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

by Alley Ciz

It’s game on, and I always play to win.

  The chilly night air brushes along my cheeks, but my blood is boiling too hot for me to notice. I scan the area for Kay, but before I can find her, I’m intercepted by JT. He looks nothing like the happy-go-lucky guy I’ve seen plastered all over social media. No, this person standing in front of me looks pissed as fuck.

  He’s dressed similarly to most of those here, in jeans and a leather jacket, and not for the first time, I wonder who the hell Kay is hanging out with.

  His arms are folded across his chest, staring me down hard, his brows a stern line across his forehead. Though I have a couple inches and a few pounds on him, Trav was right in his assessment about the guy—he is built like a footballer.

  “I’m getting real tired of seeing her cry.” JT cuts right to the chase.

  “Can you stop being such a nice guy?” The strawberry-blonde I recognize as his sister Tessa scolds him as she bounces up to his side.

  “Tess,” JT chides.

  “Don’t give me that, Jim,” she says, crossing her own arms.

  “I think she wants you to act more like my brother,” a blonde adds, flanking JT’s other side.

  “Not a chance, Savvy,” JT says as Tessa counters with a, “Screw the Royals. I want him to go full-on E.”

  I do my best to hide my wince at the thought of what I’m sure E wants to do to me for breaking his sister’s heart.

  JT rolls his eyes—of course he does; Kay is his best friend, after all. “Wes!” he shouts over his shoulder. “Can you help a brother out and control the mini Royal please?”

  Another guy in a leather jacket, his with ribbing and elbow patches those who race motorcycles would wear, joins us. “I love that you think she listens to me.”

  JT chuckles in the way any brother with a little sister laughs when they are with a guy who knows that pain. “At the very least you can distract her by taking her to the race.”

  The guy, Wes something or other, claps JT on the shoulder but shakes his head. “No can do, bro. King’s racing tonight. I’m in charge of the book.”

  The comment has JT shifting his attention away from me and giving it all to Wes. “Carter never races in these small ones. Why’s he racing tonight?”

  “Well, when your girl—”

  I growl at Kay being called anyone’s girl except mine. Tessa and Savvy giggle, highly amused, and I see a satisfied smirk tilt the edges of JT’s mouth as he watches me out of the corner of his eye.

  “—started rooting around for the tequila and looking all high school-ly, King thought a little street racing might be just what she needed to stop thinking about this guy for a while.” Wes waves at me, but my gut is too busy clenching at the thought of Kay riding shotgun while people play Fast and Furious.

  “Is Kay safe with this King guy?” Trav asks, stepping up to my left, backing me up should I need it.

  “Yeah.” JT blows out a breath. “You won’t find a better driver in the state than Carter. But fuck me”—he thrusts a hand through his hair—“thank god it’s only Bette who’s up this weekend.”

  That catches me off guard. When we were at their place, Bette didn’t say anything about visiting while JT was home. Does that mean E did come up?

  “Bette’s here?” I ask, wondering if I should prepare myself for more than one ass-kicking.

  “Hold on.” He holds a finger up for me to wait and speaks to Wes. “What do you mean she looked high school-ly?”

  “You know…” Wes makes a rolling motion with his hand. “How she would retreat into herself when she would go days without speaking”—his fingers form a V and point from his eyes to JT’s—“and she could be looking right at you and not see you.”

  “Were you even bullied?”

  My eyes fall closed against how condescending I sound even in my memory. Days? Kay would go days without speaking? What happened that would cause that kind of reaction?

  “I know she didn’t really say…well…anything until he showed up.” Again, Wes points to me. “But this was different.”

  “Fuck.” The mood shifts as JT starts to massage the ridge of his brow.

  “What’s wrong?” Trav asks before I can, and I feel him shift, ready to fight anything that dares threaten Kay.

  JT casts a look around. The crowd has dwindled considerably since apparently a street race is underway, but we aren’t alone. “I’m not getting into it here, and the only reason I’m not kicking your ass for the dig you made about her being bullied is because I know she didn’t tell you the full extent of what happened.”

  Fuck me. I need to know what went down.

  “I’m not going to tell you.” Shit. “It’s not my place.” Double shit. “What I will tell you is this, and I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen the fuck up.”

  Instinct has me wanting to question who the fuck he thinks he is talking to me like that, but I’ve given this guy enough reason not to like me; I don’t need to be outwardly disrespectful as well.

  “Kay—”

  “She doesn’t like it when you call her Kay,” Tessa interrupts.

  “Shut it, Tess.” She mimes zipping her lips. “Anyway…” JT gives her side-eye. “Kay is my family.” He turns away, pacing a handful of steps before turning back. “You may have gotten all growly hearing her be called my girl, but make no mistake, she is mine.”

  The fuck she is. This time I sound practically feral, and Trav’s strong throwing arm pressing against my chest is the only thing keeping me from decking the guy.

  JT puts up both hands in a stop motion and takes a step back. “Relax, Caveman.” His use of Kay’s nickname cuts deep. “I don’t mean mine in the way she’s yours—and she is yours. I mean she’s mine the same way she’s E’s. I don’t give a fuck about actual blood relation. That girl is my sister and always will be.”

  I gotta hand it to him, he earns my respect with each word—okay maybe not each word, but you know what I mean—that comes out of his mouth. And he’s right—the only vibe I’ve picked up from him is the same I have around E or Grayson.

  “JT is just a friend. He’s as much a brother to me as E.” Kay tried to tell me the same thing, but my asshole response was, “Yeah, and in Biz Markie’s song, that’s exactly what the bitch says when she’s actually hooking up with the other guy.”

  JT and I stare each other down, breathing heavy in a standoff for the same girl, one as a brother and one as the—God willing—boyfriend. I know the moment he sees the shift of understanding in my gaze, and his whole body deflates as his defensive guard lowers.

  “Now…as much as she will deny it and is fighting it, Kay loves you.”

  Skittles may not be the one saying the words, but it still feels good to hear them. The knot that has been a permanent resident in my gut loosens fractionally.

  “You have a chance—albeit a small one—to fix this and win her back.”

  “She—” I clear my throat, emotion getting the best of me. “She said she’s too weak to be with me.”

  “And you believe that?” If looks could kill, I’d be dead where I stand.

  “Fuck no.”

  I get a nod of approval.

  “She’s not weak. She just…doesn’t feel fully healed from the last time.”

  I’m really going to have to sit Kay down and make her tell me everything that happened after her dad died. I can’t come up with a proper playbook if I don’t know my opponents.

  “It’s going to be a lot of work, and it will feel like an uphill battle at times. You won’t just have this bullshit that’s happening now with people trying to dig up dirt on her for the simple reason of her being with you. You’ll also be fighting the shit from her past.”

  “I’ll take on the whole goddamn world if I have to. I’m not giving up. Kay is mine, and I’m not going to let a single soul keep her from being at my side where she belongs.”

  #Chapter14

  UofJ411: More than friends? #MuscialBedMates #CasanovasGirl
>
  *picture of G leaving Kay’s apartment with a duffle bag hanging from his shoulder*

  @AshWonderWoman: @TheGreatestGrayson37, does @CasaNova87 know you spent the night at his girlfriend’s place? #IKnowWhereYouSleptLastNight #CasanovasGirl

  UofJ411: Why so sad? #HeresAKleenex #CasanovasGirl

  *picture of an obviously-been-crying Kay at a table in the library*

  @Beccalynn1010: They have to have broken up. Look at this ^^ She was totally crying #DoYouNeedATissue #CasanovasGirl

  UofJ411: Someone is missing… #WheresWaldo #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl

  *picture of the crew’s lunch table with everyone there except Kay*

  @Behawks87: Why isn’t she eating with them anymore? #DidTheyBreakUp #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl

  UofJ411: Is this goodbye? #TroubleInParadise #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl

  *boomerang of Kay walking away from Mason*

  @Ladyjanegray75: I wouldn’t walk away from you @CasaNova87 #CasanovasGirl

  #Chapter15

  Elvis Duran and the Morning Show blares through Pinky’s speakers while I hide out in the parking lot, but not even Greg T’s antics can cut through the nerves consuming my body. I have fifteen minutes left until I have to be in class, which is fifteen minutes too few before I have to face Mason.

  I’m under no illusions that the strategy of coming in late and leaving a few minutes early will work again today like it did the other day. Mason is too damn stubborn to allow that.

  He calls—I send it to voicemail.

  He texts—I leave them unread.

  He shows up at my dorm—I sleep at the Taylors’ on nights Pops isn’t working.

  Why won’t he just go away?

  Then there’s the other issue, I think, my gaze sliding to the messenger bag on the passenger seat.

  I have no clue what possessed me to bring it with me. I don’t know, maybe I was afraid if I left it at the Taylors’, Pops would somehow find it and take his temper to five-alarm status.

  Being the main subject of UofJ411’s content on their Instagram feed is bad enough. The speculation, the rumors, the utter glee at the prospect of Mason being back on the market.

  It’s the turn things have taken since my identity leaked that I never expected. Thanks to the rivalry between the schools, the news of my relationship status with our tight end found its way to the last Nittany Lion I would want in the know.

  Another glance at the clock on the dash tells me if I’m going to class, I need to leave the sanctuary of my Jeep now.

  Gurrrrl, get your ass out of the car, my inner cheerleader scolds.

  I adjust the black and white chevron-print infinity scarf around my neck, worrying the thin cotton between my fingers.

  I lift and replace the black Yankees hat on my head several times before finally giving in and pushing the door open to exit the vehicle.

  Sure enough, waiting outside the lecture hall is Mason Nova. Damn him. I hate that I can’t deny how flipping hot he looks leaning back against the wall, signature backward cap on, feet kicked out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, hands shoved into the pouch of his U of J football hoodie.

  Fight and flight war inside me, but before either one can win, Mason looks up and those beautiful seafoam green eyes lock onto me, sending shivers rushing down my spine.

  “Hey, babe.” His deep voice rumbles out of his throat and into my chest.

  I can’t do this. It’s too hard.

  I turn to flee, but Mason’s bear-paw-sized hand wraps around my upper arm, encircling my bicep completely and preventing me from making my retreat.

  “I don’t think so. Not this time.” He gives a gentle tug, always conscious of how much smaller I am than him.

  Short of literally fighting him off, I have no choice but to follow him into the classroom—except when we step inside, it’s not our lecture hall, but rather an empty one.

  “As much as I like seeing you in my hoodie, you do work a leather jacket.” He grabs the folded-over lapels, keeping me in front of him.

  “Mason.” I put my hands on his chest, locking my elbows to keep as much distance between us as possible.

  “What do I have to do to get you to call me Mase again?”

  Why does such a simple request hurt the heart so much?

  “Mason.” I try to sidestep, but his hold on my jacket is resolute.

  “Skittles.”

  I squeak at his nickname for me, the familiarity cutting deeper than I thought possible.

  The leather of my jacket creaks as his hold on me tightens, the tips of my toes overlapping the tips of his as I’m forced across the last inch between us.

  I drop my head, seeking the shelter the brim of my hat affords me, trying to hide from those light eyes that can see right through me.

  As if he’s read my mind, my hat is gone, falling to the floor with a soft thud, and Mason’s warm breath dances across my forehead followed by the softest, gentlest, most heart-wrenching kiss.

  No longer able to be stifled, a sob breaks free and tears start to stream. As if I’m not struggling enough, Mason doesn’t pull away, only bending to rest his forehead against mine.

  “I miss you, baby.” His words may be whispered, but it doesn’t take away from the steel behind them.

  I miss him too. So much. I’m barely sleeping, food’s lost all taste, coffee is (barely) sustaining me, and the only time I feel a micron of peace is when I’m at The Barracks, though even that is touch and go because seeing the twins only makes me think of him.

  “You need to let me go, Mason.”

  “No.”

  Damn stubborn bastard.

  “Pl-Please.”

  I don’t know how much more I can endure before I break down completely. Every cell in my body wants to merge with his, every breath I take filled with the intoxicating aroma of his body wash.

  It’s too much.

  He’s too much.

  “I’m no good for you.”

  I can’t stop seeing those same words penned in harsh black Sharpie.

  I had to guess so I hope I got the size right. Figured he deserves a heads-up about what a train wreck you are. Unless…the rumors are true, and he’s already realized you’re no good for him, realized being with someone like YOU can only be career suicide. You ARE your mother’s daughter after all.

  It was the last line in the note accompanying the package Liam sent that really hurt.

  “The fuck you aren’t,” Mason snarls, completely unaware of my inner turmoil.

  He pulls away so fast there’s a breeze. When I finally chance a glance at him, peering through the loose curls that have fallen in front of my face, the only way I can describe his expression is thunderous.

  He stomps toward the door, and I don’t know whether to cry out in relief or beg him not to leave. I’m a disaster. I want him to stay but need him to go.

  Tears continue to spill down my cheeks in steady rivers, and I’m honestly surprised I’m not dehydrated from the gallons I’ve cried this last week.

  I stop breathing when he picks up the backpack I hadn’t even realized he’d brought in with him, but instead of him taking it and leaving, the zrrrip of the zipper sounds and he pulls something out.

  “I know it was my mistake that started this. I should have told you about Chrissy sooner, and I take full responsibility for that. Hell…” His free hand grips the back of his neck, and there’s a lengthy pause before he continues. “Who knows, if I had, that whole fight and weirdness we had after all those damn Adam posts hit the Gram may never have happened.”

  No, it would have. It wasn’t his past that was the problem in that argument; it was mine.

  It’s still mine.

  You are your mother’s daughter after all.

  “Mason.”

  “Please, Kay.” He crushes the black fabric in his hands, holding it to his stomach. “I’ll do whatever it takes for you to trust me again, just please, please give us another chance.”

&
nbsp; Fuck!

  I hate this.

  I. Hate. This.

  My sobs become uncontrollable, and I can already picture the newest memes I would inspire should anyone catch sight of me right now.

  “I already told you, Mason.” My words are stuffy from the snot clogging my nose thanks to my cry-fest. “I forgive you. This”—I bounce a finger between us—“is on me, not you.”

  He deserves the truth, but I still can’t bring myself to tell him the details. I should just tell him what to google so he can see the articles himself. Yes, Jordan and her people helped bury them to the back pages of the search results, but they still exist. The internet lives forever.

  “I love you, Kay.”

  See? My inner cheerleader tightens her high ponytail and glares at me. He loves you, you love him. Stop being a fucking martyr and tell him. Tell him ev-er-y-thing. Maybe with him by your side, you can finally let it go.

  “We have class.” It’s a weak excuse, but it’s the only one I have.

  “Fuck class. We aren’t leaving this room until you’re mine again.” Then without another word, he unfolds what’s in his hands and holds it out to me.

  Holy shit! Not him too.

  A simple black cotton crewneck t-shirt stares at me. On the back, if you couldn’t have guessed it, NOVA and #87 are stamped in red and white block letters. It’s when he spins it around to show me the front—My boyfriend owns the field, but I own his heart, a red heart with football laces used in place of the word heart—that my knees give out and I fall to the floor.

  #Chapter16

  Kay’s body crumples in a way I’ve never seen a person who was conscious do before. It’s like she completely collapses in on herself.

  Seeing her cry tore at my insides like someone was taking my turf cleats to them.

  This though? This unmoors me.

  I’m at her side in an instant, ignoring the way my knees slam into the cold tile, and I pull her into my lap, cradling her to me.