Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(56)

“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 f*cking couple.”

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

“So f*cking 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.