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

by Alley Ciz

  She smacks my hand away and glares daggers at me while an enticing blush works its way up her neck. “Hard pass. And you and I will never have a thing.”

  That’s what you think. Give me ten minutes and I’ll show you just how big of a thing we can have.

  “How was the game? Grayson didn’t sulk too much that his team lost, did he?” Trav asks, trying to break the tension hovering over the table.

  “No, he was very gracious.” Em pats Grant’s arm sympathetically.

  “Don’t go giving Mr. Bad Taste in Football Teams any more credit than he deserves.” It’s nice to see Kay give someone who isn’t me shit for once. “He was still riding the high from his killer cut.”

  Grayson only shrugs his shoulders and gives her a wink.

  “You got that done at the game?” I point to the back of his head where there’s an impressive representation of our Hawk logo shaved into his hair. The detailing of the curled talons and the wings caught mid-flight is exquisite.

  “Yeah. Bette did it right there in the parking lot while we were tailgating,” Grayson answers.

  “Who’s Bette?” Trav asks.

  “Skittles’ family.” She looks at me, impressed I remembered.

  Another point to me on the scoreboard.

  “Bette’s the best. She came up a few times during March Madness, keeping me fresh for the tournament.”

  “Does she only do the designs in your hair?” Trav leans to the side, inspecting the shaving closer.

  “Do you mean does she do it for pretty little white boys like you?” Grant taunts him by blowing a kiss.

  “Who you calling little, asshole?” Trav holds his arms out like Look at all this.

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Grayson quips back.

  “You just want to get a look at my package. I knew you wanted me, Grayson.” Trav wiggles his eyebrows at him.

  Oh, look at that—Kay is rolling her eyes.

  “You guys are such children.” There’s a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “And to answer your question, she can do shavings for anyone. Her Insta is filled with all the cool shit she’s done.”

  He already has his phone out to show us, and Trav and I lean over to check it out. As we scroll through her page, I catch sight of some seriously epic shavings and wicked cool color jobs, including some very familiar-looking blonde-and-rainbow locks. I make note of the handle to see if I can find Kay’s account through this one—anything that can give me an edge.

  Constant hawk cries ring out as people pass, and more often than not, fans and groupies stop by to chat. With Trav and me at the same table, not to mention Grayson, it was inevitable that we would attract attention.

  As the stream of admirers continues, I can feel Kay move her chair over to distance herself from me. I frown when she adjusts her seat so much my arm is forced from its resting place. When I look over, her back is to me and her body is positioned in a way to make her as invisible as possible.

  I’ve grown used to people trying to be close to me for either my attention or to be able to share a piece of the spotlight I carry with me.

  This distance? You could say it’s different.

  I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

  Is this what Grayson meant?

  She’s like a goddamn breath of fresh air.

  Stop worrying about the blonde and focus on the jersey chasers. Look at those tits. Just one little tug on that shirt and they could be in your mouth.

  Sports are life at the U of J, with football and basketball reigning supreme. Even without it being their season, people are already asking Grayson questions about it. As much as my inner coach wants me to ignore Kay in favor of the willing pussy around me, I don’t miss the way Grant shifts away from her, keeping the melee separate from her.

  Trav and I are asked about the upcoming game and how we feel about our chances of bringing home the national championship, some people request to take selfies, and we even sign a handful of autographs. With billboards and stories-high posters of many of us up around campus and the surrounding towns, we’re used to it.

  This is the life. It’s fucking good being king.

  So why is it my crown feels like it’s made of cheap plastic when I notice Kay is gone?

  #Chapter14

  I pull into my spot at The Barracks and shift Pinky into park. The same sense of calm I always feel when I catch sight of the impressive, hundred-thousand-square-foot facility washes over me.

  The building is so much more than just the home base of the New Jersey All-Stars; it is my home away from home. It has nothing to do with the top-of-the-line equipment, the multiple competition floors, the three tumble tracks, the foam pit for practice flips, or the full CrossFit gym. No, what makes this place special is the people who fill it seven days a week.

  When I was faced with the biggest tragedy of my life—losing Dad so suddenly and dramatically—they rallied around me and served as a shield, sometimes literally using their bodies between me and those looking to exploit me.

  Whenever life became too much to deal with, I would come here. Nothing resets me when I’m spiraling like the blue mats I grew up on.

  If I ever needed a reset, now would be the time. I’ve had so many feelings boiling inside me since Mason Nova walked into my life with that damn backward hat and those you-can-swim-in-them-they-are-so-deep dimples, forcing coffee on me and crashing my lunch table. My stomach is more twisted up than a tumbling pass.

  It’s why I’m pulling open the door an hour before I need to be here for tonight’s Admirals—our co-ed senior level six and my old squad—practice.

  My footsteps are silent as I walk through the lobby, past all the megaphone-topped trophies from national championships and globes from Worlds, giving a small wave to the front desk clerk.

  There’s no one in the pro shop, but I can hear voices trickling down the stairwell leading to the parents lounge and viewing area on the second floor.

  The light is on inside Coach Kris’ office as I pass. It’s no surprise she is here early too; as the owner and head coach, she’s the only one who spends more time here than I do.

  A few people call out my name as I follow the blue camouflage path to the locker rooms at the back of the gym.

  Slowly, I lift the strap of my duffle over my head and let the bag fall to the floor with a plop, and then I drop onto the wooden bench in front of my designated staff locker.

  I let out a breath, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning forward, staring down at my spread fingers and the different jeweled birthstone rings adorning them.

  The aquamarine on my left and the orange topaz on the right are especially bright under the florescent lights as my conversation with G from earlier plays back inside my head.

  “Come to the AK party tomorrow.”

  I snort again at how serious he sounded.

  “It’s an invite-only. It’ll be small—you’ll have fun.”

  Not fucking likely.

  “Look, Smalls.” He takes me by both my shoulders, holding me in front of him, making it so I have to crane my head to a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree angle to be able to see his face. “I love you and I’m not saying you should go onto the school’s Insta page and tell them all your deets, but I think you’re hiding.”

  He’s damn right I’m hiding. I’m a chickenshit. Just considering stepping out of my carefully crafted bubble of my people makes me break out in a cold sweat.

  I work my five rings over my knuckles and place them into the small case I use to store them.

  “Even JT thinks it will be good for you. Let yourself step outside your comfort zone knowing I’ll be there to have your back.”

  Damn brothers don’t know how to mind their own business.

  Still, the thought that both G and JT are right churns in my belly as I pull on a black t-shirt with ‘Coach PF’ written in NJA’s blue camouflage and tie my cheer shoes.

  “Why would I want to go to a frat party? They have nev
er been my scene, G.”

  “Because I’ll be there.”

  Dropping to the mat at the end of one of the tumbling tracks, I limber up with my usual stretches.

  “But I can see you any time. I don’t need to go to the AK house for that.”

  “I’m not saying we have to spend all our time there, but you know being an Alpha is part of my life. If I’m always hanging at your place, how am I supposed to cultivate the relationships and connections that led me to even joining?”

  Each flip and twist down the track does nothing to bring clarity.

  “I know you’re scared of letting people in. With your history, who wouldn’t be?”

  “I let people in—you, Em, CK.” I tick each of them off on my fingers. “Q and I have been bonding.”

  “She’s not the only one.”

  I end up throwing a double full as I think about the way he evaded answering me when I asked what he meant by that.

  You know who he means. My inner cheerleader fluffs her bow.

  “You wanna tell me what’s got you so worked up?” Coach Kris eyes me from the end of the track.

  “What are you talking about?” I bounce like Tigger back to her.

  “Don’t play games, Kay.” She checks her watch. “The Admirals will be walking through those doors soon. Let’s not waste the little bit of time we have bullshitting.”

  “Ooo, must be serious if you’re calling me Kay.” My smartass remark earns me her killer Do you really wanna test me? glare that has had many a cheerleader quaking in their bloomers.

  “If it were gym business making you flip like a maniac, I’d call you PF, but this is personal.”

  And this right here is why I wouldn’t work at any other gym. Coach Kris is so much more than just a coach, just a boss. Her athletes and employees are her family. I’ve been a member of NJA since I was three, and she’s been helping raise me since long before I lost my parents.

  “What did JT do?” she asks, and I snap my gaze down from the hundreds of banners the NJA teams have won in competition to meet hers. “What?” She shrugs. “When you come here to work out your frustrations, he’s usually the culprit.”

  “It’s nothing.” I get the look again. “Fine.” I sigh. “He and G want me to go to one of G’s frat’s parties.”

  “And you’re afraid it’s going to be like high school?” I nod. “Understandable.”

  My jaw hits the blue mat under my feet. That is not what I expected her to say.

  “You’re not looking for my approval, Kay.” She puts a comforting hand on my arm. “You have to make the decision for yourself. But”—she arches a brow—“there is one thing you should consider.”

  I look at her with pleading eyes.

  “Look how well things have turned out so far with you letting in non-NJA cheerleaders. Who’s to say this wouldn’t be the same?”

  I rub a thumb over my now bare right middle finger, still feeling the weight of the diamond band I wear for T and Em. It’s true. If I had stuck to my original plan last year, I would have never gained not just a friend, but a sister in Em.

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “That’s all anyone can ask.” She gives my arm a squeeze then claps her hands. “Now how ’bout we whip these Admirals into shape? They have a Worlds title they need to reclaim.”

  Now that’s a plan I can get on board with.

  #Chapter15

  I’m in the shower jamming along with Lizzo in an effort to get myself pumped for tonight when I hear the door open and close. Peeling back the edge of the shower curtain, shampoo-filled curls swinging forward into my eye, I see Em sitting on the closed toilet lid, legs crossed, hands folded daintily at the wrist.

  “Em?” I question, intrigued not by what she’s doing in here—this isn’t our first shower-time convo—but more as a general curiosity.

  “So…” She gives me a sheepish smile before I duck back in to wash the shampoo from my hair.

  “So…”

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?” I don’t have to see her to know she’s picking at her cuticles.

  One of the reasons I was able to drop my walls enough to let her in is because she’s the most empathetic person I’ve ever met, quite a feat considering her upbringing.

  “Em, what in the world would I be mad at you for?”

  I make it through conditioning my hair and washing my face before she answers.

  “Because I sided with the guys about going tonight.”

  This girl. Her heart is almost too big at times.

  I may have put up a fight—albeit a small one—when G invited us to tonight’s party, but I’ve seen the writing on the wall. Helping him through pledging was one of the things that bonded us. Burying my head in the sand may be my preferred method of dealing with things I don’t want to face, but my academic scholarship is proof I’m not stupid enough to not see this as an eventuality.

  You know what I didn’t see coming?

  Mason Nova.

  That his prodding and promise of having tonight’s Thursday Night Football game on so I could watch E and the Crabs play Pittsburgh in the highly anticipated divisional matchup would be what ultimately had me agreeing—yeah, unexpected.

  Sure, I let him believe it was just because I’m a Crabs fan—not a lie—and not because I’ll be rooting for my brother. Just because he brings me coffee doesn’t mean I’m going to divulge all my secrets.

  When are you going to admit the coffee thing is a good move?

  My inner cheerleader needs to butt out of my business.

  Umm…I’m the mental manifestation of your thoughts. Doesn’t that literally make me your business?

  Ugh!

  It doesn’t help that the tempting tight end—the position, not his backside, though that’s not bad either—has been the star of my thoughts way more than I would like to admit.

  Yes, I’ve seen his Casanova side, but it’s the others, the ones at odds with that reputation that I can’t stop thinking about.

  There’s his funny side and his jokes to go along with my punny shirts.

  And that he’s a Potterhead.

  No. Time to stop all thoughts of Mason, because it’s one hell of a slippery slope.

  It leads to thinking of that damn backward hat.

  And those dimples.

  I hate them. Okay, not really. I just hate that they make me want to kiss him.

  I. Do. Not. Kiss. Football. Players.

  “Kay?”

  Shit! I never answered. “No, Em. I’m not mad. I promise.”

  One of my hot pink towels pushes past the curtain after the water cuts off.

  “We’re cool. Seriously.” I reach for the second towel and wrap it around my head à la Marge Simpson.

  When Em still looks unsure, I pull her into a hug, neither one of us caring that I’m in a towel and she’s still in her practice gear.

  “Now hurry up and shower then come to my room to get ready. I expect Bette will be video-calling to dispense her advice on what we should wear.”

  “If we’re gonna go to our first frat party, might as well do it up.”

  I agree with a nod, exiting the bathroom and heading for my room.

  By the time I’ve exchanged my terry cloth for a pair of U of J sweats and a t-shirt, dried my hair, and plugged in the straightener, Em is done with her own shower and Bette is ringing through on my laptop.

  Except…

  My sister-in-law’s beautiful face isn’t the only one filling the screen. JT in a hat and shit-eating grin is plastered on the other side in a split screen.

  “Why do I feel like I’m being ambushed right now?”

  “You think I’d miss this, PF?” JT and I clearly spend too much time together, because he rolls his eyes.

  “Can’t blame him. When you told me your plans for tonight, I swore I was being punked.” Bette nods emphatically.

  “No, sorry, Ashton Kutcher wasn’t available,” I deadpan.

  “Also, he stoppe
d doing the show in 2012 and has since moved on to Shark Tank,” JT adds knowingly.

  “You and G got your way—do you have to be a smartass?” I finish straightening the bottom layer of curls and pull down a new section to work on.

  “Hey, Em babes.” He greets her, ignoring me completely.

  “Don’t gloat, bro.” Em leans a hip against my desk, dressed in her own pre-party outfit of sweats and a tank top. “We agreed to go, but if you rub it in, I’m pulling out the Ben & Jerry’s and calling it a night.”

  Sisters before misters.

  “Oh em gee,” Bette squeals. “You’re straightening your hair?” Is she only just noticing? “I love when you wear it straight.” This is true.

  “Do you have to be such a girl?” JT complains.

  “It’s kind of the whole reason for this call. It’s been so long since Kay’s been to a party—I need to make sure she isn’t going to try to go wearing that.” Bette waves a hand at my comfy attire.

  “It hasn’t been that long.” Just because frat parties aren’t my scene, they act like I’m a hermit.

  “Oh yeah?” JT folds his arms over his chest. “When was the last time you went to a party?”

  I mentally flip through the calendar. “King’s before you had to go back to Lexington.” I wince even as I say the words.

  “A Royal Ball?” JT barks out a laugh. “Yeah, PF, you need to go out tonight.”

  I roll my eyes at the stupid nickname for the parties Carter King throws. Hanging out around a bonfire is not a ball.

  “Plus”—JT eyes me from under the brim of his hat—“you spent more than half the night hanging with Tessa and Savvy. Time to spend some time with people your own age and not two high school juniors.”

  Another eye roll. Whatever.

  “Hey girl hey!” Q dances into the room with her typical flare. “What do we have here?” She props herself next to Em.

  “Q, this is my sister-in-law, Bette, and my G before I had a G, JT.” They both wave from their side of the camera. With the number of times my roomies have been around when I’ve video chatted with JT, this is the first formal introduction.

  “Holy shit!” Q’s eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen on a human being, and she leans over my shoulder, getting closer to the laptop. “You’re JT Taylor.”