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

by Alley Ciz

  He rises to stand, all cocky grin and lickable abs. His hair is a disheveled mess from where my fingers yanked on the strands.

  Eyes locked on mine, he pushes on the band of his sweats until his cock springs free, the length straining toward me. The head is an angry purple, and the wetness of his precum glistens under the lights.

  Hands slip under my thighs, holding my legs where they’re hooked around his hips, and he plunges inside me in one thrust.

  It’s my turn to reach for him, my nails scoring his back.

  His mouth covers mine and I can taste myself on his tongue.

  “Mase.”

  “This is gonna be hard and fast, baby.” His words are as much a threat as they are a promise.

  My back slides across the tabletop as he drills into me, his arms flexing in an effort to hold me in place.

  We continue to kiss, swallowing down each other’s moans.

  Without warning, his orgasm hits, his release dragging out another from me.

  He collapses on top of me, still managing to hold most of his weight off me and balancing on his elbows to keep from crushing me.

  “Now that is something to be grateful for,” he whispers against my throat.

  I may not be able to manage the function of speech right now, but I agree one hundred percent.

  #Chapter49

  I’m pretty sure if I eat one more bite of food, my stomach will literally explode. If Coach Knight ever found out how far off the rails from the nutritionist-approved meal plan we went today, he would kill us—or worse, bench us.

  It all started with the most amazing Thanksgiving Day feast I have ever seen—cooked by real people and not caterers—and ended with the most delicious dessert spread known to man. Holy shit Bette and Mama G can cook, and bake.

  I think I may have taken Papa G’s I’m just here for the pie shirt to heart, as I had a piece of every type offered. And oh the pie; pumpkin, apple crumble, sweet potato, pecan, and—Kay’s favorite—pumpkin cheesecake. Sugar coma central right here.

  Boisterous laughter sounds from the kitchen, and the leather of the couch creaks as my head lolls to the side to check it out. Kay sits on the counter surrounded by my teammates. A chorus of slap-slap-slap-slap sounds as she rock-paper-scissors Kev and Alex over who gets the last slice of pie.

  Kay holds up her fist in victory as her rock trumps Alex’s scissor, her hips shimmying in place, bringing back memories from the closet. Her celebration cuts off when Kev takes his turn and covers her rock with his paper, her head dropping back, blonde and colored curls brushing the countertop behind her.

  Grayson tries to swoop in and steal the plate right out of Kev’s arms, but the defensive end dances away, doing his best to keep his prize out of reach.

  The uninhibited smile on Kay’s face and her eyes dancing in laughter make it easy to see her happiness clear across the room.

  “It’s nice”—the couch dips as Tessa plops down beside me, arm reaching across my body to point at Kay now taking on Noah and Trav in RPS—“to see her be PF with new people.”

  I shift my gaze, following the length of Tessa’s arm, meeting her blue eyes with an arched brow. “Haven’t you guys harped that Kay and PF are the same person?”

  “In identity, yes, but in personality…” She pauses, glancing at Kay and back again. “No.” She sighs. “Not for the last few years anyway.”

  Why is it whenever Tessa Taylor talks to me in private, I feel like she’s my confidential informant?

  “She’s always been like that”—I circle a finger at my victory-dancing girlfriend—“with us.” I swear Kay talks more shit to me than my teammates.

  Slowly, a smile curls Tessa’s lips. “Why do you think my brother pushed her to give you a chance?” He did?

  I catch a whiff of peppermint seconds before Kay climbs over the back of the couch and into my lap, fitting herself between my spread legs. It doesn’t do my already stuffed stomach any favors when she leans against my chest.

  “Whatever happened to sisters before misters, T?” Kay asks Tessa, making me laugh with her mind-reading of our conversation.

  “Eh.” Tessa waves off the question. “Whatevs.”

  Kay eyes her sister for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and shifting her attention to the Atlanta game on the television.

  My arms wrap around her middle, pulling her tighter to me despite the protest from all the pie swimming in my gut. I rest my face against the side of hers, placing a kiss to her temple and breathing in the intoxicating scent of Kay mixed with me—my favorite.

  “Oh, come on, Dennings,” Kay shouts at JJ Dennings, a wide receiver for Atlanta, when he bobbles the ball for an incomplete pass.

  “What I do?” E asks as he and Bette walk out of the side hallway that leads to the gym, both their clothes slightly rumpled and askew. Looks like Kay wasn’t the only member of the Dennings family sampling from a side menu today.

  “Not you. JJ.” Kay thrusts an aggravated hand at Atlanta lining up for a third down. “He was late off the line and dropped a pass a preschooler could have caught.”

  “Yeah, baby!” Noah does his best Austin Powers impression. “We love it when you talk football.”

  Kay giggles, ignoring him to trace my tattoo instead. As the soft pads of her fingers dance along my skin while the game is on, I can’t imagine anything better than this.

  #Chapter50

  TightestEndParker85: I wonder who she REALLY will be rooting for this weekend @UofJ411? Worried it’s not you @CasaNova87? #AskingForAFriend #IHadHerFirst #HawkHunting

  *side-by-side picture of Kay in a Penn State jersey and a shot of Kay and Liam from high school*

  UofJ411: Peep my stories for our poll on this. #WhoWillSheChoose #FirstLoveOrNewLove #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl

  *REPOSTED—side-by-side picture of Kay in a Penn State jersey and a shot of Kay and Liam from high school—TightestEndParker85: I wonder who she REALLY will be rooting for this weekend @UofJ411? Worried it’s not you @CasaNova87? #AskingForAFriend #IHadHerFirst #HawkHunting*

  @Notnow.imreading: NOVA all the way! #GoHawks

  @Oamberwhereartthou: The real question is will she be at the game? #EmptySeat

  @Ofbooksandportkeys: Is it too early to tailgate? #BestSeatInTheHouse

  #Chapter51

  I throw an arm out, slapping it around until I feel my phone. Cracking one eye open, I tap the button that will silence the blaring alarm, the screen shifting from the clock to the notification banners that accumulated over night. I’ve gotten really good at ignoring them but can’t help noticing a tag from a particular account.

  TightestEndParker85.

  Motherfucker.

  Liam Parker.

  Kay once jokingly likened me to herpes, but Liam Parker is the real genital wart.

  Against my better judgment, I thumb it open, the case protecting my phone groaning as I do my best to choke the life out of it like it’s Parker’s neck.

  It’s one thing to taunt me, to come after me through social media in an effort to drum up media attention. Even Brantley has been drinking the no such thing as bad publicity Kool-Aid.

  So…no. Starting beef with me isn’t Liam Parker’s mistake. Involving Kay, trying to get to me through her is. There better not be any fucking text messages on her phone from him.

  Pain. Dismemberment. Murder. All these cycle through my thoughts until the soft curves of Kay’s body brush mine as she stretches beside me.

  “Too early,” she mumbles into her pillow.

  I can’t help but smirk, tossing my phone to the side and hooking an arm around her middle to anchor her to me. I nose aside her curls and place a kiss on her neck, breathing her in. “Go back to sleep, babe.”

  She mumbles something I can’t quite make out but snuggles deeper into the bed.

  I pull back, the bold lettering of my last name stretched between her shoulder blades calling to me like a siren. There’s another incoherent mumble from my girl as I sketch the b
lack type before extracting myself from the bed.

  Herkie lifts his head as I slip into a pair of gray sweatpants, the white band of my Calvins visible above the elastic waist, not bothering with a shirt.

  With a soft whistle, I motion for the dog to follow as I set off in my search for coffee.

  The rich aroma of java already hangs in the air as I descend the stairs into the living room. I’m not surprised to find my boys awake; we need to leave in a couple of hours to get back to campus in time for the team’s final walkthrough practice before tomorrow’s big game.

  Mr. Grayson slides a mug across the island to me as I approach, and Mrs. Grayson asks what I would like for breakfast. I glance around, looking for Grant, surprised he isn’t in the kitchen. He hasn’t been far from his parents since we arrived yesterday.

  Sipping the rich French roast, I lean against the counter, content to shoot the shit, then I spot Grayson loitering at the edge of the living room, arms crossed, attention firmly on where E and Bette sit on the couch. He’s way too intense for such an early hour.

  “Well at least he’s hot.” The sound of the unfamiliar voice snaps me out of my half-awake, half-asleep state, bringing my attention to the blonde eyeing me from the television screen. “Muscles go a long way in helping us forget the bullshit that follows you fools.”

  Is this chick talking about me? And why does she look so familiar?

  E and Bette spin to see who the woman is talking about, the former’s hair a disheveled mess. It looks more like he was running his hands through it in frustration than messy from sleep.

  E jerks a chin for me to join them before saying to the blonde, “And what would your husband have to say about you ogling men a few years your junior, Jordan?”

  The blonde, or I guess Jordan as E called her, laughs—like throws her head back, hand smacking her chest type laughter. When she finally composes herself, she resettles on her own couch, curling one of her legs underneath her butt and letting the other dangle while wiping the last tear from her eye before focusing back on E.

  “Well seeing as said husband is currently sleeping off the effects of me running my tongue down the grooves of his own six-pack, I think Jake will be fine.”

  Bette tries to cover her snort, and a handful of “Oh, shit” and “Good morning” come in response to that particular comment.

  E rubs at the ridge of his brow, Bette cupping his knee to ease his agitation. “It’s moments like this I feel sorry for your brothers, Donovan.”

  Oh, shit! Now I know why I recognize her. This is Jordan Donovan. She and her PR firm All Things Sports are the crème de la crème when it comes to managing an athlete’s publicity. If Brantley were to hear I had face time with her, he would cream his pants.

  “Please.” Jordan waves a hand, brushing off the comment. “Don’t make me regret leaving my bed with my very naked, very sexy husband to talk strategy with you by going all we are brothers we stick together on me, Dennings.”

  I’m not quite sure what’s going on. I want to let myself be entertained by it all, allow it to distract me from this morning’s drama, but I get the feeling that is the reason for this virtual pow-wow.

  “This”—I bounce a finger between E and the television—“have anything to do with the bullshit I woke up to?”

  The rage I’m starting to associate with one Liam Parker starts to bubble in my gut, spreading through my veins and causing the tips of my fingers to tingle.

  “Listen, Eric.” Jordan’s expression changes from playful to serious as she shifts to rest her elbows on her knees. “I know technically you’re my client, but as a sister of overprotective brothers, I will not have this conversation without Kay.”

  My lips twitch. I can’t help it—I’m amused. Kay told me about how E foisted Jordan upon her after the UofJ411 account confirmed Kay’s identity and her connection to E. She also told me how Jordan allowed her to call the shots on how they handled the fallout.

  “Well I’m not waking her up.” E flattens a hand to his chest for emphasis.

  When Bette leans forward to see past her husband, the twinkle in her eye spells trouble for me. “That means you’re up, lover boy.”

  My inner coach’s voice cackles between my ears.

  #Chapter52

  Before I have to risk life and limb by waking up a sleeping Kay, our call with Jordan comes to an end when two miniature versions of her bombard her with hugs and squeals of “Mommy!”

  Mrs. Grayson calls out that the omelet she made me is ready, and I thank her as I settle in on a stool at the island to eat. I moan as the savory flavors of the fluffy eggs and the spicy sausage roll over my tongue.

  Some of the intensity of the morning dissipates as Bette corrals my teammates to a chair she set up by the back door, claiming the glass allows for the perfect lighting for hair shavings. She decreed there was no way we would be playing a rivalry game without representing our team pride properly.

  Flying hawks, footballs, and numbers all get etched, along with her doling out fresh cuts. From over Alex’s head, she meets my gaze, and I nod, telling her I’m down for my own refresh. For one, it looks sick as hell, and two, Kay loves to trace the designs as much as my tattoo. It’s a win-win.

  Herkie woofs and I spin to see a sleepy Kay coming down the stairs, curls a wild mess around her head, fist rubbing the sleep from an eye.

  She wiggles her fingers in response to the collective “Good morning”, yawning wide as she does so.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Kay points at Bette hard at work on shading out a goalpost on Noah’s skull.

  “Don’t worry,” Bette says, not even looking up from what she’s doing. “I already have the red and black pulled to add to your school spirit.”

  Kay accepts a mug from Mr. Grayson before walking the last few steps in my direction, settling herself between my spread knees, leaning against me with a sigh.

  Around us, the guys make kissy faces and noises when I kiss the crown of her head, but Kay ignores them, sipping her coffee while I not so subtly flip them the bird. The assholes are just jealous.

  “I don’t know if going to the game is the best idea.” E’s comment causes a frown to pull on Kay’s lips and a crease to form between her brows.

  My muscles tense. Selfishly, I want Kay there cheering me on. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to look up into the stands and see her there, and I miss it. But, not gonna lie, a small part of me wonders if E has the right idea. Kay has only just started to take steps forward in broadcasting our relationship to the general public. Could this game have us starting over from square one?

  So far, things have all been contained to social media, but this weekend is a big deal. Rivalry weekend is a massive ratings boost throughout college football. With only three teams in all of D1 football—U of J, Penn State, and Alabama—having one loss, the outcome of our game against the Nittany Lions could very well determine who will get a chance to play for a spot in the National Championship.

  Who’s to say the press wouldn’t eat up this extra drama with a spoon?

  “Why not?” Kay asks.

  E gives me a Show her look. I nod, retrieve my phone from the counter, and pull up the fucknut’s post.

  The silence in the room grows until it feels heavy, nobody saying a word while we wait to see how Kay will react. It could go a multitude of ways. She could get pissed, sad, or what I fear most—scared.

  I slip my hand under hers where it rests on my thigh, rubbing across the peridot band on her finger. Each bump of the ring’s gems helps slow the erratic beat of my heart, the birthstone band an anchor that ties us—not just her to me, but me to her—together.

  I never expected one person could mean so much to me. Then I met Kay. She was a game changer for me, taking everything I thought I knew before and turning it on its head.

  Kay’s jaw pops as she grinds her teeth, the sound of scraping enamel an audible representation of her frustration. She flicks her gaze from the screen t
o her brother and back again. Her chest expands with a deep inhalation and she tips her head back, the crown of it pressing between my pectorals as she looks back and up at me, storm clouds raging in her gray eyes. “Do you have a jersey with you?”

  My own jaw drops; I was not expecting the question in the slightest. “No.” And fuck me if I’m not overwhelmingly disappointed by that fact.

  Kay continues to hold my gaze as she thinks, mouth shifting left to right, a little V appearing between her brows as she does. “Okay.” She nods almost subconsciously. “Remind me we have a picture to take before you leave.”

  #Chapter53

  CasaNova87: Me, @TightestEndParker85. That’s who she’ll be rooting for—ME! #StopPostingOldPhotos *side note* Is this enough proof we’re official @UofJ411? #Kaysonova #MyNumber1Cheerleader #GameChanger #HawksFanForLife

  *picture of Kay wearing an I like the game but I LOVE the player shirt, Mason standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her middle, both smiling at the camera*

  UofJ411: Hell yeah it is @CasaNova87 #CoupleGoals #Kaysonova

  *REPOSTED—picture of Kay wearing an I like the game but I LOVE the player shirt, Mason standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her middle, both smiling at the camera—CasaNova87: Me, @TightestEndParker85. That’s who she’ll be rooting for—ME! #StopPostingOldPhotos *side note* Is this enough proof we’re official @UofJ411? #Kaysonova #MyNumber1Cheerleader #GameChanger #HawksFanForLife*

  @Cr8zysockbookblock: Oh shit! #ItsAboutToGoDown #RivalryWeekend #CasanovaWatch #Kaysonova

  @Dainer81: About damn time! #FinallySomeAnswers #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl #Kaysonova

  @Doterragirl2020: Check out that ship name! #TooCute #CasanovaWatch #Kaysonova

  @Filthylittlereader: Football royalty? #ILikeIt #Kaysonova #KingAndQueenOfFootball