Jockblocked (Gridiron Book 2)

by Jen Frederick

  This seems to work as Josie’s attention is diverted. Lucy’s saved and she doesn’t even know it. Josie and I buckle down to work for all of ten minutes before Josie hops on her phone.

  “What do you think of this picture?” She flips her phone toward me. The display is filled with her and three friends wearing tiny bathing suits. “That was last year in St. Thomas. We were thinking of going back there this year.”

  “Looks good,” I say dutifully. I’m a big fan of Instagram. And Twitter. And Snapchat. All of these things have made it exceedingly easy to find like-minded women—women who want one good night and that’s it. But I want to study now, and it’s a struggle to keep the irritation out of my voice.

  My non-effusive compliment doesn’t deter Josie. Instead she pages through more photos and turns the phone around again. This time she’s wearing a shiny sparkly dress standing next to another girl in a sparkly dress. I can barely tell them apart. Idly I wonder whether they’d serve as a disco ball if we strung them up on the ceiling. Maybe we’d just need the dress.

  “This was at the fall formal last year. I think I look heavy in this dress. What do you think?”

  I squint. She looks as if she ate a diet of carrots and celery for two years. “I think you look nice.”

  This time, she frowns. “Nice?”

  “Yes. Nice. Pretty. Great.” I keep tacking on adjectives in hopes I hit on the right one, but I don’t inject enough enthusiasm in my voice. And my half-hearted efforts to compliment her kill her desire to study, if she ever had any in the first place. She buries her nose in the phone and after about five minutes of silence, I decide I’m thirsty.

  As I wait in line, I stare at the board wondering what the best tasting coffee is for someone who doesn’t like coffee. Dark roast seems out. Maybe the light roast? Is that like a steak? The coffee beans are only slightly roasted and so still taste like whatever an uncooked coffee bean tastes like.

  “Can I help you?” Lucy cocks her head to the side. Her long blond hair is caught up in a ponytail, the ones that I like wrapping around my fist while—

  I cut off my train of thought when she clears her throat and delivers a well-mixed look of disdain and contempt as if she knows what I was thinking about just now and figures I’m not much good for anything else. Were her eyes this big last night? Were they this…soft? They look like a puppy dog’s eyes. Brown, warm, and endearing. If the puppy thought I was an idiot, that is.

  “I’m trying to decide which is the best coffee for me.”

  “I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”

  “I don’t.” I shrug. Can I be more obvious? I don’t think so. Unfortunately, Lucy isn’t taking the bait. Another girl would be leaning against the counter, maybe twirling her hair around her finger. Lucy looks bored. That should bother me more, but instead I feel kind of energized by her dismissiveness. It’s sure as hell different. “You didn’t use my number.”

  “I was studying. We have eight different kinds of tea.”

  “I have the same problem with tea as I do coffee. Anything else?”

  She opens her mouth to ask me what my problem is, then snaps it closed almost immediately. Hmm. Maybe I’m cracking her barrier a tiny bit.

  “How about a spiced mulled cider?”

  I perk up. “You can make that?” It’s January and as cold as a penguin’s ass, so spiced cider sounds great.

  “Yup.” She scribbles something on the cup. I’m guessing it’s not her phone number because the vague smile she directs my way is the same one she gave the two students before me and undoubtedly the next one who will come behind me.

  I shouldn’t feel a twinge of disappointment, but I do.

  “Anything else?” she asks tentatively.

  Because, like a dumbass, I’m still staring at her. I shift over to the glass case. “I could use an apple streusel.”

  I’ll have to do an extra ten minutes on the sleds tomorrow to pay for that, but what the hell. We just won the championship. I have three weeks until spring ball starts. If I want to eat a piece of cake, this is the time.

  “We make it fresh every day.” She recites the line with enough boredom to convey she’s tired of saying it. As she reaches inside the glass case with a pair of tongs and picks out the biggest slice, she asks, “Would you like it warmed up?”

  “I don’t know, will I?” The words slide out, husky and provocative, and totally unintended.

  Her eyes widen. “Ah, most people do.” She shoots me an irritated look and ducks around to heat up my cake while I feel like a total idiot. Not since sixth grade have I been so unpolished with a girl.

  My phone buzzes.

  Hammer: Where are u? The chicks at the Gas Station are so hot tonight. It’s like winter doesn’t exist for them. God bless band-aid dresses.

  Me: Bandage.

  Hammer: Same thing. Where are u?! Do you think the Christmas break makes these Western girls hotter? I don’t remember them being so fine last semester.

  Me: How much have u had to drink? It’s only 8.

  Hammer: Where are u?

  I sigh. If I don’t answer him, he’ll probably run out of the Gas Station and start yelling my name like the guy who keeps yelling “Stella!” from that movie my mom loves so much. Huh. I wonder if that’s why Coach named his daughter that. I give myself a mental head slap for falling down that particular rabbit hole and punch in a response to Hammer.

  Me: Brew place. Striking out.

  Hammer: Noooooo.

  Hopefully, Hammer’s drinking with a friend tonight.

  My phone vibrates again but this time the screen displays the number fifty-five. It’s Masters. Damn, I’m going to miss that bastard when he leaves school at the end of this year.

  Masters: Hammer texted me. Sounds like you need help.

  I roll my eyes. What’d Hammer say?

  Masters: Screenshotted the convo he could fit on one screen.

  Me: Hammer’s shocked to find out that there are women outside the Gas Station. Worse, they have the word no in their vocabulary.

  Masters: Situation appears dire. Look around. Do you see any adults?

  I look up at Lucy, who’s talking to her co-worker and actively avoiding me. I think that’s a good sign.

  Me: My ball size indicates I’m the adultest thing here.

  The microwave dings, and she slides the streusel out. That’s not a good sign. I no longer have an excuse to loiter here at the counter. I point to the first thing I see. “I’ll take one of those, too.”

  “It’s coffee cake. This version is made with actual coffee.” I don’t even have to look at her to know her expression is hovering between this guy is an idiot and when is he going to take his shit and go back to his table.

  “Yeah, give me a big piece.”

  She clearly thinks I’m short-changed in the big head. No clue what she thinks of me otherwise.

  Me: I haven’t been rejected this hard since I tried to block the punt in that game against OSU last semester.

  Masters: My wife says rejection is good for you. Makes you mentally tough.

  Me: You love saying that phrase “my wife.”

  Masters: You bet your fat ass I do.

  Me: You don’t think it’s completely strange that you’re 21 and acting like a Taylor Swift song?

  Masters: Bro, sorry you feel left out. Stop by later and I’ll give you a hug.

  Me: Fuck off.

  Masters: I have MY WIFE to do that for me. Thanks, though. Hug still stands. I’ll even let you smell me. MY WIFE says I smell delicious.

  Me: I’ve smelled you before, which is why I’m not sure how you convinced Ellie to marry you. She must have defective olfactory senses.

  Masters: Me and MY defective WIFE will be getting it on tonight. While u have only Rosie Palm.

  Me: Don’t worry. I get plenty of variety. Left-hand Laura sometimes steps in.

  Masters: Heard you were out with Josie Weeks. Be careful. She eats little linebackers like you for break
fast.

  And the fact that I don’t even want to make a sexually charged comeback tells me exactly how I feel about Josie. Hope she doesn’t mind being just study partners.

  “Here’s your apple streusel and your coffee cake.”

  I tuck my phone back into my pocket. Lucy’s cheeks are back to a normal color, and her smile is one that says any future flirtations from me are about as welcome as a nighttime visit from a spider.

  “You ever going to use that phone number?”

  “I already did.” She tips her head down toward the end of the counter. “You can pick up your cider down there.”

  I open my mouth to say something extremely witty when her male co-worker starts shouting out my phone number. So that’s what she wrote on the cup. The entire coffee house looks up at the skinny, hipster dude with his hair gelled so immaculately he might actually be a Ken doll come to life. Lucy spares me a glance under her eyelashes, and I can’t help but laugh.

  I lean forward. “I like that you have it memorized.”

  She pinkens, and I walk back to Josie’s table, laden with goodies and the sweet knowledge I actually won a tiny round against the formidable Lucy Watson.

  “You know she’s a druggie, right?” Josie huffs when I sit down and start eating.

  “Who?” I shovel the last of the streusel into my mouth and dig into the coffee cake, hoping there’s enough butter and sugar in it to overcome any actual coffee taste. After the first swallow, I realize I am an idiot because the cake is gross. I take another big bite and wash the entire mess down with a chaser of Gatorade.

  “Lucy Watson!”

  I rear back. “Lucy? The coffee shop girl?”

  “Yes. One of my sisters lived in the same dorm as her and saw her shooting up her freshman year. Right before she sat down to eat!”

  I can’t help but be impressed. “That’s hardcore. You really think she’d be injecting drugs in the middle of the college cafeteria?”

  “Why? Do you want some of your own?” Josie says in disgust.

  Obviously my lack of dismay over Lucy’s supposed drug addiction is a sign of moral depravity. I’m okay with that. I finish the coffee cake off before answering.

  “No. I get random drug tests and wouldn’t be able to play if I test positive, so no.” There are guys who smoke weed to help with the pain. We have lots of guys on Adderall, too. Painkillers are handed out like candy by the team doctors, but I’m trying to avoid those aids as long as I can. Once you go down that path, I think it’s hard not to lean on them too much. “But anyone who is so addicted to drugs that she’d shoot up in a public place can’t function like she does.”

  “So you know her?”

  God, what’s with the fricking inquisition? “Yeah, we’re seeing each other,” I lie. I figure Josie’s not going over to confront her about this, so my lie is about the safest one I’ve ever uttered.

  Josie’s mouth drops open. “Why’d you even come tonight, if you’re already dating someone?”

  Now it’s my turn to be offended. “You said it was a study group.”

  “And you believed me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Hell, maybe I shouldn’t venture outside the Gas Station. It’s too complex out here. “This is college, and study groups do exist. A lot. College is to study groups as libraries are to books. They go together.”

  “But you’re a football player. A starter, right?”

  “So?”

  “So you don’t need to study.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s because I’m smart, not because I get a pass for being a football player.”

  “I thought…” She trails off and looks down at her papers in frustration.

  I help her out. “You thought I was a dumb jock and would be grateful for your attention?”

  She purses her lips. That’s exactly what she thought. “I can share my sorority sister’s outline with you.” She shoves a set of papers toward me.

  “Thanks, but I don’t really need it. All of us dumb jocks get free tutoring.”

  Josie picks up her phone and presses something on the screen. She turns it around to face me. With a plastic smile, she says, “How do you like this?”

  It’s a Snapchat picture of me looking at Lucy like she’s the tastiest treat in the entire place. The text overlay reads Matty Iverson can win at football, but he loses at life.

  “Thanks for taking the picture from the right.” It’s apparent I should be offended, but Josie’s game is too obvious. Anyone will read that and know she’s the one who got turned down. “It’s my best side.”

  She releases one of those silent screams, the kind where she swallows most of the sound but you still know she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Her bag is packed in seconds, and she takes off in such a rush her hair slaps me across the face.

  “You forgot your cider,” Lucy calls over. “You look like you could use a beer, though. We sell that, too.”

  “We were just studying.”

  Lucy turns to look in Josie’s general direction. “That’s an unhappy study partner you have there.”

  “We had a misunderstanding. She thought this was a date and I thought it was a study group.”

  “So you’re not losing at life?”

  Apparently the Snapchat is spreading faster than an STD in a frat house.

  “When it comes to you, apparently I am.”

  She rubs a knuckle under her chin. “I get off in fifteen minutes and I need to eat something. You can join me if you want.”

  I brighten. “Really?”

  My obvious enthusiasm earns me a slight frown. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s not an invitation for anything but sitting across the table from me while I eat.”

  This is a date even if she won’t admit it. “Do I get to eat, too, or do I just sit and watch?”

  Her eyebrows squeeze together in a rather adorable way. “You had coffee cake and apple streusel.”

  “I’m a bottomless pit, or so my mom tells me.” My hand falls to my stomach, and her eyes follow in a gratifying manner. Maybe I’m not striking out because the way her gaze is eating me up right now tells me she’d like a side of Matty with her meal.

  “Great. Meet me out front in fifteen.” Then she spins around and goes back to bustling behind the counter. As if I’m not even here.

  Or hell, maybe she’s inviting me to dinner to tell me exactly how much she doesn’t want to see me again. That would actually be a little on the crazy side, which means I should walk away, but she’s hooked me good. So good that, at this point, I’d pretty much follow her pretty ass anywhere.

  5

  Lucy

  “Okay if we go to Crowerly’s?” I ask when I meet Matt outside the Brew House. To his credit, he doesn’t make a face when I suggest the vegan restaurant. Or he has no clue what they serve.

  “Lady’s choice.” He sweeps out a hand, indicating I should lead the way.

  “It’s vegan,” I tell him.

  “All the better. We both know I’ve had enough sugar and carbs tonight to send a small kid into convulsions. Are you sure you didn’t give me two pieces of the coffee cake?” he accuses.

  “We are closing in an hour,” I admit. “It would’ve been tossed out if it didn’t sell. Besides, I didn’t expect you to eat it all.”

  “Look at me.” He holds his arms out wide. “Do I look like a guy who turns down cake?”

  I can’t stop myself from looking at him. He’s got the classic V-shape with the broad shoulders and trim waist. Nothing about him says “coffee cake eater.” More like bland chicken and a boatload of vegetables. Of course, he works out two hours or more a day, so maybe he can eat all the cake he wants.

  And why do I even care? “I guess not.”

  Crowerly’s is only two blocks down, and neither of us says another word until we’re seated across from each other in the booth.

  “Did you come to the Brew House tonight because of me?” My tone comes out sharper than I intended, but he doesn’t
seem insulted. If anything, he looks amused.

  “Nope. I told you, I thought I was coming to a study group.”

  His expression is a bit too innocent for my liking. And damn it, he’s too gorgeous for my comfort. Somehow in the span of twenty-four hours I managed to forget how frickin’ hot this guy is. I can see now why Charity was all but drooling when she brought up his name.

  “Right. Your study group.” I show him with my eyes just how much I believe him. Which is not at all. “And I guess knowing I work there had nothing to do with your thought process.”

  “You give yourself too much credit, Luce. My studies happen to be my number one priority.” He smiles sweetly.

  “First off, Luce?”

  “Yup. We’re on a nickname basis now. You’re Luce, and I’m Matty.” His lips curve ever so slightly. “Unless you want to pick a different nickname for me. Something like…hmmmm…Gorgeous? I’d answer to that.”

  I choke down a laugh and snatch the menu. I give it a quick scan just as the waitress appears to take our orders. I ask for a bowl of the butternut squash soup and a coffee, and when Matt winces, I look at the waitress and add, “If you could bring the whole coffee pot and just leave it here, that would be super. My friend loves the smell of fresh-brewed coffee.”

  He glares at me.

  The waitress just looks confused. “Oh, I’m sorry. We can’t do that. But I can bring you the jumbo mugs.” She glances, mystified, at Matt. “Is that all right?”

  Matt sighs.

  Once she’s gone, he turns to me in exasperation. “Really? Now you’re punishing me? For daring to ask you out?”

  I can’t help but grin. “No, that was just too fun to resist.” I go serious again. “As for the ‘asking me out’ part, I already told you, I’m not interested.”

  His blue eyes are smug. “Then why are we having dinner together?”

  “We’re not.”

  “You’re ordering food. I’m going to order something when she gets back after we talk about this menu—”