Jockblocked (Gridiron Book 2) Page 11

  She turns to look at the cookies. “Feel free to have one, or ten. But they’re sugar free.”

  My hand pauses over the pile. “What’s the point?” I can’t help myself from running my eyes over her again. She’s nicely rounded all over. Hips, tits, face. I like it all. It’s as if I shook a bag with all my preferences and out she fell.

  Luce merely shrugs. “I like them that way.”

  Hell. A cookie is a cookie. “Sounds delicious.”

  “And you sound dubious,” she laughs, completely unoffended. “Go sit down and I’ll bring you a plate. Want milk?”

  “Does Elmo like to be tickled?” I grab a chair and watch her bustle around making me a plate of cookies and milk.

  “I actually don’t know if he does. What if he hates being tickled but everyone does it anyway just to hear him laugh?”

  “But he does laugh,” I point out.

  “Sure, but it could be a nervous reaction. Like someone laughing at a funeral when they’re actually super sad.”

  “You’re ruining my childhood with your theories,” I say with mock sternness.

  She presses her lips together to keep from laughing. “I didn’t take you for an Elmo lover.” The plate of cookies slides into view.

  “Are you insulting my manhood now?” I pick up one of the cookies and take a bite. It’s…pretty good. I tell her so. “These don’t have sugar? I feel like you’re just full of lies.”

  “Entirely sugar free,” she declares and takes a seat next to me.

  I fake a shocked gasp. “You’re sitting down? At the same table as me? The guy who’s too risky to go out with?”

  She flushes. “I was just...”

  “Just what? Being polite?” I arch a brow. “Being a good hostess?” A smile tugs free. “Just admit it—you like me. You like talking to me, and you like being around me.”

  She sighs.

  “I promise I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry.”

  I polish off the remainder of the cookies and milk and lean back, shoving the Jack Daniels behind me. I’m in no hurry to go anywhere.

  “So why are you playing hostess?” I ask curiously. “And how come you’re here by yourself?” She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand. “Wait, let me guess. I’m going to assume that you’re here because your roommate is celebrating her six-week anniversary with her new dude. You needed a place to crash and wandered around campus until you found this house. Knowing the guys, the door was unlocked and you thought that with all the empty rooms and beds, this must be a campus-designated safe place for young, temporarily homeless women such as yourself.”

  She grins, almost in spite of herself. “And why am I not in bed?”

  “Because, like Goldilocks, you couldn’t find a bed that was comfortable enough. Hint, you’re in the wrong house.”

  “My apartment complex is being exterminated for supposed cockroaches. Ace said I could crash in his room.”

  Hmmm.

  “What’s that noise mean?” she nudges my foot with her socked toe.

  “So you’re Ace’s…” I let the answer question hang between us, willing her to fill in the blanks.

  “Friend,” she finishes.

  That doesn’t sound right to me. Actually, it sounds perfect to me, but I don’t think I trust my judgment. She’s here, alone in his house, wearing pajamas, and what I believe to be his socks. I’ve had girls steal my T-shirts, try on my jerseys, but never my socks. That’s real intimacy. My skepticism weights the silence that hangs between us.

  She huffs, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who believes girls and guys can’t be friends.”

  “’Course not,” I lie.

  One delicate eyebrow arches in disbelief. “We are friends. We met in the nurse’s office in the third grade.”

  “Why haven’t you dated him? I mean, I’m a guy but I’m confident enough in my masculinity to say that Ace is attractive. Plus, he’s the quarterback, and I understand from girls that the position automatically adds a couple points to his tally.”

  “So what? I mean, there are dozens of good-looking guys around here, but I’m not interested in dating them. Are you interested in dating every attractive girl you see?”

  “No,” I answer truthfully. Dating doesn’t interest me. Sleeping with them? At least once? I might be down with that. “I asked you out, though. If you turned me down because you’re after Ace, I get it.”

  I don’t like it, but then I don’t have to like it.

  “We’re friends. I saw him eat a worm once.” She shudders. “It was gross. You can’t ever date a guy you see eating invertebrates.”

  “Okay.” I pause thoughtfully. “So if Ace isn’t in the picture, I guess this brings us back to your unfounded belief that I’m a ‘risk.’” I air-quote the word, and her brown eyes flicker with resignation.

  “You think I’m nuts,” she says. “I get it. I know I can be anal about—”

  I snicker. Yeah. I’m thirteen, apparently.

  Lucy looks like she’s fighting laughter. “Seriously? You can’t hear the word anal without—”

  Another snicker. Goddamn it. I’m usually a lot smoother than this.

  “Fine, I give up. I’m not saying it again.”

  I drag my mind out of the gutter and fix her with a serious gaze. “Anyway, about this risk thing. You know what I think?”

  “No, but I bet I’m going to in the next five seconds.”

  She sounds resigned, but the fact that she’s still here, talking to me, feeding me? It all gives me encouragement. “Prepare to be enlightened. I feel like you haven’t given me a proper risk analysis. Maybe you weighted things incorrectly or haven’t accurately identified all the benefits. If you’re going to turn me down in the face of our clear attraction to each other, I deserve to see the assessment.”

  “Hmm, let me think.” She taps her cheek with one finger. “And no.”

  “I know you’ve got “football player” in the con column, but do you have increased stamina, ability to hold you up with one arm so my other hand is free to do lots of things like—”

  “No.” She nudges me warningly with her sock-covered foot to tell me I shouldn’t finish my example. I really hate that sock.

  I grab her foot and pull it into my lap. “Let’s do a risk/reward test.”

  “Let’s not.” But her foot doesn’t move.

  I massage her foot beneath the sock, pressing hard against the ball and then digging into the arch. She releases a tiny moan, and her head falls back in a dick-hardening sexy motion. Fuuuuck. If this is how I feel from just touching this girl’s hand and foot, what would it be like to be between her legs, to suck on her tits, to feel her pussy pulse around my dick? Light-headed and incredibly aroused, I almost fall off the chair.

  I gotta focus here. If I’m ever going to get past the foot and hand, I need to convince her that the reward with me would be off-the-charts amazing.

  Clearing my throat, I keep rubbing her foot. “Having your foot in my lap, that’s a risk, right? But you’re enjoying the rubdown. That’s a risk worth the reward.”

  “Keep rubbing and stop talking,” she orders. Her eyes are closed.

  Okay, but I’m not touching some other guy’s sock, particularly the guy whose bed she’s sleeping in. I don’t know if I fully buy into her “just friends” explanation for Ace. He has her picture in his locker. She’s wearing his socks. For all that, he’s at the Gas Station dry-humping a Kappa and Lucy’s home alone. I pull off the sock and toss it aside and stare at her toes.

  “Your nail polish is blue.” Since when did I think toes were sexy?

  She wriggles them. “Yes, on both feet. You’re very observant. Haven’t you ever seen a girl’s toes before?”

  “I’m sure I have.” I just don’t remember them. I have this strange feeling I’ll remember hers, though.

  I run a light caress over the anklebone, down the spine of the Achilles tendon, and around the edge of her instep.

  Her
breathing hitches, so quiet and so soft, I might have imagined it.

  “What’re you doing?” Her words are a husky whisper, and my body responds accordingly.

  My balls tighten, and my dick’s so hard I’m worried it’ll snap in half, but I can’t reach into my jeans to readjust or I’ll scare her away.

  “We’re testing your risk assessment.” And driving myself crazy.

  “You should stop.”

  “I can’t.” I move my hand up her ankle to cup the slender calf. “Feel good? Worth the risk?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  That’s an invitation if I ever heard one.

  Is it possible to come from just rubbing a girl’s leg? I might test out that theory. “And now?” My fingers find the tender hollow behind her knee. Her pulse beats rapidly against my palm. She’s as turned on as I am and I haven’t even gotten to the good parts.

  “It feels riskier,” she croaks.

  Yeah, because pretty soon my hand is going to be on your thigh, and I don’t know how I’m going to stop there.

  Her fingers are turning white as she grips the sides of her chair. Is she holding herself back? Or keeping herself there?

  Fuck, I want to kiss her so bad. I want to kiss her lips but I’d settle for her toes or her knee orshit, if all she’ll allow is for me to touch the tips of her fingers, I’d be okay with that. I need a taste of her. I’m dying for a taste of her.

  Desperately, I plead with her, “You sure you don’t want to take a chance? I really don’t take up that much time. I’m low-key, fairly undemanding. I’m the bargain purse. I have all the same hardware as the expensive purse, but I’m cheaper. I bring my own booze, remember?”

  I don’t know who moves first. Later she would say it was me. She could be right. I’ve been wanting to kiss her since I discovered her here. Since I saw her at the coffee house. Since maybe before we even met.

  I dig my fingers into her long blond hair and pull her onto my lap where her soft parts meet my hard, aching parts. Her hands grip my head and our tongues converge in a wet, hot collision.

  She tastes as sweet as she looks. Like the most decadent baked good ever.

  My poor dick is aching to feel her bare skin against it. I want to peel off her clothes until the heat of her warms my cold skin. I’ve been itching to mold her tits in my palms, lick the pulse point of her neck.

  My mother could come in and ask me my name and I wouldn’t have a response. I’m full of Luce. Her sweet taste, the heat of her touch, the vanilla smell from the cookies.

  She wriggles, trying to find the hard spot to alleviate the ache between her legs. My hand drops down to find the smooth skin of her thigh, made bare where her pajamas has ridden up. I hitch her leg higher.

  She sighs with relief and moans with pleasure when I press my weight against her. I nearly cry. It feels that good.

  I want to both kiss her until the sun comes up and throw her down onto the first surface I can find. Fucking hell, man, who needs a flat surface?

  I grip both her hips and drag her slowly across my dick. Her head slowly lolls back, exposing her smooth, beautiful throat. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, and the sharp pulls keep me from going over the edge, keep me from tearing off her kiddie pajama top and pulling down her silky shorts until she’s completely naked.

  I swear she’s ready for me, that she’s wet between her legs. Her feet hook into the ladder of the chair and she begins to ride me. I place a hand around her neck and pull her closer so that I can ravage that porcelain skin with my teeth and tongue.

  I should be gentle. This is my first chance to show her the reward is worth any risk, but it’s so damned hard.

  She smells like the first burst of spring. The clippings from a genuine grass field. Real, honest…mine. I feel like I could just live off the taste of Luce alone. That she’s all the sustenance I’ll need, which both thrills me and scares the shit out of me at the same time.

  It’s a crazy, exhilarating feeling, and I seriously cannot get enough. I drag her mouth back to mine so I can drink straight from the fountain. Goddamn, this kiss is better than any sex I’ve ever had. Her mouth is hot and wet, and she kisses me back as if she’s starving and I’m the first food she’s seen in days.

  She’s voracious, and every need in her calls forth an answering desire in me. I want to give her anything, everything. I want to kiss her mouth until we’re both too drugged up on each other to do anything but lie on the floor and count our breaths. I want to—

  The door slams open. Noises burst into my eardrum. My name is called. Once, twice, a dozen times. I don’t hear it but Lucy does.

  She shoves me away.

  “I…I should go.” And then she runs off. With my dick trying to punch his way out of my jeans and what sounds like the entire fucking team out in the hall, I can’t really do much about it. I’m awkwardly rearranging myself so I don’t look completely obscene when Hammer strolls in.

  “What the fuck was that?” Hammer asks. “Isn’t that Ace’s girl?”

  I run a hand over my hair. My world’s been tipped upside down with that kiss. “I don’t know, Hammer. I just don’t know.”

  12

  Lucy

  I collapse onto the safety of Ace’s bed. Lord, Matt Iverson is potent. No, he’s dangerous. I nearly burst into flames when those big, powerful hands were running over my foot. My legs. My sex. If we hadn’t been interrupted…God, I would have had sex with him. Right there in Ace’s kitchen, where anyone could’ve walked in on us. That’s how deep of a spell he had me under.

  I rub my hot cheeks and try to ignore the even hotter feeling between my legs. I was grinding against him like I was trying out for a spot as a cam girl. I’ve never felt like that about a guy before. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex since last year. A year is a really long time to go without. I’m just experiencing a…sexual re-awakening. It’s like when your limb falls asleep and when you wake it up, you’re full of intense pain and buzzing until it wears off.

  I just need for it to wear off. The next time I encounter Matt, I’ll be prepared.

  Next time? Oh, God, am I already anticipating a next time? How about never again? And shit, I promised Ace to stay away from him. But I don’t have to sleep with Matt. I could just…what?

  Talk! That’s what we’ll do. We’ll talk it out. Eat some food, have a drink—beer for him, Diet Coke for me—and we’ll both laugh and realize that we’re better off friends.

  I try to force myself to sleep, but my mind whirls in circles. I need to stay away. But I can’t help myself. But he’s no good. But he’s funny! He makes me laugh and, fuck me, the size of the monster in his pants—No! Do you not remember those Instagram photos? Do you really want to be the next member of the panty parade in Matt’s bed? But I’d have to be dead not to appreciate what a perfect specimen of masculinity he is. How I was on fire just from him touching my fricking ankle!

  And the circle goes around again. I toss and turn until Ace’s door slams open. I bolt up in bed wondering where the fire is only to sag back immediately when I see two shapes wrestle inside, half-laughing, half-trying to discover what the other person had for dinner.

  I clear my throat as the two stumble and fall onto the sofa. “Ahem,” I say a little louder.

  Ace peers over the blonde’s shoulder and his eyes flicker in some dim remembrance.

  “Oh, Luce. Forgot you were here.” He’s drunk so the words are slurred together, but I get the gist.

  “I am here,” I remind him.

  “Can you just…” He spins his finger around in quick circle.

  I gape. “For real? You just want me to cover my head and pretend you’re not here?”

  “No. We’re going to pretend you’re not here,” the girl shoots back. I don’t recognize this one. She’s not the blonde from earlier, and she’s not Stella.

  Ace looks out at me glassy eyes. “You don’t mind, do you?” His hand runs up the back of his companion, and she responds by rubb
ing her chest all over him.

  I stare at the two of them in disbelief. He wants me to pretend he’s not having sex on the couch? I take too long to respond because my inability to form words is taken as consent by the girl. She proceeds to noisily kiss Ace’s neck, sounding for all the world like a fish flopping around on a dock.

  He must be so drunk he can’t hear her or so horny he doesn’t care. Maybe it’s both.

  “I do mind, actually.”

  “Don’t be a cockblocker,” the girl says, her mouth partially muffled against Ace’s neck.

  “That would be cuntblocker,” I correct impatiently. “You don’t have a cock.”

  “Did you just call me a cunt, bitch?”

  I turn to Ace. “You know how to pick them.”

  “I’m not judging her IQ, just the quality of her snatch,” he replies crudely.

  And the girl? She doesn’t even flinch. If anything I think her expression grows victorious.

  “Nice, Ace. Real nice.”

  “Lucy, give us…” He looks down at the girl and back to me. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes?” His friend squawks. “I want to spend the night here.”

  “Right, I really don’t do sleepovers,” Ace tells her and starts to rise.

  “You have someone in your bed!” She points to me. Yet my presence, no matter what the reason, doesn’t drive her off.

  “It’s just Lucy. She doesn’t matter.”

  I know he’s drunk, but that was rude. And here I was feeling guilty that I’d kissed his teammate. After this, I should have the right to kiss the whole damn team! I climb out of bed, find my socks, and grab my backpack. Ace reaches out to grasp my hand as I leave.

  “Don’t go. Just wait downstairs. I’ll be a half hour. Hour tops.”

  “No, you won’t.” The girl takes Ace’s face between her hands. “I’m going to rock your world. You don’t need her.”

  Without waiting for any response, she pulls Ace’s hand down between her legs and starts rocking. Oh. My. God. Ace is really losing it. I hustle out of there before the contents of my dinner decorate their rapidly discarded clothes.