Blocked

by Jennifer Lane

  Cover

  Title Page

  Blocked

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  Jennifer Lane

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  Psyched Publishing

  Copyright Information

  Blocked, Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Lane

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

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  Published by Psyched Publishing

  First published, October 2014

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  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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  Lane, Jennifer.

  Blocked / Jennifer Lane – 1st ed

  ISBN: 978-0-692-30310-8

  1. Volleyball—Fiction. 2. New Adult Romance—Fiction. 3. Politics—Fiction. 4. Psychology—Fiction. I. Title

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  Book Design by Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  AS I PLOPPED DOWN on the bleachers and scanned my new teammates around me, one word came to mind: heaven. I wasn’t the tallest girl in the gym for the first time in my eighteen years on earth.

  The teammate on my right studied me, and I checked her out too. She was about my height—she probably blocked the ball like a wall of concrete—but she was way thinner than me. Her long blond hair glimmered in the overhead lights, and her unflinching stare just about guaranteed she was a junior or senior. She looked a little like the supermodel Gisele Bundchen. Was she the best hitter on the team I’d read about: Madison Brooks? No, Madison had appeared Black in the action shot I saw in the volleyball team media guide.

  When the Gisele-lookalike turned to talk to another teammate, I scanned back over the rest of the twelve or so girls sprawled on the bleachers. It was easy to find the one who must have been Madison…her big smile and little wave from the front row were hard to miss. I lifted my hand to wave back, then panicked. Is she smiling at me?

  I peeked over my shoulder to make sure, then looked back down to find her smirking as she pointed and mouthed, “Yes, you.” Great, the team captain thinks I’m an idiot before our first practice has even started. I was acting every bit the stupid freshman I didn’t want to be.

  Madison wore a sleeveless shirt, which drew attention to her shoulder muscles and long, lean arms. Hijole, she’s fit. With a growing sense of alarm, I realized I likely outweighed every girl on the team. Awesome. I pursed my lips. Thanks, Mom and Dad. Gracias for your fat Mexican genes.

  The squeak of a door interrupted my inner diatribe. Coach Holter crossed the shiny gym floor with long strides, followed by his two assistants—Brian and Kara. Kara had sounded really kind during our phone conversation last week, and I hoped she was as nice in person because somebody had to balance out Wyatt Holter’s scary intensity. I noticed my teammates sitting up straighter as Coach approached. The same gruff voice that had made me tremble on the phone a week ago now addressed the team.

  “Welcome back, and I hope you had a relaxing time off,” Coach said.

  Blond Supermodel quietly grumbled, “A whole week off, wow.”

  “Because we’re getting right into it this August,” he continued. “If you aren’t fit now, you will be soon—we’ll make sure of that. We’ll take advantage of our time before classes start in a couple of weeks. Our first order of business is some compliance paperwork over at Griffin. Let’s—” He frowned as Kara leaned in to whisper in his ear. He glanced at his watch then nodded. “Right. We should have the freshmen introduce themselves before we head over.”

  My cheeks flamed when all eyes turned to me. Surely I wasn’t the only first-year student on the team. But everyone must know who I am, right? Should I say my name?

  When nobody said anything, Kara glanced at me before she spoke up. “The upperclassmen already know most of the freshmen from their recruiting visits, but why don’t we refresh everyone’s memory? Kaitlyn, would you introduce yourself?”

  Right—everyone else already knew each other. I hadn’t visited this Midwestern university because I was all set to play down south for my home state at the University of Texas…until that situation crashed and burned ten days ago.

  A girl with spiky black hair said, “I’m Kaitlyn Thomas, and I’m from San Diego.” On the short side, she was probably a setter or a defensive specialist. “I’m a libero.” Bingo—she played defense. I hoped those spindly legs of hers were quick.

  “Thanks, Kaitlyn,” Kara said, then nodded to a long-legged girl. “Brianna?”

  Brianna sat up a little straighter, but I heard nothing from my perch on a higher row.

  “Speak up,” Coach Holter demanded.

  When she turned to face the bleachers, the poor girl looked terrified. “I’m Brianna?” Her voice trembled, and she forced a swallow. “I’m from Pittsburgh.”

  There was a pause, then Coach said, “She’s a powerful outside hitter, if you can believe that.” He emitted a little chuckle.

  Was that supposed to be a joke? I shifted a bit, feeling uncomfortable as Brianna stared at her shoes. I did not want to get on Coach’s bad side.

  Oh, crap…now he stared straight at me. “Our last freshman was a recent addition.” As he gestured my direction, all eyes zoomed up toward me. I gulped. “I think Lucia Ramirez needs no introduction,” he continued. “But, Lucia, I want you to tell everyone how you joined us so late in the game.”

  My heart thrummed, and I sat on my hands to hide their shaking. Dad would be angry that the public speaking lessons hadn’t helped one bit. “I had a scholarship at UT, uh, University of Texas,” I managed. It seemed like everyone looked at my midsection, so I wrapped my arms around my muffin top. “I’m from Houston. But the head coach at Texas just resigned…” I wasn’t sure if I should mention the scandal leading to his resignation. Coach’s hard stare made me decide to drop it. “So, um, I was looking for another top-five program, and we called Coach Holter, and…”

  He actually smiled at me. “And we were lucky we had some scholarship money available at the last minute. Welcome, Lucia.” When his eyes drifted above me, his smile faded. “I don’t recall inviting Secret Service to this meeting.”

  I’d forgotten about my new companions, Frank and Allison, and I glanced back to find them sitting in the top row of the bleachers. My face lit on fire.

  “Sir,” Frank boomed as he nodded at Coach. “We haven’t had time to brief you yet, but you can be assured we’ll be attending all volleyball team functions. Where Ms. Ramirez goes, we go.”

  I swiveled back around to catch Coach’s scowl. Great. I’d already angered him, five minutes after meeting him. So much for my hope that life would be more normal here than in Texas, where the media had hounded my family non-stop.

  The Gisele-lookalike nudged me and whispered, “Adolfo Ramirez is your dad?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled.

  Her perfect little nose wrinkled with distaste. “So you’re against abortion.”

  Here we go. Dad had warned me that universities were “bastions of liberal orthodoxy,” and here was my first induction into the faith. “Why do you want to know?” I whispered.

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “You’re pro-life—I can tell. No one messes with my body.” She tossed her hair. “But I don’t have to worry—your dad won’t win anyway.”

  My dad will win, I silently countered, even as I smiled sweetly. I couldn’t wait to spike the ball right through her block, no matter how tall she was. In health class we
’d learned that if Barbie were human, she’d be six feet tall and weigh one hundred pounds, and Gisele seemed pretty close to those dimensions. By contrast, my doll representation would be more like Barbie’s Fat Mexican-American Republican sidekick.

  “Nina,” Coach barked, zooming my attention back on him. He glared at the supermodel formerly known as Gisele. “Time to head to the compliance meeting. Lead the way.”

  Nina popped to her feet and hustled down the bleachers. The rest of the team followed suit, and I found myself pulled along in a stream of tall, built women on a brisk walk out of the gym. I looked over my shoulder and saw Secret Service Agent Allison wink at me before she slid on her aviator sunglasses. Hot, stagnant air greeted us as we filed out the door, but it was nothing like the blanketing humidity of Houston. I bet Allison and Frank were more comfortable in their constant suit jackets here in the north.

  I stiffened as Coach Holter and his assistants approached me. We maintained our quick pace as they each shook my hand. “When did you get into town?” Brian asked. He was tall and lanky—I bet he’d played college ball.

  “Last night,” I answered.

  “That’s not much time to get settled.” Kara smiled.

  Self-consciously, I played with the tip of my braided ponytail. I’d mastered the sporty do years ago. “My dad asked me to attend his speech in Detroit yesterday.”

  “Must be tough to be the daughter of the Republican nominee for president.”

  You have no freaking idea.

  “I saw that speech on TV,” Coach said. “Governor Ramirez made a big deal about you playing for Highbanks University when he introduced you to the crowd.”

  I grinned, thinking Coach would be proud to have his volleyball program highlighted on a national stage.

  But Coach maintained his stony expression. “It’s interesting you came all the way here…with this being a swing state and all.”

  Wait a minute—was he implying my choice of school was a political decision? I scrunched my forehead. Dad wouldn’t have manipulated me into choosing this university simply to win votes, would he? No, that didn’t sound like him. “But…my club coach in Houston—”

  “Brian, Kara,” Coach interrupted. “Let’s talk to Secret Service. I don’t like the idea of them breathing down our necks every second.”

  I watched them drop back to match stride with Allison and Frank. I turned around and clenched my teeth. Coach Holter hadn’t let me explain that my club coach Susie had been the one to recommend Highbanks. Susie had played for Coach Holter almost twenty years ago. “He’s tough,” she’d said. “But he’s one of the best coaches in the country.”

  I sighed. I’d seen the tough part already. Still waiting to see the best part.

  “Hey, Ramirez,” a friendly voice said, and I turned to find a welcoming smile. “I’m Maddie Brooks.”

  “The team captain?”

  “That’s me.” We were about the same height—six-foot-two—and she studied me for a moment. “You’re obviously a strong side hitter.”

  I cocked my head. “How’d you know?”

  “You look strong as hell, girl.” She rubbed my right shoulder.

  I felt twenty pounds lighter all of a sudden. The awesome team captain said something nice about me! “Actually, I’m a lefty.”

  “Even better!” Maddie’s eyes lit up. “Bridgetown won’t know what hit them when you slam the ball down the line.”

  I laughed. The Ramirez-Monroe presidential rivalry had just begun, but the storied Highbanks-Bridgetown sports rivalry had been around for years. When things had gone south at Texas, I’d considered playing at Bridgetown until my club coach Susie had squashed that idea like a tiny bug.

  “So, what happened to the Texas coach?” asked Maddie.

  I peeked back at Coach Holter, who appeared engrossed in lecturing Allison and Frank. Frank’s jaw looked pretty tight but Allison maintained her serene smile. Good luck fighting US Government regulations, Coach.

  Noting my hesitation, Maddie asked, “Or maybe that was a nosy question?”

  “It’s okay.” I shrugged. “Apparently the Texas coach had an affair with one of the players.”

  Maddie’s jaw dropped.

  “When he got caught, the athletic director made him resign.”

  “Whoa.”

  I nodded. “He seemed like a cool guy on my recruiting trip, and I had a full ride. But my dad freaked—he told me I couldn’t go to UT anymore, even after the coach resigned.”

  Maddie blinked. “Why?”

  “My dad was concerned that the affair had gone on for two years before anyone found out.” To mimic my father, I tucked in my chin and deepened my voice, allowing a subtle version of Grandpa’s Mexican accent to creep in. “My daughter will not play for such a morally reprehensible program.”

  “My God!” She snickered. “You sound just like him. It’s so cool to have somebody famous on our team.”

  As we approached Griffin Athletic Complex, I heard the throng of reporters a moment before I saw them. “You might not think so in a second.”

  “Lucia Ramirez!” a female reporter called as she jogged toward me in heels and awakened the ten or so ambulance chasers behind her.

  My chest tightened as I braced myself. I immediately felt the presence of Frank on one side and Allison on the other, hustling me forward and pushing Maddie to the side. “Sorry,” I said, and she nodded.

  The breathless reporter neared me. “How do you like Highbanks, Lucia?”

  “Dammit, how’d they know we’d be here?” Allison whispered as her eyes darted right and left.

  Frank tapped his left ear—he must have been getting something on his earpiece. “Jansen just told me they were already here for Monroe.”

  My knees almost buckled—I’d thought it would be at least a couple of days before I ran into Dane Monroe. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to attend Highbanks. “Is the men’s team’s inside?” I cried.

  Questions hurled toward me like whizzing volleyballs.

  “Why aren’t you at University of Texas?”

  “Are you living in the dorms, like normal freshmen?”

  “Why’d you choose the same school as Dane Monroe?”

  I closed my eyes. Why, indeed? Why attend the same university as the son of the Democratic nominee for president—my dad’s opponent in the election? When my eyes opened, we were almost at the door.

  “Back off, people!” Coach hollered from behind me. He gestured to the sign posted to the right of the entrance: No Media and No Autographs Allowed. I felt certain the sign was for the benefit of the wildly popular football team. This was probably the first time a lowly sport like volleyball had received the media’s invasive attention.

  As I’d been instructed, I didn’t respond to any of the questions zinged at me. Allison and Frank jostled me inside, and my teammates followed, with the coaches bringing up the rear. Coach clanged the door shut on the reporters, and I felt the familiar squeeze of pressure in my chest that followed every media encounter. Don’t panic. I closed my eyes and forced a breath down my narrowing windpipe.

  “You’re okay,” Allison whispered.

  I saw her reassuring smile a moment before I noticed Coach’s frown. I knew I’d better get my anxiety in check if I wanted a chance to play for him sometime in the next four years.

  “Head to the athletic training classroom,” Coach ordered, and we filed down the hall. My muscles tingled from oxygen deprivation. When I snuck a glance over my shoulder to confirm the reporters were still safely outside, I exhaled. With the election still three months away, it wasn’t a good sign that media attention already initiated such panic.

  I didn’t realize Madison had stopped ahead of me until I almost plowed into her. Allison caught my elbow with her left hand.

  “Go on in!” Coach barked from behind me.

  From the front of the line, Blond Nina frowned at him. “There’s another team in the classroom.”

  Coach bustled past
me as he checked his watch. “They should be done by now. It’s our turn.”

  “Hey, Frank,” a deep, male voice called.

  I looked down the hall to find a muscled Secret Service agent approaching us. That must mean Dane Monroe was nearby. Oh, no.

  Frank left my side and walked toward the behemoth with his hand extended. “How ya doin’, Brad?” he asked as he pumped his hand.

  The button of Brad’s suit jacket strained across his expansive pectorals, and he wore his mirrored sunglasses even though we were inside. “Good, buddy, good. Welcome.”

  Frank gestured toward us. “Let me introduce you to my partner, Allison.”

  Brad’s heft shifted side to side as he hulked over. Could he run fast with all that bulk?

  “Ms. Ramirez.” Brad nodded at me.

  “Lucia is fine,” I corrected.

  Brad shook Allison’s hand. “I’ve heard good things about you from my partner.”

  “Really?” Allison seemed pleased. “Who’s that?”

  “She’s inside with the men’s team,” Brad said. “China Halloway.”

  Allison’s hold on my elbow tightened as her face froze. She must have noticed my wiggle because she let go of my arm. “I thought China was on the VP’s detail?”

  “Once the committee decided Mr. Monroe and Ms. Ramirez would be protected before the election, she got reassigned,” Brad said.

  “Wow,” Allison gushed. “That’s great. I mean, uh, good for her, I guess.”

  What was up with Allison? She wouldn’t meet my questioning eyes. I’d have to ask her about that agent, China, later.

  Brad looked at Frank. “Where’re you putting up Ms. Ramirez?”

  “For now we’re at the campus hotel. An advance team is scoping out a secure location.”

  Brad shook his head. “Good luck finding a place—it took us a week to identify our current living quarters. The campus area’s crime central, but Mr. Monroe didn’t want to be too far off campus because of all of his practices and games.”

  Frank shrugged. “We’ve got a good team on it.”