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

by Stephanie Queen

  Then he covers my lips with his, pulling on me like he’s the thirstiest man in the world and I’m a lake, an oasis, his last hope. He presses me harder, backing me into the door and I can hardly catch my breath, hardly hear anything but the beating of my heart. I feel the thundering in his chest as he leans against me and I want so much more from him, I need to tell him somehow, to make him come with me.

  He breaks away and says, “You want me inside?”

  I’m dizzy from the implication, he’s read my mind, but I’m not sure if he means inside me or my dorm. I nod and breathe into his mouth. “Yes.”

  “I’d say you’re not my type, but my dick is telling us otherwise.” He lets out a long hard sigh. “You know I want you like a son of a bitch, but you are so far off limits—”

  “You’re going to turn me down?” I stop him and push him away from me.

  “It’s for your own good.”

  “You’re a—”

  “I know what I am. I know what you are. A good girl. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “You think you’re so noble, don’t you?” I can hear the tears in my voice and I take a deep breath, shaking with the effort not to slap him. He’s brought me to the brink of seduction just to prove that he can, to humiliate me. He smiles.

  “No. I’m not noble. And don’t you forget that, Joni.” He takes another step away from me, so I’m outside the sphere of his influence. His scent and warmth fade and all the sparkling delicious sensual titillation of a few moments before goes flat, becomes a memory, a two-dimensional imagining inside the space of my mind.

  I laugh. Too loud in the quiet of the night.

  “I’ll see you Monday for calc lessons,” he says, and smirks when I open my mouth without speaking. He knows I need the tutoring, knows I’m addicted to it, to his attention. And I have another quiz to prep for. Shit. Damn him. I turn without speaking and go inside, wishing that I’d taken Dooley’s advice and bought the vibrator that time we went to the toy party at Amherst.

  Chapter 11

  Jack

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Fucking stupid. I should never have kissed her that way. I jump in my truck and recklessly burn rubber, something I never do, haven’t done since I was fifteen before I had my license. But tonight is a reckless night. A one-off reckless night unless I’m looking to get my balls crushed—figuratively.

  Joni is so fucking far off limits she may as well be from another galaxy. Tell my dick that. Tell my wet dreams featuring her naked and writhing under me about it. Fuck, this is messed up.

  I get back to the house in one piece and find Tristan is in the kitchen with a few guys drinking milk and eating cake. It was someone’s birthday. Or maybe not. Majik sometimes bakes a cake and leaves it for us to celebrate.

  I pull out a chair and join in the post partying chow-down. It’s a Saturday night ritual to stay up and eat and drink milk or water until we’re sober enough to go to bed without getting a hangover the next morning. None of us can afford to feel sick with our workout regimens. Not even on a Sunday.

  In my case, since I don’t drink, I join in because Majik’s cake is so fucking good.

  Billy says, “I thought for sure you were gone for the night. With that Joni chick. She’s hot, man.”

  “Nope. It’s not like that.”

  “So,” Tristan says, “then why did you tell everyone in the country she’s your girl on network television?”

  “The brand. She’s good for my image.”

  The guys laugh, but not Tristan. “She cool with that?”

  I shrug and give him a look that says since when are you my mother? He gets the message and keeps his mouth shut. Too bad I can’t shut my conscience up as easily.

  When my stomach is full and my cock is settled down I head for bed. By myself. On a Saturday night. Fucking great. In setting up Joni as my girlfriend, I’ve sentenced myself to a semester of celibacy. Because no way can I afford to rock the boat with a breakup.

  Unfortunately for my unlucky ass, that kind of thing is news and would set up a social media shit storm, possibly a press frenzy, and then I’d have to deal with the parade of women throwing themselves at me or falling at my feet all over again. Not that it ever stops completely, but when I have a steady girl, it slows to a trickle. I learned right away the best time to end a relationship was during break, either in the winter or the summer, when everyone’s away from campus.

  So now I’ll have to deal. It’ll do me good to concentrate all my energy on football. And earning money. Tomorrow I’m dedicating myself to working on the project that pays the bills.

  Monday I’ll clear the air with Joni.

  When she knocks at the back door, I’m waiting for her. Majik eyes me and I swear I see a smirk.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “To tell the truth,” she says, “I’m not fucking sure.” Then she grins at my glare as I open the door.

  “Come with me.” I take Joni’s hand, pulling her inside and then up back stairs.

  “Where are you taking me?” She sounds more annoyed than panicked.

  “To my lair. We need to talk.”

  “Talk?” She sounds skeptical and tugs back her hand, stopping halfway up the stairs.

  “Not here, Joni.” I give her my serious-as-an-undertaker look and she reads me.

  We get to my room without running into any of the guys and I shut the door behind me. She looks around and the expression on her face is comical.

  “This is the lair?”

  “It’s not the room that counts. It’s the people that fill it,” I say, not sure if I believe my own bullshit, but I can tell she doesn’t. She stands there and hugs herself.

  “Well? What did you have to say that’s so hush, hush?” she asks.

  “You’re officially my girlfriend now and—”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. To everyone. I told the world on national TV. You can’t get around that. Not unless we stage a big messy break-up.” She doesn’t realize how serious I am. She laughs.

  “That’s your problem, not mine.”

  “We can’t break up.”

  “So you say. But I suppose you’re right. How can we break up a nonexistent relationship?”

  “Oh, we have a relationship all right.”

  “That’s right. How could I forget? We’re mortal enemies.”

  Now I laugh.

  “Look, we’re spending time together with the tutoring. No way can we stage a breakup. There are implications.”

  “Like what?”

  “On social media. All kinds of speculation, usually unflattering.”

  She leans against my refrigerator with her arms crossed, considering me, looking around the room, everywhere but at me.

  “I’ll only go along with the charade if you’re hands off. I’m drawing the line. I swear if you touch me again, I’ll cancel the tutoring and I don’t care what they do to you.”

  “So, no breakup then?”

  “Let’s get on with the calc, lover boy,” she says. Her innocent tease flips my gut like I’m a teenage girl and I don’t like it one bit even though I imagine it feels better than crack to an addict.

  She glances around the room again, unsure what to do with herself as she slides her backpack off her shoulder.

  “Sit at the desk,” I tell her. “I’ll stand.”

  I don’t dare suggest we lie on my mattress though that’s where I want to be. That’s exactly why I can’t chance it. She’s serious about the hands-off rule. Maybe I’m an idiot for not taking advantage when I had the chance after all.

  But then again, if I did that, where would I be now? On my way to hell probably. So I proceed with the lesson, keeping my distance from her cherry-almond scent and her silky soft hair. Concentrating on calculus does wonders for keeping my cock deflated, but it’s a long night. Note to self: don’t ever tutor Joni in my room again. Keep it to the kitchen.

  That’s what we do and, for the next two weeks, having back-to-
back away games takes the pressure off wanting to jump Joni. If her friends think it’s weird that we don’t sleep together, I don’t hear about it. I hear plenty from my teammates, but I point out the obvious fact that with my focus on football, not women, we’re winning games, blowing out our last opponent in fact. That shuts them up.

  For the second Friday in a row, I’m getting on the bus to the airport and my phone pings. It’s an odd ringtone that I haven’t heard in a while, the one I assigned to Joni’s calls and texts. Is that my heart speeding up in my chest? I jump up the steps and head down the aisle to the back row where I always sit and slip my phone from my jacket.

  I got a B- on my Calc quiz!!!

  My grin is automatic and I text her back without hesitation.

  Good girl. Stick with me and I’ll send you over the moon.

  She answers after a few seconds.

  Good luck with the game. Break a leg.

  I laugh. She’s shading my flirtation, but I can’t muster any annoyance. Break a leg? Really? We both know that’s for the stage and not the football field. Only because it’s too real a possibility on a football field. Fuck, she’s funny. In a sick, sassy way.

  Laying my head back, I close my eyes. I want to text back and ask her what she’s going to do Saturday night while I’m gone, but I don’t. Because she’s not going anywhere, right? Besides, I’ll find out from Izzy or Dooley. Or even George because he’s been hanging around Izzy lately. Big surprise there. The idea doesn’t sit well even though he’s done this before, dated my old girlfriends. It’s not that I’m still into Izzy, not that I ever was, not really, but she’s a good kid and deserves better than to be used. She’s more genuine than I’d guessed at when we first dated.

  My phone pings and I see it’s another media call. I ignore it. To say the press is treating me well is an understatement. They drool on me after the games and I get calls for interviews almost every day. I arranged with Coach to limit them to Fridays after practice.

  The only thing more annoying is dealing with the calls from my mother. I deposited extra money in her account last week and I hope to God she’s not blowing it on tequila. Majik tells me she’s doing all right. Nothing is wrong. Tells me to call, but I can’t bring myself to do it. The last time I spoke to Mom, two months ago, she was boozed up and pathetic.

  It makes me nauseated to remember. No way can I admit to Majik, or to Tristan, that I’m too weak to handle my mother, to either get past her problem or to help her with it.

  Besides, I need to concentrate on football, for both our sakes. It’s the one thing I can deal with. The team’s record is five-zip. Next Saturday’s Homecoming game marks the halfway point in the season. And midterm exams. I’ll need to put my moneymaking projects on the back burner and concentrate on studying this week. Then there’s Joni and calculus. Fuck. I’ll need to spend my entire Sunday in the library again working on my client’s project. It’ll be the last chance I have for a paycheck before midterms.

  Monday morning before Homecoming

  “Hey, wait up,” Tristan says as I jog from my last class of the morning to the field house to get in some extra time in the ice bath. I slow down and let him catch up.

  “Where were you all day yesterday? A bunch of the guys sent out for Sunday pizza for the football game and you missed it again.”

  “Homework,” I say without elaborating. He nods and falls into step with me as we get to the fieldhouse.

  “Who’s winning the fantasy football league?”

  “Me.” He grins.

  “Of course you are, you nerd.”

  “Only because you’re not in it.”

  I can’t tell him the entry fee was too rich for me this year. It’s a $500 buy-in and though the payoff makes it worth the gamble, especially since I’m good with the statistical analysis required to do well, there’s no way I can cough up that kind of money. And no way in hell I’m asking anyone of these guys for a loan. I’d eat my cleats first.

  He’s about to say something, probably ask me again why I’m not in the league, but my phone pings and I slip it from my pocket without looking, happy for the reprieve. It’s a text from Joni.

  I need 2 cancel calc 2night. Have a cold

  “Joni?” Tristan says, smirking to annoy me. We push inside the field house and head for the locker rooms. It’s the last place I want to talk about Joni. I shrug.

  “Yeah. My calc student is trying to ghost her lesson tonight. But I’m not letting her get away with that shit.” I stop short of the locker room door and motion for him to go on. He laughs at me, shaking his head as if he knows something I don’t. Probably does since I’m clueless about what the hell to do with Joni, how to get her under control—or myself under control when it comes to her. Bottom line, I know she needs the help with Calc, so I text her back.

  Me: I’ll come 2 you. Same time. Need anything?

  Joni: just U and your beautiful brain big guy

  I’m almost surprised she agrees to me coming to her room. I’m not surprised about her sassy comment. She enjoys teasing me while she holds me at arm’s length. I head into the locker room for Monday practice trying to erase my smile and the image of Joni in bed texting me with devilish intent, her eyes and nose all red wearing a flannel nightgown and huddled under her comforter. Fuck. I’m a sick pervert because my dick likes the image.

  For dinner, Majik serves up homemade lasagna with meatballs, a house favorite. I wonder if Joni would like it as I serve myself a man-size portion along with the rest of the guys.

  “So what went on yesterday while I was at the library?” I ask. I didn’t get home till late by the time I finished working on my project.

  “I’ve been saving this up,” George says. “Good story.” He grins and a couple of the other guys grunt in agreement. I slide my gaze to Tristan. He’s busy drinking a glass of milk.

  “Get on with it, George, before I have to beat it out of you.” His grin never falters because he knows he can outrun me.

  “We had a stranger come to the front door of BMOC house yesterday looking for you while you were busy working on getting straight As or some such shit.”

  “Who?” I take another forkful of lasagna while I listen. If it was a real problem I’d have heard about it at practice today.

  “Voland. A reporter. You know him, right? He’s around after every game and most practices.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wouldn’t say and we pumped him good. Me and Billy.” He pauses. “Don’t worry. Tristan supervised. We took good care of you. Told him nothing. Politely. Then sent him on his way.”

  I know they used physical intimidation on the guy, even with Tristan keeping them civil, and I wonder what he wants. I can’t afford to get on a sports reporter’s bad side with the Heisman voting getting close, especially not Voland’s. He’s a homey, one of our own, and we take care of him. He might have influence. Besides, he’s treated me fairly and civilly in the past. But this isn’t like him to cross the line of privacy and knock on my fucking door.

  “What did you tell him?”

  George shrugs. “Nothing.”

  Tristan says, “We told him you were at the library.” He watches for my reaction. They know I’m sensitive about privacy and even though none of them has set foot in the library in the last three years, they get that it’s a place to go for serious quiet studying.

  Also a good place to go to use the internet anonymously. That’s what I need. No way I want to take any risks on anyone finding out about my paying projects. The property tax is overdue on my mom’s shack and I need to pay it before the town puts up a stink.

  I nod and keep eating like it’s no big deal.

  But I know Voland. I recognize something in him, a reflection of that same driving need in me to make a name, and so I need to look out for him to show up again, to follow through, to keep pushing for something more, something extra. The kind of thing I can’t afford him to find out. He’s after the story no one else has,
the splash of obscene graffiti on the pristine picture of Jack Hunter.

  I finish eating with the guys. And I want nothing more than to let my body sink into a food coma. Instead I push from the table and stand.

  “I’m outta here.”

  “Where you going? Where’s Joni? Isn’t it past time for her to be here for calc tutoring?” George asks. Tristan rolls his eyes.

  “What are you? Jack’s secretary?”

  “I’m a keen observer of life and I predict that Joni is going to be The One.” That causes some hoots and laughs and talk of side bets.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I keep a smile I don’t mean.

  “Never mind him,” Tristan says. He gets up and walks with me out to my truck. “Nice night.”

  “What do you think?” I say, studying Tristan, knowing he’s thinking all kinds of things and knowing whatever it is, he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt.

  “I think Joni’s a good girl and I think you know that. It’s decent of you to help her out.”

  “I have no choice. Community service.”

  He smiles. “True, but you’ve gone above and beyond your duty and—”

  “Don’t make me out to be a saint, Tristan, because I’m not. I’d like to get her flat on her back and I would in a nanosecond …”

  “If you weren’t a decent guy at heart.” He pats my shoulder and heads back inside.

  Fuck. I shout after him. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  He laughs at me. Because I’m a joke. I have no heart, not really. I don’t care about Joni. Not really. Except to guard against her and keep our secrets. And maybe I do want to feel her writhing in pleasure, feel her cream all over my cock in orgasm.

  I get in the truck, arrange my semi-hard-on, and force myself to think about differential equations as I drive to her dorm in West. Turns out I don’t want to be a monk for the entire semester. But now Joni has adopted my line in limiting our relationship to strictly business with a vengeance, slapping down any attempt at flirting.