Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(10)

Plus, focusing on Lucy, even if she did turn me down, is a thousand times better than dwelling on the ridiculous task Coach wants me to undertake. He’s the coach. If he wants a player moved, he moves the player. He doesn’t come to a linebacker with that request. I’m ignoring it for now. Ignoring it and, instead, applying my energies in a different and better direction: convincing sweet Lucy to go out with me.

At Josie’s table, there are two chairs and she’s sitting in one of them. Either everyone else is late or it’s just going to be the two of us. I ignore the way she’s patting the chair next to her and drag one around so I can sit facing the counter. This is a definite two birds, one stone moment.

“Did I scare everyone away or are we it?” I ask, pulling out my glasses and opening up the textbook. Lucy is mostly blocked by the machines, registers, and glass cases displaying sugary carbs, but I know she saw me when I walked in. I gave her a little wave and she frowned. She recognizes me. I’m taking that as a sign of encouragement.

“No, it’s just us. Isn’t that nice?” Josie’s words break up my inspection.

Whoops. Forgot why I was here for a minute. I quickly process Josie’s response.

“I definitely need a study group,” I answer diplomatically.

Her smile dims a watt or two but doesn’t completely disappear. “I’m glad I can be there for you.”

Spring semester is always a little harder for me to stay focused. I only have a few weeks of spring ball, but the rest of the time, my schedule is wide open. Most of the trouble we players get into is when we don’t have a coach breathing down our necks and 7 a.m. full pads practice.

From my limited study of Josie, I don’t know if she’s interested in sleeping with me or merely bagging, tagging, and hanging me trophy-like in her sorority house. In prior years, I’d have tapped that ass in a heartbeat. Nowadays, I’ve learned to be pickier. If we were at the Gas Station or a post-game party, the rules are pretty clear. Here? She might be angling for something more than I’m interested in giving.

Jersey chasers are a dime a dozen, always willing to take a ride on the football side, but you’ve got to be careful with the overly eager ones, the ones who aren’t just trying to make a trophy outta you, but a f*ckin’ Lifetime Achievement award. As in, poking holes in condoms and look at that, you’re a baby daddy. I don’t know if Josie falls into that latter category, but she’s a little too eager for my taste.

Too eager? Since when do I complain about eagerness?

A husky laugh draws my eyes to the counter again. Oh right. Since the hot blonde turned me down. She makes my dick move. I lean forward, wanting to be part of whatever is making her smile. Josie follows my gaze. Her eyes narrow with laser-like focus.

“Do you know Lucy Watson?”

“Nah, I’m not much of a coffee drinker.” I don’t go into my theory about sweat-infused water. My main drink of choice is Gatorade followed by Gatorade and vodka chased with a beer, which is why I’ve set foot inside the Brew House maybe a half-dozen times since I started attending Western.

“I’m not sure what her major is. Communications. Political Science? Something like that. She’s very strange.”

I swivel back to Josie, surprised at her bitchy comment. Usually when girls run down other girls in front of me, they have more finesse. It’s more along the lines of “she’d look so much better in a different dress” and not so much with the “she’s an ugly bitch, stay away” because even self-absorbed people realize at some point that those kinds of comments are off-putting. “In what way?”

“Why do you want to know?” She frowns.

I’ve spent enough time around women to recognize danger when I see it. Josie’s intuitive enough to sense she has competition. Actually the competition is all in her head, but that’s still a problem. I intentionally draw her attention away from Lucy by tapping my book. “Why don’t we start with the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine?”

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?”