Looking to Score(9)
He swallowed. “You’re bullshitting me. Who even are you?”
“Your breasts are like playdough, molded perfectly for my large hands,” I recited, eyebrow arched. When I was going through his phone, I wasn’t expecting to find prime embarrassment for blackmail, but luck was on my side. “Your flowery pussy smells like pistachio ice cream.” The poem was bad with a capital B. He stared at me like he was still trying to understand what was happening, and his eyes widened when he realized I wasn’t bullshitting him.
“I was fifteen when I wrote that. You can’t just break into people’s personal property,” he argued.
“When I think about coming inside of you, I get hard as a baseball bat,” I added. “I will say your dirty talk has improved.” He finally shook his head and started to get out of the bed. I watched his back as he walked into the bathroom, and I snuck one last look at his tight end, then looked down at my own phone.
Two new texts. One from my mom and one from Shelby. Shelby wanted to know why I didn’t come home last night—she made sure to include a suggestive winky face. My mom was still seething about Lacey implying that she looked over fifty. Apparently, Lacey slipped some samples into her mailbox. I didn’t bother replying to Shelby, and I had just sent a reply to my mom, telling her where Lacey could stick it, when Oakley came back out looking ready for practice. I didn’t know what football players wore to practice, so I was just guessing.
“Ready?” I asked.
“I’m going to practice. But only because I need to have a conversation with Coach. I don’t want or need a fucking publicist.”
“Your legs are as long—”
“Enough with the teenage poetry. I was fifteen. Fifteen! Let’s go,” he replied, looking pissed and still a little confused. Since Oakley lived in an apartment on campus, the practice stadium was only about a five-minute walk. As we were walking out of his building, I debated whether or not I could trust him to get himself to practice.
“Do I need to make sure you get to practice, or are you capable of getting there on your own?” I asked. I mean, there was only so much trouble he could get into at the ass crack of dawn, and I had to get back to my place so I could shower and get ready for my own classes.
“I think I can handle it,” he growled. “I’m feeling pretty motivated to talk to the coach. I think he should know about the girl that broke into my apartment and started blackmailing me.”
I grinned. “You invited me over last night, don’t you remember?” I watched him scowl as he tried to recall the moments leading up to this instant. “And yes, please do. Also, be sure to mention that I got you scheduled with the physical therapist for this afternoon. I saw that he’s been trying to get you to talk to the specialist about your shoulder, and booked you an appointment online. Their online scheduling system is very convenient.”
He fumed, and the vein in his forehead throbbed. “You’re fucking insane. And I’m too hungover to do something about it right now, but I will get to the bottom of this. You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
I smiled. Despite my feeling exhausted, pissing off Oakley Davis made the late night worth it. I felt alive. This was better than my morning manifestation meditation. “Practice hard, and maybe I’ll give you your Instagram login back. I know you like the attention.”
“Fuck you,” he growled. His chest heaved as he looked me up and down. He was so angry that he looked wild. I met his stare with an equal level of determination.
“It’ll be a pleasure to work with you,” I replied with a polite smile.
He stormed off, and I watched him disappear around the corner in the direction of the practice building. I went toward my home with my mind reeling about everything I needed to get done, but when I got to the next intersection, I sighed in resignation and turned in the opposite direction of my apartment, toward the Athletics building. I didn’t trust Oakley Davis one bit.
“You can’t do this. I woke up to some strange chick in my room, going through my phone,” I heard Oakley complain as I walked toward Coach Howard’s office.
“Sounds like a typical night for you,” Coach replied with a chuckle.
I couldn’t hold back the quick snicker that escaped my lips. I slowed my steps, composing myself, and then leaned in to listen to their conversation before making my presence known.
“I did not consent to this.”
“And I don’t give a fuck. You’ve been reckless. Belligerent. You put this entire program at risk. Just because you don’t care about going pro doesn’t mean that you can fuck off all season. You might be good, but you’re not good enough to act like this. The university wants to see you get your act together, and they aren’t afraid to exploit a public relations intern to do it. Now suit up for practice.” The coach dismissed Oakley. I have to say, it was super fun for me to hear Oakley get his ass handed to him.
I cleared my throat and walked into the office just as Oakley was about to leave.
“Good morning, Coach Howard! Oakley Davis hand delivered and on time for practice, just as promised!” I said in my most chipper voice and flashed the coach a colossal smile. “I trust that you’ve got it from here unless you need me to type up that report for you?”
Coach Howard glared at me and then barked, “Oakley still owes me another full hour of makeup practice. I’ll be impressed when you make that happen.” That was Oakley’s cue to storm out.