Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(3)

“I’m not.” If I was, I didn’t mean to.

“Okay, you’re breathing heavily.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Or your asthma is acting up.”

“Fortunately, asthma is one ailment I don’t have. But sighing is clearly a problem. Does your mom do house calls?”

“Nope. But I can prescribe you the perfect thing for stress.”

I raise my palm. “Don’t say sex.”

He snickers. “I was going to say exercise, but sex is good, too.” Those blue eyes conduct another sweep of my face, then linger briefly on my chest. I’m wearing a plain black, long-sleeved, crew neck sweater, but the way his gaze smolders, you’d think I was topless.

There’s something familiar about him—as if I’ve seen him before. Maybe he models, though he’s a little broad-shouldered for that. But still... “Have we met before?” I ask warily.

A flash of something—irritation, possibly—skips across his face... Maybe he gets this question a lot. “You probably saw me on campus and said to yourself, who is that fine-ass guy and how do I get his number? But we were like sliding doors, a missed connection. I read Craigslist. You should’ve reached out.”

Yeah, he’s tired of that question. “Nice story. You sound like a Lit major.”

“Sociology, actually. You?”

“Poli-Sci.”

“What do you plan to do with that? Learn how to take over the world?”

“If I had the responsibility of the world on my shoulders, can you imagine the sighs that kind of stress would generate? They’d be like gale force winds.”

“Good point.”

Matthew stretches his long legs on either side of my own chair. If I fell forward, I’d land in his lap.

And that’s a bad thing because…?

I shove the naughty thought aside. If I want some lap time, there are other, less magnetic guys I could turn to—

Less magnetic? You need help, girl.

The exasperated voice has a point. It might as well have come from my roommate, the one who is constantly teasing me about my play-it-safe attitude toward men. But careful suits me.

“You seem less tense now,” he observes. He studies my face again, the weight of his gaze almost a tangible thing. “Maybe you should keep me around.”

“Where would I do that? My lease only allows for three people, and I’m not sure I earn enough here at the Brew House to feed you on a regular basis,” I say lightly. This guy is entirely too smooth for me. I have a feeling flirt is his default setting. Which is fine. Nothing wrong with that, but it means I can’t—and shouldn’t—take him seriously.

“I’m pretty quiet. I don’t think you’d notice me.”

I raise a disbelieving eyebrow. “That’s not even within the vicinity of truthfulness.”

“I can be quiet.” He raises two fingers. “Scout’s honor.” We both look at his fingers. “I was a Scout but dropped out at the age of fifteen.”

“What happened at fifteen?” I ask, almost against my will. I want to quit the conversation, but I keep allowing myself to be dragged back in. See? This is some practiced shit.

“I grew. I was a scrawny kid with questionable health, but somewhere between fourteen and fifteen my body said ‘to hell with that, we’re going to be big and strong.’”

“And the Scouts got left behind? Poor fellas.”

“I was a shitty Scout. I was way behind on my badge acquisition. It was really a boon to the troop when I left. I think they might have thrown a party.”

I can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out. “Your Scout troop was giddy with relief that you left, but you still think I should keep you?”

“I know how to cook and have, at some points in my life, operated an iron.” He ticks off each skill on a finger. “I always bring the good booze when I’m invited to a party, and I make my bed in the morning.”

“You had me at know how to cook.” Truthfully, all those things sound like the characteristics of a fairly responsible person. Safe even. But a guy this good looking who knows how to cook is single and hitting on me in a coffee shop before booty call hour? It’s all too strange. And I don’t have the time or energy to puzzle this out.

“Awesome. So when should I move in?” His eyes twinkle playfully.

I pretend to consider it again. “I think I have to say never. But I wish you luck on your roommate quest.”

He looks unfazed. I get the feeling nothing fazes him. “How about you just invite me over, then? I promise to bring the good booze.” When I hesitate, he swiftly changes gears. “Or we’ll go out instead. Grab some dinner.”

“Oh. Thanks for the offer, but I really don’t have the time.” I stretch my arm and drop the medicine on the top of his backpack. I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy this flirting session, but a date? That doesn’t fit into my plan. This year I’m winning the mock trial championship, and I’m not going to be distracted. I spent my entire winter break plotting out this semester’s game plan. Nowhere on that schedule of events includes taking a chance on a guy like Matthew.

Something about him makes me nervous. Not in a he’s-going-to-turn-you-into-a-skinsuit nervous, but more that I don’t like the way his vivid eyes and easy smiles make my heart pound. I feel the need to pull out my glucose measuring tool to make sure an unexpected hormone release isn’t wreaking havoc with my body.