to offer her a glass of prune juice.

  “You’re lucky I love you like a sister, because otherwise I’d kick your ass right now, Kayla.”

  My brows fly up toward the edge of the ball cap I have pulled low over my face. I lay my arm across the table and reach for Em’s hand. “Talk to me.”

  Her shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath in, turning her hand enough to link fingers with mine. “I miss you.”

  The walls I keep around me turn into jelly at her admission. This last week since returning home from Kentucky has been insane.

  Sunday I slept at home to spend time with Bette since she drove up to bring Mase his car.

  The next day E showed up. He said it was to bring Bette home, but since he followed it by spending his entire off day in Blackwell and having meetings with Jordan Donovan, I know what he was really doing—hovering. That didn’t stop me from sleeping at home another night so I could see him.

  If it were just those two nights, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but…this weekend is NJA’s first competition. Instead of working three days a week, I’ve worked every night, making sure our stunting is solid across the board.

  This is where the missing thing comes into play.

  I’ve essentially turned into a commuter, sleeping at the Taylors’ at night because they are closer to The Barracks and spending every other second of my free time in the library to keep up with my course load.

  “If you think she’s bad”—Q waves a hand at Em—“you should hear the guys bitch at Mason about you still not being back at lunch.” She scrunches her arms up and pinches her fingers together, miming playing the world’s tiniest violin. My gaze shifts to Em and we lose it, collapsing onto the table, our heads knocking together in a fit of giggles.

  Minutes pass before we’re able to compose ourselves enough to speak, and again, I’m happy we’re tucked away upstairs; otherwise a librarian would be lecturing us on keeping the noise down.

  “How about this…” I sit up, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Tomorrow’s game is a night game”—which I’ll be missing as well.

  Since Mase and I have been confirmed as a couple again, things have leveled off on the school’s Instagram, but I can only imagine the speculation my absence is going to stir up.

  “Why don’t you both come to Blackwell tonight?”

  “Slumber party?” Q perks up like Herkie does when I open up peanut butter. Seriously, best addition to our group.

  “What season of Gossip Girl are the girls on in their millionth binge?” Em asks, knowing of T and Savvy’s obsession with the show.

  “I think season three, but whatever—I’ll take all the Chuck Bass I can get. It’s better than being forced to suffer through every movie with a football player as the hero.”

  A divot forms in the middle of Em’s cheek. I appreciate how she’s biting back her laughter, but not as much as I do her letting me bitch about T’s backhanded support of Mase during our breakup. Sisters.

  “Why are you even on campus?” Em asks. “It’s Friday.”

  “I promised Mase I’d meet him after the team’s walkthrough. Wait…” I hold up a hand, a thought suddenly occurring to me. “How did you even know I was here?”

  “The Gram,” Em and Q answer in unison. Of course. I may have said things have leveled out, but they didn’t stop. I doubt they ever will.

  #Chapter42

  The only thing that stops me from chucking my phone across the room when the alarm blares early on Sunday morning is knowing it’s waking me up so I can see Kay. Fuck I miss my baby. It doesn’t matter that it was at my coaxing that she didn’t come to yesterday’s game—the Hawks kicked Michigan State’s ass, in case you were wondering—I still felt her absence.

  Kay was going to rearrange her entire schedule to be able to sit in the stands and cheer me on. And yes, I wanted nothing more than to see her there, my name and number on her back, doing just that. But after hearing about everything she needs to handle for a competition, I pulled on my big boy jockstrap and told her to skip the game.

  All week, she made seeing me a priority among her hectic schedule. She thinks we’re not seeing each other until tonight, but little does she know, she’s in for one hell of a shock. All it took was one phone call.

  “How do I get a ticket for this thing?” I ask Livi, her hair up in a high ponytail, blue camouflage bow still in place from practice.

  “Are you coming?” Her hope and excitement are so strong I can feel them through my phone’s screen. Typically, if I make it to a competition, it’s one of the bigger ones that happen during my offseason.

  “Trav!” Livi shouts, startling my best friend into dropping the game controller in his hand as he sits next to me.

  I swivel the phone so he can see my little tyrant—er, sister—on the screen. Why did Mom have to go and have more kids? I may be the oldest sibling, but the twins are the ones who really run the show. “What’s up, Livs?”

  “Are you coming too?” She blinks, putting the full weight behind her puppy dog eyes. If my sister has me wrapped around her finger, Trav is practically tattooed on it.

  His answer is automatic. “Anything for my favorite girl.”

  See what I mean?

  “Hold up.” Noah, never one to know how to mind his business, cuts in. “Where’s our invite?”

  Trav takes the phone from me as I lean over and roll my eyes in a way that would make Kay proud. “You wanna come to a cheer competition?” I ask in disbelief.

  He shrugs his shoulders as if to say Sure, why not?

  “Hot girls in tight skirts?” Alex rests his pool cue on the ground and uses it to support him as he leans forward. “Who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by all that?”

  Kevin high-fives him and Noah holds out a fist to bump. There are days I question why I’m friends with these idiots.

  “You do know the majority of those girls are jailbait, right?” These guys act like there isn’t a plethora of pussy at their disposal on the reg. Given the bye week bash stories I heard when I got back from Kentucky, t
his certainly still holds true.

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the show,” Kev asserts, and they are back to blowing it up with their fists.

  What started out as me pumping Livi for information on the competition so I could surprise my girl evolved into a field trip for our whole crew.

  “No fair.” Noah smacks the back of his hand on the Cheer is her world and she is mine written in white across my chest. “Why does yours get to be different?”

  I level him with an Are you for real? look. Noah has Official Cheerleader Bodyguard #NJA printed on his blue camouflage tee, as do Kev and Alex.

  “Come on, No.” Kev ambles down the stairs with a swagger only he can manage. “You know Nova is still trying to woo his girl. Let him have his moment.” He claps me on the shoulder, the force behind the action enough to have me taking a step forward. There are days I swear that dude doesn’t know his own strength.

  We hang out by the front door, waiting for the others to join us. With the team playing a night game, the victory party didn’t really get underway until after midnight, so most of the house is still asleep recovering.

  “Man…am I glad I’m no longer a pledge,” Grayson says, kicking his way through the Solo cups littering the floor. The Alphas are known for having the nicest house on Greek Row, but that’s never the case the morning after a rager.

  “Aw, man.” Noah throws his hands in the air, coffee spilling out the lid of his to-go cup and onto the sticky beer-covered floor. “Why do you get a different one?”

  Grayson chuckles, plucking at the collar of his Sorry dudes, the cheerleaders are with me shirt. “For one”—he lifts a finger—“I was already going to this thing before y’all decided to join. And two”—he ticks off another finger—“Smalls got me this one last year for when I flew down to see her teams compete at Worlds.”

  The old staircase creaks as Alex thunders down with the same speed he exudes on the field. “Let it go, Mitchell,” he advises Noah. “I don’t want to listen to you bitch the whole way down.”

  “For reals.” Trav bites back a huge yawn as he walks a pretty co-ed to the door. “You trying to hurt my feelings or something? I thought I was clever as fuck when I was ordering these babies.”

  “Fuck you, McQueen.” Noah shoulder-checks Trav as we make our way out the door.

  Trav yucks it up, taunting Noah with his Don’t you wish your sister could cheer like mine? tee. Kay isn’t going to be the only one to freak when she sees our shirts. Livi is going to lose it when she catches sight of the Livi’s ‘Brother’ written on the bottom of Trav’s. “When you find the Etsy shop, you can pick the design. For now…deal with it.”

  As much as I love driving the Shelby, today she gets a break to accommodate us all.

  “Just wait, No,” Grayson shouts over to Noah before he can get in Kev’s SUV with Alex. “CK has a special one from Smalls, too.”

  Trav chortles as the three of us load into his truck to Noah flipping us off. Time to take this shit-show on the road.

  “I’ve never seen so many bows in my life,” Alex comments as we follow the flow of people into the arena hosting the UCA Northeast Championships.

  “This is nothing. You should see what it’s like at Nationals,” I say, thinking of when the family all flew out to Dallas to see Livi compete with her old gym a few years ago.

  “Cheerleaders eh-ver-ee-where, as far as the eye can see.” Trav holds up his hands, spreading them out as if to indicate a billboard reading Take a look at all the cheerleaders. “Thousands and thousands of them.”

  “Why haven’t we come to one of these things sooner?” Kev asks, taking in the scene around us with wide eyes.

  “Because the most time any of us have actually spent with cheerleaders before this year was limited to the bedroom,” Noah states proudly. Unlike myself, most of the guys have sampled from the cheerleading waters.

  The competition is already underway, one of the lower level teams for another gym performing on the blue mat when we step inside the arena. Only about half of the three thousand seats are filled, but I know from experience they will be full by the time they get to the higher level teams.

  Grayson scans the stands for Em and Quinn—the two of them came down with Kay and NJA—motioning for us to follow when he finds them. It comes as no surprise that they each sport their own funny t-shirt. Who they are sitting with, however, is a shock.

  My mom rises, running a hand down her shirt, smoothing down the silk before leaning forward into our row in front of them to pull me in for a hug. “I’m so happy you came.” She pulls back, cupping my cheek in that way only a mom can. “The twins haven’t stopped talking about how excited they are since you told Livi your plans.”

  I wonder what Grace Nova-Roberts would have to say if she knew the real reason you chose to come is to earn you bedroom brownie points.

  I ignore my inner coach. Shocker. Yes, the decision might have partially been made in the hopes that my girl will show me how happy she is that I am here in the form of one of her mind-blowing blow jobs, but it doesn’t take away from the twins’ happiness. As long as they didn’t say anything to Kay about my plans, we are all good.

  Trav pushes me to the side, causing me to stumble on his way to scoop Mom into a hug. The asshole is such a suck-up.

  Introductions and greetings are exchanged by all, and I’m extremely grateful to note Brantley is not in attendance—though it’s not like we expected he would be. Not gonna lie, a tiny part of me was afraid he would come if for no other reason than to nail down another chance to talk to me.

  There’s no way to miss the hard blue eyes studying me as I pull my seat open. The man is around Mom’s age, and based on the fit of his I’m a proud DAD of a freaking awesome CHEERLEADER shirt, he keeps himself in shape. My mouth feels like the Sahara and I have difficulty swallowing when everything clicks into place on who he is—Pops Taylor.

  Aw, shit! *chuckles behind clipboard* You thought having to see E or JT was bad? This guy is a firefighter. They’ll never find your body.

  My shoulders square. I can do this. I apologized, fixed my mistakes, fought for the girl, and got her back. Jackass in my head may be taunting me about E and JT, but they are good with where Kay and I stand. Why should this be any different?

  Resolve in place, I hold out a hand to shake and say, “Mr. Taylor?”

  Both my questioning greeting and hand hang there, sweat trickling down my spine as I wait.

  “Just so you know…” I wince when he finally takes my outstretched hand, his grip punishing. “If my son and younger daughter hadn’t told me about the lengths you went to in order to win my baby girl back, well…”

  Did I say sweat was trickling down my back? Nope, now it’s a straight-up river. Fuck me, this guy is scary.

  “I love Kay very much, sir.” The intensity of his glare softens marginally at my admission.

  “So I heard.” My knuckles protest under the increasing pressure around the hand he still hasn’t released. “Just remember…” Another squeeze. “I know exactly how hot a fire needs to be to make a body disappear.”

  Around us, the guys lose it. Full-on bent over, leg-slapping guffaws at my expense. I look to Mom for support, but she instead chooses to sit there in silence, as if her oldest son’s life wasn’t just threatened.

  Looks like someone has dropped in the favorite child rankings, Nova.

  They all continue to razz me as we watch the competition, the girls explaining the intricacies of scoring and the jargon associated with competitive cheerleading. With each NJA team to take the floor, the cheering and hooting and hollering from the guys increases. By the time the Marshals are announced, I’m shocked we haven’t been asked to leave.

  All thoughts of my out-of-control friends fade when I see Kay walk out with two other NJA coaches for the senior teams. Goddamn my girl is fine as fuck.

  Even from up here, I can see how good her ass looks in those painted-on dark wash jeans, and I can’t help but sm
irk at the army boots on her feet. I don’t need her to say it to know she chose them because the NJA teams are all named after different roles in the military.

  COACH PF is written in rhinestone-encrusted white block lettering on her back, and even though I prefer it to be my name and number there, I can admit she works the hell out of her coach’s jacket. The stretchy blue camouflage material hugs her curves, and all I want to do is run down these stairs, put my hands on the black panels on her sides, and lift her into my arms.

  An ear-splitting whistle sounds behind me, and when I look back, Pops Taylor, Savvy, Grayson, and Em are on their feet, each stretching their pinky and thumb out in the hang loose gesture and shouting Tessa’s name.

  Down on the mat, she is returning the gesture, and when I slide my gaze back to Kay, I see she’s doing the same. The guys notice we’ve captured Kay’s attention and jump up, tugging and pointing to their shirts while yelling my girl’s name.

  Not to be outdone, I pop up as well, and when Kay’s eyes flare wide at the sight of all of us making fools of ourselves, I let loose the biggest, shit-eating, dimples out in all their get-yelled-at-to-put-them-away glory.

  The unfiltered awe on Kay’s beautiful face when she realizes who all came to cheer her teams on is like a punch to the gut. She can be so fucking raw with her emotions, and it slays me every time she lets the vulnerability shine through.

  Music starts and Kay whips around to face the mat, breaking away from our stare-down. Throughout the two-and-a-half-minute routine, I can’t help but shift my attention to Kay. Her pride and excitement is plain to see. Every time the Marshals hit a stunt, she’s shouting, clapping, arms thrown in the air, jumping up and down, shimmy dancing and bumping hips with the other coaches. I can’t even handle how fucking adorable she is.

  “Damn.” Quinn blows out a breath after the Marshals clear the floor and the next team is announced. “They keep performing like that, there’s no way they don’t repeat at Worlds this year.”