The Assist (Smart Jocks #1)

by Rebecca Jenshak

  “Fifteen points, three assists, and either two or three steals. I lost track trying to keep count of all of it.” The object of my thoughts stands in the doorway of my room. “And I can’t believe Zeke.”

  “He’s pretty incredible.”

  “I meant the talking. The guy never shuts up out there. Who knew?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, he saves it all for the court.”

  She steps into the room and holds out a beer. “Drink?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t drink during the season.”

  “I don’t think Joel got that memo. He’s halfway through a bottle of Jack downstairs.”

  She moves to sit on my bed, and I take a seat at my desk.

  “Your foot hurts.” A crease forms between her brows, and she speaks with certainty.

  “A little sore.”

  “You should probably have it elevated.” She moves into action, looking around the room before zoning in on a chair propped up on the other wall. She pulls it across the room and then motions for me to put my leg up. “You have any ice in here? Or is it heat that you need?”

  “Shit. I should have grabbed an ice pack from downstairs.”

  She bites her lip and looks as if she is considering leaving to go get it. She’s gone into full-blown mama bear mode. It’s hot, but I don’t want her to leave.

  “Hand me that beer.”

  She obliges, and I place the cold can against the side of my foot just above the top of my shoe. I should really take it off and ice it properly, but I don’t want to give her any reason to rush off. “Guess I did need that drink after all.”

  She shifts as if she doesn’t know what to do—or worse, as if she might leave.

  “Sit, please. You’re making me nervous pacing around.”

  She does, and we study each other with the bass from downstairs vibrating the floor below us. “Did you enjoy your first game?”

  “I did.”

  I’m not convinced. “You don’t sound very sure.”

  “I was a nervous wreck. I don’t know how you do it. Every shot, every pass . . . I’ll have an ulcer by the end of the season.”

  I like that she’s already planning on going to more games. Like that I popped her ball cherry. Hell, I even like that having her there made me work that much harder.

  I swing my foot down off the chair and stand. “Move over.”

  Before she can protest, I sit on the bed next to her and scoot until my back rests against the wall. My feet still hang off the edge, though. A detail that doesn’t go unnoticed.

  Blair moves so she’s facing the headboard and I angle myself to face her and move my legs onto the bed. Without a word she places her still mostly cold beer against my foot.

  Her phone pings, and she sits forward to retrieve it from her back pocket giving me an eyeful of cleavage. A gentleman would pretend not to notice, but there’s no part of her covered flesh I haven’t already imagined in vivid detail.

  “It’s Vanessa. She and Mario are leaving.”

  “Already? Party just started.”

  “I think they’re far more interested in being alone than a party with half the university.”

  She pulls the beer away from my foot and lets her legs hang off the edge of the bed. “I should go. I rode over with them.”

  “I doubt they want a third wheel for what they have in mind. Stay. I’ll get you a ride home later.”

  “You sure I’m not keeping you from your adoring fans?”

  “Got my number-one fan right here.”

  She cocks a brow. “I’m your number-one fan? I’m not sure what that says about you, considering I’ve only been to one game.”

  “I guarantee you’re the only one here who tracked my stats tonight. It was three steals, by the way.” I wink, and she blushes. Truth be told, it’s fucking hot that she watched me close enough and cared enough to keep a tally.

  “So, I surmise there’s no boyfriend. If there were, he’d have tracked you down and kicked my ass by now.”

  “Was that a question?”

  “Yeah.” I laugh out the word. “Is there a guy?”

  The tiniest shake of her head is my answer. “And you aren’t dating anyone and on top of the list for every girl downstairs. I’m actually surprised I’m the only one who thought to come upstairs.”

  “Smart girl.” I worry a little about the talk she might have heard. I haven’t dated anyone since freshman year when I realized I didn’t have the time or energy for that while playing college ball, but I’m not ignorant to the rumors and talk that have me sleeping with or paired up with a different girl every week. Not true, by the way. Girls are too exhausting to go through them like Joel does.

  She rolls her eyes. “I just wanted to check on you. I saw you favoring the leg as you went up the stairs.

  “I’ll be all right. Feels better already. So, why no boyfriend? I haven’t heard any chatter, but I’m not blind.”

  “You have the weirdest way of asking a question that feels like it isn’t really a question.”

  I cross my arms behind my head and wait for her to answer.

  “I’ve dated a little, but nothing serious.”

  I’m content to keep her to myself in my room. Hell, I didn’t even want to party before she showed up, but Blair isn’t an easy nut to crack. Maybe the atmosphere downstairs and another drink or two will loosen her up. And I don’t mean that in a crass way. I’m more interested in learning something about her than getting in her pants. At least for tonight.

  “You ever seen a six-six guy do a keg stand?” I ask as I stand and hold out my hand to her.

  She puts her delicate hand in mine. “No.”

  “Let’s go find Joel then. It should be just about showtime.”

  I wrap an arm around her shoulders and make sure to lean some weight on her so she feels like she’s helping me. Part of me does it to claim her, selfish man that I am. Mostly, though, I just want an excuse to touch her.

  Joel is exactly where I expected him to be—the center of fucking attention on the back patio. Girls hang off either side, and he’s telling one of the five stories he tells every damn time he gets drunk. He stops mid-sentence when he spots Blair and me.

  “Reynolds!” He calls out my name and lifts the bottle in his hand. “About time that you two lovebirds decided to show your faces.”

  I grin but feel Blair shrink a little in my arms. Fucking Joel. “Don’t be jealous that I got the hottest girl on my arm.”

  It’s a dick thing to say, considering the two on his, but I’ll trade their annoyance to make Blair feel less unsure. I nudge us through to an outdoor patio set. “Shaw, wanna give me and Blair your seats?”

  He growls at me and doesn’t budge.

  “Come on man, I need to get off my foot.”

  He nods to the girls next to him, and they leave slowly, taking their damn time as he glares at me.

  “They always do what you say?” Blair asks when we are seated.

  “I wish. The freshman are the worst. Takes half the season to get their egos in check.”

  “Who keeps yours in check?”

  “Ball busters like you.”

  I pull her closer so she’s all but on my lap. She doesn’t resist, and my dick starts making plans. A girl stumbles past us, covering her mouth like she is about to puke, and Blair and I watch in combined horror and fascination as she moves like lightning into the house.

  “Not exactly how I pictured our first date.”

  “This is a date?” Her voice borders on panic.

  “Kinda feels like one. We’re hanging out together, and I plan to try to kiss you at the end of the night.”

  “No,” she states adamantly and turns to face me. “You don’t fall into a date. A date is planned . . . intentional.”

  “That right?”

  “Yes.” She leans back into me. “Now, ask me on a real date.”

  I chuckle. “Ball buster.”

  She shrugs, telling me she isn’t budging on
the subject. Not that I mind, exactly, but I haven’t been on a real date since . . . well, I can’t remember, but it probably involved high school and a dark movie theater where I could try to cop a feel.

  “Go out with me.”

  It’s her turn to laugh. “Was that a question or a command?”

  “Blair Olson, will you go out with me?”

  She shrugs again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  This girl. “But, uh, even though this isn’t a real date, I’m still kissing you later.”

  “Promise?” She turns her head to face me, bringing our lips inches apart.

  I stare at her mouth as she moistens her lips like she’s waiting for me to make a move. Instead of answering with words, I capture her face with both hands and pull her to me. What I’d planned to be a quick kiss—a taste of the promise I made—turns serious fast. There’s nothing quick or innocent when it comes to my response to this girl. She hums into my mouth, and I deepen the kiss, not giving any fucks about making out in the middle of a party.

  My dick aches as she molds her body to mine and wraps her arms around my neck. We’re as close as we can get without lying down on the floor and going at it. I weigh that scenario out in my head before breaking the kiss. “Think we should probably go back upstairs if you want to continue this.”

  Pleas say yes. Please say yes. Yep, I’m cool as a cucumber on the outside but straight up begging on the inside. Her eyes dart from my mouth to the party, taking in what we’ve done and where we are. She looks more stunned than embarrassed, but then she pulls away and runs shaky fingertips across her lips.

  “I should go.”

  Well, hell.

  “But pick me up tomorrow night for our date?”

  15

  Blair

  “He’s here.” I read the text saying as much and smooth my dress down. I do a final turn side to side to see myself in the mirror from every angle.

  Vanessa lies on her bed, watching me obsess. “Want me to go downstairs and ask him what his intentions are?”

  I laugh, easing some of the nerves that have taken over my shaky hands. “As entertaining as that would be, maybe we should wait until at least the second date to scare him off.”

  Or until I get laid. I know it’s probably a terrible idea to sleep with the guy who holds my statistics grade in his hands, but a girl can only be expected to have so much restraint.

  “Better to know now before you waste a perfectly good Saturday night.”

  Most people I know don’t even go on real dates, let alone on a Saturday night. Weekend nights are pre-filled with frat parties and nights out at the bar. The rare occasions I’ve been asked out on a real date, it’s always been something mid-week. A Monday night coffee date, a Tuesday dinner, sometimes even a Thursday out together at The Hideout. Fridays and Saturdays are reserved. I’m willing to risk missing a party to go on a date with Wes. One almost certainly ends with me coming back alone, but the other . . . has possibilities.

  The sorority house is a two-story home with bedrooms on both floors and a basement with a kitchen and dining room, laundry room, and our chapter room where we hold meetings. Vanessa follows me down the stairs from our second story room and into the first-floor entry way/living room. Men aren’t allowed beyond the entryway unattended, so essentially it serves as our “suitor waiting area.” It doesn’t see a lot of suitors for all the previously mentioned reasons.

  Hostess duty is a real thing in the house, a chore shared between all of us, and it seems Molly has jumped at the opportunity to play hostess. She hasn’t only let Wes in, she’s proceeded to fawn all over him. I hold back a giggle as I watch him lean back away from her as she tries to snake a hand up his arm. An arm that leads to those hands I admire so much. He looks up as I appreciate my first glimpse of him in date attire—a black T-shirt, dark denim jeans, and tennis shoes—a different pair from what I’ve seen him wear before, and I’m suddenly curious how many pairs of sneakers this guy owns.

  I stop at the bottom of the stairs and Vanessa pushes ahead of me. She waltzes up to Wes and eyes him carefully.

  “You gonna give me the talk, maybe show me your gun collection before you let me take our girl out?”

  “Nah, I don’t think it’s necessary to tell you I’ll either personally kick your ass or pay someone to do it for me if you hurt my girl. I’m sure it’s also not necessary to tell you that a badass chick like Blair deserves a gentleman. Where are the flowers? Chocolate covered strawberries?”

  I groan, and Wes looks embarrassed. V, however, keeps going.

  “I expect that, for the rest of the evening, you bring you’re A game. I’m talking door-opening, attentive, no-looking-at-other women, hold-her-hand, chivalrous shit.”

  “Okay.” I step in front of Vanessa and take Wes’s arm. “I think we have it from here.

  Wes chuckles and lets me lead him to the door. I give V a small wave over my shoulder. Her intentions are good. She knows enough about the shit David pulled to understand why going out with someone new is both nerve-wracking and exciting. We’ve almost made it outside when Wes stops abruptly and turns. V still stands in the doorway watching us.

  “Don’t worry about our girl. I’m well aware of just how badass she is.”

  Wes leads me to a small black SUV and opens the door for me. I flush, assuming he’s following V’s orders. “Don’t let Vanessa get in your head. She’s—”

  But my protest is cut short. He winks and leans in. “Would have opened the door for you either way. It gives me more time to check you out. You look amazing.”

  “Thank you. You too.”

  Wes drives us to a small bistro on the outskirts of town. It’s well out of the three-block radius that most university students venture out of, and I wonder if it’s a coincidence or if he’s purposely taken me somewhere we won’t be seen.

  “I’ve never been here,” I say as he helps me out of the car. A blue awning welcomes us, and inside, I’m surprised to find the décor a mix of local sports memorabilia and amateur artwork. Canvases are hung artfully around the small space with the artists’ names boldly displayed on gold plaques underneath. Jerseys ranging from tee-ball size to high school are lined up on one wall like a walk through a lifetime of an athlete. It’s a bizarre design, but it feels welcoming none the less.

  “Hey, Wes Reynolds.” A man with a mess of unruly gray hair that makes him look like a mad scientist appears from behind the counter. His smile falls, and he pauses. “Did you get the days mixed up? Game is next week.”

  “Nah, came here to eat.” Wes places a hand at my back. Those long fingers splay out across my lower back. The heat of the contact makes me feel secure and possessed all the way down to my toes. “Cal, this is Blair. Blair, this old man is Cal.”

  “She’s with you?” Cal gives Wes a shocked look and then tosses a wink in my direction. “Honey, he didn’t kidnap you, did he? You’re free to go. I have a bat under the counter here and I’d love an excuse to take some practice swings.”

  Wes snorts and lifts his foot. “The boot is off, old man. You can’t catch me now.”

  Cal’s expression softens, and he rounds the counter, zeroed in on Wes’s leg. “You’re really back? Coach letting you practice and everything?”

  Wes nods. “Yep, all the way back. Even let me play the exhibition game last night.”

  “Well, all be damned. Don’t tell Mason or he’ll be pissed we missed it.” He looks to me apologetically. “Sorry for the language. My boy loves to watch Wes play. Thought we were gonna have an angry teenager on our hands this season, and trust me, that would have been good for no one.”

  “Those your son’s jerseys?” I ask, pointing to the multi-colored, multi-numbered shirts.

  “Sure are. Mason’s a baseball player, but he loves watching basketball.”

  “Kid’s gotta wicked curve ball,” Wes adds.

  Cal beams with pride. “Your table is open.” He nods toward the small seating area.

  As Wes le
ads me to his table, I ask the obvious questions. “You have a table? What is this place?”

  Wes throws his arm over the back of the booth, looking as comfortable as if this really is his table. “Cal’s wife owns a cleaning service and does some work for Joel’s family.”

  He looks up sheepishly.

  “Which means she cleans The White House.” I connect the dots.

  He nods. “She started bringing by food, got us hooked on the grilled cheese and homemade pies. Z and I started coming here to get our fix. So, yeah, I have a table.”

  He winks, and I’m a total goner. Instead of trying to impress me by taking me to a restaurant where we would have maybe shared a bottle of wine and asked about the daily specials, he brought me to a hole-in-the-wall bistro that requires him to drive off campus and where he has his own table. This feels so much more real.

  Cal brings us menus and a pitcher of iced tea, which Wes pours for both of us before almost draining his own glass.

  “Best damn iced tea this side of Kansas.”

  I must be staring at him with a perplexed expression because he looks around and then asks, “What? Got something on my face?”

  “No. I’m just trying to figure you out. What’s the game he mentioned?”

  “Mason has a home game next week.”

  “And you’re going?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “So, you help your teammates study, you tutor failing students in your spare time—”

  “That one was not my choice, if I remember correctly,” he points out.

  “You attend high school baseball games and support local businesses . . . you’re like a decent guy under that arrogant, egotistical exterior.”

  He holds a finger up to his lips. “Shh, not so loud.”

  “No, honestly. It’s hot.”

  His mouth pulls into a big smile. “Well, if you put it that way.”

  “What’s your family like back in Kansas?”

  He visibly stiffens, but the smile only falls for a second before it’s back. “If I tell you we had Sunday dinners every week and I call my mom every day is that going to get me extra points?”