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

by Alley Ciz

  How else is a woman supposed to react to seeing MMA Champion Vince Steele cradling his baby against his sexy bare chest?

  MASON: *GIF of Chris Pine saying, “I’m Cinderella’s prince.”*

  * * *

  MASON: Where’d you go? Don’t ghost on me again without telling me if you’re okay.

  What is he trying to do to me? He’s a playboy—he shouldn’t care why I disappeared. Honestly, I’m surprised he noticed and wasn’t too busy with a jersey chaser to do so.

  ME: I’m fine. Everything is good.

  * * *

  MASON: Why’d you run out of the party?

  That’s a little tricky to explain. I don’t want to lie to him—for some reason the idea doesn’t sit right with me, which is yet another thing for me to worry about when it comes to Mason Nova—but I can be vague on the specifics.

  ME: My brother was in the hospital.

  * * *

  MASON: Is he okay?

  * * *

  ME: Yeah he’s fine.

  * * *

  MASON: Really? You’ve been MIA for days.

  He really seems concerned.

  So? You’ve seen he’s not a bad person.

  That is true. Mason is a good person, but he’s still a fuckboy. I need to remember that.

  ME: Yeah really. He’s the WORLD’S WORST patient, so I stayed to help Bette take care of him.

  * * *

  MASON: Got it. When are you coming back? I miss you.

  My heart trips when I read that.

  Shit!

  Not good.

  You stay the fuck out of this, heart. We will not be falling for Casanova.

  ME: *rolls eyes*

  When in doubt? Use sarcasm.

  MASON: Seriously, class is boring without you.

  * * *

  ME: You’ll see me Thursday. And don’t you have a class right now?

  * * *

  MASON: Yeah, but this one is boring too.

  * * *

  ME: I’m sensing a trend here…

  * * *

  MASON: It’s your fault.

  * * *

  ME: How?

  * * *

  MASON: I had to drink 2—yes, count them, 2—coffees today because you weren’t there. So now you need to entertain me.

  * * *

  ME: Yeah…I wouldn’t go that far.

  * * *

  MASON: What are you doing?

  * * *

  ME: Being Bette’s coloring book.

  * * *

  MASON: ??? *hand up questioning face emoji*

  * * *

  ME: She wanted to try these new colors in my hair so she’s adding more flavors to the rainbow.

  I laugh at my joke that plays on his corny nickname for me.

  MASON: Show me.

  I snap a pic of me with the foils in my hair making a funny face and hit send.

  MASON: It’s a good look for you, Skits. *winky face emoji*

  * * *

  ME: Pay attention to class.

  * * *

  MASON: *thumbs-up emoji*

  Why does he have to be so charming?

  Playboy.

  Football player.

  Constantly in the spotlight.

  Still, as much as I remind myself of all the reasons why I should stay away from Mason, I can’t help but return his texts.

  “Oh…I see,” Bette singsongs, blatantly reading my screen from over my shoulder.

  “What?” I hide my phone under my leg.

  She’s silent while she sections out another chunk of hair, the foil crinkling in my ear as I wait.

  “I was hesitant to believe the guys when they told me, but all evidence”—her eyes shift to the leg hiding my phone then back to me—“proves they might be correct.”

  Say what now?

  “Don’t give me that face, Kay.”

  I work to smooth out the wrinkles forming between my brows. “You know I hate when you guys ‘discuss’ me.” I make exaggerated air quotes around the word.

  “Eh.” There’s zero shame in her response. “I’ll never apologize for checking in and making sure you’re okay.”

  “And yet…instead of asking me, you pow-wow with my brothers. Yeah, makes total sense.”

  “Don’t go getting butthurt.” Done with my hair, Bette comes around to sit in the free chair next to me. “You are one of the most obstinate people I know.” She holds up a hand when I try to interrupt. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing”—that’s a bald-faced lie—“but you do this thing…”

  “What thing?” I prod when she doesn’t continue.

  Bette jumps up from her seat, shuffling around, cleaning up. She can never sit still when she’s anxious about something. In this case, something = me.

  “You…” Sheet by sheet, she lays the loose foils on top of each other, avoiding all eye contact.

  “Bette.”

  She blows out a breath with enough force to ruffle her bangs.

  “You do this thing where you put on a brave face to make sure none of us worry about you. It’s like all the time you needed us maxed out your capacity to let others take care of you, so you hold back.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Not with us.” She retakes her seat and takes my hands in hers, running her thumbs over the rings of my family. “The only time you ever act like the old Kay is when you’re at The Barracks or with us, but when others are around…you retreat, hiding the outgoing, confident Kay who dominates the tops of stunts.”

  I look away, unable to handle the compassion swimming in her eyes. She’s right. In the last year, as my circle continues to grow and the opportunities to be the old Kay, as she put it, lessen, I have become more cognizant of the divide in my personality.

  “What does this have to do with…Mason?” I choke out his name.

  “G says when you’re around him, you aren’t just Kay, you’re PF.”

  Is that true? Am I my true self with Mason? And if so, what does that mean?

  An hour later, with my hair washed and blown out straight and my side bangs freshly trimmed, I’m climbing into Pinky when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Sure enough, it’s my new pen pal.

  MASON: We miss you!!!!

  * * *

  MASON: *picture of the lunch crew with sad faces*

  I shake my head and laugh. Damn charming bastard.

  ME: Since when did you all become so codependent?

  * * *

  MASON: Well I don’t know about the girls, but Grayson, Trav, and I don’t have anyone to steal fries from. *three French fry emojis*

  Of course they want me for my food.

  ME: You could try buying your own for a change *emoji of girl with head tilt and hand out*

  * * *

  MASON: But I like the way yours taste *rainbow emoji* *tongue emoji*

  * * *

  ME: *rolls eyes* Stop trying to make it sound dirty.

  * * *

  MASON: When will you be back???

  * * *

  ME: I’m trying to leave to drive back now but SOMEONE won’t stop texting me.

  * * *

  MASON: You CAN’T be talking about me. You KNOW you wait with bated breath for my messages to come through.

  God, so cocky.

  ME: Whatever helps you sleep at night.

  * * *

  MASON: I know you love me. *winky face emoji* Drive safe.

  He sure thinks a lot of himself.

  Don’t act like you don’t like him.

  NO!

  ME: I will.

  * * *

  MASON: So you don’t deny you love me?

  Damn he’s incorrigible.

  ME: *rolls eyes* Puh-lease.

  I drop my phone in the cup holder, start Pinky, and put her into gear. As much as I want to, I can’t deny that I have a smile on my face as I head back to school. Maybe Bette has a point.

  #Chapter23

  I should be drained.

  I should go back
to the frat, grab some food, call Brantley back, and then pass out on my bed, maybe toss in some studying for good measure.

  What I shouldn’t do is see Kay.

  Hell, I shouldn’t even want to see her.

  Except…

  Walking out of the indoor practice field, what do I do?

  I pull out my phone and text her.

  I have no way of explaining it, and no matter how hard I try to deny it, I want to see her.

  No.

  I need to see her.

  ME: Are you back yet?

  * * *

  SKITTLES: Got back about an hour ago.

  * * *

  ME: What are you doing?

  * * *

  SKITTLES: Studying in my room.

  Jackpot!

  Now I know where to find her.

  Shifting my Shelby into gear, I head for her dorm. I park in the lot closest to Eagle Hall—thanks to my supreme eavesdropping skills, I know the building and room number—only to smother a curse when I see I need keycard access to enter.

  Well, there’s your sign. Do I need to put it on the jumbotron for you to get the message? FIND. EASIER. PUSSY.

  You would think he would know better by now. I don’t give up.

  Besides, I’m Casanova, one of the kings of campus—who’s gonna tell me no?

  I spot a cluster of students among the benches in the courtyard, and after the typical round of “Hey, Casanova,” “Good game last week,” etc., one of them lets me into the building.

  Having been delayed enough, I forego the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time until I reach the third floor and head for apartment 311.

  Now what? What’s the play? You don’t have a plan, do you? Oh, that’s rich. Way to fumble, Nova.

  Sonofabitch. That fucker in my head is right. What the hell is my plan? I can’t stand out here all night staring at the door.

  Deep breath in. Hut-hut.

  Knock-knock.

  My palms are sweaty, and my heart beats like I’ve run a forty-yard dash as nerves course through my body while I wait for someone to open the door. I don’t even recognize this person whose hair stands on end at the soft pad of footsteps from within the apartment.

  All of that fades away when my reason for being here is revealed.

  “Mason?”

  Fuck me sideways.

  I couldn’t even count the number of times I’m hit on throughout the course of a day by women in much skimpier clothes than this, but with Kay standing before me with her long colorful blonde hair—straight again, not curly—falling around her shoulders and down her back in a white beater-style tank and a pair of baggy U of J sweats hanging low on her hips, I don’t think I’ve seen a sexier sight.

  The top is tight enough that it displays all those mouth-watering curves I only just learned she has, and the sweats emphasize her tiny stature with the way they still end up covering her feet even while rolled at the waist.

  My gaze homes in on the strip of pale skin revealed between the hem of her tank and the top of the lounge pants. Nothing else registers as I’m transfixed by the nip of her waist and the swell of her hips. She may be pint-sized, but she’s still all woman.

  Gorgeous, sexy, I-need-to-fuck-her woman.

  “Mason?” Questions swirl in the dark storm clouds of her eyes.

  This is where you say something, Nova.

  The sound of my name falling from those lips that have tempted me from day one breaks me from my stupor.

  Two steps and I’m in front of her.

  The rest happens like it’s the final seconds of the game and we’re down by six.

  One second and my hands reach out.

  One more and I’m cupping her face.

  Tick-tock. My fingers are tangled in her hair.

  Tick-tock. Her face is tilted up to mine.

  3

  I’m bending.

  2

  I close the last inch of space.

  1

  My mouth crashes to hers.

  Touchdown!

  The first taste of her lips feels like coming home.

  I’m no longer lost, and all is right in the world.

  I’ve never wanted a woman before. They always seemed to be available. If I wanted one, all I had to do was look up and there’d be one willing to service my dick. Putting in work to get a female’s attention? I don’t know what that is.

  But this? Kay? It feels like the missing piece of the puzzle falling into place.

  Honestly, I’m not even sure if she likes me all that much, but I can’t stay away.

  Her lips part with the need to breathe, and I slip my tongue inside to explore and tangle with hers.

  If I thought the first touch of her mouth was life-altering, nothing, I mean nothing could have prepared me for when she kisses me back.

  Tentatively her hands skim up the contours of my stomach, and my abdominals contract under the touch. Her fingers continue up my chest, knocking against the brim of my backward Hawks cap as they lock around my neck.

  Time has lost all meaning, my play clock down for the count. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours that we kiss in the open doorway before I finally manage to pull away.

  If I thought she was beautiful before, she’s a fucking vision now: lips swollen from our kisses, eyes dazed as they blink up at me, chest heaving trying to catch her breath, pulse pounding on the side of her neck, begging me to bite it.

  I squeeze my eyes shut; if I look at her any longer I’m liable to pick her up, find the nearest flat surface, and fuck her so hard she won’t know where she ends and I begin.

  “What—” Her voice croaks, and she clears it. “What was that?”

  Making a gameday decision, I drop the Casanova persona I use as a shield and go with the truth.

  “Something I’ve been thinking about doing for a while now.”

  My honesty pays off as one of those smiles she generally reserves for anyone who isn’t me spreads across her face.

  “And now that you have?” she sasses.

  Of course she wouldn’t let me completely off the hook.

  “I want to do it again.” I move an arm to hook around her waist, pulling her in so our bodies are flush against each other.

  “Do you now?” One sculpted brow rises toward her hairline.

  “Oh yeah. The sooner the better.”

  I bend down to do just that, but she stops me with a hand on my chest. “I’m not one of your jersey chasers, Mase.”

  It’s the first time she’s called me Mase, and I gotta say, I dig it.

  “I know that, Skittles. I’ve never tracked down a jersey chaser before.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  I squeeze her tighter. “You’re pretty much all I’ve thought about since you Cinderella-ed.”

  Yeah. *snorts* Only since then. To borrow a move from your precious Skittles, this is me rolling my eyes.

  “I can’t believe you’re using a Disney princess as a verb.”

  “You going to invite me in, Skit?”

  Her cute little nose scrunches in thought. “I’m thinking about it.”

  I stroke my thumb along her jaw. “Come on. You know you wanna.”

  “I’m not going to have sex with you.” She drops down from where she rose up on tiptoe and steps out of my hold.

  “That’s not why I want to come in.”

  She gives me a Get real look, and I laugh.

  “I haven’t seen you in almost five fucking days. You’re all I’ve thought about, and it’s been driving me crazy. When you weren’t in class this morning, I almost walked out to track you down.”

  Holy shit. Who are you and what have you done with the real Mason Nova?

  “I just want to spend time with you.” I nudge her backward. “So come on, Skit.” Another nudge. “Invite me in.”

  Why don’t you offer her your balls too, you should-be-playing-second-string-you’re-acting-like-such-a-pussy impostor.

  I get one of her signature eyes roll
s, but she gestures for me to enter. Not giving her a chance to change her mind, I shut the door behind me and follow her to the bedroom.

  There’s an old episode of Gilmore Girls playing on the small flat-screen on her desk, and a textbook is spread out on her hot pink comforter.

  “Ooo, KayKay has a boy in her room.” The singsong voice brings my attention to the open laptop also on her bed.

  “Says the guy who had a random chick in his bed when I came by to pick you up for class this morning,” the guy in the blue University of Kentucky hat says to the first one; I suspect it’s Dante Grayson.

  “I thought you had a thing for Rei?” Kay asks, walking closer to her laptop.