The Jock and the Dreamer

by Shana Vanterpool

  The Jock and

  the Dreamer

  By

  Shana Vanterpool

  The Jock and the Dreamer Shana Vanterpool © 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced whatsoever in any manner, including electronically or mechanical, photocopying, or by an information and retrieval system, without written permission from the Author/Publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s overactive imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual persons, alive or deceased, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two Years Later

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  The End

  Authors Note

  Other Titles

  Stay Connected

  This one’s for the dreamers…

  Preface

  Wade

  First love was supposed to be final.

  That’s what everyone said. Every song on the radio, every poem—you had one true love. One person your soul yearned for. One person whose soul yearned for you. I found her. And then I lost her.

  I fell apart. I broke. I ran. I self-destructed.

  And then I met someone who made me think that though the tale of one true love was true for some, it wasn’t for me.

  I’d been created for two.

  And the second one was the truest of them all.

  When one of you is positive of fate, and the other is lost to the pain, it’s hard to come together in that perfect way.

  At least not at first.

  I didn’t always get it right. I didn’t always know what to do. But that second love, man, it was worth the heartache.

  Chapter One

  Esmaie

  The intimidating and beautiful thing about college wasn’t how academically exhausting and rewarding it was. It wasn’t about the nights spent studying, or the nights spent partying—it wasn’t about any of that. It was about the stories that became irrevocable memories. The tales you spun for years to come, so someone said, “enough already, I’ve heard it a million times,” so you told it a million more, because it was impossible not to share something that changed your life.

  The possibility of everything I had done now becoming a beautiful memory one day, spurred me on as I waved goodbye to my parent’s freshmen year of college. I couldn’t wait to make those memories. To hang my hopes all over the university like too bright Christmas lights. But—because there’s always a but—things didn’t happen that way.

  Year after year, college simply became an obligation. A trap, a series of failures and hangovers. I found myself spending too many nights forgetting, instead of making memories to think about years from now. I found myself in a depression so dark, the lights I strung up in my soul were barely glowing.

  So, now I was here. Starting my last year of college with hopes that I could turn my life around. I couldn’t screw this up. I couldn’t think back on the first twenty-one years of my life and feel nothing but emptiness. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I had one year left to make my entire life matter.

  No pressure or anything.

  I sighed, resting my chin on my hand. My friends and I were vetting possible roommates, and so far, the only thing we’d found was the headache forming in the back of my eyes.

  All three years of college, I lived off campus with Ren, a loveable goofball who never wore pants and kept his side of the fridge covered in takeout, Bri, a blonde, intelligent spitfire who lived in the room across from me, and the Mane twins, a pair of redheaded women who were hilariously funny and always paid their rent on time. They’d been unable to return to school this year due to money problems, so Ren and Bri and I were stuck trying to replace them before next month’s rent.

  I wasn’t rich, far from it actually. On top of school, finding a new roommate to replace the twins, and trying not to screw up my life any more than I already had, I had to look for a job for this year. All three years I’d worked in town on College Row, a street that catered to college students. It had restaurants, bars, and markets, and was almost impossible not to find a job. Enrollment must have skyrocketed this year though because everywhere I went wasn’t hiring.

  “How many more are there left?” Bri asked, crossing the last guy off the list.

  The coffee shop that we’d chosen to interview the possible roommates smelled thickly of rich, dark mochas and cake. It reminded me of the candle Bri lit when she studied in the kitchen. We all three were crammed in on one side of the table. Faces serious, coffee cups empty. We’d been here for three hours already.

  Ren read the list he printed out and groaned. “Four more.”

  I held my reply in. Which was good, since it consisted of felonious thoughts of finding the Mane twins, kidnapping them, and forcing them to come back. I hated living with strangers. It had taken a long time to form bonds with them, and Ren and Bri. But the bond was there. Living my last year at college with a new stranger in the house was going to make me uneasy, and that couldn’t happen. Not when this year had to count.

  The next applicant sat down at the table, and if her bazaar questions weren’t enough to cut her from the running, her shirt definitely was. It said: Harry Potter who? And it had an image of an owl falling from the sky. First of all, how dare her shame Harry’s name like that? He’d gotten me through my teenage years, gave me hope and magic when there was only sadness and disappointments.

  “How hot does your shower water get?” she asked, serious face and all.

  Bri’s eyes widened in confusion. “Uh…”

  “Hot as hell,” Ren supplied.

  She looked at me for proof. “See this?” I pointed to a birthmark on my left wrist. “I got that trying to masturbate in the shower last night. The water was that hot.”

  Bri snorted and then turned her laughter into a cough.

  Ren looked at me. “You masturbate in the shower, too?”

  I winked at him. “Only when I know you’re in your bedroom.” His room was beside the only bathroom.

  He winked back. “Hot.”

  Ren was handsome, don’t get me wrong, but there was nothing romantic there. He was so teenage boy and always would be, even at twenty-one. Immature but free spirited. I loved him as a friend, and thankfully he seemed to feel the same.

  The Potter hater nodded, business-like. “How loud can I watch TV?”

  “Not too loud,” Bri spoke up. “This is a house of college students, so there’s going to be a lot of studying going on. You are in college, aren’t you?”

  She blinked. “I’m a nudist. Will that be a problem?”

  Ren’s brows shot up. “I’m cool with it.”

  Shocker. “Part time nudist, I see.” I gave her shirt a heavy look.

  “Well, yeah,” she said, like duh you dumb broad. “It’s against the law to be naked.” She slapped her palm against the ta
ble; my empty coffee cup shook. “The man wants to keep us clothed, so they don’t have to be held accountable for our souls. Being naked is freeing and being free is what the man hates.”

  “What man? Who’s this man?” Bri looked so confused it made me giggle.

  Ren nodded along, only because she was talking about nudity and he was deep down inside a sixteen-year-old boy trapped in a twenty-one-year-old body. “Right, right. Nakedness, yeah!”

  “There’s a no nakedness ban on all communal furniture,” I spoke up, shrugging with a fake apologetic look on my face. “Sorry, Voldemort.”

  Her nostrils flared, and I wondered if she had ties to dark magic. “You’re trapped in the man’s expectations!”

  “We all are,” I broke it to her. “I prefer to do it clothed. With a little HP playing in the background.”

  “So back to the nakedness,” Ren said. “Do you do this whenever the mood strikes you?” He leaned forward, spellbound.

  Bri glared at him and smacked his back. “We’re sorry,” she said, pausing to look down at the list of applicant names and numbers, “Donna, but you’re not a good fit. Sorry, but thanks for coming in.”

  Donna sneered at us, making Bri and I flinch. “Slut bags.”

  “Whoa,” I snapped. “What the hell?”

  “Yeah, I’ve only done anal, my hymen’s still intact,” Bri chimed in.

  Ren froze. “What…?”

  “Focus!” I pinched his bicep. “You listen here, you dark naked witch, take your broom and fly your hot water loving ass out of here.”

  She shoved away from the table, grabbed what was left of Ren’s doughnut, and shoved it in her mouth right in front of him, stomping away and out of the coffee shop.

  Ren took a deep breath. “I’m in love.”

  “Wack job.” I really despised the twins in that moment. It was either between one wack job or another.

  Bri shuddered. “Good thing we didn’t have them meet us at the house.”

  I hung my head, rubbing my temples as Bri and Ren bickered, blaming the other even though we all had a hand in compiling applicants.

  Unaware that my entire life was about to change.

  “Whoa, is that the next person on the list, because Y-U-M.”

  “Wade?” Ren called.

  I looked up just as a man looked over. Tall, masculine. He nodded, walking toward our table. He had a nice physique. Not overly muscle packed, but the kind of wiry muscles that came from tons of cardio. With his long legs I’d bet he was a runner of some sort. His biceps popped out of his red t-shirt and his dark washed jeans were tailored perfectly for his tall frame. He had hair just long enough to warrant hours running my fingers through it, the color of toasted coconut. Blond with hints of chocolate. When he got close, I noticed that his eyes were pale blue, like a freshly cleaned window; I could see for miles in eyes that pale.

  So, here’s the thing. I’m picky when it comes to men. Not physically. I almost never cared what a guy looked like when their insides were so much more important. I wasn’t a super model. I wouldn’t expect the man of my dreams to be one either. Plus, models can’t eat. I wanted to eat together. Ice cream in bed after sex. Burgers Saturday afternoon after sex. Pizza late Friday night after sex. Sex and food aside—there’s more important events here, I promise—I always responded to something inside the guy. Call it his soul. His essence. His heart. Whatever it was, it hadn’t happened in three long years, not since my high school sweetheart and I broke up before college.

  But right then, looking into Wade’s eyes, his soul, essence, and heart were trying with all their power to get my attention. And I was listening, struck silent by the feeling of missing something inside of my chest. The last time I felt that way, I spent four years with Jason Kelley. Our relationship was never hard, always easy, because that missing part in me was in him, and you can’t have that missing part if you don’t play nice.

  I felt the bottom fall out of me. My heart whined in its cage. It wanted this man. Right now, forever. We were meant to be. He, of course, much like Jason, didn’t react whatsoever to my presence. Thankfully, Jason trusted me when I told him and fell in love not soon after me. I sometimes wondered if it was love, or was it a test, so I wouldn’t miss out the next time it happened.

  Like right now.

  “Bri,” she introduced herself, giving him her hand like a freaking southern debutante.

  He took it, frowning at her fingers as he shook them. “Wade. Is the room still for rent?” he asked.

  What if that feeling in my heart was really a warning? It hurt leaving Jason, which was the reason I suspected college hadn’t been that awesome to begin with. Missing that piece of me had ached. I got used to it but not over it. This guy just offered me that piece back, and it was hard as hell not to shake him and demand he feel it too.

  Because even though I’d felt this feeling before, I’d never felt it quite this strong.

  Reality slowed down; the energy in the coffee shop felt dense and heavy. No one noticed the glaringly apparent figurative arrow signs pointing over his head right at him, saying “look at me, Esmaie, look at me.”

  “We have some questions first. You start, Esmaie.” Ren patted my hand that was palm down on the cool, metal table. As I stared the new guy down.

  So, physical attributes aren’t numero uno on my list, but his were so damn beautiful. His bone structure made me squeeze my thighs together. His wayward hair made me want to thread my fingers through it until they were numb. His nose led down to the most luscious lips. Deep pink, plump, and biteable. Is that a word? Who cared. It was now. He was so tall and commanding, taking over his side of the table, that had taken all three of us on my side to do the same.

  Hardness emanated from the lines cut into his face, but there was also a softness I found myself wondering about.

  “Esmaie?” Ren repeated, slapping my hand hard.

  I pulled it back, blinking my eyes and coming back down to earth. It felt like I’d fallen through space, flailing through open air, and landed on my ass so hard reality was punched through my guts. Wade looked over at me for the first time, expression neutral. What was it about attraction, when only one person felt the earth move? Was it real? Was it fake? Why did I feel one thing, and everyone else felt something different? I sighed. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one,” he answered.

  I nodded. “Are you a nudist?”

  He frowned, while Bri giggled and Ren groaned. “No… Why? Are you guys?”

  I didn’t answer him. “Harry Potter? Yes or no?”

  His lips twitched. “There’s only one answer to that. Yes.”

  Be still my heart. “Good answer. You got the room.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Ren interrupted. “What’s your income like? We need you to sign the lease tonight if you’re going to move in. Rent’s eighteen-hundred split four ways. That’s four-fifty each, plus we split utilities and groceries the same way. Can you pay that on the first of every month?”

  “No problem,” Wade assured him. “Can I see the place first? I need proof of board to keep my spot on the team.”

  “What team?” I asked.

  “Soccer.”

  I was partially right. “What position do you play?”

  “You don’t even know what the positions are,” Bri ridiculed. She took over the conversation. “Did you drive here?”

  He shook his head, removing his gaze from me and placing it on her. The way she wanted it. Hmm. Bri and I had never butted heads before, and it would be ridiculous to do so now, but I could guarantee the only hole she was worrying about was the one between her legs, and not the one in her heart, like I was worrying about.

  “I took an Uber. I’m crashing for right now at my friend’s apartment before the semester starts.”

  “Awesome. I’ll drive you.” She scooped up her purse.

  He remained sitting. “I can get my car. No worries. But maybe you can drop me off there, so I can follow you back?”<
br />
  She gave him a wide smile. “Totally. Let’s go.”

  Ren and I looked at each other after they both took off. “We all three drove here together,” he said morosely.

  I jutted out my lower lip. “Hot guys make us stupid. Don’t be too hard on her.”

  “Like hell I am. Do you want to do this again after they bang, fight, and breakup? She can’t hook up with him. Plus, he’s not her type. He’s a jock. She’s too smart for a jock. What’s she going to do in ten years? Oh, hey, Doc, what does your husband do? He kicks around a ball for a living while I save lives. Cool, cool. Not going to happen. He’s better off with you if anything.”

  My mouth popped open. “What a jerk. What are you saying? I’m just dumb enough for him?”

  “You are majoring in anthropology.”

  I gave him a murderous look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why do you take everything so personal?” He rolled his eyes. “I was teasing.”

  “Taking things personal comes with having a vagina. Get an actual girl with a real vagina for once and you might start to understand them.” I shot up from the table, grabbing my bag.

  “What kind of job are you going to get with an anthropology degree?” He followed after me.

  Picking a major was hard. Dad had helped me choose in high school because supposedly I’d end up changing it soon, but I hadn’t, because, well, I loved learning about human behavior. What made us ruin, what made us win—what dismantled our ancestors and how could we prevent the same thing now? I’d learned that repeating history was unfortunately inevitable. A few hundred years snuffed out the suffering of the last society, and the new one didn’t relate. What we needed was empathy. Master that and history would be a warning, not a lesson in a textbook.

  “What about you? You play games for grades.” He was majoring in video game and development programming.

  He snorted, holding the door open so I could step out into the dry, summer heat of Iowa. “Employment for my field is easy. You’re lucky if you get a job in that field in the first five years.”