Home > Jockblocked (Gridiron #2)(10)

Jockblocked (Gridiron #2)(10)
Author: Jen Frederick

Jersey chasers are a dime a dozen, always willing to take a ride on the football side, but you’ve got to be careful with the overly eager ones, the ones who aren’t just trying to make a trophy outta you, but a fuckin’ Lifetime Achievement award. As in, poking holes in condoms and look at that, you’re a baby daddy. I don’t know if Josie falls into that latter category, but she’s a little too eager for my taste.

Too eager? Since when do I complain about eagerness?

A husky laugh draws my eyes to the counter again. Oh right. Since the hot blonde turned me down. She makes my dick move. I lean forward, wanting to be part of whatever is making her smile. Josie follows my gaze. Her eyes narrow with laser-like focus.

“Do you know Lucy Watson?”

“Nah, I’m not much of a coffee drinker.” I don’t go into my theory about sweat-infused water. My main drink of choice is Gatorade followed by Gatorade and vodka chased with a beer, which is why I’ve set foot inside the Brew House maybe a half-dozen times since I started attending Western.

“I’m not sure what her major is. Communications. Political Science? Something like that. She’s very strange.”

I swivel back to Josie, surprised at her bitchy comment. Usually when girls run down other girls in front of me, they have more finesse. It’s more along the lines of “she’d look so much better in a different dress” and not so much with the “she’s an ugly bitch, stay away” because even self-absorbed people realize at some point that those kinds of comments are off-putting. “In what way?”

“Why do you want to know?” She frowns.

I’ve spent enough time around women to recognize danger when I see it. Josie’s intuitive enough to sense she has competition. Actually the competition is all in her head, but that’s still a problem. I intentionally draw her attention away from Lucy by tapping my book. “Why don’t we start with the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine?”

This seems to work as Josie’s attention is diverted. Lucy’s saved and she doesn’t even know it. Josie and I buckle down to work for all of ten minutes before Josie hops on her phone.

“What do you think of this picture?” She flips her phone toward me. The display is filled with her and three friends wearing tiny bathing suits. “That was last year in St. Thomas. We were thinking of going back there this year.”

“Looks good,” I say dutifully. I’m a big fan of Instagram. And Twitter. And Snapchat. All of these things have made it exceedingly easy to find like-minded women—women who want one good night and that’s it. But I want to study now, and it’s a struggle to keep the irritation out of my voice.

My non-effusive compliment doesn’t deter Josie. Instead she pages through more photos and turns the phone around again. This time she’s wearing a shiny sparkly dress standing next to another girl in a sparkly dress. I can barely tell them apart. Idly I wonder whether they’d serve as a disco ball if we strung them up on the ceiling. Maybe we’d just need the dress.

“This was at the fall formal last year. I think I look heavy in this dress. What do you think?”

I squint. She looks as if she ate a diet of carrots and celery for two years. “I think you look nice.”

This time, she frowns. “Nice?”

“Yes. Nice. Pretty. Great.” I keep tacking on adjectives in hopes I hit on the right one, but I don’t inject enough enthusiasm in my voice. And my half-hearted efforts to compliment her kill her desire to study, if she ever had any in the first place. She buries her nose in the phone and after about five minutes of silence, I decide I’m thirsty.

As I wait in line, I stare at the board wondering what the best tasting coffee is for someone who doesn’t like coffee. Dark roast seems out. Maybe the light roast? Is that like a steak? The coffee beans are only slightly roasted and so still taste like whatever an uncooked coffee bean tastes like.

“Can I help you?” Lucy cocks her head to the side. Her long blond hair is caught up in a ponytail, the ones that I like wrapping around my fist while—

I cut off my train of thought when she clears her throat and delivers a well-mixed look of disdain and contempt as if she knows what I was thinking about just now and figures I’m not much good for anything else. Were her eyes this big last night? Were they this…soft? They look like a puppy dog’s eyes. Brown, warm, and endearing. If the puppy thought I was an idiot, that is.

“I’m trying to decide which is the best coffee for me.”

“I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”

“I don’t.” I shrug. Can I be more obvious? I don’t think so. Unfortunately, Lucy isn’t taking the bait. Another girl would be leaning against the counter, maybe twirling her hair around her finger. Lucy looks bored. That should bother me more, but instead I feel kind of energized by her dismissiveness. It’s sure as hell different. “You didn’t use my number.”

“I was studying. We have eight different kinds of tea.”

“I have the same problem with tea as I do coffee. Anything else?”

She opens her mouth to ask me what my problem is, then snaps it closed almost immediately. Hmm. Maybe I’m cracking her barrier a tiny bit.

“How about a spiced mulled cider?”

I perk up. “You can make that?” It’s January and as cold as a penguin’s ass, so spiced cider sounds great.

“Yup.” She scribbles something on the cup. I’m guessing it’s not her phone number because the vague smile she directs my way is the same one she gave the two students before me and undoubtedly the next one who will come behind me.

   
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