Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(63)

I presume he meant me and not some terrible fungal infection.

Matty often waited until I was done with my shift and left at the same time. He held the door for me and asked how my day was, whether I’ve eaten, and how I was feeling.

I mumbled some kind of response under my breath, but hurried away like the coward I professed I wasn’t. But I’m afraid to talk to him, afraid that if I look into his blue eyes, I’ll lose all my self-control. Because every time I close my eyes, I see him.

Every night I feel him moving inside of me, over me, under me. The imprint of his hands on my skin, his mouth against my lips, haunts me. One night? I don’t know how any woman can be okay with having a single night with Matthew Iverson.

For the last three days, I’ve brooded. But I’m done with that. I’m going to jump off the cliff and hope he catches me because he’s in my blood now. It may be foolish and reckless, but I know exactly what kind of reward is at the bottom of the canyon.

“Lucinda!”

My head snaps up to see the faces of half my mock trial team frowning at me. It takes me a moment to collect myself because I’ve spent the last ten minutes staring out the window daydreaming about Matty.

“I didn’t catch that.” I pretend like I was paying attention the whole time.

“I’d like to reserve any remaining time for rebuttal. Is that right?” Heather asks.

“Yeah, that’s the right language.

Randall, acting as judge again, nods his head regally. Heather turns to the chairs we’ve set up as our mock jury. Tonight our practice group consists of just Heather, Randall, and me—we’re practicing cross-examinations and arguments. Randall already gave a really amazing opening statement, but Heather’s been struggling.

This is the third time she’s run through it and each successive attempt is more boring and more pedantic than the last. When she’s done after only using five minutes of her allotted eight, Randall’s head is lying on the desk and he’s mock snoring. No wonder I drifted off. I shift anxiously in my chair. I can’t wait to get out of here to tell Matt that I’m ready. Hopefully, the offer is still open.

“What’s wrong now?” Heather exclaims. “You told me the closing has to include me listing off all the evidence.”

“We don’t have time for you to list all the evidence, just the important points. But more importantly, this is argument,” I stress, trying to hurry Heather along. “You need to be convincing and persuasive.”

“Why don’t you do you do it if it’s so easy!” Heather stomps past the counsel table and throws herself into a desk chair.

“Heather, come back. I’m sorry if I was too critical.” How about you grow a thicker skin? I want to say, but I bite my tongue. She appears on the verge of tears, and the last thing I want to do is destroy her confidence.

“Why don’t you show her?” Randall suggests. “Just do a quick closing.”

“I don’t do closings,” I remind him.

“But you’re okay with criticizing the hell out of mine,” Heather shouts.

I shut my eyes and count to ten so I don’t leap out of my chair and throttle her. I can do a closing if that’s what she needs. I do them in my sleep. I just can’t do them in a competition.

“Come on,” Randall cajoles.

“Fine.” I stand up and take Heather’s abandoned spot in front of the chairs. If I do this, we can all leave.

“May it please the Court.” I gesture toward Randall. “Opposing counsel.” I pretend Heather is the attorney for the other side, which is easy because I feel we’re oceans apart on the concept of an effective closing. “Members of the jury.” I face the chairs. “We have asked you to sacrifice a day out of your life, and your sacrifice does not go unappreciated. One of the greatest strengths of our legal system is that we are allowed to bring our disputes before a jury of our peers. No matter how thin our wallets are, no matter our position in society, under the eyes of Lady Justice, we are all the same. We thank you for what you have done today and what you will do on behalf of our client, Emily Hartog.”

“Do I really have to go through all of that?” Heather interrupts. “Because I could thank everyone in one sentence. Yo, peeps, thanks for your attention. Here’s why you should find in our favor.”

I grit my teeth. “No, Heather. You do not have to go through all of that. Do it your own way. Make it your own, but sell the jury on the fact that you are truly grateful for their presence here. We don’t want them pissed off.”

“Fine.” She imperiously waves her wand. “Go ahead.”

Randall bangs his pencil against the desk. “Proceed, counsel.”

“Thanks.” I scowl at both of them. I take a deep breath, gather my thoughts and pick up where I left off. “In the Old Testament, the Jewish people were required to sacrifice a lamb for their sins on a yearly basis. But the lamb that was chosen was special. It had to be a lamb with the nicest wool, the best-looking hooves, the clearest eyes, and the strongest gait. It was, after all, a stand-in for the Lord and therefore must be as perfect as a human-raised lamb could be.”

Randall and Heather are watching my every move now, hanging on every word. I hide a smile of confidence. This story gets people every time.

“The leaders were charged with picking out the lamb, and once chosen, the tribe would cast their sins upon the back of that lamb, that perfect creature. They would confess their cheating, their envy, their blasphemies, and then the leaders would drive that blameless lamb out into the wilderness. It is from that practice we derive the word ‘scapegoat.’”