Jockblocked (Gridiron Book 2)

by Jen Frederick

  “He’s not your mom,” Sutton chides me gently.

  “You mean I’m not my mom.” I’d hope not. I’ve spent my whole life trying to not be her.

  “No. I meant what I said. You’re afraid every hot, attractive guy is your mom, who will end up dumping you and leaving you with your pants around your ankles and a little girl to raise.”

  I really have to stop talking to Sutton so much about my past.

  “I…” I don’t know what to say, but I don’t have to because Sutton isn’t finished.

  “You aren’t your mom. You never were. You’re just not made up that way. What you fear is falling for someone like your mom—flighty, irresponsible. So you date people who you perceive are just like you. If you were afraid of being your mom, you’d stay away from people who feel like mirrors.”

  I tug my zipper down to let some cold air into my suddenly too-warm coat, but I don’t dismiss Sutton’s theory out of hand. I’ve always chosen guys who were careful and cautious. Low angst sort of males. Ones who I figured were too dull or lazy to get tired of me and move on when, in fact, the relationships never got off the ground because of the overwhelming dullness of them.

  Not one had been flighty or silly. Matt’s not either, but he’s bold and that’s shocking to my careful, plodding existence. Slowly, I start to put words to my jumbled thoughts. “Assume everything you say is true—”

  “It is. Always. Forever,” she says smugly.

  I ignore her. “Assume what you say is true. That still means Matt and I are opposites, and while the saying is that opposites attract, what happens after they’ve collided?” I slap my hands together. “My parents were opposites. My dad’s a hard worker, my mom is flighty. They don’t have anything in common, and it led to a lot of heartbreak for them.” For me, too, for that matter. “It’s hard for me to envision two people who are opposites sticking together.”

  Sutton chews on that for a moment. “I don’t see you and Matt as opposites. You’re more alike than you think. You both love being part of a team. You both want to excel at what you do. Really the only difference is that you tend to take a more cautious approach to things, and Matt seems to be a feet-first kind of guy.”

  “Isn’t that a really big difference, though?” Isn’t it? Or am I making a bunch of mountains where there doesn’t even need to be a hill?

  “Only if you want it to be.”

  * * *

  Matty

  “Eat shit, asshole.” My thumb presses the controller to the right while I trigger the kick mechanism.

  “Too late, dickweed. I’ve got this.” And fuck if Hammer doesn’t block my shot.

  “Fuck.” I toss the controller down. I can’t concentrate for shit tonight.

  “Are you thinking about that chick?” Hammer guesses immediately that I’m preoccupied with Luce but can’t believe it. He asks in astonishment, “How can you miss her? Didn’t you spend all night hauling her ashes?”

  “Hauling her ashes?” I shake my head. Hammer’s getting stranger and stranger.

  “No bueno?” He pulls out his phone.

  I shake my head. “It sounds like she’s dirty inside.”

  “Hmm. I don’t want that.”

  “Why are you even asking? Aren’t fuck, sex, laid, and tapping it good enough?”

  “I’m writing my next article about obscure sexual euphemisms.” He makes a few notes in his phone.

  “How the hell did you decide to write that?”

  He grins. “Apparently the magazine gets a lot of searches for that topic, so we’re beefing up our search engine optimization by writing on topics people are interested in. What do you think of doodling the alphabet?”

  “Only if it’s oral, but are you really doodling? I mean, if you’re doing it right, you should be applying some serious pressure down there.”

  “Fuck, man, since when are you requiring dirty sex terms to be so damn precise?” He presses the delete key on his phone a little harder than necessary.

  “I don’t know.” I reach for my beer. This conversation requires me to be a lot drunker than I am. “You asked for my opinion and I’m giving it to you.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. How about sheathing the sword?”

  “Doesn’t sound very obscure. That’s been around since the Middle Ages.” I drink half the bottle. If I get drunk enough, I can drown out Hammer and forget Lucy. Actually no, if I get too drunk, I’ll probably end up outside Lucy’s apartment.

  I did agree to only one night.

  Or did I?

  I mean, she said one night, but I don’t remember making any explicit promises that I’d stay away.

  “What about caulking the tub?”

  I raise my hand. “Caulk the tub?”

  He grins. “It’s white. Sticky. You’re spreading it all over her.”

  I want to give him shit, but he’s kind of right. “Is this a list for construction workers or women?”

  He makes a face. “Good point. Was it any good?”

  Normally I didn’t have a problem sharing details with Hammer. Hell, we’d even double-teamed a girl or girls from time to time. So why did the thought of him knowing anything about Lucy’s body, her thready moans, her propensity to fuck with her lips slightly parted and her eyes squeezed shut make me want to put a fist through his face?

  “What? Not telling me?” He sits back with a smirk. “Are you in love? Should I shake my tux out of storage? I barely hung the thing up after Masters' wedding.”

  “I like her. Deal with it.” I scowl and pick up the controller again. How’d this off-season become so damned complicated? One minute I was bathing in champagne and the next I’m stressing about the team and now a girl.

  “You’re not messing with her, are you?” Hammer’s concern for Lucy should piss me off, but it’s Hammer.

  “How come Masters didn’t get this lecture?”

  “Because he was a virgin. It was obvious he was in love with Ellie or he wouldn’t have given it up.”

  “You think I’m an amoral dog? You wanted me to date your sister, for Christ’s sake.” Okay, now it’s starting to piss me off. Hammer’s done his share of the dirty deeds when it comes to girls. “Do I need to bring up suitcase girl?”

  “Nah, man.” He flushes under his dark skin, and I feel a tiny bit guilty bringing it up. Hammer always says his lowest moment was that night. “Look, you’re a good dude and an awesome teammate, but the whole ‘girl hiding in a suitcase’ is exactly why I’m worried. We’ve done some shit neither of us are particularly proud of.”

  Casual sex had been our modus operandi since I broke it off with Megan at the beginning of my sophomore year. Hammer had never been able to stick with one girl, no matter how hard he tried, so we figured the next best thing was one-night or two-night stands with girls who wanted the same thing—no-strings-attached fun in the sack. Or the bathroom. Or the nook by the ice machine in a hotel. The out-of-town girls were the absolute best. They knew you were coming in for the night and didn’t expect anything but a good time.

  I delivered on every occasion. Lucy wanted the same thing, so why didn’t it sit right?

  Hammer does write for a women’s magazine. He’s got sisters. Of all my friends, he’s the most qualified to give advice...I think. Fuck it. What do I have to lose by getting another point of view here?

  “Lucy was the one who wanted one night. Think she means it?”

  “Dunno. Why not text her and find out?”

  Why don’t I just text her? She did, at least, give me her phone number last night before kicking me out. I want to slap myself on the forehead. And I told Luce to stop overthinking things.

  I pull out my phone and start typing.

  “How about surfing the curve?” Hammer says.

  My fingers pause over the screen as my mind takes a minute to figure out exactly what the hell Hammer is talking about. “I think I read that on the Black Twitter hashtag.”

  “Fuck. I think I did, too.” He presses the backspace on
his phone.

  Shaking my head, I text Lucy.

  Me: What’re you doing?

  Luce: End of mock trial practice. May not make it home. Was so horrible may commit hara-kari.

  Me: Can that wait until tomorrow? I’d like to see you again.

  Luce: I plan to watch a psychological drama with my roommates. U?

  Me: Losing badly at FIFA Soccer to Hammer.

  “What about laying the lumber?”

  I look up from my phone and share a smirk with Hammer. One particular college football commentator constantly uses some variation of “laying the lumber” or “laying the wood” when referencing a hard hit. Why? None of us can figure it out, but we laugh like we’re in middle school every time he says it. He says it a lot.

  “Absolutely, you need to include that one,” I inform Hammer before returning to my texts.

  Luce: Sounds thrilling.

  Me: How hard and fast was that one-night rule?

  There’s a long pause, and the stupid animated ellipsis cycles repeatedly from one end of the tiny gray balloon to the other while I stare at the screen like Moses waiting for the ten commandments to be inscribed in the stone tablets. Whoever thought of that texting feature should be shot.

  Finally, the text comes through.

  Luce: I don’t know. Suppose you can come over.

  I get up the second I’m done reading the text. Hammer grabs my sweats. “What the hell? We’re in the middle of a game.”

  “I forfeit.”

  “You going to Lucy’s place? Have you talked to her about Ace yet?”

  “I’m handling it.” I scowl. Way to be a buzzkill, Hammer.

  “Handling it how? Because I was talking to Bish the other night and he said Ace hasn’t indicated that he’s interested in joining Bish’s backfield. Plus, he said that some of the O-line guys are pissed off about it and are looking for a little off-season throwdown. Situation is going to get out of control if you don’t do something.”

  “Great. Why don’t you tell Bish to worry about getting the secondary in shape with the guys he has? I’ll worry about Ace.”

  “This Lucy girl has to have some influence on Ace. I mean, look at Masters and Ellie. She’s got him wrapped around her finger. If she asked him to move to safety, he’d be doing drills with Bish tomorrow,” Hammer insists.

  “I’m getting sick and tired of people lumping Ace and Lucy together. They aren’t a fucking couple.”

  “Hey, man. Maybe not in Lucy’s mind, but he’s got her picture in his locker.”

  “So fucking what?” Jesus, I’m reduced to being jealous of a girl’s friend. I don’t like that about me, but I can’t deny the truth of it. Every time I think of Ace and Lucy together, it makes me want to crush objects into tiny, dusty particles.

  Hammer backs away. “Why don’t you put your guns away. We don’t have to talk about it right now. We can table it.” I look down and see my hands curled into fists. “I do have some advice about Lucy, though. First, you should admit your feelings to her. Girls love feelings. They love talking about their feelings. So tell her that she makes you think of birds and flowers.”

  “Birds and flowers?” I gape at him. The last thing I think of when it comes to Lucy is birds and flowers. Big words, long blond hair, yes. Delicate, fluttery things? No.

  “Second,” he continues as if I’m not even here. In fact, is he dictating into his phone? “Don’t ever mention that you had sex in the past. It’s good to be experienced but not too experienced. You want to be the gentleman in the streets, but the guy who can get his freak on—because you read it in a book—in the sheets. Third—”

  I hold up my hand before Hammer can go on. “No, sorry. I don’t listen to your advice anymore.”

  He looks hurt. “Why not? I’m a professional.”

  “Your articles consist of how to recognize when your type is the asshole and what to do next and how to enjoy yourself when your partner is selfish, which have zero to do with dating.”

  “They have everything to do with dating,” Hammer protests.

  “If you have a vagina, which I don’t. I’m asking Masters.”

  “Wait a second. Masters? Dude was a virgin six months ago.”

  “And now he’s married.”

  I run upstairs to the third-floor apartment and pound on the door. It swings open a minute later, and Ellie steps out, flushed. “Bye, babe.”

  Masters is right behind her sporting sleepy eyes and a smug-as-shit smile. They just had sex.

  “Ellie, just the person I want to talk to. I’m going over to a girl’s place. Should I bring something?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the context?”

  “We’re just hanging out.” Hopefully having sex later so I can wear the same smug-as-shit smile.

  “Yeah, I’d definitely bring something. Maybe something to drink. A snack even. If you’re hungry, bring something for yourself.”

  I know exactly what I’ll bring. “Thanks.”

  Hammer’s at the base of the stairs looking offended. “I could have given you that advice.”

  “Dude, fine. Next time I need some advice on obscure phrases for sex, I’ll come to you. Now get out of the way. I need to throw some clothes on and get to the Brew House.”

  * * *

  “Hey, ladies.”

  Two girls, one with purple hair who I saw walking with Luce the other day and a brunette, stand just inside the entrance to Luce’s apartment. Both faces hold a certain amount of skepticism, as if opening the door wider might let in a host of demons, not just one dude.

  “I’m Sutton, this is Charity.” The purple-haired girl tips her head toward the brunette.

  “Nice to meet you. I brought coffee.” I hold up the cardboard beverage container. “I wasn’t sure what you all wanted but the Brew House said Lucy usually drinks a sugar-free peppermint mocha. I got the fully leaded for you guys.”

  “You went to the Brew House and asked what she likes to drink?” Sutton’s eyebrows shoot high onto her forehead.

  Shit, have I made a mistake here? Should I have played it cooler? “Too stalkerish?”

  “Too awesome.” Sutton drags me inside and slams the door shut.

  “What else did you bring?” the girl with enough rings on her fingers to start a jewelry store asks. She takes the beverage holder from my hand, and Sutton reaches for the bag under my arm.

  “He brought sugar-free ice cream,” announces Sutton.

  The two stare at me like I’ve got two heads.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask with slight alarm. I look down to check whether my zipper is shut. Yup, the barn door is closed.

  “Did you really bring over a container of sugar-free ice cream and a skinny latte with sugar-free flavoring?

  I take a sip. “It tastes okay.” Fuck, coffee is disgusting but this is for Luce, so I’m suffering through it.

  “What are you?”

  “Are you real?”

  Their skepticism is disconcerting. “I think the real question is what kind of guys are you dating that this is a phenomenon rather than an ordinary occurrence.”

  Fortunately, Luce blows in before the two can dissect me any further. “Here.” I shove the drink into her hands. “For you.”

  “Thanks.” She takes a deep sip and hands the drink back to me along with her backpack.

  “How was mock trial?” Sutton asks.

  “Terrible. Heather seems to have forgotten everything. I was off my game and kept missing objections. Emily was completely rattled and Randall had to leave the room four times to keep from yelling at us. I don’t get Heather. She’s like two different people. One day she performs flawlessly and two days later it’s like she doesn’t even remember that she’s on the team.”

  “Maybe she’s a twin. My former teammate Masters has an identical twin. They used to do twin switches on us all the time.” I take Lucy’s coat and hang it on the hook, placing mine on top of it. There. It’s my jacket covering
hers. Not Ace’s. Not the Ken doll’s from the coffee store. Mine.

  Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

  I’m an only child. I don’t like to share. Won’t share. Don’t believe in sharing.

  Lucy shudders. “A twin? The world does not deserve two Heathers. But you know? I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s turn the television on.”

  “You sure you want to watch that show?” Sutton asks in a stage whisper.

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Luce responds with annoyance.

  Sutton jerks her head toward me. “Because he’s here.”

  “Don’t change your plans on my account.” I raise both hands.

  Their version of a psychological drama is a show about wedding dresses. During the opening credits, my phone rings. I ignore it. Lucy is sitting only a half cushion away from me and I’m plotting how to eliminate the distance. With her two roommates watching my every move, I don’t make much progress.

  Against my will, I’m drawn into the sad story about two women who can’t stand up to their moms and how they’re desperate for just a smile from the older women. I guess it is a psychological drama, but hell, I’d watch a dozen weepy chick flicks if it meant Lucy was within touching distance. Halfway through the second one, she’s pushed her bare feet under my thigh. For warmth, she informed me. Whatever excuse you want to give, Goldie. I’m here to warm everything from your toes to your pussy to your delicious-looking mouth. My phone beeps again.

  “You can get that,” Lucy says.

  “You’re sure? I don’t want to be rude.” I don’t really know the details of dating anymore. I know answering my cellphone when I was dating Megan was a huge pet peeve of hers.

  “Yeah, I mean, the show’s pretty repetitive. Charity’s on her phone and Sutton’s doing homework.”

  I slip out my phone. “It’s Hammer.” I turn the screen to her so she can read the ’sup?

  Me: Watching TV.