by Alley Ciz
Turning up the volume of the Birds of Prey song playing through my AirPods, I warm up on the tumble track to get my head on straight.
Bye-bye thoughts of Mason Nova.
Time to get to work.
#Chapter25
My texts with Kay play through my mind while I wait for the barista to make our coffees. To say I was disappointed she was too busy to hang out last night would be an understatement.
I can’t believe how much not seeing her is messing with my head.
Females affecting the great Casanova longer than it takes to tie the condom off is rarer than me fumbling the football.
I don’t fumble—ever.
I hope you’re okay giving up football, asshole, because they don’t let women play in the NFL, and you, sir, are growing a vagina.
Kay, Kay, Kay. It’s all Kayla this and Skittles that with you. What the fuck happened to football? You know, the thing you’ve been working toward your whole life?
Fuck me, my inner coach has been entirely too vocal since Kay came into my life. I don’t understand the problem. You would think out of any chick on campus, he’d be happy I chose to text one who yells at me to actually focus on football.
Kay is back in her usual seat when I walk in, and when she looks up, for the first time ever, she gives me a smile.
Mine.
I stride across the room and up the stairs with purpose. We may have spent the hours after she got home from work texting before she went to bed, but it’s not enough. I need to learn her class schedule. I refuse to go another day without being able to see her. It’s unacceptable.
I’m done, Nova. *tosses clipboard and stalks off the field*
Unlike the other times I’ve brought her caffeine fix, she doesn’t wait for me to push it on her. Our fingers brush as she takes the paper cup from my hand, and I don’t miss the way her nostrils flare at the contact.
Deny it all you want, but we both know you want me, baby.
With renewed swagger, I take my seat next to her, lean over to drop a kiss on the crown of her head, and settle back with my arm draped over the back of her chair.
Charcoal and blue swirl like a storm when she snaps her gaze to me. “What was that?” she whisper-shouts at me.
Giving her the biggest, dimple-showing, Casanova-y smile I have, I answer with, “Just saying hi.”
Her eyes go from tropical storm to full-on Category 5 hurricane. “Since when do you say hi like that?”
I shrug and brush the hair that fell into her face during her huff behind her ear.
I don’t answer, just stare. She’s so damn beautiful. I hate that she hides under Yankees hats.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the professor enter the classroom, and I know I’ll only have another minute or two before class starts.
I shift again, bringing my face down to hers and simply inhale against her skin.
Strawberries?
A puff of air ghosts over my cheek as she trembles—motherfucking trembles—from my nearness.
“What happened to the peppermint?” I ask.
“Wh-what?” she stutters.
Not so unaffected now, are you, baby?
“Your hair.” I run my fingers through her still-straight locks and flip them to my nose, breathing in the sweet scent of strawberries again.
“Oh.” Her lashes flutter as she blinks out of the daze I put her in. “It’s my dry shampoo.” The multicolored strands slip from between my fingers as she jerks away from me. “Don’t try to change the subject.” She narrows her eyes. “Answer my question.”
“What question might that be?”
The blush creeping up her neck might just be my favorite thing ever.
“Don’t act like a dumb jock, Mason. That”—she bounces a finger between my mouth and her head—“is not how we say hi.”
“I thought we cleared this up the other night.”
Before she can lay into me for my non-answer, the lecture begins.
The next hour and fifteen minutes are the most entertaining of my college experience. Every side-eye given to me, every huff of frustration when Kay notices the questioning looks sent in our direction only spurs me on.
I absentmindedly trace patterns on her shoulder, play with the ends of her hair, and lean over to write in her notebook or to point out something on her laptop.
Never have I been known to stake a claim on a person like I’m blatantly doing with Kay, but I get a rush from it all the same.
When class is dismissed, I walk with my arm around Kay’s shoulders, keeping her close to my body to avoid the bustle of students around us. She’s so tiny I don’t know how she doesn’t get lost in the flow on the reg.
She tries and fails to push the limb off of her, and any time she does it, I only pull her to me tighter.
“Seriously, Mase.” Ooo, that glare is colder than Green Bay in the playoffs. “What the hell are you doing?”
Instead of exiting the building, I guide us over to the wall and box her in with my body. Elbows braced on either side of her head, I bend down, lips brushing the shell of her ear as I whisper, “Have I told you what it does to me when you call me Mase?”
She shudders, chest heaving, eyes falling closed.
“Like I mentioned earlier…” I drag my nose down the fluttering pulse in her neck. “I thought we cleared this up the other night.”
The moan that escapes when I place a kiss on the soft spot behind her ear goes straight to my balls.
“Still—” She clears her throat. “Still not clear.”
Another kiss. “I told you.” A nip of my teeth. “I don’t chase girls.”
“Then what—” She’s practically vibrating as I trail kisses down her neck. “What do you call this?” She knocks her fist against my chest.
I place my thumbs underneath her chin, lifting her face to mine. “Me staking my claim.” I take her lips with mine before she can push me away.
I meant for it to be quick, but like the other night, this kiss takes on a life of its own. Pillowy lips, the hint of coffee, little moans of pleasure, and that sense of…home.
The sound of catcalls is what gives me the presence of mind to pull away.
Fuck!
What this girl does to me…
Resting my forehead on hers, I try to regain my equilibrium.
“Come on, babe.” I tuck her back under my arm. “Time to meet Grayson.”
A small part of me—the one concerned with self-preservation—takes note of how Grant’s eyebrows rise and his head cocks to the side when he spots us.
“No idea,” Kay says to answer his silent question. “For some reason, this fool”—she jerks a thumb at me—“thinks he can go around kissing me and calling me babe like I’m his girlfriend or something.”
Shit!
Am I acting like she’s my girlfriend?
Do I even want a girlfriend?
Umm…
Spotting one of those famous eye rolls, I think if Kay is the one to fill the position, I can get on board with the girlfriend thing.
“You still walking me, Cas-a-no-va?” The sarcasm practically drips off my nickname.
“You know it, babe.”
I wink.
She rolls her eyes—again.
She may have been the one to bring up me walking her, but she still avoids me by staying on the other side of the path. It’s annoying.
It doesn’t help that I spend the entire journey waffling between asking her out and cutting all ties.
Football has been my focus for so long, and it’s hard to contemplate letting anything else matter as much.
It isn’t until she tries to duck inside without saying a word that I jump into action, wrapping a hand around her wrist, stopping her and pinning her to a wall for the second time today. “Skittles.” She tries to hide it, but I see the way her lips twitch. Progress. “Would you please do me the honor of going on a date with me?”
She blinks, not saying a word.
Finally, she rises up on her toes and presses a kiss to the underside of my jaw.
“I’ll think about it.”
Then she slips under my arm and disappears into the building before I can demand a real answer.
I rub a thumb over the spot she kissed, wondering what the hell just happened.
#Chapter26
UofJ411: Who’s the coffee for @CasaNova87 ? #CoffeeDate #CasanovaWatch
*picture of Mason carrying two cups of coffee*
@Bestiesandbooks: Are you taking orders @CasaNova87 ? #IllTakeAPSL
@_The_art_of_reading_: Why does @CasaNova87 have TWO cups of coffee? #IsThatForMe #CasanovaWatch
* * *
UofJ411: Study Buddies #KillerGPA #CasanovaWatch
*shot of Mason and Kay from behind with his arm around the back of Kay’s chair in class*
@68blackburnc: Need a tutor @CasaNova87?
@Acolon1729: What class is this? Is it human sexuality by any chance? #IllBringTheFlashCards #CasanovaWatch
@Annielaurel: Does he always cozy up like this in class? How do I get this assigned seating? #SaveMeASeat #CasanovaWatch
* * *
UofJ411: Who’s the girl @CasaNova87 ? #KeepingSecrets #CasanovaWatch
*Mason caging Kay against the wall*
@Ash_lovesbooks: Are you seeing this? #CasanovaWatch
@AshWonderWoman: Who are you kissing @CasaNova87 #SpinTheBottleMyWay
@Beccalynn1010: Pucker up baby! #KissKiss #CasanovaWatch
#Chapter27
I love Fridays.
Who doesn’t? TGIF and all that jazz.
We’ve already established how much I hate the AM, so any day I don’t have to set an alarm automatically gets bumped to the top of the list.
Without any classes, the day is my own.
I sleep in.
Study.
Binge-watch some more Gilmore Girls.
All in all, a nice lazy day.
Typically I don’t work on Fridays as there are no team practices, but I offered to run a stunting clinic since the roomies are traveling for an away game and I need a way to channel my energy into anything that isn’t Mason Nova.
He wants to go on a date?
Can I do that? I mean, sure, I’m capable of doing it, but dating Mason Nova comes with all kinds of risks.
I’m pulling my hair into my classic high pony when my phone dings with a text.
Mase.
Oh my god. Why does the sight of his name on the screen make me smile? And when did I start thinking of him as Mase?
MASE (Shit I’m screwed—I totally changed his contact name): You still owe me an answer.
* * *
ME: New phone, who dis?
* * *
MASE: Haha very funny, Skittles.
* * *
ME: You know me. I’m a regular comedienne.
* * *
ME: *GIF of man saying, “From what I hear, I’m very funny.”*
* * *
MASE: I miss you.
Damn! When he says stuff like that, it makes it hard to keep him at arm’s length.
This sweet side is the one that has me wanting to ignore the drama, the speculation that surrounds him, and let him in.
Not now.
Time for a redirect.
ME: How was the flight to Michigan?
* * *
MASE: The usual, nothing special. What are you doing?
* * *
ME: Heading to work then going out with G.
I chose my words purposely, and when his next text comes in, I know I hit my mark.
MASE: So you can go out with him but not me???
* * *
ME: …
I know I’m evil.
G, CK, and I had plans to watch the U of J play Michigan at Jonah’s, but I busted my knee falling from a stunt during the clinic last night.
Pizza in the dorm it is.
“Damn, Kay.” CK hisses through his teeth when he catches sight of my swollen knee propped on a pillow.
“Yeah, not so fun.” I shift, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Do you need an ice pack?” He points toward the fridge.
I nod. “I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.”
Even after a year, a blush still stains his cheeks at the compliment. There isn’t a day that goes by that I regret forcing my friendship on CK. He is one of the most genuine, kindhearted people I know.
“Damn, Smalls.” G walks in carrying the four pizzas I ordered. “Did you invite the Ninja Turtles over and forget to tell us?”
“Don’t act like you and CK won’t each polish off a pie. If you guys stay late enough, I might not even have leftovers.”
“You know us so well,” G states proudly, setting the pies out in the kitchen. He makes us each a plate then plops down next to me on the couch. “How’d you manage this anyway?” He lifts my legs to stretch them across his lap, readjusting the ice pack once I’m properly elevated.
“Stunting,” I mumble around a bite of pizza as I watch our boys kick off to the Wolverines.
“JT isn’t going to be happy when he hears about this.” G taps the ice pack. “You know he hates when you have to stunt without him around.”
When you’re a female and your best friends in life are males, you get used to their overprotective tendencies, even when they’re irrational. Also, a banged-up knee doesn’t even come close to the worst injury I’ve sustained cheering. Plus it will be healed in under a week.
My gaze goes from where the Hawks hold the Wolverines to a fourth and three and shifts to G. I narrow my eyes and level him with a You don’t want to mess with me look.
“And that is why we don’t have to say anything to him about it.”
“Mum’s the word, Smalls.” He mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key. “Can I ask you a serious question now?”
I straighten at his tone, my knee twinging with the movement. No topic is off limits for us, but for him to ask permission lends weight.
“Of course, G.” I reach for his hand, linking my fingers with his.
“Have you been holding up okay?”
“With?” I make a rolling motion with my hand.
“I know you avoid social media like the plague, but I also know T keeps you informed on anything she deems necessary for you to see.”
Ah, okay, he means how I’ve been popping up in the CasanovaWatch hashtag.
“It’s not my favorite thing.” I choose my words carefully. If I show how stressed I’ve been, all my brothers will activate their overprotective mode. “But I got used to it with you.” It’s a lesser scale with G because he’s not the campus playboy. “People grew bored with us, and I gotta hope the same will eventually happen here.”
He watches me, his brown eyes boring into me as if looking for anything I might not be saying. Thank god he can’t read me as accurately as JT can.
“Fine.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Just remember I got your back.”
“Always.”
The game continues and the Hawks look good. At some point, the camera pans over the cheerleaders, and we get a clear shot of Q.
“You know she likes you, right?” I casually say to CK.
The startled look on his face makes me laugh.
“I don’t get why you’re so surprised.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” CK mutters.
“Why not?”
“Have you seen the way she looks?”
Yes, Q is gorgeous, but what CK fails to realize is he’s no longer the same guy who arrived on the U of J campus as a freshman.
He’s ditched the unfortunate glasses that did nothing for his face and replaced them with sleek Clark Kent-style frames that show off his beautiful baby blues. His crazy mop of hair is always—albeit reluctantly—cut and stylish thanks to Bette. Once G jumped on the make-CK-our-friend train, he started dragging CK along with him to the gym and now he fills out his t-shirts like never before.
“Wha
t’s that got to do with anything, man?” G asks, echoing my thoughts.
“Girls like that don’t go for guys like me.”
“That’s a load of crap,” I argue.
I hate that he sees himself as an ugly duckling and not the adorkable swan he truly is. Damn high school bullies.
“Besides, she’s a cheerleader.”
Living in a small town in Kansas, he had to deal with every stereotypical jock/nerd scenario.
“So? I’m a cheerleader.”
“That’s different.”
I know what he means. Being an all-star didn’t prevent me from being bullied by my high school’s cheerleaders. I at least had JT and a few others to help protect me from the worst of it, but not CK. He had to travel more than 1,200 miles to find his tribe—us.
“I think you should give her a chance.” I wait for him to make eye contact before continuing. “I have a good feeling about her.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Pfft.” I wave away the ludicrous statement. “I did tell her about E.”
“She figured out your identity.”
“Semantics.”
I hold his gaze, letting what I’m saying really sink in. People are so focused on having that Instagram-perfect existence that they only see what looks good on paper instead of what really matters. Even after being friends for a year, it’s a constant struggle for CK to see past how little sense our friendship makes held to those standards.
It’s going to be exponentially harder for Q to get him to take her interest seriously.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes.