Game Changer: #UofJ Book 2- A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Sports Romance (U of J)

by Alley Ciz

  “Well…this just got all Kardashians up in here.” He’s such a smartass, but I’ll take the injection of levity into the situation. “Okay, bro.” He pulls out his desk chair, sitting down and taking both a notebook and a pen from the drawer. “Sit your ass down and start from the beginning.” He points at his bed, the covers roughly tossed up to make it look made. “I’m going to need all the details of your dumping to help you fix it.”

  “Should I start calling you Cupid1 instead of QB1?” I taunt while doing as he asked, retrieving my hat in the process.

  “Hmm…” He scratches at his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Fuck yeah, I like it. Now give me the deets.”

  I do. I tell him every accusation I made.

  “You told me you don’t like having your full face show in pictures.”

  “Outside of you wearing my hoodie and when we’re sitting next to each other in class or at lunch, you keep as much space between us as you do between you and our friends.”

  Every insult I tossed out, all the ways I belittled Kay about her hang-ups with social media and what she went through in the past.

  “I gave you an easy solution to shut the haters up. You wouldn’t have to do a thing except smile for the camera, and yet you refused.”

  “Were you even bullied? Or is that just some lie you used to get me to stop pushing the issue of posting about us on my social media?”

  I purge my guts to one of the few people in this world who won’t judge me.

  “At one point, I slow-clapped her. I fucking slow-clapped.” I’m not just an idiot; I’m an asshole and a douche.

  There may not be judgment, but there are eye rolls, a reaction I’m sure Trav picked up from Kay herself.

  “You really are a fucking idiot, Mase.”

  “I know.” I lift my hat off and replace it on my head, working the brim between my hands before releasing it to grip the back of my neck.

  “Lucky for you, helping you serves a more selfish purpose for me, so yes, I accept the job as your Cupid1.”

  I know better than to ask what those selfish reasons could be, but I do anyway.

  “Because…as your best friend, I probably fall under the persona non grata category. The way Short Stack cooks and always feeds me is not something I want to give up.”

  The absurdity of Trav’s statement manages to get the first genuine laugh out of me in days. This guy is forever thinking with his stomach.

  “Real bro code mentality right there,” I quip.

  “Whatever.” He pops a shoulder. “Not a risk I’m willing to take.”

  I nod. No use arguing. Besides, we have more important things to discuss.

  Time to come up with a plan to get my girl back before it’s too late.

  #Chapter8

  “PF, where you at?” JT’s voice echoes down the hall of my family home, and Herkie jumps down from the couch to greet my bestie instead of waiting.

  I don’t bother answering. He’ll find us in less than a minute.

  “Oh, good. Bette did your hair,” JT says when he spots me curled up in the corner of the sectional, recently straightened hair hanging around my shoulders.

  I didn’t have it in me to stop Bette from fussing over me earlier and letting her style my hair was a painless thing to allow. Plus, having someone else wash your hair for you is one of the best things ever.

  I may feel like crap on a stick, but yes, my hair is on point. The real question is why JT cares.

  “If this is your subtle attempt at getting Bette to do your own hair, you know you don’t have to bother.”

  “Ooo, good plan.” JT makes double bouncing finger guns at Bette. “You can hook this up”—he points to his head—“while this one”—he thrusts his arm out to me—“goes to get ready.”

  “Ready?” I shake my head, my hair fanning out at the aggressiveness of it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Oh, but you are.” He takes my hand and pulls me from the divot I’ve worn into the couch with my ass. “We’re going to King’s, and you don’t get to have an opinion on the matter.”

  That explains the dark jeans, stylishly ripped white tee, and Vans.

  “I’m not really in the mood to go to a Royal Ball.” All my effort goes into pushing back against the hands curled around my shoulders, trying to prevent them from guiding me up the stairs.

  “Too bad, so sad for you, PF.” I don’t need to look back to know he’s sporting a shit-eating grin. “Now go get changed, and keep in mind it’s a race night.” He doesn’t stop until we come to my bedroom door. “And make sure you do something”—he spins me around and circles a finger an inch from my face—“about this mess.”

  Guess the coddling portion of the breakup period is over. JT is a tough love specialist if the situation warrants it. Besides, I can’t really fault him. The skin around my eyes is looking rough. I had to wear more than one ice mask to get the swelling down enough not to scare people at The Barracks this morning, and eye drops are a necessity to control the redness around my irises.

  “Really feeling the love right now, bro.”

  “Calm your sarcasm, sis.” He spins me again and pats my ass like a ballplayer, directing me into my room. “You have half an hour then I’m dragging you out, ready or not.”

  Thirty minutes later, dressed appropriately in my own pair of black skinny jeans, black and white Chucks, white V-neck, and leather jacket, I sit in the passenger seat of Pinky while JT drives us to King’s.

  My hot pink Jeep sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of matte black sports cars parked around the huge empty lot surrounding the buildings that serve as home base for Carter King and the Royalty Crew.

  The bonfire that is a staple of these Royal Balls is going strong. T and Savvy are already here, standing with the other high schoolers staying far enough away so the smoke won’t give Savvy an asthma attack.

  JT tucks me under his arm and leads us to where Carter and his aptly named second, Wesley Prince, hold court. He takes one of the open seats around the fire and pulls me to sit in his lap.

  JT falls into easy conversation with the guys while I give a handful of chin jerks hello. I managed to hold it together during our stunting clinics last night and practice with both the Marshals and Admirals today—the latter significantly harder because of the Roberts Twins—but I’m all tapped out on social interaction.

  I may not be a regular at these things like JT is when he’s home—until T and Savvy started attending, I used to hang with them instead—but nobody seems to be bothered by my silence. The lack of judgment and pettiness is actually one of my favorite things about the Royals.

  With a two-year age gap between us and King, we didn’t mingle with him and his crew much past our mutual connection of T and Savvy’s friendship. But when shit started going down and the bullying got out of control at Blackwell Public, JT took matters into his own hands and sought out a more active friendship with the king—no pun intended—of Blackwell.

  Being a member of one of the town’s founding families, Carter has connections all the way from the mayor’s office down to the gossiping elders. He has way more pull, and dare I say power, than one would think is typical for a person who is barely old enough to legally drink.

  Outside of the obviously illegal street races—he inherited the operation then grew it into the biggest circuit in the tri-state area in a handful of years—no one really questions all the things the Royals are actively involved in.

  I suspect the reason JT dragged me out tonight was to remind me that though Carter may be more his friend than mine—hence why he isn’t the CK in my life—he’s a friend nonetheless. There wasn’t anything they could do digitally, but King and his Royals were the ones to shut down the bullying that happened inside the halls of Blackwell Public.

  Even after Carter graduated, Wes continued to uphold the Royal protection decree. So, being dragged to a Royal Ball instead of letting me wallow in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s? This is JT’s way of m
aking sure I remember there are people who will have my back when he has to return to Kentucky tomorrow night.

  When “Wasabi” by Little Mix comes on, I know T and Savvy have taken control of the sound system, and if I wasn’t so depressed, I would find them for an impromptu dance party. Instead, those nerve endings that would be tapping my feet and swiveling my hips are deadened, and my legs remain hanging limply over the side of the chair.

  Like a box of Rice Krispies, the fire snaps, crackles, and pops. My attention is drawn to the dancing orange and red flames, watching the way the oxygen moves from the heat at the peak of the high teepee of stacked wood.

  I’m free to zone out, but I can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse. It’s nice not having to fake being alright when I’m the farthest thing from it, except the flip side is any time I have too much time to think, my thoughts turn to Mas—fuck!—Mason.

  I’m angry.

  I’m hurt.

  If you told me my heart had grown tear ducts, I would believe you since it literally feels like it’s weeping out the pain of missing him.

  Guess I better get used to my new reality.

  #Chapter9

  By the time Trav and I emerge from his room with a plan to get Kay back, the Alpha party is in full swing downstairs. I come to a halt at the threshold, Trav bumping into me at my abrupt stop.

  “Oh, shit,” Trav whispers at the sight of Grant Grayson glaring at us as he pauses in unlocking his own bedroom door.

  Having been lost in my own head these last few days, I didn’t even think about the lack of communication from him. He warned me not to hurt his best friend, and that’s exactly what I did. His response—or more accurately, his lack of one—is a clear sign of whose side he’s taking in all this.

  Guess he went with ‘sisters before misters’ instead of ‘bros before hoes’, huh?

  We stand in a silent stare-off until the sound of running footsteps precedes Em’s appearance at the top of the stairs. “Oh, good.” She flicks a glance in my direction but dismisses me instantly, giving her full attention to Grayson. “You’re back.”

  From over Em’s head, Grant’s dark gaze meets mine again, but he also ignores me and only speaks to her. “You’re still here?”

  “I was waiting for you. JT knew you’d be mad enough he didn’t tell you what was going on sooner, so I’m your ride.” Em puts her hands on Grayson’s back to move him along the second he has his door open. “Now hurry up and change.”

  “Have you talked to her?” I hear Grayson ask as they disappear inside the room.

  “No. JT said she put her phone in a drawer at his house and hasn’t touched it since Thursday.”

  Desperate for any information I can get about Kay, I hustle across the hall and shove my foot inside the jamb before the door can fully shut.

  “What do you want, Mason?” Contempt drips from Em’s question as she folds her arms over her chest.

  “You’re going to see Kay?” I ask, not intimidated by her ire in the least.

  “Of course I am. Friends”—she steps close, poking with me each word—“rally around each other in their time of need.”

  Fuck me.

  Oh, buddy. You’ve committed one hell of a personal foul.

  “Do you think we should compare notes on your stupidity?” Trav whispers into my ear, though his voice isn’t low enough not to be overheard if the slight curl to Em’s lips is any indication.

  “I fucked up,” I admit, not for the first time tonight, and if I can convince Em to tell me where they are going, I doubt it will be the last.

  “You got that right.” Em snorts before the brief flash of amusement is wiped clear.

  Grayson, unperturbed by the audience, starts undressing. “Is it wrong I’m annoyed she didn’t tell me?” he asks Em as he pulls on a pair of dark jeans.

  “She didn’t want to ruin your weekend with your family.” He grunts his displeasure at that reasoning. “If it makes you feel any better, JT said she hasn’t even spoken to E. He’s been the one fielding all the calls.”

  “I can’t believe she agreed to tonight.” Grayson slips a fresh t-shirt over his head.

  “I don’t think JT gave her a choice.” Em gives us her back, continuing their conversation as if Trav and I don’t exist. “He’s working the bigger picture angle.”

  “How bad is it going be when he goes back to Kentucky?”

  “Don’t know.” Em shrugs. “But from what I’ve been told…”

  The taste of copper fills my mouth as I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood in an effort not to demand she finish her sentence. I hate that I’m missing not just pages, but whole chapters from Kay’s story.

  Grayson finishes zipping up a black hoodie and moves to stand next to Em. His six-eight frame is practically vibrating with barely restrained anger as he eyes me. The two adopt similar poses of crossed arms and death glares, and again, I’m reminded that he might be my brother in the fraternity, but he also considers himself one of Kay’s brothers.

  “I’ll deal with you another time.” Grant goes to step around me. A frantic need overwhelms my body and I take a chance, reaching out to stop him with a hand to his arm.

  “Where is she?”

  “You lost the right to ask that,” Em snaps. This harsh, mama bear side of her is a new development.

  “Emma.” I let every ounce of anguish I’ve been feeling show on my face. “I know I don’t deserve it”—I inhale deeply and send up a silent prayer—“but I’m not going to be able to fix this on my own.”

  Fuck! Even with help, there’s a chance the damage I inflicted is too great.

  “I…” I bring my hands to my chest, laying my palms flat over my heart. “I need to be able to fix this. Please.” I swallow thickly. “Please help me.”

  Who knew silence could be so deafening? It’s heavy and stretches on and on until I think I can’t take it anymore.

  Finally, Em shares a look I can’t quite read with Grayson before refocusing on me with an arched brow and a smirk. I should probably heed the warning, but my drive to get to Kay is too strong.

  “It’s your funeral.”

  #Chapter10

  Excited murmuring spreads throughout the lot as a buzz of anticipation permeates the atmosphere. It’s enough to break me out of my own antisocial haze.

  From my seat, I can’t make out what’s going on, but the way the crowd is swarming suggests it’s a new arrival who’s stirring things up. I’m not the only one who has taken note of the change. They aren’t being overly obvious about it, only shifting to lean forward in their seats, elbows braced on their knees, hands hanging limply between them, but all the Royals around the bonfire are on high alert.

  “You invited people from BA?” I speak for the first time in the hours since we arrived, directing my question to Carter since he runs the show.

  BA, Blackwell Academy, is the most expensive and exclusive private school in the state. It also happens to be on the opposite side of town from Blackwell Public, where we all graduated from. The rivalry between the schools and their students runs as deep as any generations-old family grudge.

  Luckily for them, their money is green, and Carter allows them in the races. Whoever arrived must have a car nice enough to rival King’s based on the reaction.

  “No.” His jaw is hard, part of it popping out from how he has it clenched. Carter King embodies every bad boy persona mothers warn their daughters about. He’s got a Cam Gigandet vibe to him with his short buzzed blond hair hidden underneath his black beanie, snug black t-shirt, ripped jeans, classic Jordans G would kill for, and leather jacket. “With you being here, I didn’t want to risk having that many unknowns around. I’ll take those rich douches’ money next weekend.”

  This time it’s shock that renders me speechless.

  Carter chuckles at my slack-jawed expression. “I get that we aren’t BFFs, Dennings, but”—he cranes his neck to look past me to where I can hear Savvy laughing with T—“you have alw
ays been good to my sister, and you know how I feel about my family.”

  Unexpected emotion chokes me. The King siblings may not be orphans like myself, but with a dad who abandoned them when Savvy was a baby and a mom who isn’t winning any mother of the year awards, it was Carter who took over the majority of responsibility for the younger King. Having grown up in an unconventional family dynamic myself, it never even crossed my mind to be anything less than accepting of Savvy into our own.

  “Tonight is about reminding you there are people who have your back and preventing you from forgetting that fact like you did for a time in high school.” Carter levels me with a You’ll do best to listen to me brow raise, and I’m nodding before I even realize I’m doing so. It’s not something we talk about openly, but I appreciate how he used his pull for me.

  Still…

  If it’s not BA-ers, what is going on?

  Then I see Em, Q, CK, and G push through the sea of people, but it’s not them causing the commotion. No, that honor goes to the backward-hat-wearing Adonis striding up behind them.

  What the fuck?

  My battered heart jumps at the sight of Mason looking too damn good. A pair of dark jeans hangs from his trim hips, the waffle weave of his green Henley clings to the rippling muscles of his washboard stomach, and his distressed denim jacket and white fitted ball cap complete the look.

  Though his presence is enough to have me going into a tailspin, it’s his car that set the gearheads here off.

  “Em,” I hiss, grabbing her hand in a death grip and pulling her down to my level.

  Beneath me, JT grunts, and I think I may have elbowed him in the junk from my jerky movements.

  “What is he doing here?” I peer around her and find those seafoam green eyes still locked on me like he can see through the body bent between us. All the longing and softness in them evaporates the instant he notices I’m sitting in JT’s lap, but I’m too busy reeling from him being here to process the shift.