Either I can end the pretense and start seeing someone else, a choice which holds no appeal, or I can see someone on the sly and risk getting caught and labeled a dick jock, which would inevitably lead to social media gossip and bad press. Nothing I can afford right now.
Or there’s another option. I can seduce her. I’m sure of it. That bears a subtler risk, the risk that I’ll break he heart and then she’ll extract the most devastating revenge because she holds all my secrets. Correction, all secrets but one, the most devastating of all.
But chances are I can hold onto her until the end of the semester, maybe even graduation before breaking it off and breaking her heart, if that even comes into play.
By the time I pull to the curb outside the cluster of dorms at West, my dick is excited again, getting ahead of itself. Until my conscience intervenes, promising a price to pay. But I figure I’m going to rot in hell anyway. And I really want her, want a taste of her forbidden fruit so badly, like I’ve never wanted another woman before. Scary, but irresistible like she’s my personal siren.
But I don’t get out of my truck. Instead I take off and stop at a local deli and run inside to pick something up. Then I head back and when I go inside her dorm, I head straight up the stairs without going into the lounge. This isn’t for an audience. This is between me and Joni.
Knocking on her door, I try the knob as I hear her say come in, and open it. She’s sitting in bed looking rumpled and wearing an old Lake Winnipesaukee T-shirt. The memory hits me instantly, slamming into my gut like a sucker punch. It’s the Joni of my boyhood sitting there staring at me with those big innocent hazel eyes, my savior and my Achilles’ heel.
The only person in my life besides Grandpa who ever stood up for me.
“What did you bring me?” She smiles because she knows. The smell of chicken soup fills the room as I close the door behind me. I go to the middle of the room and take in my surroundings. The space screams Joni, an odd combination of innocent and sophisticated and completely without guile. A little bohemian and a little practical, with no particular style except her own. The atmosphere sucks me in so that I feel like I’m drowning in Joni and my chest tightens.
I put the takeout container on the small table near her bed and fish the plastic spoon from my pocket. “Chicken soup. I hear it’s good for colds.” Then I suck in a breath and sit on the bed next to her, my thigh touching her knee where her long legs are folded Indian style. I can see her panties and I’m surprised and turned on in equal measure at her vulnerability.
“Oh my God, Jack. Are you trying to bribe me for something? Whatever it is, the answer is yes. I could kiss you.” She leans forward and reaches for the soup. Her breasts sway freely against her T-shirt, her nipples showing clearly through the thin fabric.
My discomfort begins in earnest now and there’s no way even calculus is going to keep my cock from exploding. The question is what the hell is she thinking? Did she change her mind? As she eagerly takes a spoon of the soup, I know she’s not flirting. At least not purposely.
“What kind of medication have you been taking?”
She laughs. “Half a bottle of some kind of syrup. Why do you ask? This soup is so yummy and you’re a saint—”
“You’re tipsy.” I’m partly amused, partly relieved, and a whole lot annoyed.
“What are you talking about?” She grins and puts the soup down, then leans into me.
“Your panties are showing.” I put a hand on her bare thigh to make my point about how exposed she is, how tempting she is, and the sting of her skin under my hand shoots an arrow of desire through my gut so strong I grit my teeth to prevent from squeezing, from clamping down on her and—
“What?” She looks down and sees, realizes what she looks like and then shoots her head back up to meet my eyes, startled and pink. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” She throws her arms across her chest and backs away from me like she just now realizes she’s invited the Big Bad Wolf into her bed. Close enough to real.
“Don’t worry about me. My dick is used to being excited every time I come near you. No problem at all,” I say. I may as well make the admission. No secrets between us, right? Almost none. Her face turns furiously pink now and she jumps to her feet, almost spilling the soup on her bedside table.
“Look, how about if I dress—put some real clothes on.” She pulls at the hem of her T-shirt to cover her panties, but it only gives me an eyeful of starkly outlined breast and gloriously popping nipple. “We want to put your dick out of its misery.” She gives a nervous laugh and edges backward toward her closet.
“If you want to put my dick out of its misery, that’s not the way to do it, sweetheart.” My tongue is in my cheek, but her blush renews and now I’m enjoying myself. “Surely you must have heard of this thing called sex—”
“No. I mean of course I’ve heard of sex.” She juts her chin up and adds, “I’ve done it. I’m not a virgin.”
This is news that doesn’t make me happy, not even relieved, and I scoff at myself inside my head. What did I think? That she could go around looking like that in college for two years and never get laid? Did I think she was some kind of pure unicorn, some freaky ingenue saving herself for me? Not for me—I never thought that. I dreamed about it, maybe, but I never actively thought about it.
“Be right back.” She steps into her closet—not that it’s a walk-in closet—and shuts the door. I laugh out loud. She’s that embarrassed that she’s changing in the confines of her tiny dark closet. Fucking A.
I stand and look around her room at the photos. There’s a photo of her with Dooley at Amherst out in front of a theater and there’s a photo of her and another teenage girl from Moreland High. I recognize the face, but I can’t remember the name.
She emerges from the closet in shorts and a Philips sweatshirt. Apparently she’s unaware of the appeal of her endless legs. My dick groans as I look her up and down.
“You ready for calculus?” It’s the last thing I’m ready for, but I’m notorious for my focus, aren’t I? And that’s what I’m here for.
“Yes. I really appreciate you coming over. And bringing me soup. That was so …”
“Nothing. Anyone would have done it. I bet Dooley’s on his way here with soup now. You’ll be inundated with chicken soup any minute.”
She laughs. “You’re funny and kind.” She sighs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a really good guy, Jack.”
“But you know the real me.”
“I know the real you is complicated. Maybe more complicated than I realized.”
“No. I’m simple. One-track mind.”
“If that was true, you’d be seducing me right now, wouldn’t you?”
“I didn’t say that was the track, did I?”
“Oh, that’s right. Your track is all about money, isn’t it?
“That’s right. The brand is all about optimizing future income. As soon as I graduate.”
She takes a step toward me and my focus fractures in that split second as my arm reaches out and snakes around her.
“Don’t play games with me, Joni.”
“I’m not playing games. You know me better than that. I was just … I don’t know. I’m attracted to you. I have to be honest about that since you’ve been honest with me.”
“And?”
“And sometimes it’s hard to keep in mind you’re the enemy.” She waves her hand in the direction of the soup. “Especially when you’re nice to me.”
“You want me to go back to bullying you?”
She snaps her face to mine. “No.” Her look is wary and she pulls away from me, remembering exactly why I’m the enemy after all.
“Let’s get to the calculus.” She sits on her bed and slips a notebook and paper from her backpack. “I’m ready. I’m determined to get a B on the midterm.”
“And if you do, what do I get for a reward?”
She laughs and pretends to think about it as I find the section review problems in the bo
ok.
“You get to take me to the Homecoming Ball. If I get a B.”
“In that case I’m worried you’ll try to flunk on purpose.” I don’t look up at her because I don’t want to see if she’s serious. I ought to tell her that would be more like a punishment than a reward because the last thing I want to do is go to a ball with a girl who I can’t spend the night with.
But what are my alternatives?
“No chance I’m getting anything less than a B. Wanna bet? The Homecoming Ball is up for grabs.”
I look up at her. She has a question on her face, worry and hope mingle in the light of her golden-brown eyes. I touch her hair for no good reason.
“Okay, but there’s one condition.” I wait for her nod and she gives it to me. “It has to be a real date, nothing is off-limits.”
“What do you mean?” Panic slides into her voice.
“I mean, princess, that I will do everything in my power to seduce you into my bed if we go to the Homecoming ball together. I intend to spend the night with you and I intend for you to want to spend the night in bed with me. Take it or leave it.”
Her face goes hot and I don’t let her eyes go from mine, knowing I’m playing with fire and also acknowledging I started the game a long time ago so it’s about time I finish it. One way or another. Full circle.
A smile forms, slow and sexy, and whether she’s aware or not, I don’t care.
“You’re on, Casanova. I’m looking forward to seeing what you got.”
I scoff. “Big talk for the girl who told me a few weeks ago not to ever cross the line.”
“That was then and this is now. I’m up to your challenge. Besides, a woman has a right to change her mind—haven’t you heard that?”
“Yeah. I might have. Somewhere along the line. Let’s do calculus.” I need calculus right now because my dick is going crazy in my pants. And my heart is thudding too hard.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
I get the text on Friday as I’m heading into the field house with Tristan and George. I slip my phone from my pocket when it pings and read it.
Shine your dancing shoes Jack Hunter! I got a B+!!!!!
“Shit,” I say out loud, swiping a shaky hand through my hair.
“What?” George says. Of course.
“Nothing. The Homecoming ball. Joni’s going with me.”
“Of course she is. No news there, dude.”
I meet Tristan’s gaze and he gives me a speculative flick of one eyebrow.
“Good news, right?” he says. I nod, but my gut churns, unsure.
And that is not my typical state. I’m never unsure. Not for a very long time. Not since the day Grandpa died and I made a pact with myself. I knew then exactly what I needed to do and how to do it and that I would do anything to achieve my goal.
But this? Seducing Joni Dowd? This isn’t anywhere in line with what I need to do.
“Now all we need to do is win the game Saturday so the party isn’t a total burn,” George says.
“Exactly,” I say. Keep my eyes on the prize. It’s all about the football and the brand.
And maybe something about the reward. Joni.
The question is will I get laid? Do I want to? Never mind—stupid question. The real question is whether she’s worth the risk. There’s no quicker way to make a girl turn against a guy than to have them mistake the passion of sex for something more and then be disappointed the next morning, or the next week or month. I ought to know.
Except Joni hates me because she knows deep down on a visceral level how bad I am. She’s experienced it firsthand already, been inoculated against me.
If we have sex, it’ll be all about the moments of pure carnal pleasure. Maybe a little about fantasy fulfillment. Okay, a lot about killing the fantastical dreams I have about her almost nightly.
Chapter 12
Joni
With visions of the team carrying Jack off the field at the end of the game and the mob of reporters that surround him fresh in my head, a trill of nerves runs through me. Sitting on my bed in my robe, my hair is in rollers at Dooley’s insistence and I feel like a throwback to the sixties. I glance at my phone—only an hour until I need to be ready—then I look at Dooley, who’s scrolling through his phone, a sneaky smile on his face.
“I’m nervous about this,” I say. He looks up.
“Of course you are. You’re about to be queened by the campus king.”
“I’m serious, Dooley.” This time he puts his phone down and sits beside me.
“Babe-a-la, you’re going to knock everyone dead with your mere presence. You don’t need to do anything. This isn’t a calc test—”
I wave a hand. “It’s not that. I don’t care what people think of me.” My stomach flutters. “It’s Jack. Being with him …” I can’t even go into details, but I’m sure Dooley gets it.
”Oh that.” He takes my hand. “Same advice. You don’t need to do a thing. According to all my sources, this is your chance to get laid by a hunk who knows how.”
I laugh, one of those insane high-pitched laughs. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
“Wish I had such a problem,” Dooley says, slapping my hand like I’m an ungrateful spoiled child. Maybe that’s how I’m acting. I have the man every girl on campus wants—every girl on campuses all over the country—and I’m acting like it’s a big problem. Except I don’t really have him. Only for tonight. And maybe that’s the problem. No. That can’t be the problem. I won’t let it be the problem. I don’t want Jack Hunter for anything but a good time, same as he wants me. We’re enemies with benefits. Sure. So not my style.
“I’m out of my comfort zone, Dooley.”
Before he has a chance to respond, or I have a chance to figure out what my point is, my phone rings and I see it’s Izzy. She never calls. I pick it up and answer it. I see her face.
“You’re Facetiming me?”
“Sure. How else are you going to tell me I look gorgeous?” She moves the phone out so I get a better view of her.
Dooley grabs my phone. “You look like a princess. I think you’re going to outshine me. I’m going to look like a muskrat on your arm.”
“You won’t because I’m not going to be on your arm—remember? I have a date, Dooley. I’m going with George,” Isabella says, with defiance in her voice. I’m leaning over Dooley’s shoulder.
“Izzy? You never mentioned that to me. I’ve never even seen you flirt with him,” I say.
“Oh naïve one,” Dooley shakes his head. “George always takes out Jack’s throwaways.”
Izzy rolls her eyes.
“Dooley, how can you be so cruel?” I’m surprised even though he’s always direct. Too direct.
“Hey. I’m only speaking the truth. But hell, you never know. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this time George sees something in her.” He inspects Isabella’s image and looks more speculative than apologetic, but that’s Dooley. “Maybe he’s taking you out because he likes you, Izzy.”
“Of course he does, you twit,” she says. “What’s not to like? Besides, he’s a highly entertaining guy. He makes me laugh. There are worse fates. Now I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll get over Jack now and leave Joni in peace to enjoy her stud.”
“Hey, that’s enough. I can take care of myself. I’ll enjoy Jack just fine,” I say.
Isabella and Dooley bicker for a few more seconds then Dooley hands me my phone back.
“Time to dress you, my queen.”
I swat his arm. “Stop saying that. It’s like throwing gasoline on a fire. My insides can’t take any more burning.”
“Okay. Fine. Have you shaved?” He’s pointing at my privates and I blush furiously.
“Never you mind. Some things are not meant to be discussed, Dooley.” I don’t tell him I cut myself trying and now I have a tender spot and I’m not sure how good a job I did. But the alternative—having a stranger wax me—is not something I’m
ever going to be comfortable with. It’s not something I ever discussed with Mom or Greta. Not something I ever talked to Stacy about before she … ever.
And it’s not something I’m going to talk to Dooley about.
“You’re such an innocent little prude,” he says, smiling and looking at me like I’m a cute child.
“That’s not true. If I was, I wouldn’t be BFFs with you, would I?”
“Point taken. But your experience is, let’s say, limited.”
“I’m a quick learner,” I say, not feeling the confidence I’m trying to project.
I put on my pale pink slip dress, made of a diaphanous material that drapes like a dream around me. Dooley insists that I can’t wear a bra with it, so all that’s underneath is a tiny peach-colored thong. He does my hair and makeup and then disappears to dress himself.
Now I pace in a circle, checking myself out in the mirror every thirty seconds. My hair cascades in gentle curves around my shoulders and my lips glow in a natural pink only glossier than real. But it’s my eyes where Dooley’s outdone himself. I tried stopping him once but he insisted the night calls for some drama so I let him finish the job with dark eyeliner, mascara and golden eyeshadow. The works. I normally only ever wear a little mascara.
He didn’t do much to my face but polish it up with some powder and blush. Now I look like I’m ready for a stage more than a date and I contemplate going into the bathroom to wash it all off, but my phone buzzes. It’s Jack. He’s downstairs. In the dorm lounge waiting for me to come down. Shit. This it. I suddenly feel like I am about to take the stage and become someone else. But I pick up my small bag and clutch it to my chest, determined to remain true to myself even as I grow and expand. I’ll be Joni, only more confident, more experienced. Less afraid of Jack.
Maybe someday.
I find Jack in the lounge surrounded by several girls. They’re all dressed up and he’s smiling at them. When I walk up to the clutch I feel like I’m intruding, but before I need to force myself to interrupt, Jack turns his eyes on me. He makes the other ladies disappear like they’re no more relevant than the furniture. His eyes prowl as he steps forward and puts an arm around me.
Big Man on Campus: an Enemies to Lovers College Romance (Big Men on Campus Book 1) Page 15
