Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2)(88)

His eyes turn from pained to flinty, and I try to brace myself for whatever horrible thing that’s going to come out of his mouth next. I’m learning Ace has a nasty mouth on him.

“And you think Matty loves you?” Ace laughs harshly. “That he would never cheat on you. That he would never look at another girl with…lust in his eyes.”

And that uncomfortable feeling I had before? It seizes me by the throat. I watch in horror as Ace pulls out his phone. I don’t want to see it. I want to close my eyes and pretend whatever he’s going to show me doesn’t exist. Whatever happened last night doesn’t exist. If I don’t see it, I can go on in my own little world believing Matty was worth the risk.

Ace lays his phone on the table and the picture is so clear and so big I can’t not see it. I bite my lips together as Ace flicks his finger. It’s a slideshow of my worst fears.

“All these years you’ve friend-zoned me.” His voice is quiet. Ominous even.

“I never friend-zoned you. We were friends. Are friends,” I correct when his eyes narrow at my Freudian slip of the past tense. “True ones,” I mumble almost absently as I stare at the pictures.

Ace’s voice falls to a whisper. “You fell for Matty Iverson. A blockhead. His best friend is a guy named Hammer. Their favorite thing to do is get loaded and bang jock chasers. Their hobbies include liking Instagram posts of chicks at out of town games. He’s an idiot.”

“He reads Harry Potter,” I defend, almost by rote.

“So he read one f*cking book a year until he graduated.”

Matty has women on either side of him. In another photo one of them is kissing his cheek. Ace flicks his finger again. Matty’s looking down adoringly into the blonde one’s eyes. Flick. The blonde is kissing him on his lips. Flick. Matty’s hand is outstretched trying to prevent the picture from being taken, but there’s a lopsided smile on his face and he’s still looking at the blonde.

Ace’s finger stabs at the table. “No matter what he promises you, this is what he does. I don’t know what happened last night. I don’t know if she’s still there this morning.”

I swallow again, but there’s nothing in my throat. It’s dry, and every time I gulp it’s like swallowing sand. The tiny bits and pieces scrape and tear fissures into my tissues that grow and grow and grow like the cracks in the desert’s crust—until every part of me is torn asunder, only held together by a slender film of skin.

Ace is relentless. “How come you’re not over there right now? I know when I’m drunk, I’m horny as f*ck. Do you know if he’s alone?”

I stand up, hand Ace the phone, and pray my tears don’t fall. Not until Ace leaves. “I don’t know,” I say in a small voice. “But whatever happens between Matty and me isn’t your business. You need to go now.”

I stretch out my arm and point to the door. It doesn’t shake and, for that, I’m thankful. I’ll take whatever victories I can at this moment.

Ace rises, too, but he doesn’t leave. “What are you talking about?” He protests. “I just showed you what a dog Matty is.” As if the pictures would magically transform Matty into the frog and Ace into a prince? In addition to being mean, I hadn’t realized how delusional he was becoming.

“Get out.” My arm is getting so heavy.

“I’m saving you heartbreak here.”

“Get out!” I scream. “Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out!”

I push at him until he starts moving, and I keep pushing and slapping and repeating my high-pitched demands until he’s on the other side of the threshold.

“Don’t call me. Don’t text. We’re done.” I slam the door shut.

“You’re shooting the messenger,” he shouts through the closed door.

Ignoring him, I pick up my phone with shaking hands.

I’m coming over, I manage to type out, but I don’t press send. No. That would give him time to put her in some suitcase.





32





Lucy




I get dressed in a hurry. Ace has thankfully taken off. I swear if I saw him, I would kick him in the balls. Twice.

And then in the face. Despite the distance between Matty’s house and my apartment building, the time flies. Or rather, I do as I sprint toward the Playground. The snow crunches under my boots. I almost lose it around the quad because someone forgot to salt a small patch of ice. But I make it to his house in one piece.

Panting, I don’t even pause to knock on the door. Oh no. I fling it open because these *s never lock their doors.

Hammer’s sitting on the sofa.

“Hey, Lucy.” He gives me a wave.

“Better give your boy a ten-second warning, because I’m going in,” I yell as I race upstairs.

The last thing I see before reaching Matty’s door is Hammer’s shocked and confused face. I wrench on the knob and throw the door aside. It bangs against the wall. The lump on the mattress barely moves.

I storm over to the bed and rip the covers back…to reveal a hungover Matty wearing clothes from the night before. I can tell it’s the same clothes because it’s so clearly obvious he slept in them.

The T-shirt is practically twisted around his neck. His jeans are pulled down far enough that I can see at least half of his underwear-covered ass. His left foot is bare but the right one still has a sock hanging off it. It looks like he managed to toe one of them off and got halfway done with the other before giving up.