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

by Alley Ciz

  Leather creaks as Trav spins to see him in the captain’s chairs. “Don’t hold out on me now, Grayson.”

  “Just save room for pie.”

  My stomach grumbles as my passengers start to list off their favorite types of pie and Thanksgiving dishes. The recovery shake I had after our morning workout with the team has long since been digested, and I blow out a sigh of relief when I see the familiar gates and plug in the code given to me by Kay.

  “I know most of you are new here,” CK says, shutting the car door behind him. “But try not to fanboy too much.”

  “Yo-ho-ho.” Alex slings an arm around CK’s shoulders as we make our way up the walk as a group. “Look who’s finally getting comfortable enough to give us shit.”

  “Well…if Kay is cool with you fools being here, it must mean I should be too.” CK shrugs under the weight of Alex’s arm. He’s the most reserved of the group, so it’s nice to see him coming out of his shell.

  When Kay made the offer for all of us to join her family for Thanksgiving, I knew it was another way for her to prove—not that she has to—how serious she is about making us work and not running. There’s still a lot to contend with, but each way we can blend our worlds together will help that much more.

  If only Liam Parker could learn to mind his own fucking business. The asshat has infested the comment section of our Instagram feeds like bedbugs.

  Grayson opens the front door without knocking, all seven of us pausing at the mouth-watering scents greeting us as we step inside.

  A cold nose brushes against the back of my hand, and I bend down to give Herkie a few hello scratches behind his ears, getting a face full of dog slobber in the process.

  Grayson doesn’t bother to wait, rushing through the house on the hunt for his mama. It still amuses me how this almost-seven-foot giant is such a mama’s boy. By the time we follow behind, he has her lifted in one of his deep bear hugs while she squeals, “My baby!”

  The open-concept layout of the downstairs makes it easy for me to search out my girl and find her laughing at something with Em and Quinn in the kitchen. I love seeing her happy and carefree like this. With her having been so busy last week with NJA, neither of us wanted to ruin the limited amount of alone time we had by discussing how things have been around campus.

  When her gray eyes finally rise to mine, I can’t stop the automatic smile that blooms across my face. I only end up grinning harder when she steps out from behind the island and I take in her turkey print leggings and funny shirt.

  “Hey, Skittles.” I loop my arms around her as soon as she’s within reach, pulling her in until there’s not an inch of space between us.

  “Hey, Caveman.” Her arms wind around my neck and she presses her lips to mine in a kiss not suitable for mixed company.

  We’re both breathing a little heavier when we pull apart, and I’m pleased to see only a thin ring of gray left around her pupils. Looks like I’m not the only one who missed their cuddle buddy last night.

  Hooking my finger in the collar of her tee, I say, “Nice shirt, babe.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” She bounces out of my hold and into the living room, not stopping until she comes to a collection of gift bags on the ottoman.

  “Gifts, Short Stack?” Trav asks, moving in closer. “Isn’t that a tradition of a different holiday?”

  Kay rolls her eyes, not bothered in the least by my smartass best friend. “Shut up and open your present, QB1.”

  “Then what?” He gives her his panty-dropper smile and I punch him—not too hard, we have a game in a few days—in his throwing arm.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to stop flirting with my girl?” I growl, not missing the way Kay’s lips twitch when I do.

  “Poor Nova…” Noah moves to accept the bag held out in his direction. “Afraid of a little competition.”

  “Sorry, boys.” Kay pats both we’ll-need-to-bring-in-someone-from-the-second-string-because-they-will-be-dead idiots flanking her. “Mase is in a league of his own.”

  I give a playful nudge—okay, more like a shove—to make room as I reach Kay. “Have I told you how much I love you?” I ask, cupping her face and running a thumb across her lower lip. My dick stirs in my pants when her tongue peeks out and brushes the pad of my finger.

  The rustling of tissue paper sounds around us, each person lost in his own private bubble until Noah’s shout of “Fuck yeah!” interrupts. Keeping Kay tucked against my side, I turn to see each of the guys holding out their very own funny Thanksgiving-themed t-shirt.

  A whiff of peppermint hits my nostrils when one of Kay’s curls gets caught in my stubble as she shifts so her head falls over my biceps. “You know what this really means, right?” She pushes onto her toes, her soft curves pressing into me, her lips brushing along my jaw as she whispers the words.

  I grin, one of her hands coming up to poke a finger into one of my dimples, her eyes telling me to put them away. “Does it mean you finally accepted my membership application?”

  There was a reason I chose to use t-shirts in my campaign to win Kay back. When she gifts you with comical clothing, it means you are one of her people, a member of her mashed-up family.

  “I can’t have you guys cheating your way in—no matter how sweet the gesture.” She jerks a chin at the disrobing men around the room, each excited to exchange their U of J football tees for their new ones. “It’s not official until I’m the one who picks them.”

  Her eyes flit to the guys again before coming back to me, my grip tightening at the flash of vulnerability that washes over her beautiful features. She brushes away my concern with a shake of her head.

  Needing to see the smile instead of her sadness, I place a kiss on the top of her head and push away to join the Magic Mike show.

  Slowly, I inch the fabric of my shirt up my stomach, and there it is—that familiar flash of heat sparking in my girl’s eyes as they take in each pack of my abdominals being revealed.

  “Oh, CK,” Quinn coos, dangling the plastic handles of an orange gift bag from her fingers.

  “We got you one too,” Em adds when Quinn doesn’t say anything else.

  “You know what that means…” Quinn singsongs, running her gaze up and down CK’s body, undressing him with her eyes. “Strip, Superman.”

  I bring attention back to the woman who’s currently looking at me like she wants to pour gravy on me and lick it off. If she’s not careful, I’ll have her stripped naked and under me without a care for who else is in the house. Before I can give in to those urges, I pull on the Talk turkey to me shirt, smirking at the innuendo behind it.

  “Eric James Dennings, you touch that pie and you won’t be getting sex until Christmas!” Bette yells from the kitchen.

  “Damn, babe. Why you always got to threaten our sex life?” There’s a small whine in E’s voice.

  “Because it works.”

  Kay snickers at her brother’s arrival, calling out, “I’ll never get a niece or nephew if that’s what you use for punishment.”

  “Didn’t we agree to not talk about our sex lives, Squirt?” E may not have gotten pie, but he’s munching on something when he levels Kay with a What did I say? look.

  Kay never gets a chance to answer because Bette is shouting at the other new arrival. “Benjamin Turner, if you ever want to be allowed into this house again, you will get your head out of my fridge.”

  “How the hell do you do that? You can’t even see me,” B complains.

  “She’s got mom eyes, B.” Kay taps at the corner of her eye as jaws drop when B steps up beside E.

  “But this guy”—B pulls E into a noogie—“hasn’t knocked her up yet.”

  “She’s spent the past four years raising me.” Kay taps under her eye again. “Mom eyes.”

  “Can we not refer to me potentially impregnating my wife as ‘knocking her up’?” E breaks himself free from his friend.

  All around, jaws are dropped at the—normalcy?—of K
ay’s family.

  Wait…is Kay taking pictures of their bewildered expressions? Oh man, I love the shit out of this girl.

  #Chapter48

  Mama G calls for everyone to take their places for dinner shortly after the guys all arrive. It’s a good thing, because I seriously think Bette would have stabbed B if he tried to pick at the food any longer.

  In keeping with our informal theme—and due to the sheer number of people here—we set up everything buffet style along the kitchen counters. Creamy mashed potatoes next to marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes. Sweet corn. Bacon crumble Brussels sprouts. Breaded and fried celery sticks and artichoke hearts. My plate is balanced on my forearm as I start to load it up with sides.

  “Short Stack…” Trav stretches an arm over my shoulder to reach for the ceramic dish holding the wet stuffing while I scoop out some of the dry. “I know my boy is lovey-dovey with you, but have I told you I love you today?”

  SMACK!

  “Fuck, bro.” Trav rubs the back of his head, soothing away what I’m sure is a sting from Mase’s slap.

  “Do I need to tattoo it on your forehead? Don’t hit on my girl.”

  I bite down on my lower lip to stifle my laughter at how overwhelmingly possessive Mase has been. Hence the constant snapping at his best friend.

  “I’m just saying…” Trav does a little twirl as he waves a hand over the food, only stopping to blow a kiss at the twenty-five-pounds of golden perfection that is the roasted turkey and its fifteen-pound fried counterpart. “This spread is a wet dream.”

  “Could you maybe not sexualize my mama’s food?” G mumbles around the buttermilk biscuit hanging out of his mouth.

  Plates loaded—mine with a respectable amount, Mase’s with his body weight’s worth—Mason guides us to the folding tables and chairs that now separate the kitchen from the living room with a hand on my lower back.

  “Before everyone digs in, we have to say grace,” E instructs, stopping more than one fork in midair while Bette clicks the television over from the Detroit game to the video chat system we had installed.

  The screen splits in half as we wait for the calls to connect to our family members who can’t be here with us.

  “Dad! You’re filthy.” Tessa’s warm chuckle fills the room when Pops’ soot-covered face comes into view.

  “Sorry, Teacup.” Pops tries to wipe his face but only manages to smear the blackness. “Just got back from a call.”

  “Deep fryer?” T asks knowingly.

  “Deep fryer,” Pops says with a shake of his messy-haired head. “When will people learn the turkey has to be fresh and to not do it in the garage?”

  “Is Pops giving his turkey fryer lesson again?” JT asks when he and D join the call.

  “Wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it.” I rest my head against Mase’s shoulder as he plays with the ends of my hair.

  Greetings are exchanged and JT talks shit about how I invited half the football team—cue eye roll over that exaggeration—I can’t help but notice the knowing looks Bette casts in our direction.

  E, our host and defacto leader for the day, leads us through a short grace and the usual spiel on the importance of family—both blood and chosen—welcoming each new addition sitting around the table. As if on cue, the siren inside the firehouse sounds and we end the call, switching back to the football game.

  Dinner passes in a cacophony of conversation, but no one seems to be bothered by it. It’s pure chaos and reminiscent of my childhood.

  The guys may refrain from bringing up the topic of my brother’s identity, but witnessing them giving in to moments of fanboying makes my entire year.

  Like when Trav and Alex pinch each other over B complimenting how Trav avoided a sack to complete a touchdown pass to Alex that gave the Hawks the lead over Michigan State last weekend. That particular one is my favorite.

  At some point during the meal, Herkie worms his way under the table, and he periodically rests his head in my lap, looking for food. He doesn’t get any from me, but he still manages to be more successful than G attempting to eat off Tessa’s plate.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much.” Q rubs her belly. “Don’t tell my abuela.”

  A mixture of pained groans and laughter sounds from around the room, each of us finding a place to get comfortable after we were shooed away from cleanup by Bette and Mama G.

  “That was only round one,” I tell her, rubbing my own food baby.

  “Round one? How many rounds are there?” Mase asks in my ear, shifting us so we’re snuggled closer together.

  “Um…” I catalog what we eat. We do dinner during the first game, dessert during halftime of the second, and then turkey sandwiches before calling it a night. “Three.”

  “I knew I loved this house.” Trav stretches out with his feet on the ottoman.

  “Of course you do. You are ruled by your stomach,” G says on a laugh.

  “Like you’re one to talk.” Em playfully slaps G on the thigh her head is resting on.

  A chorus of “Preach!” comes from his fellow frat brothers.

  “I don’t think I could eat another bite,” CK chimes in.

  “Don’t worry, you have time to digest. The next course isn’t until halftime.” I point to where the Dallas game has just kicked off.

  “Heaven…this is what heaven has to be like, right?” Trav’s eyes take on a look of wonder.

  Conversation starts to putter off as people either focus on the game or fall into a food coma.

  I feel myself start to drift toward the abyss of sleep myself when Mase’s nose and stubble trail along the side of my neck, shooting tingles down my spine. I wiggle against him, my ass brushing against his growing erection.

  “Keep squirming like that and I’ll be eating you for dessert.” His voice is gravel rough against the shell of my ear.

  I feel myself go slick, and if I wasn’t going commando, my panties would need changing.

  “Promise?” My voice comes out breathy I’m so turned on.

  “Say the word and I’ll make it a reality.”

  My eyes close as his teeth scrape down the shell of my ear before pulling the lobe and attached diamond stud into his mouth.

  “Right here?” I squeak. Damn it’s embarrassing how much he affects me.

  His deep chuckle rumbles through my body.

  “Well maybe not right here.” He drags his tongue down my throat in a swirling pattern. “E would kill me before I could get you off.”

  Lust causes my eyelids to grow heavy and shut, but I force them open and cast a look around the room. Across the couch, Em is now asleep on G, and he doesn’t look too far away from joining her. T is passed out with Herkie on his luxurious memory foam dog bed—no surprise there.

  Trav, Noah, Alex, and Kev are living every little boy’s dream in deep conversation with both B and my brother, while Bette is cuddled in E’s lap. CK looks to be splitting his attention between the football talk and the Dallas game. What surprises me most is Q is asleep with her head in his lap. Maybe, finally, he’ll give the girl a chance—she’s crushing on him hard. And Mama and Papa G are FaceTiming with D at the dining room table.

  No one will miss you two if you leave. *twirls hair around a finger and cants head to the side* And that’s if they even notice you left.

  With a rare piece of helpful advice from my inner cheerleader, I take one of Mase’s bear paws into my hand, his callouses brushing across the smooth skin of my palm, making me think of what they are going to feel like on the skin of my more sensitive areas, and I pull him from the couch.

  Being the smart guy he is, he doesn’t question, following me silently.

  Nobody stops us, but I hesitate after crossing the threshold of my bedroom. If I close the door, it’ll not only be obvious where we went but also what we’re doing. I know I’m nineteen years old and there’s nothing wrong with having consensual sex with my boyfriend, but E isn’t the most rational person when it comes to me and s
ometimes he forgets these facts.

  What to do? What to do?

  My gaze falls to the door of my walk-in closet, and inspiration strikes. Never in my life have I been more grateful to have the kind of closet most girls dream about. The large space has bars and shelving on both sides and the back wall is the perfect display of shoe porn, but its most important feature? The lock on the door.

  “I didn’t think we had a closeted relationship,” Mase jokes as I click the lock home.

  God that devilish smirk can get a girl in trouble.

  I sure as hell hope so. My inner cheerleader gives a hair flip.

  “Funny.” I slip my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and pull it from his body. “We’re less likely to be interrupted this way.”

  “Have I told you I like the way you think?” He matches my actions and has my shirt and bra on the floor before I can blink. Equally efficient, he’s on his knees in front of me, pulling my leggings from my body and lifting me into his arms, spinning around.

  My back hits the cold marble surface of the island chest of drawers, and I’m pretty sure he’s found his favorite feature of my closet. With one hand spanning the width of my chest, he presses me flat while using the other to unwrap my legs from his waist. His green eyes scorch me as he stares down at me spread out like I’m the Thanksgiving feast.

  “God…you’re so fucking beautiful.” His reverent tone slays me. “And you’re mine. All fucking mine.” He kisses up my thigh.

  I gasp.

  “Mine.”

  His mouth latches onto my clit, attacking my pussy. A cry rips from my throat at his sudden assault, the hand on my chest rising to cover my mouth, muffling the moans tripping over themselves to break free.

  I’m blindsided by an orgasm, sinking my teeth into the heel of his palm.

  There’s no mercy.

  Tongue.

  Teeth.

  Fingers.

  Everything working together to wrest a second climax from me.

  Limp, unable to move, I think my body might have dissolved into this marble. The turkey might not have knocked me out, but my boyfriend may have managed to put me into a pleasure coma.