by Alley Ciz
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I find a seat for my financial management lecture.
CTG BFF JT: Dude! D is like my favorite person EVER!
* * *
ME: *broken heart emoji* I thought I was your favorite person ever?
Someone pulls out the chair next to mine as I hit send. Chancing a look, I see the campus playboy himself is my new neighbor.
Mason ‘Casanova’ Nova, star tight end for the U of J Hawks, is pretty much my wet dream come to life in the looks department, but nowhere else. He represents too much of a time in my life I want to forget to ever imagine going near him.
Of all the classes in all the classrooms in all of campus, he had to walk into mine.
As if they have a mind of their own, my eyes travel over every inch of him I can see. He’s wearing a backward Hawks football ball cap, covering what I know are espresso-colored locks. The way the black cap cuts above his eyebrows highlights his seafoam green eyes, the light irises made all the more striking against his olive complexion. His lips are full, with the bottom one slightly bigger, making me want to bite it. And when he smiles his playboy smile, it shows off the most perfect set of dimples guaranteed to make a girl lose a few brain cells.
His matching black Hawks football t-shirt is stretched across his massive shoulders, the red and white logo snug against his equally impressive chest. The black ink from his tribal sleeve tattoo peeks out from the collar of his t-shirt and beneath the sleeve, down to his wrist.
I can feel him studying me back and look away, forcing my attention to my text conversation and not on how attractive he is.
Dammit!
Why is the backward hat look so hot on him?
CTG BFF JT: You’ll always be my #1, you know that. All I’m saying is this kid is cool.
* * *
ME: Kid? He’s only a year younger than us. *laughing face emoji* But, yes, I do agree. The younger Grayson is pretty cool. It must run in the family.
“Hi, I’m Mason.” His deep voice rumbles through me, making each one of my lady parts stand up and do facial expressions like I’m at the top of a stunt.
“I know who you are, Casanova.” I give him the brushoff.
“You’re Grayson’s girl, right?”
Does he not realize I don’t want to talk to him?
“His girl?” I scoff and go back to my phone.
CTG BFF JT: I think my flyer might love him.
* * *
ME: Well isn’t that one of T’s perfect storybook romances? The cheerleader and the basketball star—I think I’ve seen that movie.
I’m spared from having to engage in further conversation with Mason when a cute sorority girl in a skin-tight t-shirt and more makeup than is appropriate for such an early class starts making eyes at him.
“Are you excited for the game this weekend?” Sorority girl leans across the row to stroke Mason’s arm, the one with sinew and muscle and gorgeous black ink.
How is his forearm thicker than my upper arm?
Fuck!
Why am I checking him out?
“You know it, darlin’.” He shifts into full-blown flirt mode, living up to the Casanova moniker.
“Maybe you and I can celebrate after?” she purrs suggestively.
I can’t help letting out a snort when I hear her blatant come-on.
Those gorgeous light eyes shift my way, those tempting lips curling at the corners.
Rah rah sis boom bah! My inner cheerleader shakes her pom-poms. Shit. I’m not even that type of cheerleader—I’m an all-star; we don’t use poms. What the fuck is this guy doing to me?
The professor enters the room, snapping me out of the spell I’ve been locked in, and she brings the class to attention.
I concentrate as much as possible on her lecture, but Mason’s delectable scent keeps teasing my nostrils. Whatever soap he used after his morning workout with the team is a winner—not that I’ll ever tell him that. The less interaction we have, the better.
Even with his aroma tantalizing me, the seventy-five minute class flies by. I gather up my stuff and feel Mason’s large presence walking behind me as I exit the business school building.
Not even the sight of G waiting for me by the coffee cart is enough to banish the thoughts of tempting football players. Greek life isn’t for me, so I don’t stay up to date on all the happenings. It’s why, until yesterday, I didn’t know my best friend’s “big” brother was Casanova.
As I accept the paper to-go cup held out in my direction, I can’t help but ruminate on the fact that despite my lack of desire to participate in all things fraternal/sororal, it was helping G claim his Alpha status that led to our close friendship.
“I figured you’d snoozed your alarm too much to get one of these before class,” he says, proving once again why he’s one of my best friends.
I cradle the cup against me like it’s my precious. “This is one of the many reasons I love you so much.”
My comment earns me a blinding smile before he looks over my head at something—or someone—behind me.
“Hey, man. Whatcha doin’ here?” G asks.
“Not much. Just got out of class with your girl.” Mason strolls over to join us, his long legs eating up the distance with an easy gait.
God he’s too sexy for his own good. Every pair of female eyes in the vicinity is watching him.
I tilt my head back to look at him. “Why do you keep calling me G’s girl?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.” I keep my response clipped, hoping he’ll just move along.
“So you greet all your friends like they’re a soldier coming home from deployment?”
One of his dark brows rises and a teasing smirk curves his lips. It only grows when he catches me looking at his mouth.
No! No football players, I remind myself.
My cheeks heat as a realization hits me. Dammit. I hang my head and sigh as G starts to laugh, because the answer is no, that isn’t my typical greeting—at least not at school.
My friendship with G, such a notable presence on campus, is a delicate balance. He respects my preference to fly under the radar and would never pull me into his spotlight. Yesterday’s uncharacteristic greeting can only be explained by the rush of emotions felt from reuniting after our longest separation.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Smalls.” G drops an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. “It made me feel like I earned official bestie status with you.”
I hate how my hang-ups keep me from treating him like that all the time. G likes to joke that I’m like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with how I’ll act when we’re with our crew versus around others. Hell, one of the reasons he and JT have bonded so much is because JT claims I let more of the old Kay shine when I’m with G.
“So you’re single?” Mason asks.
“Not for you,” I deadpan.
G snorts, and I snap my head up with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you start.” He lets me go to hold his hands up in surrender. “I talked to JT earlier.” I go for a redirection, giving my back to Mason.
“Oh yeah?” I nod. “And is my baby bro driving him crazy yet?”
I shake my head with a snort. “Nope. Sounds like D is settling in just fine down in Kentucky.”
“Dante?” Mason asks, butting back into our conversation despite me trying to edge him out.
Why is he still here?
“Yeah.” I give G a Why are you engaging? look, which he ignores. “He goes to school with my competition.”
“UK isn’t our rival.” Not outside of cheerleading at least.
“I’m not talking about basketball. I mean for your ride or die.”
I roll my eyes.
“You’re ridiculous—you know that, right?” I blow across the plastic lid and take my first sip of the nectar of the gods. Ah, that’s the stuff.
“You love me anyway, Smalls.”
I twist my lips, neither confirming nor denying. I don’t have to; he knows I do
. The shit-eating grin stretching across his handsome face confirms it.
Mason has been watching our entire conversation with rapt attention. Honestly, a part of me is surprised he’s paying us any mind with the number of girls around blatantly vying for his attention.
“Where’s your next class?” G’s question pulls my focus off Mason—again. Gah! Why? Why can’t I stop looking at him?
“Edison Hall.” I point toward the stone building with my coffee cup.
“Damn, I’m in the opposite direction.”
“No worries. We still on for lunch after?”
Spending time together around campus, like having lunch or studying in the library, took a minute for me to become comfortable with, but with us both having such hectic schedules, I’ve been able to come to terms with it. The alternative is barely seeing G, and that’s not acceptable.
It helps how cognizant he is of the attention he garners, always choosing tables tucked in back corners for us when he can.
“Yup,” he says. “I already confirmed with CK. What about Em?”
“I’ll text her and see.”
In another week we’ll have each other’s schedules memorized.
“Catch ya later, Kay.” G bends to give me a hug, which I return, adding a kiss on his cheek.
“Bye, G.”
Mason falls into step beside me as I walk toward Edison Hall, and I tilt my head to the side to look at him.
“Did you need something?”
Why can’t he leave me alone?
“So your name is Kay?” he asks instead of answering.
“Yeah. It’s short for Kayla.”
Are we done here?
“Pretty name.”
I let out a snort. “Does that work?”
He looks at me, puzzled. “Does what work?”
“The pretty name line. I would think Mr. Casanova would have better material than that.”
He stops walking to stare at me, his gorgeous green eyes flashing. “You don’t like me, do you?”
I shrug noncommittally. It’s not necessarily that I don’t like him; I’m just wary. They may not be the kind you can see with your eyes, but I still have the scars from the last time I let a member of the football set into my life.
“You don’t know me, but you don’t like me.”
His comment brings me up short. “I know your type.” I resume walking, and so does he. “Why are you still here?”
Deflection and the cold shoulder are my weapons of choice.
“My next class is in Washington Hall.” He points to the building next to mine. “We’re practically going to the same place.”
Damn, he’s right.
I decide to go back to ignoring him and pull out my phone to text Em.
ME: You, me, and the boys for lunch?
* * *
EM: The Nest?
* * *
ME: Yup.
* * *
EM: *thumbs-up emoji* Quinn’s in too.
* * *
ME: *okay emoji*
Before I can step through the doors to Edison Hall, Mason calls out, “You’re gonna like me eventually.”
The jerk walks away before I can respond.
#Chapter5
Classes may have only begun this week, but the football season is already well underway and practice has turned brutal. I should be dragging ass after the workout Coach put us through in the weight room, but I find myself having a slight pep in my step on the way to my financial management lecture.
Could it have anything to do with a certain blonde with rainbow streaks hidden in her hair?
Yeah, it does. It’s been a long time since my thoughts have centered around one woman in particular. I still can’t get over how she doesn’t react to my charms.
Who doesn’t want a piece of all this? I’m grade-A, all-American, athlete-perfection beef.
Kayla acting like I don’t exist? Yeah, that stands out.
She gets under my skin in a way no one—not even her—has before. I’ve never looked forward to or wanted to see a girl the way I do her. There’s just something about Kay that draws me in. The thought should scare me since I have firsthand knowledge of the kind of damage a woman can do to a man if given the chance.
Still…
Is it the challenge? How she doesn’t throw herself at me like all the other girls on campus?
When I thought she was Grayson’s girl, I had a mild curiosity about her, but now that I know she’s single—and yes, I asked Grant her dating status because she refused to give me a straight answer—I need to know more.
If any of the guys on the team or in the frat found out that Casanova, the campus playboy, had to work to get a girl to like him, they would laugh me out of school.
Which brings us to today’s icebreaking attempt—coffee.
From my intel-gathering, I’ve learned Kayla hates mornings but usually doesn’t have time to stop for a caffeine fix before her nine AM class.
Unfortunately, when we met up with Grant, he already had a coffee waiting for her. Not wanting to come across as a total stalker, I didn’t ask her coffee preferences. I decided to play it safe with the basic girl favorite and grabbed a pumpkin spice latte with my dark roast.
I walk into the lecture hall and there she is, same seat as last time, typing on her MacBook instead of texting. Taking the steps two at a time, I pull out the open seat beside her again and place the paper travel cup next to her computer.
After typing for a few more seconds, she turns to me, pointing at the offending cup. “What’s this?”
“It’s called coffee. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“No shit, Sherlock.” She rolls her eyes. “What I mean is why are you putting it next to my computer?”
God I love her sharp tongue. No girl’s ever talked back to me, and not gonna lie, it turns me on. My pants tighten as I imagine what it would feel like dragging up and down my cock.
Down, boy. Flag on the play.
I stare at her, my dick twitching in response to how she looks at me like I’m something she’d find on the bottom of her shoe. Way to not listen to the play call, I scold my wayward anatomy.
Her hair is up in one of those messy buns today, and it’s the first time I’ve been able to see her entire face without the brim of a hat obscuring the view. Without the shadows, I can see flecks of blue mixed in with the charcoal hues of her gray eyes, and even her freckles stand out more. This girl is really cute.
“It’s for you, Skittles.”
“Skittles?” She arches a brow at the name.
“Yeah. Your hair is all rainbow-y underneath, so Skittles works.”
“Why, because you want to taste my rainbow?”
I can’t hold back a laugh. Man, I dig her spunk.
“If you’re offering.” The suggestion takes me from half-mast to full-on goalpost.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
Too late.
Inch by inch, our bodies grow closer. My gaze drops and my mouth quirks as I read her I’m only a morning person on December 25th shirt. I take note of the matching pair of green Chuck Taylors on her feet.
“You know you want this.” Her eyes follow the paper cup moving back and forth under her nose.
“The coffee, yes.” Lashes fan as she lifts her gaze to mine. “You…not so much.”
“Guess the coffee isn’t the only thing that should come with a burn warning.”
Another eye roll. Damn, what does it take to crack her shell?
I gesture to her shirt with the cup. “Your wardrobe tells me you don’t like mornings.”
“So you brought me coffee?” Doubt is clear in her voice.
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Her head tilts as she eyes me warily.
“Because…” I lean an elbow onto the table. “Contrary to what you think, I am a nice guy, and Grayson told me you snooze your alarm too much to allow you time to get coffee.”
“Really?”
“Yes really.�
��
“No ulterior motive?”
“No.”
“You’re not gonna expect me to blow you?”
I have the misfortune of taking a sip of my drink right before she asks this, causing me to choke and sputter a bit. I wipe my chin before responding.
“Baby, I don’t have to buy a girl coffee to get her to blow me.” Crude but true. “I was just trying to do a nice thing for my bro’s friend.”
“God you’re cocky.” Her small hand finally reaches for the cup. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Also, I’m so not your baby.”
She gets the last word, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips.
I take it as a win.
#Chapter6
I’m not sure what to make of Mason Nova.
I’ve seen him around campus, living up to his Casanova nickname. One time when I met Em at the practice field the football team and cheerleaders use, I overheard him having sex in the locker room. I’m embarrassed to admit I lingered by the door listening to the sounds of the mystery girl moan, “Oh god,” and “Harder, Casanova,” and more of the like.
Being handed a cup of coffee and him saying it was because my best friend told him how I don’t allow myself time to stop for one before class—it threw me for a loop. Seems like a lot of effort put forth when I’ve made it blatantly clear he has zero chance of getting in my pants, especially with willing co-eds and jersey chasers abound.
There was a part of me—no matter how small, or how incorrect and irrational—that wondered if he found out who I was and that was why he did it, but I shook that off real quick. For one, it is ridiculous and conceited. Two, Mason Nova may be many things—all of which are why I need to remember to keep my distance—but in need of outside connections to get the NFL interested in him is not one of them.