“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 fucking 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.
“Why don’t you get out of the fucking aisle,” Fozzy mutters.
“I’m standing in the middle of the pad, Foz.” Hammer points to his feet, which are, to his credit, planted in the center of one of the large mats lining the floor in front of the wall of mirrors.
“You are now,” Fozzy replies sullenly as he walks away.
The sound of Jeezy’s “Seen It All” rocks in the background, punctuated by the grunts of about forty guys. We’ve got a week until Signing Day and then our asses have to be back in practice.
I spot Ace and Jack over in the corner, throwing a weighted medicine ball at each other. Bishop and a couple of his boys are doing box jumps. I turn back to Hammer, who’s still glaring at Fozzy’s back.
“Taylor Swift it, man,” I order.
“What the hell does that mean?”
I shake both my hands. “Shake it off.”
“You’re spending too much time with the girl squad.” Hammer leans over to start another rep of squats.
I lie back on the bench and continue my fly exercises. “Gee, sit around in the stench of passed gas and sour beer or watch television with three babes who smell like a candy store and look better than a Vicky’s Secret runway show. Can’t imagine why I’m hanging out with Luce and her roommates. Admit it, bro. You’re sour because they haven’t invited you back.”
“I think you’re being selfish, keeping them to yourself,” he whines. “I’ve got another list I want to run by them. This time I’m working on the top ten foods that look like dildos.”
“No. Not happening.”
“Okay. How about a list about the euphemisms for a girl’s cooch? I’m guessing sausage casing would be out. I can already see the brunette screwing up her little nose at me. Say, she dating anyone?”
“Charity? Nah, I don’t think so.”
“You oughta hook me up.”
“Who’s hooking who up?” Darryl asks.
“Matty’s girlfriend has two hot roommates. I think one of them should be doing me.” Hammer takes a break and swallows a half gallon of water.
“Matty, bruh, I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” Darryl says. He leans against the bar above the bench while I glare at Hammer. He’s going to jinx the whole deal.
“It’s early stages yet.”
“Is Masters contagious or something?” Darryl asks warily. “I never thought I’d see the day that you’d be dating someone. I guess that means more at the Gas Station for me.”
Stung, I bark back, “I’m not a poon hound. I haven’t dated anyone lately because I hadn’t met anyone worth dating.”
“Then introduce us.”
“No way.” I wipe my forehead with a towel. I’m trying to convince Lucy that I’m a decent guy worth risking her time and energy on. I bring these yahoos to the party and even though they mean it out of love, I’m already cringing at the types of embarrassing and unsavory stories they’ll trot out in an effort to impress her with their not-so-great wit.
“What the fuck, Foz? I have water up my fucking nose,” Hammer yelps. When I look up, the rest of Hammer’s water jug has been emptied over his face and chest. “Watch where you’re fucking going!”
I deduce by the water and the position of Foz at Hammer’s elbow that Fozzy must have bumped Hammer while he was drinking and the water splashed everywhere.
I wait for Fozzy to apologize but he doesn’t. Instead he takes the nearly empty jug, walks calmly over to me and dumps the rest of the contents over my head. I rip the plastic jug out of his hand and wipe myself off, counting silently to ten, before snapping. “What is your problem today? Your jock a little tight after one too many of momma’s cookies at Christmas?”