Home > Jockblocked (Gridiron #2)(13)

Jockblocked (Gridiron #2)(13)
Author: Jen Frederick

5

Lucy

“Okay if we go to Crowerly’s?” I ask when I meet Matt outside the Brew House. To his credit, he doesn’t make a face when I suggest the vegan restaurant. Or he has no clue what they serve.

“Lady’s choice.” He sweeps out a hand, indicating I should lead the way.

“It’s vegan,” I tell him.

“All the better. We both know I’ve had enough sugar and carbs tonight to send a small kid into convulsions. Are you sure you didn’t give me two pieces of the coffee cake?” he accuses.

“We are closing in an hour,” I admit. “It would’ve been tossed out if it didn’t sell. Besides, I didn’t expect you to eat it all.”

“Look at me.” He holds his arms out wide. “Do I look like a guy who turns down cake?”

I can’t stop myself from looking at him. He’s got the classic V-shape with the broad shoulders and trim waist. Nothing about him says “coffee cake eater.” More like bland chicken and a boatload of vegetables. Of course, he works out two hours or more a day, so maybe he can eat all the cake he wants.

And why do I even care? “I guess not.”

Crowerly’s is only two blocks down, and neither of us says another word until we’re seated across from each other in the booth.

“Did you come to the Brew House tonight because of me?” My tone comes out sharper than I intended, but he doesn’t seem insulted. If anything, he looks amused.

“Nope. I told you, I thought I was coming to a study group.”

His expression is a bit too innocent for my liking. And damn it, he’s too gorgeous for my comfort. Somehow in the span of twenty-four hours I managed to forget how frickin’ hot this guy is. I can see now why Charity was all but drooling when she brought up his name.

“Right. Your study group.” I show him with my eyes just how much I believe him. Which is not at all. “And I guess knowing I work there had nothing to do with your thought process.”

“You give yourself too much credit, Luce. My studies happen to be my number one priority.” He smiles sweetly.

“First off, Luce?”

“Yup. We’re on a nickname basis now. You’re Luce, and I’m Matty.” His lips curve ever so slightly. “Unless you want to pick a different nickname for me. Something like…hmmmm…Gorgeous? I’d answer to that.”

I choke down a laugh and snatch the menu. I give it a quick scan just as the waitress appears to take our orders. I ask for a bowl of the butternut squash soup and a coffee, and when Matt winces, I look at the waitress and add, “If you could bring the whole coffee pot and just leave it here, that would be super. My friend loves the smell of fresh-brewed coffee.”

He glares at me.

The waitress just looks confused. “Oh, I’m sorry. We can’t do that. But I can bring you the jumbo mugs.” She glances, mystified, at Matt. “Is that all right?”

Matt sighs.

Once she’s gone, he turns to me in exasperation. “Really? Now you’re punishing me? For daring to ask you out?”

I can’t help but grin. “No, that was just too fun to resist.” I go serious again. “As for the ‘asking me out’ part, I already told you, I’m not interested.”

His blue eyes are smug. “Then why are we having dinner together?”

“We’re not.”

“You’re ordering food. I’m going to order something when she gets back after we talk about this menu—”

“Get the tofu fries and yogurt dip,” I interrupt. “They’re delicious. Actually, get two orders and I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

His lips quirk up again, as if he’s not at all irritated that I cut him off. “Okay, two orders of tofu fries and then we’ll be eating. Together. You do know what together means, right? Close to or in the proximity of another person.”

“Very nice, Mr. Dictionary.”

He folds his arms on the table and leans across. He’s so tall, and the tables at Crowerly’s are so small, he’s virtually touching me.

“I’m your man if you need some SAT words for your papers.” A naughty grin spreads across his face. “I’m a verbal guy. I like saying things almost as much as I like doing them.”

He doesn’t explicitly define what “things” are, but I’d have to be a total newb not to get his gist. He’s talking about sex things. Dirty things. Hot things. The image of this guy bent over me whispering exactly how he’s going to touch me, feel me, be with me? I’m going to need a pitcher of water not a mug of coffee. The whole idea of Matty—geez, am I really calling him Matty now? He’s in my head, and I need to push him out.

“How is that even true?” I say skeptically. There’s no way he enjoys talking as much as he enjoys screwing some girl.

“Never enjoyed a little dirty talk during your fun time?” He looks disappointed.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I think talking is overrated. Maybe you should practice one aspect—such as the physical—before adding in another component,” I say in my most clinical and repressive tones, but even as I utter those words, I know what he’s going to say in return. The problem here is that Matt could probably turn anything into a sexual innuendo.

“I’m a big believer in “practice makes perfect,” and I don’t get my feelings hurt in the face of criticism, which is why you should test out both my physical and verbal skills. Say, tomorrow night?”

   
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