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

by Alley Ciz

  “Mason Nova and Travis McQueen are brothers in the Alpha Kappa fraternity.”

  Now E has his uninjured arm wrapped around his middle as he straight-up guffaws at this revelation.

  Me? Yeah, I don’t find it funny at all.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I warn.

  “Hear what? That being friends with G would expose you to more athletes? Or that it’s the first time you’ve hung out with a tight end who isn’t me since high school? No, I wouldn’t dream of mentioning any of that.”

  Sarcastic asshole.

  “Shut it, you.” My laughter belies my threat.

  “I take it they don’t know I’m your brother?”

  “That would be a hard no.”

  “Just checking. You did tell me your one roommate knows.”

  Two days later and I’m still mildly reeling from Q figuring out my secrets.

  Earlier today, we received a huge and unexpected lunch care package from her and Em. It was the included notecard that really touched me, though.

  This is so you don’t have to worry about cooking.

  Make sure you check underneath, there’s a bottle—A LARGE ONE—to help you and Bette survive.

  Love,

  Em and Q

  P.S. You tell that brother of yours no one cares he won a Super Bowl—he needs to listen to you. And if he fights you, just remind him YOU hold more World Champion titles than he does. XOXO, Q

  The NFL and the USASF (the U.S. All Star Federation) are two entirely different things, but Q’s postscript solidifies her place in our crew.

  “So…” E looks from the where the cameras have panned to another close-up of Mason then back to me. “Hanging out with football players, huh?”

  Why is he bringing this up again? I thought we were done with this topic.

  “Not willingly,” I grumble.

  Herkie lifts his head at E’s burst of laughter. “Since when do you do something you don’t want to?”

  “Since my best friend moved into the frat house and told me his big brother is Mason Nova.”

  “And that equates to you eating lunch with him and the QB…how?” he mumbles around a mouthful of popcorn.

  “Long story short, I have a class with Mason and he thought I was G’s girlfriend and decided to be all buddy-buddy with me. He then proceeded to invite himself to join us for lunch, and it evolved from there.”

  “Sounds like this guy likes you.”

  “Who? Mason?” I give him a yeah right look.

  “Yup.” E bobs his head up and down.

  “No way. He’s the campus playboy. His freaking nickname is Casanova, for crying out loud.” I stuff a handful of popcorn in my mouth.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Clearly his concussion is affecting him more than I thought, because he is not making sense.

  “He’s a football player.”

  “So?”

  Don’t hit him, Kay. He’s injured.

  “Not only is he a football player, he’s a tight end.”

  “I’m a tight end.” E gives me a Try again look, which I return with a You can’t be serious stare.

  I blow out a breath and run a hand roughly through my curls. An entire Ohio State possession happens before E speaks again.

  “I get why you’re hesitant.” He waits until I lift my gaze to his. “Really, I do, but you can’t let what happened with—” I throw up a hand before he can say his name. “Him control your life forever.”

  My inner cheerleader turns her back and tosses a middle finger up over her shoulder. She doesn’t like thinking about He-who-shall-not-be-named any more than I do.

  “E.” His name is a warning, a plea, an Oh fuck.

  “I’ll stop.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “I just worry.”

  “I know.” I really do get it. E is so much more than just my brother; he would lay down his life if he thought it would lead to my happiness, and I would do the same for him.

  “What about Pops?” I remember asking him about JT’s dad back when we worried about my guardianship.

  “No,” E says firmly, brooking no room for argument.

  “Why not?” I had to try.

  “I’m your brother. You are my responsibility, Kay.”

  We had always been close despite the four years between us. That day only strengthened that bond.

  “I don’t want you to miss out on something in the future because of something that happened in the past.”

  I nod, blinking back tears as I turn back to the football game.

  I like to think I’m doing exactly what E is saying. My friendships with Em and G are proof enough. And now Q? Yeah, I’m losing the shackles of my past. Doesn’t mean I can’t play other things close to the vest.

  “He’s in the public eye, especially around campus. What if…” My words trail off as I push down the flashback of panic surging to the forefront.

  “What if what?” Any hint of amusement is gone as E watches me with a critical eye, trying to read between my lines.

  “It’s like the most conceited thing ever, but what if being around him brings attention onto me?” I shake my hands out when they start to tingle, trying to rid myself of the anxious sensation. “What if it only makes me a target again?”

  “The internet breeds assholes—that’s a fact of life. Do I think it would get like it did in high school for you?” He shakes his head. “I doubt it. You’ve found ways to cope with what happened, and look at how successful you’ve been managing being friends with G. Who’s to say that wouldn’t work if you wanted to add to your friend group?”

  I nod, hoping we can drop the topic for now.

  We keep the rest of the conversation light and focus instead on the battle between the Hawks and the Buckeyes.

  By the start of the fourth quarter, the game is tied at twenty-eight all. We watch as Travis gets sacked hard, both of us sucking in a breath at the hit.

  “I feel ya, man.” E rubs his sore shoulder.

  Bette walks into the room then, home from work and once again proving their almost psychic connection—I swear I’ve never met two people more perfect for each other than E and Bette—when she smacks an ice pack to activate it before placing it against his shoulder.

  “Thanks, babe,” E says with a sigh.

  Bette leans down for a kiss before he pulls her in to snuggle against his good side.

  “Glad to see your sister is keeping you in line.” Bette shoots me a wink.

  It’s now fourth and one for the Hawks, but instead of punting like you’d expect, they go for it.

  Travis takes the snap, dropping back to look for a receiver. Mason gets off a sweet block, allowing Travis time to wait for Alex to get downfield. Travis lets it fly, a deep sixty-yard bomb into Alex’s waiting hands, and he runs it in for a touchdown.

  “Damn.” I whistle in appreciation. “They keep making plays like that and they’ll for sure end up in the national championship again.”

  “Absolutely,” E agrees.

  “I have a feeling it’s all gonna come down to the last game of the season against Penn State.”

  E’s alma mater is the U of J’s biggest rival, and this year the teams are slated to play each other for their final game of the season. Last year the Nittany Lions won the bragging rights.

  This year…

  Tension is already thick, the Hawks hungry for redemption.

  I’ve never looked forward to a game of football more in my life.

  #Chapter21

  My body isn’t even completely dry, the cotton of my t-shirt sticking to the droplets of water coating my spine, as I hurry through getting dressed.

  I don’t give a fuck if my clothes are damp; I need to see Kay. For the first time in…probably ever, I’ve felt anxious, unable to get her off my mind.

  Five days.

  That’s how long it’s been since Kay rushed out of the AK house, never to be heard from again.
/>
  Man you are dramatic. See what happens when you let a chick tie your balls in a knot instead of emptying them?

  I mentally give my inner coach the finger. We’ve been butting heads more and more lately, but I’m going with my gut on this one.

  It doesn’t matter that any time we are together, she spends it giving me more shit than my teammates do. When I’m with her, I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. I guess I didn’t realize how much of a wall I put up after the whole Chrissy/Tina fiasco, how often I’ve been wearing a mask.

  There’s no risk of someone getting close enough to break my heart again if all they ever see is Casanova.

  “Where you rushing off to, Nova?” Kev asks.

  “Trying to get a quickie in before your first class or something?” Noah nudges me with his elbow and waggles an eyebrow.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” I hook the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and turn to Trav. “See you for lunch?”

  “You know it.”

  I call out, “Later, assholes,” and make my way to the coffee cart.

  My thoughts drift back to Kay while I wait for the barista to make our drinks—though, to be fair, she hasn’t been far from my mind all weekend. After the team beat Ohio State, all I wanted to do was call her to see if she watched.

  What did it matter? Why did I care?

  Those questions went unanswered because I don’t have her number.

  For days, I debated asking Grayson for it, but I’m not ready for anyone, even her best friend—especially her best friend—to know how much she affects me. I’m Casanova. I don’t chase girls; they chase me.

  You keep telling yourself that because I don’t believe you for a second. Maybe you should try catnip instead of coffee—it’s known to drive pussy crazy.

  My inner coach is still berating me when I step through the doors to our financial management class, my gaze automatically going to where we sit. Like a shanked field goal, my spirits drop. I try telling myself I could have beaten her here. I did get here earlier than normal.

  When she still hasn’t shown by the time class starts, the worry is real.

  First she rushed from the party, and now she’s missing class. I may have only known her a few weeks, but it’s not hard to see how seriously she takes her academics.

  Each minute feels like two, and by the time the seventy-five-minute lecture is over, I’m ready to run through my classmates like they’re a defensive line. All I can think of is seeing Grayson and convincing him to give me Kay’s number.

  Fuck it all. I need to know if my girl is alright.

  Son of a fucking bitch. Your girl? You called her YOUR GIRL? You have officially lost your motherfucking mind. You are benched. BENCHED. Ride that pine, baby.

  I’m fidgeting like a virgin on prom night waiting for Grayson—or at least how I imagine one would.

  Grant greets me with our usual complicated handshake and gives the barista his order. Waiting for him to get his coffee instead of automatically asking for what I want is a true test of my patience, especially when he doesn’t comment on our missing companion.

  “Hey.” I clear my throat, going for nonchalance. “Can I have Kay’s number?”

  He rears back, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “She didn’t give it to you?” Each word is measured, testing me.

  “Never thought to ask.” He still doesn’t look sure if he wants to give out Kay’s information, so I play what I hope is my trump card. “She wasn’t in class—didn’t know if she would need notes or not.”

  There’s another lengthy silence. Then, “All right. Give me your phone.” He takes it from me but pauses in the middle of typing in the number. “I know you’re my big brother and all, but I swear to god if you use this to hit on her like one of your jersey chasers, I’ll fucking end you.”

  I’m not quite sure how to react. There’s an edge to Grayson’s voice I’ve never heard before. He’s typically a laid-back guy, but his loyalties seem to bring out the Pitbull in him.

  “You feel me?” he asks when I still don’t say anything.

  “Yeah. We’re straight, bro.”

  He continues to take my measure.

  I think I’m going to enjoy watching him kick your ass. Maybe then you’ll get your head out of it and back on football where it belongs.

  I must pass the test because Grant finishes inputting Kay’s number and hands me back my phone.

  “Thanks man.” I note the time. “See you at The Nest?”

  “Yup.”

  We say goodbye with the same bro-shake as before.

  ME: Hey, Skittles, where’ve you been?

  Her answer comes in a few moments later.

  SKITTLES (yes this is how I have her saved in my phone): Mason?

  And my day just got a whole lot better.

  #Chapter22

  I may have had to miss two days of classes helping take care of E, but it’s what family does. He has since been cleared to resume light workouts with the team, so my job here is done. There is a perk of my unexpected trip to Maryland—Bette.

  Here, let me explain.

  More often than not, when I’m around my sister-in-law for extended periods of time, her hairstylist side gets twitchy and she plays around with the colors she foils throughout my hair.

  That is why I am currently serving as a human Troll doll while she revamps the purple, pink, and red, going as far as adding a few black pieces to really make the others pop.

  My phone vibrates against my leg, and when I see the preview of the message, I have a good feeling who my texter is.

  UNKNOWN: Hey, Skittles, where’ve you been?

  * * *

  ME: Mason?

  * * *

  MASON: Yup!

  * * *

  MASON: *GIF of guy dressed as a bag of Skittles dancing*

  Three texts in and I’m already rolling my eyes. He’s so proud of his oh-so-clever nickname.

  Guuuurl! Don’t play. You know you’re charmed by it.

  Nope. I refuse to let him work his Casanova-ness on me.

  ME: How’d you get my number?

  * * *

  MASON: Grayson.

  That gives me pause. I would have thought if anyone gave it to him, it would be Em, the little matchmaker.

  What is happening here?

  First there was E, though not necessarily advocating for Mason specifically, telling me to at least crack a window when it comes to letting the football set into my life.

  Now G is…what? Giving Mason his stamp of approval?

  What’s going on?

  ME: Why did G give you my number?

  * * *

  MASON: I decided to take my life in my hands and ask him for it because I was worried about you.

  I blink. And blink again.

  That answer is so unexpected I’m not really sure what to think.

  Are you serious? How are you not aww-ing right now? That was totally sweet.

  Sweet? Sweet? No. Uh-huh. I cannot think of anything Mason Nova does as sweet.

  ME: Why?

  * * *

  MASON: You weren’t in class, and the last time I saw you, you were upset and doing your best Cinderella impression, except you forgot to leave a shoe behind.

  Do not be charmed by him. I repeat, do not be charmed by him.

  “What’s got you all smiley over there?” Lyle, one of Bette’s longtime clients, asks from his chair across from me. He’s the owner of Espresso Patronum, the same coffee shop Em joked I should take Mason to, and he makes the trek down from Jersey for color touchups to his neon green and hot pink tips and side shavings.

  Am I smiley? Shit! I am. It’s bad enough my inner cheerleader is doing toe touches and herkies over Mason’s text messages. I need to stay strong.

  “Nothing.”

  “Friends don’t lie to each other. Come on, Kay, tell Uncle Lyle why you look so happy staring at your phone.”

  “Uncle Lyle?” Bette snorts.
<
br />   “What?” He shrugs. “Between you doing my hair and all of you coming to Espresso Patronum through the years, haven’t I earned honorary uncle status?”

  Lyle is one of my favorite people on earth. He’s ridiculous, flamboyant, and just generally awesome. Add in his epic Harry Potter-themed coffee shop and it was destiny for him to be a part of my life.

  “Oh wait, let me guess—is it a dick pic?” His turquoise eyes glitter with possibility.

  “Lyle!” Bette chastises.

  “What?” He’s the picture of innocence. “If I got sent a dick pic, I’d be smiling.”

  “You’re saying Kyle has been sending you pictures of his dick while you’ve been here?” Bette’s hands go to her hips.

  “Ooo, good question. You have been smiling a lot,” I add.

  “No.” Lyle’s pout is a thing of sympathy-inducing beauty. “The only pictures my husband has sent me are of babies and toddlers while he spends the day playing uncle.”

  “He’s with Holly and the kids?” Bette asks, referring to Kyle’s best friend.

  “Yup, and he did send me some quality DILF porn.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Here, look.”

  Bette’s hands cover my virginal eyes as if I’ve never seen porn before. “Lyle!”

  “What?”

  I push Bette’s hands off me to see the screen, but the image on it is far from X-rated. It’s hot AF, but definitely safely in the PG category.

  “Shit, I think my ovaries just exploded.” Bette sighs.

  “Good—I’m dying to become an aunt.” My comment earns me a flick on the ear.

  I may not be ready for the whole kids thing like my very married, very in love, very needs to get on procreating because I want to spoil some babies sister-in-law, but I can’t deny it’s a very accurate description.