Big Man on Campus: an Enemies to Lovers College Romance (Big Men on Campus Book 1)

by Stephanie Queen

  Walking back out onto the field, I look up to the stands, but no one is sitting in the seats where Dooley and Izzy were. Most of the fans have left. I take out my phone to text Dooley and see that my texts have blown up. I have twenty-three of them, one of them from my mom, three from Izzy. A zing of horror shoots through me as I realize it’s all about Jack’s interview. Shit. What do I say to Izzy now?

  I go back inside the tunnel and wait near the locker room door like a groupie, with other people, obviously family members and press, milling around. It’s a warm afternoon, but I shiver with the implications of what Jack’s started. And I wonder how I can put a stop to it, but mostly, whether I want to.

  Dad will be upset. Mom is thrilled. Maybe the charade isn’t a bad idea after all. If I can get past my guilty conscience about hurting Izzy’s feelings. In the meantime, I wait for Jack, my childhood bully turned calc tutor turned boyfriend. What the hell has happened to my life?

  I can hear Dooley shouting at me that he was right all along, that I was destined to be queen of the campus or Aphrodite or whatever else his melodramatic imaginings are. I can’t wait to talk to him. I need to talk to him, to step onto the firm ground of a good friend, my touchstone who never judges me even as he judges me constantly, because deep down I know he loves me for who I am.

  Even when I don’t know if I love myself.

  Jack drives me back to my dorm in his dumpy old truck and I think I’m falling in love with the rust bucket with its old-fashioned roll-down windows and worn leather seats and the smell of motor oil mixed with old pizza permeating the cabin. I notice a pair of cufflinks hanging from the rearview mirror. They’re not the usual sort of klutzy stuff you see hanging, like fuzzy dice. I reach out and touch them to find they’re heavy and engraved and embedded with what look like diamonds.

  “My good luck charm,” he says.

  “They’ll take your eye out in an accident,” I say. Then I want to bite my tongue off. “Why hang them here? Why not wear them?”

  He gives me a look like Really? Do you not know who I am? And I blush.

  “Okay. I get it. But you could at least keep them in your jewelry box.”

  He laughs then, hard and from the belly like I’m a real comedienne.

  “No jewelry box, eh?” I don’t even bother blushing and can’t help catching his laughter with some of my own. I want to ask more, to check out the inscription, to know where he got them, but I sense he doesn’t want to tell me or he would have. Maybe a gift from an old girlfriend. I guess I really don’t want to know. Not that it should matter to me, because it doesn’t. But maybe for Izzy—I’d be sad on Izzy’s behalf. Shit. That makes no sense.

  He drives at ease, happy with himself, and we arrive at my dorm in ten minutes since the traffic from the game has long since cleared out.

  “I’ll pick you up in two hours for the party,” he says as he pulls to the curb, a genuine smile on his face. I know it is because I’ve seen it at least once before, when I know for sure it was genuine.

  “You don’t need to bother picking me up. I’ll get a ride over with Dooley and Izzy.”

  “You sure? No big entrance on the arm of the star quarterback for Joni?” He’s mocking me—no, teasing me, and I feel the difference and laugh.

  “You’re catching on,” I say. “See you later.” I get out of the car before he gets any ideas about keeping me for another one of those kisses. Not that I have anything against that sizzling hot feeling, but shit, I wish it wasn’t Jack who gives it to me.

  He lets me go and I pull out my phone to call Dooley to come over right away.

  By the time he gets there, I’m showered and, in my robe, and totally unprepared to go to a football party. So far in my college social career, I’ve only been to small intimate parties. Places and occasions that are low key, where I know how to dress, how to act and I feel like the people around me are like me.

  When Dooley crashes into my room like Kramer on Seinfeld, he brings Izzy with him and disappointment strikes me. I smile automatically at Dooley and reprimand myself into accepting Izzy’s presence, being gracious. Good manners are usually automatic, the thing I can count on, but I’m straining against resentment. She knows how to behave, how to dress for these crazy blowouts, how to be the date of the big man on campus.

  “Babe-a-la, I’m so proud of you! You came, you saw, you conquered.” Dooley embraces me, reaching not much above my shoulders, and it’s what I need so I hug him back, not paying attention to his silly words, only the warmth of his arms and his support and undying belief in me. “Not even I predicted your success would come this fast.”

  “Oh, come one, Dooley,” Izzy says. “It’s just one party.”

  He lets go of me and I smile at Izzy because she’s said the magic words to get me out of my funk of anxiety. “You’re so right, Izzy. It’s just one party. One night. No big deal.”

  “Think what you want,” Dooley says, “But I know it’s just the beginning of big things.”

  I roll my eyes because he expects it and he swats my arm.

  “What are you wearing. Show me.” He goes to my closet and pulls open the door.

  “There’s nothing in there that you haven’t seen before,” I say.

  “No prob. I brought you something. While you were busy consorting with the QB, I was out shopping at the PSU Coop.” He pulls a shirt from a bag I hadn’t noticed and it’s a football jersey.

  “Is that—?”

  He nods wildly and Izzy folds her arms across her chest.

  “I told him not to bother. It’s not the most flattering thing to wear to a party.” Izzy is annoyed and I know it’s because of me.

  “Izzy. Are you upset with me? I don’t blame you if you are because—”

  “Fuck no. I’m so over Jack Hunter. I’m going to that party because there’ll be dozens of hunky guys there. But the competition is going to be fierce, so you should dress accordingly. Show some cleavage and some leg.”

  “I kind of like the idea of wearing Jack’s jersey. It’ll be perfect with my skinny blue jeans and slides.”

  “You’re not wearing a short skirt and heels?”

  “I’m sure I’d look good if I did, but it would be a recipe for discomfort and I’m already nervous about fitting in.”

  “Babe-a-la needs to be herself.” Dooley flings an arm around my shoulder. “Her natural beauty will show through.”

  Izzy lets out a big sigh and spends a few beats looking at the ceiling before she concedes.

  “I suppose you’re right. It’s a winning strategy so far, isn’t it? Who am I to talk?”

  I throw my arms around her then, knowing how hard it is to admit, right or wrong. “That’s such a generous thing for you to say, Izzy. Thank you.”

  She pushes away from me and says, “But I’m doing your makeup and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.” She laughs because I’m a little horrified. “Don’t worry, it’ll be subtle. You’ll look like you, only amped up for the night.”

  “Fine. Not that it’ll matter. I’m going to the party to see what all the fuss is about, but I’m planning to leave early.”

  “Good luck with that,” she says.

  “I’m not into him. He’s using me.” My stomach churns as I say the words, knowing they’re true, feeling the truth. That’s the way it’ll always be between us. Convenient enemies more than allies. Not friends and definitely not any more than that, no matter what the kiss told me.

  “You should definitely make the most of the party,” Dooley instructs me. “Let him introduce you around and then flirt like a cat in heat.”

  Isabelle laughs. “That’s more like it. I’ll pay admission just to watch that shit. Jack Hunter needs someone to kick him in the balls—figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “You’re so bloodthirsty, girl.” Dooley gives her face a pat of approval.

  “I’m not so sure I’m the girl for that job,” I admit.

  Dooley frowns at me. Isabella studies me an
d her face softens. She puts an arm around me and takes me aside, sits me down on my bed.

  “Dooley, do you mind?” She waves her hand, shooing him outside my room and he makes a suitably dramatic exit with his nose in the air. I almost smile.

  “I know how you feel. He’s a heartbreaker because he has a way of getting under a girl’s skin and worming his way into her heart, good and tight. Truth is, I wouldn’t even care if he wasn’t the QB football star or make-a-girl-stutter gorgeous, I would still have fallen for him.” She sighs. “Even knowing now that was the worst thing I could have allowed, because he didn’t even try, never shared himself with me, not really. But I don’t know how I could have prevented it.”

  “I’m really sorry he used you, that he didn’t respect you and your feelings, Isabella. But why are you telling me this? I’m not falling for him. Not even close.” I’m certain my statement is the absolute truth, but her words make me uncomfortable all the same.

  She gives me a half smile, but doesn’t call me on my certainty.

  “In that case, it should be easy for you to give as good as you get. Give him back the same indifferent, superficial, almost businesslike relationship he peddles, use him back the same way he uses. Most of all, hold back from whatever it is that he wants from you.”

  “Approval.” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but her words triggered the undeniable truth that he wants something from me and I know what it is. He says he wants me to keep his secrets, but I know there’s more to it. He’s still that kid from the other side of the tracks trying to singlehandedly make up for his family legacy, still poor and still ashamed. Why else would he be keeping his family and his finances a secret?

  “Approval?” She laughs. “I don’t know about that. The man’s approval rating on this campus is only about 99.99%”

  “Right. I’m sure you’re right.” I wave a hand dismissing my own errant comment, but holding onto its truth, keeping it inside me.

  “Either way, you should have fun tonight. Then make him regret in the worst way possible that he kissed you and paraded you in front of the TV cameras like that.”

  I nod, not really listening to her spite, but hearing the message that I shouldn’t back down.

  The only way to ever get past a bully is to fight back, to stand up and not let them get to you. Those were his own words, the bully himself giving me the playbook to beat him at his own game.

  Arm-in-arm with Dooley and Isabella—because she insists—I walk into BMOC House about a half hour fashionably late, the place already filled with people spilling out onto the front lawn, music from a live band covering Jason Derulo’s “Love Not War” and doing a good enough job to get a crowd dancing. As I take it all in, my heart speeds up and my eyes automatically scan the room for Jack.

  “There he is,” Isabelle says. Of course she’d be looking for him too and, being far more experienced than I at tracking him down, she spots him first.

  Dooley’s eyes are everywhere, taking in the sights and practically panting. I elbow him as Isabelle waves at some people and takes off in Jack’s direction.

  “Great. Now it’s you and me with the only person we know deserting us,” I say in Dooley’s ear.

  “Nonsense. You know Jack.” He wiggles his brows. In truth, I recognize a couple of the other guys that I’ve met in his kitchen over calculus, like Tristan, George, and Billy. I also see the two big guys from the fight who I didn’t meet officially. The sight of them brings up a well of anger I didn’t know I was harboring and I’d like to go tell them off. But I know I can’t. Most people don’t know how the fight really happened and Jack made it clear he wants it to stay that way.

  Dooley and I walk farther into the crowd and I have my eye on Jack as Isabelle approaches him, giving him a big hug as if they’re old friends. Maybe they are. In a weird way. She’s a bigger woman than I am. If he’d been mine and I lost him, I wouldn’t be able to stomach seeing him out with someone else. And it strikes me again that I’m supposed to be that someone else.

  He disengages himself from Isabelle and says something to her and she waves her hand in the direction of the door where we were. I stop and wait for his eyes to fall on mine as he scans.

  As soon as they hit, my heart goes into triple time and I suddenly need a drink.

  “You want a drink?” Dooley says, reading my mind, and I nod. He pats my arm and says he’ll be right back, leaving me there to stand and wait for Jack to make his way to me as we engage in our stare-down, an unofficial who-blinks-first contest that I intend to win. No way can I afford to blink where this man is concerned.

  Daring me with his eyes to stay or go, not sure which way, I’m paralyzed. Is this the Jack Hunter of my dreams or my nightmares? The burning sensation churning in my gut springs up to snatch at my heart and take hold of my soul. With a tight burning chest, I spin away from him. Not in time.

  He reaches out a hand and takes mine and spins me back around into him. I land against his body, chest against his chest.

  “Glad you came,” he says.

  “Of course. The Big Man Jack Hunter commanded it.” It’s the only safe way to deal with him. Except when he laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his posture relaxed, I might need to rethink what safe means where Jack is concerned.

  “You look good,” he says.

  “Good enough to eat?” WTF is wrong with me?

  His eyes go dark and he tightens his arm around my waist and puts a hand to my face.

  “I do believe I would like a taste.”

  And without warning, just like that, he lowers his mouth to cover mine, to drown me in a searing, all consuming, don’t-you-ever-forget-me kiss. I’m shocked and don’t have a chance to breathe or think, dimly aware of the hoots and whistles in the background. When someone jostles us, he lets go, but keeps his eyes on me.

  He turns to address George, who whistles again, and Jack tells him to shut the fuck up as he laughs, the way guys do. Then the band starts in with a fast dancing song, “Downtown Funk,” and he takes my hands.

  “Let’s see what you got. Let’s dance.” And he does. I follow along as best as I can, feeling like I’m on the film set of some funky version of Saturday Night Fever the way everyone jumps in, adding to the frenetic energy, facing off with dance moves the way only elite athletes can. But Jack? He’s cool and hot at the same time, wearing a white T-shirt and black jeans, looking like some new age genius version of Fonzie.

  Izzy and Dooley are with me and I’m no longer dancing with Jack, but swept up into the sorority sister crowd. When the song is over, Isabelle has me jump into a group photo and do a sorority squat. Jack laughs and pulls me away, telling me I need a cold drink. It’s hot in here and he’s right so I follow him into the kitchen.

  George is there saying something about girls who eat carrots and Jack laughs.

  “What’s so funny? What about girls who eat carrots?”

  “You don’t know?”

  I shake my head, instantly realizing it must have a dirty meeting and connecting the dots belatedly. My face turns hotter than it already was and Jack hands me a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “Take this and I’ll explain it to you,” he says. He leans in. “It really turns me on that you don’t know. Makes me want to teach you.” He whispers in my ear. “Girls who eat carrots love to suck dick. Is that you, Joni? You a carrot lover?”

  I turn away and take a long drink of water then hold the cold bottle to my cheek. His eyes watch me, unrelenting, repeating his question.

  “What if I do?” My previous limited experience isn’t great, but I somehow think it would be a different matter with Jack. He pulls me to him, pressing his hips into mine.

  “If you do, I’m hard and ready.” Is he serious or teasing? He’s flirting, but his hard cock is definitely serious. I shouldn’t be, but I’m shocked and turned-on and horrified in equal measures. I catch Dooley in the corner of my eye and turn away from Jack. Dooley winks and gives me the OK sign as if he�
��s my conscience granting me permission to taste the forbidden fruit. And I want to, forgetting why it’s forbidden in the first place. Why can’t I hook up with Jack? Why can’t I have a night of lusty fun?

  “Are you with me?” he says. I nod. “Let’s get out of here, then. I’ll take you home.”

  He takes me back to my dorm and he’s quiet at the wheel of his truck, not looking at me, not touching me. It feels like he’s cooling off.

  “Second thoughts?” I say, feeling ridiculous, because I should be the one. He grunts and I don’t know how to take that. He pulls to the curb and jumps from the truck, comes around to open my door.

  “Your home, princess.” He walks me to my door, his hand lightly touching the small of my back, not that same possessive hold he had at the party. It’s like the cool night air outside of the party house turns him back into the cool controlled man who has no problem resisting me.

  He’s ready to leave me at the door with a pussy-teasing kiss and I hear myself say, “Don’t go.”

  Jack studies my face with those eyes, like he’s eating me up, like he can see through me, and I hope he does. I hope he sees what I want from him. Now, before the night changes to the cold light of day. I feel like the pumpkin in Cinderella, wanting to go for the wildest ride possible while I have wheels.

  “Princess. I don’t know. It’s a hard line, the kind we can’t uncross.” He comes close and slips a hand through my hair as his words flow over me, not sinking in, his voice winding through me. I feel his hot fingers on my scalp. He brings his other hand to curve around my butt, pulling me against him so I feel his cock, still hard. The shudder runs through me, and I barely stop myself from moaning, from falling on my knees in front of him right here and now.

  His mouth touches mine, his forehead leans against mine, and he breathes into me. My heart hammers with the impossible anticipation of him, but he stays like that breathing, seemingly slow and unbothered, and I don’t know what he’s doing, what he’s thinking. I only know he has complete control.