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

by Alley Ciz

  Knock-knock.

  The door opens and I’m met with a very muscular, very naked chest. My eyes travel up the planes of said chest and come to a stop on an equally attractive face that breaks into a smile.

  “Well, hello, love,” says Harry, JT’s British, soccer-playing roommate.

  “Hey, Harry.”

  He swings the door wide for me to enter, calling over his shoulder, “JT, someone’s here for you, mate.”

  JT gave me a virtual tour of his dorm during one of our video chats, but seeing it in person allows me to appreciate its size and how nice the space is.

  Unlike my own dorm back at the U of J, theirs opens directly into a galley kitchen space with the living room completing the rectangular shape, both rooms serving as the center of the suite.

  JT and Ian’s—another member of the Blue Squad—bedrooms and a full bath branch off to the right, with Harry and the fourth roommate, Spencer’s, rooms and bath to the left.

  Being guys, the large flat-screen on the wall in the living space comes as no surprise, as does the extensive gaming setup underneath. I am impressed with how nice and homey the space feels given four males live here, with the three-person couch, end tables, large armless chair, and blue, white, and black area rug.

  A door in the right branch opens and out steps my best friend, still drying his hair with a towel. Next thing I know, I’m scooped into JT’s arms and squeezed against his damp chest in a G-like bear hug.

  The towel gets dropped over my head, and by the time I free myself from the terrycloth, JT is pulling a shirt over his own. “I see you officially met Prince Harry.”

  “She’s charmed, I’m sure.” Harry lives up to his British-roots-inspired nickname by bowing with a flourish.

  Ignoring the bro-dude insult sparring that has commenced, I root around in my bag until I find Mason’s note and slap it against JT’s stomach, eliciting an oomph. “I swear to god, if you don’t let me drink tonight, I’m revoking your best friend card.”

  Deep laughter fills the room. “Carter and I only stopped you from drinking on the nights when you had to work the next day. So sue us for wanting to prevent you from getting sick should you be tossed around in the air.”

  I roll my eyes, hating how logical his reasoning sounds when all I want is a little liquid oblivion.

  “What’s this?” JT asks as he bends to retrieve the white paper from the ground.

  “The straw.” I put my bag in the room he indicates is his.

  “The straw?” He arches a brow.

  “That broke this camel’s back.” I point to myself.

  Why is it when I was first faced with the gift bag and its contents, I felt like running around like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone when he discovers everyone is gone, but in JT’s presence I can instantly fall into joking about it?

  He opens the note, and I watch as he reads it. He runs a hand down his face when he’s done, blowing out a deep breath. “Damn. Respect.”

  I huff and cross my arms. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours.” He steps around me and heads for the fridge, retrieving two bottles of Patrón Silver, a bag of limes, shot glasses, and a salt shaker then places them on the counter. “Always.”

  “Okay.” I take the chilled bottle from him and clutch it to my chest lovingly. Salvation.

  “Ian!” JT shouts down the hall and pulls out a chair at the small four-top table between the kitchen and the living room.

  “What’s up, man?” Ian’s face is focused on his phone so he doesn’t see me when he walks out of his bedroom. When he finally does look up, he smiles the instant he spots me. “PF.” He rushes me and picks me up into a hug, a common greeting thanks to my short stature.

  “Hey Ian.” I take a seat at the table.

  “Did you know she was coming?” he asks JT, pulling out the chair to my right.

  “Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything until I could talk to the whole squad.” Pain-filled whiskey eyes meet my grays. I hate that he’s still beating himself up over how my identity was outed. “PF being here needs to stay on the DL as much as possible.”

  “Got it.” Ian rubs his hands together gleefully. “So…tequila?” I nod. “Sweet.” He smiles then calls out to Harry where he sits on the couch. “You in, Your Highness?”

  “Shut up you wanker,” Harry retorts, claiming the last seat at the table. “I had to be named after the prince,” he grumbles.

  “I guess it could be worse. You could be named William.” I try to offer some comfort.

  “True. My brother does get it worse than me.”

  “Wait…” I make the timeout gesture with my hands. “Your brother is really named William?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Oh man,” I say with a laugh.

  “Mum and Dad just had to move us to America.” He gives me a wink. “At least I’m not a ginger like your mate here.”

  I don’t know about you—*nudges my side*—but I think he’s even more charming in person, and I could listen to him talk all day.

  JT gives him a scowl, but I reach out and fluff his thick red locks. “To be fair, he’s not as much of a ginger as the prince. His hair is a few shades darker.”

  My defense gets the first genuine smile from my bestie, and the tension he seems to have in his shoulders lessens. I hate that he feels he has to stay on alert in case I lose it. It’s one of the many things that make him such an exceptional friend, and because of it, I’m comfortable enough to let go and be the PF he refers to as my true self.

  “Alright, we need some tunes,” Ian declares, and Jason Aldean’s voice comes through the speakers. Born and raised in Kentucky, he’s a country boy through and through. With his black hair and matching black eyes, he is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Beside Rei, JT’s flyer, he’s probably the person I know best from the squad.

  “Alright, ladies.” I clap my hands. “Enough chitchat. It’s time to drink.”

  “She’s feisty. I like her,” Harry says.

  I pour out four shots and distribute them, each topped with a slice of lime. Lick my hand between my left thumb and pointer finger and shake salt onto the spot. Holding up my glass, I toast the guys, lick the salt, and toss back the shot, feeling the warm burn down my throat. I suck the juice from the lime slice and grin around the fruit.

  It’s going to take more than one shot to get me to the mind-numbing level I seek, but it’s a start.

  I pour out and down a second one before any of the guys have finished their first.

  “Damn, Spence is gonna be mad he missed this,” Harry comments as he grabs the Patrón to refill his glass.

  The guys talk about their missing roommate’s plan while I slide the bottle over from Harry and toss another shot down the hatch. Swallowing down the tangy juice, I keep the lime pinched between my teeth and confess, “I slapped him.”

  Three sets of startled and confused eyes blink at me from around the table before Ian asks, “Spencer?”

  I laugh around the fruit in my mouth, finally removing it with a shake of my head. “No. Mason.”

  “Like a playful ‘oh you’re so silly you big hot football player you’ type smack?” JT asks, doing his best airhead impression.

  “That voice you just did”—I circle a finger in front of his smirking face—“better not have been intended to be me.”

  He gives me an eyebrow waggle, both brows bouncing up and down on his forehead like he’s a freaking cartoon character. I meet it with an exaggerated eye roll.

  “Keep being a smartass, James”—I take immense pleasure in the scowl his full name pulls from him—“and I’ll be more than happy to give you a demonstration.” I wiggle the fingers of my right hand.

  “And what, pray tell”—JT rests his elbow on the table and props his chin on top of his fists—“made you slap your dear sweet Romeo?”

  “Casanova,” I mutter under my breath, but the curl to my best friend’s lips tells me I didn’t say it soft enough. “And
I slapped him for vague-booking.”

  “Oh, yes. I bet Tess broke the speed of light with how fast she sent us the screenshot of that beauty.” He barks out a laugh.

  “Beauty?” I screech.

  “Yes…beauty.” He pours out the next round of shots and holds my glass out for me to take. “Anyone with eyes can see lover boy realizes he made a mistake.”

  “So I’m just supposed to forgive him because he buys me a few gifts?” I bite into the lime with way more aggression than it deserves.

  JT snorts then groans as tequila shoots out of his nose. “No. Besides, you would never be swayed by trinkets. What I’m saying is—think of all the things he has done since he pulled his head out of his ass.”

  All of my attention falls to my now empty shot glass, and I spin it in slow circles. Long fingers enter my field of vision as he counts off each of Mason’s romantic gestures.

  “He risked his life showing up at King’s—”

  “Dramatic, and he doesn’t know the Royals’ reputation.”

  “Fine.” He huffs at my sarcastic retort. “He risked his life asking Em to help him.” He arches a brow and cocks his head as if to say I dare you to tell me that’s not true.

  I concede with a nod, because Em sure does have one hell of a fierce protective side.

  “Then there’s the first shirt he had made that was so perfect you slept in it.” Dammit! Why do I tell him everything? “And the vague-book one? Yeah, that was a damn good one too. How much you wanna bet the back has his name and number on it too?”

  I’m sure it does. The caveman—

  I sputter into a coughing fit at the nickname slipping into my subconscious.

  “My personal fave, though…” He slips a hand under my left, running a thumb back and forth over the aquamarine birthstone I wear for him on my forefinger before dragging it over the amethyst band on the middle then stopping on my naked ring finger. “He didn’t just get one of these for him. No…he remembered some offhanded conversation he overheard you having with CK and made sure to include him too.”

  I scowl at the finger now tapping the bare thumb on my right hand. Cool liquid splashes above JT’s touch, and I lift my narrow-eyed stare to see overflowing shot glasses weaving under our noses as Ian attempts to break the tension. I grab one and down it just to shut up my inner cheerleader, who’s agreeing with JT about taking Mason back.

  Hours pass as we continue to down shots—me out-drinking all the guys because, one, my mission is to get drunk, and two, they all have some form of practice tomorrow and I don’t.

  Done with the heavy stuff for the night, we settle into the most entertaining game of Would You Rather I have ever played in my life. Before I know it, it’s closing in on two in the morning.

  I stumble a little getting up, my brain just the right amount of fuzzy, and I giggle in the way only a happy drunk can.

  “PF.” Is it just me, or did JT drag out the Pffff in my name to eight hundred syllables?

  “Achievement unlocked!” I shout, throwing my arms up in the air and doing a happy wiggle dance to celebrate my buzz.

  The door to the dorm opens during my performance, but we’re too busy ribbing each other to pay it much attention.

  “Impressive showing, love.” Harry compliments how well I hold my liquor.

  “Seriously, PF, you pack it away like a champ, especially for someone under five feet.” Ian hooks an arm around my neck, pulling me into a hug.

  “I’m over five feet.” I push off him and stumble back into JT, who tucks me against his side for safety.

  “Please.” JT snorts. He’s right, damn four eleven. Couldn’t give me one more inch, huh God?

  “Hey!” I bend my head back and feign displeasure. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “Always.” He kisses the top of my head. “Time for bed.” He pushes me in the direction of his room.

  “Buzzkill.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

  “Damn. If I knew you guys were having a party, I would have stayed here and saved some money.” A deep, deep voice cuts through our laughter.

  I peek around JT’s arm and see another muscular, tall, hot guy.

  Geez, is it like a requirement to be good-looking to live in this dorm? Because dayum. It may be the tequila talking, but I’m inclined to agree with my inner cheerleader.

  “Oh heeeeeeyyyy, you must be the ballplayer,” I say with a drunken wave.

  The brunette cutie gives me a flirtatious smile, and if I wasn’t so hung up on Mason, I might return it with interest. Instead, all I can offer is the grin of a happy drunk.

  “Yup, I’m Spencer. And who might you be, gorgeous?”

  “Nope.” JT pushes for me to continue toward his bedroom. “Time for bed, PF. Say good night.”

  “Good night boys,” I singsong.

  When I step inside JT’s room, he leaves me to change into my pajamas. I strip off my tank and reach for the t-shirt I wear to bed, but when I pull it out of the bag, I almost drop it when I realize it’s Mason’s football shirt.

  Son of a bitch.

  I must have grabbed it on instinct. There’s no way I can wear this to bed.

  Twisting the fabric in my hands, I open the door. “J.”

  He whips around at his shortened name, all the earlier apprehension returning full force. “PF?”

  I pinch the shirt between my fingers and hold it out in front of me like it’s a sweaty gym sock. “I need a shirt to sleep in.”

  His shoulders drop away from his ears as he eyes the gray cotton, all perceived threats assessed and dismissed. “Because, what? That’s a pair of pants you’re holding?”

  One downfall to the type of closeness we share is we’re not afraid to call each other out on our shit.

  “Hardy-har-har,” I mock. “I know this”—I shake the top—“is a shirt, but after I burn it, I’ll be down one pajama top.”

  Ooo, I hate it when he uses my eye roll against me.

  “As the son of the Blackwell fire chief, I feel like it’s my duty to talk you out of your pyro urges.”

  “Don’t ruin my buzz by being all responsible like.” I toss the shirt at him, but because of my inebriated state, it lands about seven feet to the right of him. “You’re already on my shit list for taking the side of the enemy earlier.”

  “Whatever you say, sis.” Hands cup my shoulders and I’m steered back inside the bedroom, where I’m promptly handed one of his UK cheer tees.

  With him too busy laughing at me, the door doesn’t close all the way, and snippets of conversation filter in through the crack in the door.

  “Damn, JT. You’ve been holding out on us. Your girl’s hot,” says the deep voice belonging to Spencer.

  “Careful. PF’s practically my sister, Spence.”

  “Wait…that’s the friend you’ve been helping through a breakup?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So she’s single then?”

  “Bruh. Seriously?” A warning note enters JT’s tone.

  “What? She’s a smokeshow.”

  “Listen, man, she may technically be single right now, but that’s only until she figures out how to get out of her own way and takes the guy back.”

  Is that really what JT thinks? That I should be with Mason? Is that what all that championing was earlier? He needs to get his punk ass back in here so I can kick it.

  Okay, that might be the tequila talking more than anything else.

  “Plus—and trust me on this—you don’t want to get in her guy’s crosshairs. He’s not someone you want to mess with.”

  I can’t listen to any more of this. There will be no members of Team Mason allowed inside my brain space.

  On that note, I pull back the covers on JT’s bed and snuggle into my spot, letting the buzz from the tequila lull me to sleep.

  #Chapter26

  Cautiously, I crack one eyelid open, slowly taking stock. To be honest, I probably feel better than I should—only a
mild headache and slightly sluggish—given the amount of tequila I consumed last night.

  The events of the last eighteen hours pop up in my memory like a game of whack-a-mole, and I pull a pillow over my head in an effort to hide from them.

  Isn’t alcohol supposed to help you forget?

  Girl. My inner cheerleader twirls the end of her ponytail with her fingers and tilts her head at me. Haven’t you learned by now there’s no forgetting Mason Nova? *holds out left hand to admire a ring on it* Talk about an epic grand gesture. She flips her hand around and wiggles her fingers at me.

  I’m going to need caffeine if I have to deal with my own subconscious plotting against me.

  I’m not the only one. Did you already forget about all the things JT said last night?

  Tossing the pillow to the side, I reach for my phone and take note of the water bottle and Advil next to it.

  CTG BFF JT: Text me when you’re up. Also, there’s chocolate milk in the fridge and a greasy bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich waiting for you.

  And that right there is why this man is my bestie. Everyone needs a person in their life who will put together a hangover care package for them.

  I down the Advil and roll to my back to text JT.

  ME: You are the BEST best friend EVER!!! *trophy emoji* *gold medal emoji* *clapping hands emoji* *blue heart emoji* *crazy face emoji*

  ME: I can even forgive your Judas tendencies with this gesture.

  CTG BFF JT: I know *kissy face emoji*

  CTG BFF JT: And please, you’ll be thanking me soon enough.

  I’m grumbling to myself as I type out my next message.

  ME: When will you be back?

  CTG BFF JT: Later. I’m on my way to practice now.

  ME: Okay. I’m going back to sleep then *zzz emoji*