Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(60)

“So?” I carry my heated soup over to the table. “You won the National Championship. He can start after you graduate.”

“Coach says that I can either move to safety or play backup.” His mouth twists into a bitter line. He shuts his eyes, likely wanting this to be a bad dream he wakes from.

I reach over and squeeze his hand. “What do you want to do?”

His eyelids flip open. “I’m the quarterback. I want to stay the quarterback.”

“But if you don’t move, then you’ll be benched, is that right?”

He releases a harsh laugh. “You know what’s so ironic? In football, the bench is for starters. You have to earn that place on the bench. No backup, no clipboard Jesus, dares to sit there. Don’t know why they call it benched in football.”

I let him vent. If he’s come here for advice, I don’t know what to tell him, what to say. The only thing I can offer is a sympathetic ear. “What’s the rest of your team say?”

“Like Iverson?” he asks snidely.

I carefully set my spoon by my bowl and remind myself that Ace is like a wolf with his foot in a trap—hurt and angry. “Like Iverson. Like Jack. Like Ahmed. Like all of them, Ace. You’re a team. It’s not golf. You can’t go off on your own, score a bunch of points, and then be hailed as a winner. You have to play with twenty-one other people in order to prevail.”

“Whose side are you on?” His hands fist on the table. He’s not hearing anything I’m saying.

“Yours, of course.”

“Really?” He stares at me as if he somehow can divine all the dirty thoughts I have about Matty in my head. He leans forward, and there’s a look, an expression, that I don’t like.

“Ace—” I say warningly.

He ignores me. The angry part of the wounded animal is taking over. “I’m sure that you think you’re qualified to give me advice about sacrifice and the greater good because you’re too piss-ass scared to step outside your careful little box you’ve constructed for yourself, but I want something bigger for myself.”

I strive for calm. Ace is lashing out, saying something he’ll regret and apologize for tomorrow. This is nothing.

“I know you’re hurting, JR, but—”

“Fuck.” He rises from the table so fast the chair tips over and soup splashes over the rims of the bowls. “I don’t know why I came here. You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.”

He slams the door so hard my jacket falls off the hook.

Sutton pokes her head out as soon as the apartment door slams shut.

“What was that all about?”

“Ace is having a difficult time,” I hedge. At the sink, I grab a sponge and start mopping up the mess. “He and the coach are having a disagreement.”

“Didn’t Ace just win them a championship?” Sutton pitches in without asking. I throw her a grateful look as she holds up the bowls so I can clean underneath them.

“That’s what I said, but I guess the coach is thinking about a new direction. Already. And Ace isn’t taking it well.”

“I bet he’s mad about the Matty Iverson thing, too.”

“I didn’t even get into that,” I admit. “Ace was too angry, and he stomped out of here before I could even bring it up.”

“I don’t know why you put up with him,” Sutton mutters.

“Right now? I don’t either.” My friendship with Ace started so long ago I can barely remember a time that he wasn’t part of my life, but even childhood bonds can get so strained that they break.

“At least tell me that you’re still thinking about Matty.”

I raise rueful eyes to hers. “I can’t stop.”





22





Matty




Two days later, I’ve added a second workout to my routine in order to sweat off some of the tension that not f*cking is creating. Jerking it at home while I fantasize about Lucy isn’t working for me. I know what it’s like to be inside her, and my dick is treating my hand like I’m betraying it. I remind myself to be patient. She’ll come around.

After watching a wedding show one night, I got invited back for a second round of shows—this time a cooking competition. It didn’t matter what was on television. We could have been watching Sesame Street and I would’ve been happy.

Lucy’s eyes hardly ever stray far from me. I sense she’s on the verge of making a decision, and based on the number of times she’s invited me over, my guess is that fortune will fall on my side of the scale. Until then, I plan to tire my body out as much as I can.

Judging by the crowded room, it appears quite a few members of the team are feeling a little anxious about the upcoming Signing Day. There are twelve scholarships being offered, and the quality of recruits we’re getting at Western is better every year. This year? After we just won the National Championship? After Masters was on the cover of Sports Illustrated? The national media is watching us, and for a guy who wants to play at the next level, that is influential shit. Everyone wants to be a Warrior.

“Goddammit, Fozzy, watch where you’re going,” Hammer chides when Fozworth Royce, our three-hundred-pound carrot-topped center, brushes by him as Hammer’s setting down his weight bar.