The Assist (Smart Jocks #1)

by Rebecca Jenshak

  “We could have a pool party,” Blair pipes up, looking beyond excited at the possibility. “I’ve been carrying my swimsuit in my backpack for weeks waiting for an opportunity to get in that pool.”

  “Pool party it is.” Nathan claps his hands together. “I’m gonna invite a few people.”

  “I’m out.” No surprise that Z isn’t interested in swimming.

  “What about if we set up the projector, put on a movie poolside?”

  Z narrows his gaze. “My pick?”

  Chuckling, I rack the balls. “Yeah, you can pick.”

  He hustles off the court, and I reach for Blair so I can wrap my arms around her. “Twenty bucks says we’re watching something with Tom Cruise.”

  She laughs and then we head up to my room to change, and she slips into a hot pink bikini that makes me hard on sight. I don’t know how word got out so fast, but when we get down to the pool it’s already filled with people. Nathan is in the pool, a cigarette hanging from his lips and a beach ball raised above his head. Z’s taken up residence in one of the lounge chairs pulled up in front of the projector and has attracted a circle of girls who are faking interest in Mission Impossible.

  I lead Blair to the shallow end of the pool, and she wriggles her butt into my crotch and leans against me. We’re more spectators than active members of this party, which suits me just fine.

  “Last year, where would you have been right now?”

  “With V. Before Mario, we were inseparable.”

  “And what sort of trouble would you two have been getting into on a night like this?”

  “We’d have been at one frat party or another.” She sighs. “I dated David for most of last year, so we usually went to Sigma.”

  “Dude seems like an asshat, how’d you two get together?”

  “He can be very convincing when he wants something. He showed me what he wanted me to see, and I gobbled it right up. He was sweet and charming at first.”

  “And then?” My chest tightens with all the shitty things he might’ve done to my girl. I saw a glimmer of what he was like pissed, and I didn’t like it. “He didn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

  “No, he was never physical. It was little things like he talked shit about everyone, even guys he was tight with. He got mad when I so much as said hello to another guy, and he didn’t like me going out with V if he wasn’t there, stuff like that. When I’d try to talk to him about it, he made me feel like it was my fault.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs and turns to face me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I don’t want to waste another second regretting my time with him. I can’t take it back, any of it, but I would if I could.”

  There’s more hurt than she’s shared, judging by the dark look in her eyes, but far be it for me to push her to relieve her painful past. “Come on, let’s dry off and then grab some food. Joel’s mom brought by enchiladas and she made me a gallon of sweet iced tea.”

  “You can’t make your own tea?”

  “I can; just don’t.” I pat her ass as she steps out of the pool in front of me.

  She grabs her towel and drops onto a lounge chair as she wrings out her hair. Her nipples salute me through her top and when she realizes what I’m staring at, she quickly wraps the towel around her chest. “Perv.”

  Instead of grabbing my own chair, I pick her up and sit down, placing her between my legs. She leans back against me and then startles when she feels the bulge in my board shorts.

  “Your fault,” I murmur in her ear and brush a kiss against her shoulder.

  Turning, her eyes focus on my crotch as she bites on her bottom lip. She drapes the towel over my lap, and I watch, amused by what she might be planning and a hell of a lot turned on at the endless possibilities.

  She slides her hand up the leg of my shorts and curls her fingers around my shaft. I exhale through gritted teeth as my balls draw up tight. It isn’t the first time a girl has given me a hand job in public, but it’s the first time one did so without the hope of being seen. The way Blair looks at me, it’s about me—us. She doesn’t want to be caught. She just can’t keep her hands to herself, and God, is that hot.

  No one is paying us any attention, but I sit upright and pull her closer to better block us just in case. She pumps and squeezes at a pace that already has me teetering on blissful release. She’s so beautiful like this. Blair deep in concentration and filled with determination and pep for the task is breathtaking. Her lids are heavy with lust and her breathing labored even though I haven’t even touched her. I won’t out here. I’m a selfish guy and want her pleasure to remain mine alone.

  My hips thrust forward, and a knowing smile pulls at her lips. She hums as if my pleasure were hers, and that little sound is all it takes. Ecstasy jolts through me, and I come with her name on my lips.

  Between practice, games, and Blair, the weeks pass in a blur. A blissful blur. Team is playing well and starting to mesh like I knew we could. Even the rookie is annoying me less. Bus rides back from away games are tense when we lose, but tonight, the mood on the bus back from New Mexico State is light. We only get two days off for Thanksgiving break, but it’s the most we’ll be free from now until the end of the season.

  “You’re heading home with Blair tomorrow, huh? Does that mean you two have made your relationship official?” Joel tucks his phone into the seat back pocket in a clear sign that he isn’t going to let the conversation end with a yes or no answer.

  “It isn’t like that. She knew I wasn’t going to be able to make the trip to Kansas and she felt bad. Her parents aren’t even going to be there. They’re on some Disney cruise.”

  As I replay the conversation in my head, I’m sure that part of what I’ve said is true. She did invite me because she felt guilty I couldn’t be with my own family, and she probably felt some sense of obligation to include the guy she’s banging.

  My reaction is the one that has me worried. I’ve never been to a girl’s house for a holiday. I’ve been invited, sure. But I always turned them down with some sort of lame excuse such as not wanting to intrude or needing to catch up on schoolwork or claiming I had extra practice. I can usually just throw out the words ball and schedule to get out of anything I don’t wanna do.

  I’ve never wanted to go, therefore, I haven’t. When Blair asked, I surprised us both by saying yes.

  “Mama Moreno is going to be disappointed you aren’t coming to our house again.”

  I smile. “Mama Moreno. How is she? Still doing the barre classes?”

  Joel’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. His mom is seriously hot. Not like hot for a woman her age, either. She’s just hot. Everyone gives him crap about it, myself included. His reaction is just too much not to screw with him.

  “Don’t try to change the subject to my mom to get out of talking about Blair. You like her. She’s the first girl you’ve dated in the three years I’ve known you. You are smitten kitten.”

  “Sure, of course I like her. She’s great.”

  “But?”

  I shrug. “Why does there have to be a but?”

  “You tell me.”

  “There doesn’t. I really like her.”

  “Wooooo.” Joel covers his mouth too late, the noise carries, and the guys around us are looking. “Wes likes a girl.”

  “Pipe down or I’ll tell them I’m dating your mom.”

  I pull out my own phone to busy myself and avoid Joel’s questions and am pleased to see a text.

  Blair: You were amazing. I watched the game with Vanessa and Mario. Fifteen points, seven assists, one steal. My man is on fire.

  Me: You missed my most important stat: four.

  Blair: What stat is that?

  Me: The number of orgasms I plan to give my girl when I get back.

  A text from my mom flashes in my notifications.

  Mom: Great game tonight. Your dad and I caught part of it in the airport. We’re boarding soon but wanted to tell you Happy Tha
nksgiving!

  Me: Thanks, Mom. Enjoy your trip.

  Mom: Love you!

  Another text from Blair pops up.

  Blair: Ooooh, in that case. I better finish my school stuff. See ya soon!

  Me: I love you.

  My hands freeze after I press send. Oh shit. “Shit.”

  Joel looks over and cocks a brow. “Problem?”

  I scrub a hand over my face. “I just told Blair I loved her instead of my mom.”

  “You’re gonna have to explain that.”

  “I was texting my mom and Blair at the same time. I meant to send it to my mom.”

  His eyes widen. “What’d Blair say?”

  I wake the screen, “Nothing. She went silent.”

  Joel sucks in air through gritted teeth, grimacing and putting a sound to the panic strumming through my pulse.

  “What do I do? Oh my God, what do I do?”

  “I dunno. This one is out of my league. I don’t tell girls I love them, and if I somehow screwed up and did, they wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  “Your player status is not helping me right now. What do I do? Do I tell her it was an accident or just hope she doesn’t see it? Can you recall text messages like email?

  “Well, do you?”

  “Do I what?” I stare at the screen. This little device is going to destroy me.

  “Do you love her?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Oh, come on, it isn’t that ridiculous of a notion. You’re spending all your spare time together.”

  Oh my God. It’s been three minutes with no response. Did she block my number? Is she gonna ghost me? Holy fuck.

  “Still no response?”

  I slam my head back into the headrest. “Nothing. She’s probably busy changing her number.”

  “Okay, calm down. Tell me this, if she responded right now and said it back, how would that feel?”

  I consider that for a moment. Her reaction—or non-reaction, as it currently stands—aside, how would it feel to have Blair love me?

  “It’d feel good. I guess. Fuck, I dunno. It’s too soon. I don’t have time for love.”

  “Love don’t give a rat’s ass if you have time.”

  I’m taken aback by that sentiment from Joel. “When did you start waxing poetic on love?”

  He shrugs and stands, turning his body so he can place one hand on the headrest of his seat and one on the seat in front of him. “Yo, boys. Our point man needs a little girl advice. Anyone got any experience with texting blunders? Specifically telling your girl that you love her for the first time over text?”

  The bus erupts with noise. Some cheers and words of encouragement and some heckling me as if I were on the opposing team.

  Coach, who sits two rows in front of us, moves to the aisle and the bus quiets. His suit jacket is unbuttoned and hangs open. He’s a commanding man, and not just because he’s our coach. We respect him beyond that.

  “Sit down, Moreno. You’re the last person who should be giving Reynolds advice.”

  A collective chuckle waves through the bus and Joel sits.

  “Good game tonight, guys. We’re going to take tomorrow and Friday off.” Applause rings out, and Coach lifts a hand. “But I expect you all to be back Saturday ready to practice hard.”

  The bus comes to a stop at the fieldhouse. “And, Reynolds,” Coach says as I stand and move past him in the aisle, “for the love of God, don’t text anything else. Some things are meant to be said and heard. Go tell her in person.”

  I practically run from the bus to the locker room, where I deposit my gear. I shower quickly, pulling the plain white T-shirt over my head while my skin is still damp.

  Z puts a hand on my shoulder before I can sprint off. “The guys and I are heading to the Moreno house tonight. Happy Thanksgiving man.”

  I know them staying at Joel’s tonight instead of The White House is for me, and I would kiss his bald head if I could reach it. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Shaw notices my urgency. “Might want to slow your roll. Too eager, and you’ll scare her away. Chicks smell desperation like dogs smell fear.”

  I don’t dignify his remark with a response, but as I walk up to the front of the house, I do make a point to take my time, slow my breathing, and get my shit together.

  The house is quiet—almost eerily so. I take the stairs to the second level two at a time, unable to restrain my desire to see her any longer.

  The light in my room is on, and Blair sits at my desk, earbuds in and a notebook in front of her with a pen poised in one hand. She stares straight forward in deep concentration.

  I cross the room quietly, taking in the number twelve jersey she wears with my name printed across the back and the cut-off jean shorts that are inched up, showing off those legs that I can’t get enough of.

  She’s stunning.

  I tug on one of the earbuds, and she startles, letting out a little squeal and pressing a hand to her heart.

  “You scared me.” She pulls out the other earbud and uncrosses her legs. “I can usually hear you three coming from a mile away.”

  Her eyes dart past me like she’s expecting to hear or see signs of my roommates.

  “They decided to stay at Joel’s parents’ house tonight so they could sleep in and then roll out of bed in time for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “No such luck for us. I promised Gabby we’d stop by to see her in the morning and then stay for lunch with her family. I hope that’s okay. She’s dying to meet you.”

  “You mean to grill me?”

  What is it with girls always wanting to interrogate the guys who date their friends? I’ve never once considered inserting myself into one of my buddy’s relationships. Hell, if I did, I’d be more likely to tell them to run away than to warn them against hurting my friend. Perhaps that’s the root of the problem. My buddies, my teammates, and I are typically stereotyped as the ones breaking hearts.

  In the case of Joel and some of the other guys on the team, that’s probably true. But I’m not looking to break her anything. I don’t have time for games. The life that Joel lives doesn’t interest me. He uses women as a distraction from his time off the court, a rush to tide him over until the next game or practice. Not me. Distractions are expensive.

  My edge on the court is that I’ve studied and prepared better and harder off the court. Allowing a woman to have that time is like giving away some of my edge. And she’s the first girl I’ve ever even considered doing that for. A smidge of edge for more of Blair.

  “I can’t wait to meet her,” I say and mean it.

  I stare at her, wondering if she’s going to say more. If she’s going to mention the love-bomb I dropped. She doesn’t.

  I should be relieved, but the way she’s avoiding it makes me realize I want to talk about it. I want her to acknowledge that this thing between us is something important.

  Petty as it is, I want her to voice that my loving her, real or not, is a big freaking deal. If she weren’t in my life, I’d spend the night reflecting on the game and my performance and looking for areas to improve.

  But, now, I just want to focus on her.

  “So, listen about my text—”

  She waves her hands in front of her. “No explanation needed. Your iPad was displaying the text notifications from your mom. I put it together that you meant it for her.”

  I glance down at the desk where my iPad is docked. Well, that was easy. Way too easy. “Right. Okay then.”

  I force a smile. Her notebook lays open to where she’s been taking notes. With a head nod in its direction, I ask, “What were you working on?”

  She hesitates and nips at the bottom of her lip before responding. “It’s nothing. I was just listening to a podcast on goal setting.”

  I’m intrigued. What college girl spends a night before a holiday listening to podcasts and taking notes?

  “May I?” I reach for the notebook, eyes on her. I won’t tease or taunt he
r, and I won’t look if she doesn’t want me to, but I really hope she lets me. It’s a rush when she finally nods and my fingers brush against the paper she’s scribbled onto. I read through what she’s written, keenly aware of her discomfort. Her hands clasp in front of her stomach, and she studies her cuticles with an intensity that they don’t warrant.

  “This what you’re always listening to between classes? Business podcasts?” I’m not sure if she can hear the pride in my voice, but I am proud. She’s hella smart, and this makes her more attractive to me in some way like I’ve discovered her weird matches my own. Numbers and ball are my poison, looks like hers is business.

  “Not all the time. Sometimes I listen to music.”

  “It’s really cool.” I hand her back the notebook. “You really are going to take over the business world.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I listen to them more hoping it’ll spark some inspiration on a career path than anything else.”

  “I thought you were decided on being a boss lady and all that.”

  “I have, but I don’t want to spend my life climbing the ladder at some fortune 500 company. I think I might like the idea of a career as a business woman more than the life of actually being one. I can’t figure out where my skills will be best utilized.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I guess so. It feels like everyone else already knows exactly what they want, and I don’t. And I desperately want to feel that kind of passion for something.”

  “You want passion, huh?”

  I’m rewarded with a smile and playful glint to her eyes. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  After sliding my hands around her waist and down the curve of her ass until I reach smooth legs, I glide my fingers around the hem of her shorts.

  “You look good wearing my jersey.” I want to buy her one for every day of the week so she’ll walk around with my name and number like a brand. She belongs to me not because I want to own her body and mind—although, I’m a dude with a pulse so of course I want that—but because she wants to belong to me. I can see it in her eyes and in the way she studies me. I don’t need her to say she loves me. She’s mine, and that’s enough. Still, I press her. I want to hear the words come from her mouth.