“Hey.” I take in her tan legs and the tiny white shorts that cover places I want to see and taste.
I squeeze my eyes shut to try to erase the thoughts. I recite the presidents backward in my head and then open my eyes to find Blair bent over in front of me to get something out of her bag. An innocent act, but the way her T-shirt gapes open and gives me a view of her rack? Not so much.
She stands straight all business and pep. “I spent some time going over the first two tests to try to determine what this one might look like.”
We settle onto my bed, sitting so close her hair brushes against my shoulder. “I think I’m good with the short answer questions, but the essay killed me last time. What do you think he might ask us to do for this one?”
I take her last test and read the essay question and her answer. Then re-read twice because my head is not in it.
“I think he’ll have us compute probability of events.”
We take turns coming up with scenarios and then computing the probability. She chews on the end of her pencil in thought, and I’m mesmerized by the way her lips part and her teeth rest gently on the rubber end. This woman is going to kill me a slow, achingly painful death.
“Every single example you used was basketball related,” she says looking back over our scenarios that she’s carefully written in her notebook.
I shrug. “It’s what I know.”
She raises both eyebrows as if she’s daring me to think beyond ball. I clear my throat. Only two things currently occupy space in my brain. Ball and . . .
“The probability of you letting me kiss you.” My throat feels like gravel as I continue. “Possible outcomes include allowing and not allowing. Each outcome has a probability of point five.”
Her eyes widen, and she shifts uncomfortably. Her voice is quiet and throaty. “No.”
The sting of rejection hurts. I thought I’d seen interest in the way she looked at me. And not just my brain and what I could do to help her or my status as a jock for some sort of ego boost. Interest in me. I flip open the textbook, hiding my disappointment and giving my fingers something to do. “It was just—”
She rests her hand on top of mine. The G-rated touch sends X-rated thoughts. “That example doesn’t work because not allow isn’t an outcome.”
Her words register, and my fractured ego repairs itself and then alley oops a beautiful lob that ends with my mouth capturing hers. Slam dunk.
Fuck, I don’t even care that the thoughts going through my head are screwed-up ball references. I can usually compartmentalize the aspects of my life that don’t revolve around my jersey, but this girl’s lips against mine feels like the sweetest victory.
Our tongues tangle, and she grows bolder, running her hand up to my chest before fisting my shirt as if she’s afraid I might run away before she’s ready.
Baby doll, I’m not going anywhere as long as you’re touching me. I keep the thought to myself but do my best to show her that truth by placing a hand at her hip and deepening the kiss. I smile into her mouth when I taste the lingering sweetness of Sprees and something that is uniquely Blair. Damn, I had been curious about kissing her and assumed it’d be nice, but now that I’ve kissed her, I don’t wanna stop.
The door swings open, “Hey, man, I invited some girls—”
Joel stops short when he catches Blair scrambling away from me and placing the back of her hand to her lips.
“My bad. Looks like you already have plans for the night.” His grin makes the stiffy in my pants deflate. Fucking Joel.
“Ever consider knocking?”
“Ever consider locking the door?” He throws back.
Blair scoots off the bed. “He’s all yours. I have to finish a paper tonight anyway.”
Joel backs out of the room, leaving me alone with this girl who has my head spinning. I half-hoped kissing her would cure my interest, prove that she was just like any girl, but it didn’t. I want to do it again.
“Sorry about Joel.”
“It’s fine.” She waves me off. “I really should get going.”
I shove my hands deep into my pockets. “Okay.”
I walk her downstairs and past the noise of the party forming out back.
She stops just outside the door and peers back at me. “So, I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”
“Actually, no. I’m getting the boot off late tomorrow morning. Professor O’Sean is letting me come in during his early office hours to take the test.”
“There goes my idea of cheating off you.”
I chuckle and run a hand through my hair. “After that stunt you pulled on the court Sunday, I wouldn’t put it past you, but you don’t need it. You’re ready.”
“I hope so. I need to pass this class. No, I need an A in this class.”
“I’ll get you your A.”
And I know I will. I’ve taken on her grade the same way I’ve taken on Zeke’s first round pick. I don’t know what it means or even why, but I can see the possible outcomes, and I know the probability of walking away is the least likely of them all.
13
Blair
When I arrive at class the next morning, I take the seat in front of Joel and Zeke and wordlessly hand them the muffins and coffees I grabbed from the café. They both turn the cups straight to the quotes and smile.
Professor O’Sean walks up the stairs to begin passing out the tests, so I offer them a nervous smile and wait, tapping my pencil against the desk and praying that I’ve retained some of the knowledge that came out of Wes’s beautiful mouth. Thoughts of his mouth lead to dissecting the kiss that still burns my lips, which is pretty much all I’ve been doing since it happened.
The first person stands and takes their completed test to the front with five minutes remaining. O’Sean’s tests are no joke—long and arduous. A minute later the room becomes a hub of energy as the whole class finishes or maybe just gives up. I wait for the last possible minute, going over each question, re-thinking my answer, and ultimately changing nothing. I know this stuff.
Joel and Z wait for me just outside the classroom.
“Longest test ever,” Joel mutters.
I nod as Zeke elbows Joel and points behind me.
“I’ll be damned. He’s back!” I hear Joel and Z share their excitement with some sort of hand clapping, but as soon as I look over my shoulder, it all becomes background noise. Wes is walking toward us. The off balanced gait I’ve grown accustomed to in such a short time is replaced with a strong, sleek elegance.
“Hey, how’d it go?” he asks, a genuine smile filled with trepidation like he’s afraid I’ve failed and his tutoring didn’t help.
I’m very aware that his eyes rest solely on me. “Good. I think.”
He wraps his arms around me, taking me completely by surprise. “Knew you could do it,” he mumbles and then just when I’m about to swoon from the feel of his hard body wrapped around mine, he ruffles my hair like a big brother might do to his annoying little sister.
He pulls back quickly and steps toward the guys.
“You’re back?” Joel asks looking down at his foot. “Please tell me you’re back.”
Wes’s face lights up as he does a little dance side to side. “I’m back, baby.”
Z grabs Wes in a bear hug and then pulls back. “With me.” He lifts his hand up to his head. “Without me.” He drops the hand to his waist. “With me,” Z repeats and smiles as he lifts his hand back up.
Wes chuckles. “Definitely with you.”
The three of them grin and chuckle as they share their Tom Cruise movie quote moment, but I can’t peel my eyes off Wes.
Oh no.
I’m totally falling for him. First, I let him kiss me, and now I’m getting all mushy inside watching him have a bro moment. Making out with a jock is one thing, falling for one? That spells disaster, and I can’t stomach any more relationship disasters.
“Let’s grab lunch at The Hideout to celebrate all the things. Another statis
tics test done and the boot is off! It’s a damn good day,” Joel interrupts my thoughts and just like that I find myself back in the small sports car with enough testosterone to power it Flintstone-style.
The Hideout is the most popular restaurant and bar near campus. The décor is sports themed and judging by the warm welcome they receive as we slide into a booth, I’d say the employees are fans.
Wes and I sit across from Joel and Zeke, who are deep in debate mode over whether Coach should start Nathan or some rookie who neither Joel or Zeke seems to like. Wes angles his body toward me and nudges me under the table with a knee.
“Tell me honestly, did you use basketball references in your essay?”
“Nope,” I say proudly.
“No? All my good basketball examples went to waste?” His eyes light up. “Wait, did you use my kissing example? Please say yes!”
I flush, and my eyes fall to his lips, remembering the way they felt against mine. “I took your examples and flipped them to football terms instead. Professor O’Sean prefers football.”
“He does?” Wes tilts his head to gauge my seriousness.
I nod. “He used the Cardinals as an example twice last week during the lecture.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe I shouldn’t have slept through class.”
He winks, and my heart does a little pitter patter.
“How’s the foot feel?” I ask as the waiter brings our food.
“I’m cleared for practice today.”
“Wow, just like that, huh?”
He nods. “Exhibition game is on Friday, so I don’t have a lot of time to get my guys ready.”
“Your guys?”
“I’m the point—the leader on the floor. Z and I have been playing together since freshman year, Joel and Nathan a year later, but we have younger guys who aren’t meshing as well as I’d like yet. Takes a lot of time together.”
“I’m impressed.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”
Joel and Zeke get quiet as they start piling food into their mouths. I eye the food in front of Z. Two sandwiches, chips, and a milkshake. I don’t comment. He has to be close to two-hundred and fifty pounds, so it’s probably a drop in the bucket.
“I can’t wait for practice.” Joel chews, and his body practically bounces with excitement. “Coach letting you play the exhibition?”
“He’ll let me play.” By the tone in his voice, I venture that Wes is used to getting his way on the court. And probably off it.
“What about you? Are you coming to the exhibition?” Joel asks, stealing a chip from my plate.
I swat playfully at his hand. “What exactly is an exhibition?”
The table goes silent. Even their chewing stops.
“Wait a minute. Have you ever been to a Valley basketball game?”
I bite my bottom lip and try my best to look sweet and innocent. “No.”
“Never?” Wes drops his sandwich and stares at me.
“Well, I watched last year’s tournament on television.”
He shakes his head. “The exhibition game is like a scrimmage or practice game where we split into two teams and play each other.”
“When is it again?”
“Friday night at seven,” Wes answers.
Joel steals another chip, and I pretend not to notice. “And there’s a party at the house after.”
“Cool. I’ll see if I can round up some of the girls.”
“You’re a sorority girl?” It’s more of a reminder than a question. “Yeah, bring some friends.”
I pull my plate back as he reaches for another chip. “My friends are too good for you.”
Turns out a lot of the girls from the house already made plans to see the exhibition game.
“I had no idea people came to these,” I whisper to Vanessa.
“They didn’t until they started making it to the Final Four.”
The cheerleaders and Ray Roadrunner, our lovable mascot, dance in the center of the floor to Magenta Riddim, but I’m too nervous to follow any of it with any real focus.
“You’re gonna have to stop bouncing your leg like that you’re shaking the whole row.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?” Vanessa asks with a smirk.
“I don’t know.”
“You like him.”
I shoot her a look as the crowd around us erupts. Turning my attention to the floor, I watch as the team runs onto the court. I spot Wes right away even in their matching warm ups and shoes.
But it’s Joel who steals the show by joining in with the cheerleaders and doing the ridiculous dance perfectly in step with them. If Wes is cocky, Joel is an attention whore. He eats up the female screams and shouts as he shows off his dance moves.
Vanessa and I stand and cheer with the rest of the student section.
“I can see why you like him. The man is seriously fine. He really knows how to rock the whole hot athlete thing.”
“That he does.” I motion with my head toward Mario, who is standing on the other side of Vanessa and talking to one of his buddies from the baseball team. “So, does Mario. He’s hot and nice—the total package.”
She checks to see if he heard our conversation and then hushes me. “Don’t say that shit where he can hear you.”
“You’re spending every night with him, I think he knows you’re into him. Give it up, V. You aren’t playing this cool.”
She scoffs but smiles. Turning my attention back to the team, more specifically to Wes, I’m completely transfixed by the way he moves—quick, confident. He oozes athleticism, and—crap, I’m totally into a ball player. No, not just a ball player. The ball player. Do they even date?
Obviously, they kiss girls in their bedrooms.
After a short warm up, the guys split up into two teams: white and blue. Wes and Zeke don the home team jerseys while Joel and Nathan are on the blue team.
I’m lost in all of it, in all of him. Sure, I’ve seen plenty of games between high school and the NBA games my brother made me watch when we were kids. I mostly know the rules and the lingo, but I’ve never been so invested. I wring my hands every time he shoots the ball. I scream like a total fan girl every time he makes a shot, but I’m keenly aware of how badass he is leading his team. They trust him. They look to him. They follow him.
Z’s also surprising. The quiet guy I’ve come to know is a total trash talker on the court. I can’t hear him, but his mouth moves constantly while the ball is in play. On defense, he mumbles what I assume is razzing commentary to his opponent. And on offense, he calls out for the ball, pumps up his team with pep talks and attaboys.
Joel’s personality is exactly the same on the court. He’s arrogant, but he backs it up by leading his team in points and looking good doing it. The cheerleaders yelling just a little louder for him doesn’t go unnoticed, and I have a sneaking suspicion he’s earned their favoritism with a lot of sexual favors.
I don’t have a read on Nathan yet, but his game face is as intense as his desire for silence during movie night. His longer hair is pulled back in a nubby ponytail. If I’d passed him on campus, I never would have pictured him a jock. He has a grunge style that I thought died with Kurt Cobain.
The game ends with Wes and Z’s team on top. Joel and Nathan look pissed but still accept fist bumps from Z as they walk off the court.
Part of me wants to hang around and wait for Wes, but I have no idea how long he’ll be or what his routine is like. I don’t even have his number. And if I did, I wouldn’t know what to say. I mean I guess we’re friends, but it isn’t the friend in me who’s anxious to see him again. The girl he kissed last night, on the other hand, is ready to stalk him into a dark corner and demand a repeat performance to verify it was as mind-numbingly good as I remember.
“You ready?” Vanessa asks as the people around us start to clear out. “Mario says everyone is going straight to The White House.”
“Sure.” I watch Wes until he disappears completely into the tunnel that leads to the locker room. “Let’s go.”
14
Wes
“Nice job out there,” Z says as he removes his headphones from his locker and places them around his neck.
“You too. You keep playing like that, and you’ll be a top-round pick for sure.”
He grunts, but I don’t miss the smile. I take his future as seriously as he does. It’s my job to get the ball to him, so if I fail, then he fails. That isn’t gonna happen.
“See ya back at the house,” I call after him. When the rest of the guys go, I unwrap my foot and hobble to the shower. Pain throbs as I wash quickly, leaning on the wall to take some of the weight off it. I’m supposed to be easing into it, but I only have one mode—all out.
“How’s the foot, Reynolds?” Coach asks as I step out of the shower with a towel around my waist.
“Sore, but good. It felt strong out there.”
He nods and eyes me carefully. When he seems convinced I’m telling the truth he nods again. “All right. Take it easy tonight. I know you guys are celebrating, but make sure you ice it before bed and check in with the trainers first thing tomorrow before practice. Need you strong out there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Reynolds? Spend some time with Shaw. He has potential.”
Just the mention of the rookie irritates me. “He’s a hot head.”
“So were you.” He pushes open the door and taps the doorjamb twice with a fist. “Nice work out there tonight. Good to have you back on the floor.”
When the door closes behind him, I slink down on the bench and flex my foot to try to loosen it up a bit.
I’m back.
The party is loud, and people are everywhere when I get back to the house. I push through to my room and throw my bag onto my bed. I’m not really in the mood to party, but I am hoping a certain brunette will show up. I spotted her at the game, which might have had something to do with my refusal to ask coach to pull me even after my foot started throbbing.
The Assist (Smart Jocks #1) Page 9