Looking To Score: #UofJ Book 1- An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy Sports Romance (U of J)

by Alley Ciz

  Then there’s the most glaringly obvious fact that G would never betray me by divulging details about me that I painstakingly keep close to the vest.

  “You all right?” G asks, pulling me from my musings.

  “Hmm?” I blink myself back into the present and watch him steal a fry from my plate. “If you wanted fries, why didn’t you get your own?”

  “They don’t count against my nutrition plan when they come from yours, Smalls.”

  My nose wrinkles when he boops me on it, and I roll my lips in to hold back a grin. There are days I hate how much the charm from his Southern belle of a mother has rubbed off on him. Combine that with his street-smart swagger from growing up in the Bronx and he is one lethal combination.

  “Keep stealing my lunch and I won’t give you the leftovers I brought home from the Taylors’ house last night.”

  His dark eyes sparkle—actually sparkle—at the mere mention of the food T and I tend to make when I stay at her place.

  “Chili? Please, for the love of all things culinary, tell me you two made chili?”

  I confirm the making of Pop Taylor’s famous chili recipe with a nod, and G lets out a whoop but quickly calms down when he notices the attention his outburst brings to our table.

  “You know I love you, Kay.” He clasps his large hands in front of his chest and turns puppy-dog eyes on me. “You’re my best friend, my sister. Please, please, please share with me? You know you wanna. Don’t you love me?”

  I hear someone pull out the chair next to me, and even without them saying a word, I know who it is. There’s a buzzing under my skin and the hair on the back of my exposed neck stands on end. Still, none of it prepares me for the way my body hums when his deep voice rumbles through me.

  “Aww…I’m not the only one you’re denying you love, Skittles?”

  Love? Love Mason Nova? Yeah right. I won’t even admit to lusting him.

  I roll my eyes.

  Our entire table is struck silent by his presence. CK’s brows are practically at his hairline, Em is slack-jawed and her eyes keep bouncing from me to Mason, and poor Q looks both star-struck and confused. G has an air of big brother protection radiating from him, but it doesn’t last long before he greets his friend and frat brother with a fist bump over my head. The universe has a twisted sense of humor pairing my best friend with a football player. Don’t the Alphas have any other basketball players who would have fit the bill?

  Em is the first to recover, asking, “Did you just call her Skittles?” She directs the question to Mason, but to me her eyebrows are all I know you told me he’s been trying to talk to you, but WTF?

  “Yup.” When I turn to face our table-crasher, he’s wearing that damn smirk and flashing those dimples. Grrr. “I told Skit”—a hand lifts to cup the back of my neck and I shiver as he runs a thumb along the base of my skull—“her hair makes me want to taste her rainbow.”

  Q chokes on her water, CK slams his cup down, and G pauses with another one of my fries halfway to his mouth.

  Em just blinks, eyebrows going silent. “And did she introduce you to her right hook when you said that?”

  Best friend for life right there.

  “You have a mean right hook, I take it?” My chair scrapes as Mason tugs me closer, leaning into my space.

  “Yup.” I focus on keeping my voice strong, not wanting to give away how my body feels like a live wire from his nearness. “So you better watch out.”

  It takes everything in me not to show my amusement.

  “Can you even reach my face standing up?”

  “Ooo, a height joke—how original.”

  “Careful, Nova. She’s tiny but mighty,” G warns.

  Mason ignores the advice, instead pushing in closer until his mouth brushes the shell of my ear as he says, “You can deny it all you want, but we’re already on our way to becoming the best of friends.”

  Why does it feel like more threat than promise?

  “Never gonna happen.” I put a hand on his chest and push him back. It doesn’t work; the jerk is too big. No, instead all I get is the feel of the hard muscles flexing underneath my touch.

  More than a few heads have turned in our direction since the arrival of Mr. Football, and I dip mine, wishing I were wearing a hat to hide my face. Everywhere Mason goes, people notice him. He tried to walk me to class again today, but I was able to effectively shut him out by calling JT.

  People have gotten used to seeing G hanging with us, but Mason? Mason touching me, flirting with me? Not the attention I want or need.

  Time to go.

  Pushing my tray, which is half-filled with fries, in front of G, I place a quick kiss to his cheek not facing the rest of the cafeteria and press to stand, knocking Mason’s hand from me.

  “You’re leaving?” The concern in G’s voice both soothes and cuts deep.

  He thinks I’m running, and I hate that part of him is right. I’ve made major strides in reclaiming the confident I-don’t-give-a-fuck side of me in the last four years—my plans with the roomies tonight is proof of how much more I’m opening myself up—but Mason hits too close to the heart of my issues.

  #Chapter7

  My life is a complicated puzzle of those who know all the details about me and those who know only the things I want them to know.

  I don’t all-out lie—it’s one of the reasons I refused to change my last name when E suggested it might give me some anonymity (it helps that Dennings is so common)—but I have a carefully crafted story based on half-truths and omissions.

  For example…

  Question: Where do you work?

  Answer: At a gym. It’s technically the truth, but the omission comes from not specifying the type of gym I work for. I let people assume it’s your run-of-the-mill gym rat establishment and not the top all-star cheerleading gym in the state.

  It’s probably a bit much that I keep my cheerleading background a secret, but it can lead directly back to news articles I’d rather not have resurfacing.

  He’ll never admit it, but I’m pretty sure the main reason JT chose his offer from the University of Kentucky instead of U of J’s was because he was worried it would be too obvious who I was if he competed so close to home. All my brothers—both the biological one and those of the heart—are way too overprotective. I’ll never fault them for it, though, because when I’m with them it’s like all my broken pieces are glued together and I can be me without worrying about anything else.

  “Oh man.” G groans around a spoonful of chili. “I think I may need to reconsider Mama’s stance on us, Kay, because I could so get on board with marrying you for this chili.”

  “You are a bad, bad friend, G,” JT complains from the laptop I have open on the coffee table so we can video-chat with him and D.

  “Keep teasing us and I’ll text Mama you said that, G,” D threatens before turning to JT and saying, “Should we start an over/under on how many bridal magazines she shows up with when she comes to our game in a few weeks?”

  Even with his dark skin, I see the way G pales at D’s threat. I bury my face against his arm so the guys can’t see how amused I am, but I’m not fooling anyone. They know me too well.

  “Guess that means I’ll have to look for a new groom, because T made this batch.” I flick my gaze from G to JT on the screen, finding a little too much joy in how the latter’s brows pinch at the mention of his high-school-aged sister.

  “I love you, G, but don’t get any fucking ideas about Tessa.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” G holds his hands up in surrender, bowl of chili palmed as easily as a basketball in one. “What’s with all the hostility?”

  “Look, I already have to deal with this Grayson”—JT points at D—“hitting on this sister”—points to me. “I don’t need to start worrying about you making moves on my other one.”

  You would think after all these years my heart wouldn’t flutter whenever JT refers to me as his sister, but it does.

  “At lea
st wait until she’s out of high school, bro.” CK wears a Cheshire grin as he keeps his focus on the Thursday Night Football game we have playing in the background.

  “I think I liked it better when you were too shy around us to give us shit,” G grumbles.

  “Bullshit,” CK counters. “You fools dragged me kicking and screaming into this family. It’s not my fault you can’t handle the truth.”

  I pull the collar of my In my defense, I was left unsupervised shirt over my mouth, hiding that I’m out-and-out laughing.

  It’s moments like this that I use to fill the emotional well for when things get shitty and feel like they’re too much for me to handle.

  “Don’t lump me in with numb-nuts over there.” G flings an arm out at D. “I tell him all the time to stop putting the moves on Kay, and I’ve never hit on Tessa.”

  “I think we might be in need of a subject change,” CK offers diplomatically.

  I hop over G’s outstretched legs, leaving the boys to their guy talk, on the hunt for wine. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be wishing for my roommates to get back from practice, but I feel like I need the backup against all the testosterone filling the apartment.

  Guess my walls really are starting to come down.

  As if they heard my silent plea, the door to our place opens and Em, Q, and Bailey filter in.

  “You’re starting without us?” Em asks when she sees the bottle of wine in my hand. I gesture with it to the where the guys are having their pow-wow, and her eyes light with recognition before she sprints off and sits next to G to say hi to JT and D.

  “Wine time!” Q dances into the kitchen and accepts the glass I’m holding out.

  “Someone please tell me we have Miracle Ice somewhere in this apartment.” Bailey drops onto one of the barstools with a groan.

  “Em and I do in our bathroom,” I confirm before heading off to grab it.

  Most people don’t realize the beating cheerleaders take on a daily basis. They just see the pretty girls with the big bows who cheer on the sidelines, but they don’t see all the bruises, concussions, and broken bones that go into mastering the stunts and tosses performed.

  “Thanks,” she says when I hand off the salvation in a bottle.

  “Kayla Michelle Dennings, you get your tiny butt over here right now.” I wince at the admonition I hear in JT’s tone.

  “Whoa. What’s with the full name, James Michael Taylor?” He hisses through his teeth as I drop into G’s lap so I can fit on camera.

  “You wanna tell me why you’ve been withholding information from me, young lady?” He looks so much like Pops with his arms folded across his chest, and I can’t help but smirk.

  “Young lady? I’m a month older than you.” I roll my eyes.

  I don’t know why I even bother bringing up the order of our birthdays. Not once in our lives has JT acted as anything other than my big brother.

  “Doesn’t matter.” He waves me off. “Now tell me why you didn’t say anything about this new friend of yours.”

  New friend? What is he talking about?

  “I told you about the roomies weeks ago.”

  He hits me with a Don’t play stupid look, but I honestly have no clue what he means.

  “He’s talking about a certain football player who’s been sniffing around you, KayKay,” D clarifies then looks beyond me and hits on the room at large. “Hello there, ladies.”

  “G!” I whip around, my ponytail hitting him in the face as I stare slack-jawed. There is nothing going on with Mason and me. The last thing I need is for JT to worry about history repeating itself when he’s not around to help take care of me.

  And, grr…I hate that even without him saying anything, I know he does feel like he needs to take care of me.

  “It wasn’t me.” G’s eyes shift to the side, and my previously dropped jaw now hits the floor as I realize it was CK who blew up my spot.

  “And on that note, I think it’s time for you boys to go so our girls night can start.” I jump from G’s lap and yank on his arm like I have any hope of moving him.

  “Don’t be like that, Smalls,” he says, trying to appease me.

  “Nope.” Another tug, this time putting my back into it. “Back to the frat house with you, and take Mr. Loose Lips with you.”

  “KayKay,” D whines.

  “Nope.” I shake my head, still unable to get G to move.

  “You can hang up now, but there’s no getting out of this conversation. It will happen.” I give up on trying to move G and bend so I’m the only one the camera is focused on, meeting the concerned eyes of my oldest friend.

  He’s right. Of course we will talk about this. We tell each other everything—the good, the bad, the ugly.

  Mason Nova may be a subject I’d rather never discuss, but that will only fly so long with JT.

  “Who needs parents when you have the most annoying, overprotective, buttinsky brothers on the planet?” I grumble, but there’s no heat in my tone.

  “Don’t let Pops or Bette hear you say that,” JT grins.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m going now. Goodbye.”

  “Love you,” he singsongs, knowing he’ll get me to talk eventually.

  “Love you too.”

  My forehead hits the wood of the coffee table as I drop my head with a sigh. There are days I wish I didn’t have enough baggage to fill a 747. Life would be so much simpler.

  At not even twenty years old, I should be able to laugh at and even bask in the attention of such a notable person at school. It’s cheesy teen movie perfection. Instead, my hang-ups lead me to look for boogeymen that might not even exist.

  I feel G place a kiss on the top of my head and lift it in time to see him and CK exit the apartment.

  Em’s lips are twisted to the side as if she knows G will be on the phone with JT to fill in any blanks before he even hits the elevator. As much as I wish differently, she’s probably right.

  Q is looking toward the door like someone just took her favorite toy and walked out with it. CK is completely blind to it, but anyone with eyes can see she’s crushing on him.

  “If you want him, you’re gonna have to be the one to make a move,” I say, reaching for my wine glass.

  “Wh-what?” Q sputters.

  “CK.” I jerk my chin to the door.

  “Give me your phone.” Em holds her hand out expectantly.

  “Why?”

  Em gives her an Are you serious? look and wiggles her fingers. “To give you his number. Duh.”

  “If you’re giving out digits, can I have Grant’s?” Bailey leans back against the counter on her elbows.

  “You’ll have to ask G for them yourself,” Em answers, knowing G doesn’t give out his personal information to just anyone.

  “I still can’t believe I had no idea you were so close with Grant Grayson.” Bailey joins the rest of us on the couches, snuggling up with one of the throw pillows. “Like how are you not all over each other’s Instagrams?”

  Because I’d have to have an Instagram account to do so, and I’m very careful with the few pictures I let G post of me.

  I don’t bother telling her how I deleted all my social media accounts in high school. Not a topic I wish to discuss, now or ever.

  Just the mention of it has my stomach roiling and a headache pounding behind my eyes.

  “What movie should we watch?” I ask, wanting a change of subject.

  “Can we go old school and watch Miss Congeniality?” Q switches the TV over to our Netflix account.

  “Ooo, good choice,” Em says, and I agree with a nod.

  “I wish we had donuts. It always makes me want donuts when Sandra Bullock tries to smuggle them out in her evening gown.”

  We all laugh at the dejected frown on Bailey’s face.

  “We may not have donuts, but we can order pizza and get those cinnamon knots they have,” I offer, pulling up the number for our favorite pizza place close to campus.

  �
�Oh, good idea. Because while you want donuts, I always want pizza when they go to their paint party,” Q adds.

  Like it has been so many times in the last few weeks, my night is filled with laughter, wine, and roommates.

  #Chapter8

  The Alpha Kappa house is the gem of Greek Row. With a rich alumni base—specifically those who have gone on to play professional sports, which is quite a few of them—it’s easy to see why it’s the nicest, and not just by frat house standards.

  As much as I enjoy having a bedroom to myself—regardless of it including a king-sized bed, a dresser, and a desk—my favorite room is the den. It’s tucked in the back left corner of the house, keeping it more private during the parties the Alphas are known for. With a seventy-inch flat-screen, leather couches and recliners, a dart board, and a billiards table adorned in U of J red felt, it’s the perfect man cave.

  Soon, the guys and I will need to head over to The Huntington, the hotel the team stays in the night before a game not far from campus, but for now Trav, running back Alex Anderson, kicker Noah Mitchell, and defensive end Kevin Sanders are killing time in the den with Grayson and me.

  “You guys ready for tomorrow?” Grayson looks up from whatever schoolwork he’s doing on his laptop.

  “Oh yeah. Kansas is going down,” Trav says, confident as always.

  “These gimme games are fun, but I can’t wait for next week and our first real Big Ten matchup,” Noah agrees. Yes, BTU was a Big Ten game, but their program is miles below the rest of our conference.

  “How’s the team looking in your preseason workouts?” Kevin asks, referring to the Hawks’ basketball team. Last year they made it to the Final Four but not the championship.

  “Pretty good. Some of the freshmen are promising. I wish my brother were one.” He shakes a fist in the air. “Damn you, Kentucky.”

  “You’re just gonna have to school him when you guys play.” I clink my water bottle to his beer.

  Trav and I generally tend to stick with the brothers from the football team, but when Grant decided to rush Alpha Kappa, he was a welcome addition to the fold. With all of us being athletes in Division 1 programs, we don’t have a ton of free time, but I’ve already noticed an increase in the amount of time Grayson is around now that we live in the same house.