King of Campus

by Jennifer Sucevic

  And I took it out on her any chance I could.

  The rest of the afternoon progresses in much the same fashion. It’s actually… kind of… nice. Leah asks me a lot of questions about Paris. My dad and Roan talk football. And the twins run around like their butts are on fire before dragging me and Roan off to their bedrooms to see all the toys they have accumulated in four short years.

  As I walk through the upstairs hallway, I take a hesitant peek inside the room I lived in for the last two years of high school. It looks exactly the same as the day I left. Which, I hate to admit, feels a little bit like balm soothing my soul right now.

  Why it should even matter, I have no clue. It’s not like I come here very often. Because I don’t. I come here only when I absolutely have to. Like Thanksgiving and Christmas. Other than that, I’ve become extremely good at coming up with excuses to avoid them.

  But they still kept my room for me.

  I mean, they certainly could have packed everything up into boxes and given the kids a much needed playroom, but they didn’t. They kept a space for me as if I truly belong here with them. As if I really am a part of this family.

  Even as tangled up as I am in my thoughts, I know the exactly moment he steps behind me. His presence is overwhelming and for some strange reason I feel incredibly attuned to him. Silently his breath feathers across the back of my neck. A slight shiver races through me at his close proximity.

  “Old room?”

  I nod as my eyes continue sliding over what I’ve chosen to leave behind. The white four poster bed, shelves of dance competition trophies, a pair of well-loved pink ballet shoes hanging from ribbons on the wall, light blue billowy curtains. Favorite books. The only thing missing is my dresser which I have in my apartment.

  Moving further into the room, Roan’s eyes seem to take in everything which leaves me feeling oddly exposed. All of this stuff, it’s who I am. It’s what makes up the pieces of me. On the night stand table is a framed five by seven. Picking it up, he takes a closer look. Almost as if he’s studying it.

  The photo was snapped about six months before my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Every time I look at it, I can’t help but remember how good our life was right before it blew up.

  Sometimes it’s hard to believe that everything can be perfectly fine one minute and then in complete shambles the next. And there’s nothing that can prepare you for it either. It just sneaks up on you out of nowhere. And then… nothing is ever the same again.

  It never goes back to normal.

  Not the normal you used to know and never quite appreciated. It settles into a pattern of tests and chemo and bouts of sickness as things slowly slide downhill instead of getting better until you finally manage to forget entirely that there ever was a time in your life when you were happy and carefree and… normal.

  It sucks.

  Cancer fucking sucks.

  “You look just like her.”

  I give him a strained smile knowing it’s filled with achy sadness. It still hurts to look at that picture which is exactly why I left it here in my old bedroom. I can’t bear knowing she’s really gone from my life and isn’t coming back. That everything I go through now will be without her guidance and advice.

  Very gently he sets the framed photo back where it had been sitting. He does it as if it’s the most precious thing in the world which leaves my heart feeling raw and defenseless. Roan isn’t turning out to be the guy I first pegged him to be. He has a softer, gentler side he keeps buried beneath the cocky, I-can-get-as-much-ass-as-I-want football player.

  I’m kind of wishing he were just the one dimensional ball player I first assumed he was, because that guy is easily resistible. Even as good looking as he is. This guy… the one with me today, well… he’s doing things to my insides that scare the shit out of me because I’m starting to realize that Roan isn’t one or the other, but a combination of both.

  With his eyes cradling mine, he closes the distance separating us until he’s right in front of me. Until I have to tilt my head back to keep my gaze steadily on his. I can’t help but inhale a shaky breath as his left hand slides its way across my cheek until he’s able to cup it in that big paw of his.

  “I don’t like seeing you sad.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  Softly his thumb strokes the corner of my mouth as his eyes continue searching mine. Sifting carefully through all the emotion brimming within them. It has me wondering exactly what he sees when he gazes at me. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he does. Almost as if he sees the real me. The real Ivy.

  It’s a scary prospect.

  Feeling oddly disconcerted, I have to remind myself that whoever this guy is, he isn’t the real Roan. This is just a small slice of who he truly is.

  His brows draw together as he continues studying me. “What are you thinking about?”

  Unwilling to divulge my thoughts, I shake my head. A tiny smile flits its way across my lips. I have the feeling it looks just as bittersweet as it feels. “Nothing.”

  Even though he doesn’t look convinced, he doesn’t push the conversation any further. Instead, he leans forward until his lips are able to stroke gently across mine before finally sinking into me. Even though we’re standing in the middle of my old bedroom with the door wide open, when his tongue softly nudges my lips, I can’t help but open to him.

  Roan’s kisses are completely addictive. I think I could easily fall for the Roan King I’ve been treated to today but I know deep down that would be a huge mistake. One I’m not willing to make. It hurt when Finn broke up with me and it hurt to see all the girls that filled my spot while I was gone. Which is exactly the way it would be with Roan.

  Except worse.

  Because he’s not interested in a relationship. He’s interested in straight up sex. And that’s not something I’ve ever done before. I can’t have sex with someone casually. I’ve never had sex with someone I didn’t have feelings for.

  I’m not even sure if I’m capable of casual sex on a regular basis. As uncomplicated as it sounds, I know that it’s anything but.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Yum… I love a man who works out religiously. Take a look at these delicious pics and don’t forget to wipe the drool from your chins! KingOfCampus.com

  Roan

  “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? You’re so freaking quiet today.”

  All my focus is centered on slowly pushing the bar all the way up before bringing it back down to my chest. I just want to think about bench pressing… not Ivy. Unfortunately, she refuses to vacate the space in my head. Especially after the trip to her house.

  For whatever reason, that day feels like it was a turning point in our relationship.

  “I’m trying to concentrate, that’s all.” I keep my eyes trained on the bar and not on Dylan who is spotting me from behind. The last thing I need is for him to catch a whiff of my growing interest in Ivy. I already know how that would go over.

  “Is it a chick?”

  Unconsciously my brow furrows at his words before I can stop it. A dead giveaway, but I smooth it out before he can-

  “Christ, it is a chick. Since when do you have female problems?” He’s almost giddy with the prospect. The biggest issue I usually have with women is getting them to back off after we’ve had sex. I’ve never actually had a girl work her way under my skin before. Ivy is a first. An itch that feels all but impossible to scratch. And I don’t like that one damn bit. I’m kind of hoping I can just ride this one out and my interest in her will wane with enough time.

  I mean, it could happen… right?

  “So who’s the chick?” He continues grinning until I get the urge to punch the smirk right off his freaking face. “I’m dying to know.”

  Yeah, the only reason he’s dying to know is so he can run his pussy whipped ass back to his girlfriend and crow about how I’ve finally fallen for some girl.

  “There’s no girl,” I grunt, pushing upwards agai
n. I practically growl out the next words because I just want him to drop the subject. “Can you stop running your fucking mouth like some gossipy girl and just focus?”

  He snorts. “Since when don’t we talk shit when we’re lifting?”

  Well, he’s got me there. We usually do talk shit. A whole bunch of it. And lifting is the perfect time to do it, too. The music is blasting and talking helps pass the time. If I’m going to get this asshole off my back, then I need to play this a lot cooler. “Look, there’s no girl. I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

  He makes some kind of noncommittal noise deep in his throat as if he doesn’t quite believe me, which let’s face it, he probably doesn’t. Dylan and I have roomed together since freshman year. So, between that, playing football, and working out together, we know each other pretty damn well.

  He’s the first one to call bullshit when it needs calling.

  Which is both a blessing and a curse.

  I flick a quick glance at him as I lower the bar. His eyes are narrowed speculatively and if I didn’t know better, I’d say the little hamster upstairs was busy spinning on its wheel as he tries figuring this one out. I see the exactly moment his mind locks onto an idea and I almost swear under my breath.

  “This better not have anything to do with Ivy.”

  Once again, I focus on raising the bar. “Why would you say that?” So, yeah, I’m fishing. I know exactly why Dylan doesn’t want me making moves on Ivy.

  “Because I know you, dude.” His gaze darkens. “You like a challenge and that’s exactly what Ivy is- a fucking challenge. She doesn’t seem to want a damn thing to do with you.”

  He’s not wrong about that. I do love me a good challenge but I think my interest in Ivy goes a little deeper than that. I mean, maybe in the beginning, the mere fact she wasn’t interested was like waving a red flag in front of me. But it’s morphed into something more now.

  Ivy seems to be the only person at Barnett who doesn’t give two shits about who I am and the status that comes from being one of my friends or sleeping with me. She never talks about football. Hell, I think she actually admitted last week that she doesn’t like football. Never watches it. Doesn’t even go to the games.

  You’d think hearing that would be a major turn off. But damn, it’s just the opposite. I kind of like that we don’t have to discuss football. It doesn’t seem to matter one bit to her that I’ll be entering the draft in a few short months.

  No one can say she’s falling all over herself to get my attention or be with me either.

  You know what I like best?

  After my initial- let’s-get-it-on and her subsequent- go-take-a-flying-fuck, we’ve kind of settled into a… well… friendship. I’ve never spent time with a girl before without the intent of getting laid at the end of the evening. And Lexie doesn’t count because if Dylan wasn’t there, I wouldn’t be hanging with her either.

  Of course, the girls I sleep with aren’t friends. They’re more like groupies. Just one of the perks of being an athlete. Being with those kinds of girls is more like an exchange of goods/information. I’m able to get laid on a regular basis and they get to brag to all their friends that they were boned by Roan King.

  So, you see, it works out for all parties involved. And I make it perfectly clear at the onset that this is strictly a onetime deal. Once in a while, I’ll screw someone twice, but I don’t make a habit of it. Once you do that, you enter into the murky territory of a quasi-relationship and I’m not getting involved in one of those. I’ve got too much on my plate to screw around with shit like that.

  And yet… and yet Ivy has my thoughts hesitantly turning in that direction. I can’t have her without some form of a commitment and the thought of her with anyone else just pisses me off. So clearly I have a dilemma on my hands.

  “It’s not about her being a challenge,” I finally grit out because by the fifteenth rep, my arms are seriously killing me.

  “Damn,” he shakes his head, “I knew this contemplative mood had something to do with her.” He plows a hand roughly through his golden blond hair. “Shit. Lexie is going to fucking kill you.” His face becomes even more screwed up. “And I’m not going to get laid because of it.”

  Setting the bar back in place, I sit up on the padded bench. Dylan is full out glaring now. He doesn’t like the idea of Lexie withholding sex and I can’t really say I blame him for it. After all, that has to be the major perk of being in a committed relationship, right?

  You take away the anytime-you-want-to-have-it sex and what’s left?

  Exactly.

  Grabbing my towel, I wipe the sweat from my brow. “Chill the fuck out, man. I’m not after Ivy.” Throwing down the damp cloth, I get up so we can change positions. As Dylan sits on the bench, he continues scowling as if he doesn’t quite believe me.

  Hell, I’m not sure I believe me at this point but I also know I can’t just fuck this girl and walk away because yeah, Lexie will beat the piss out of me. Plus, Ivy lives right next door and we kind of have the same friend group right now. Which is where that old saying- don’t shit where you eat comes in to play. And I really don’t want to cause problems for Dylan.

  Now, if you pressed me to add one more item to the list of reasons why I should keep this thing with Ivy strictly on a friends level, I’d have to say it’s because I have zero interest in having a girlfriend. I need more pressure heaped on me like a fucking hole in the head and that’s exactly what a girlfriend would be.

  And honestly, over the years, I’ve found girls to be fairly superficial creatures. They want to be with me for my looks or because I’m an athlete. Not a damn one of the girls I’ve been with has ever asked me what I plan to do if football doesn’t pan out. Nor do they care that I’m a straight A student. Or that I scored a thirty-three on my ACT when I took it at the end of my junior year in high school.

  Nope.

  I could be dumber than a freaking fence post and they wouldn’t blink an eye. I could treat them like a piece of shit smeared across the bottom of my shoe and it wouldn’t matter one bit. Although I would never do that because my mom would slap me upside the head if I treated a girl disrespectfully which is exactly why I’m always courteous and upfront about my intentions. If they aren’t into it, then they aren’t into it. No big deal. But let’s be real here, other than Ivy, I’ve never come across a girl who wasn’t into it.

  They get to be with Roan King and that’s all that really seems to matter. They get their friends to snap lots of pics which are then uploaded and posted by the time I’m even done fucking them. So I don’t feel bad for banging all those faceless females and not bothering to tie myself down to one in particular. As far as I’m concerned, I’m better off on my own than dealing with some mercenary chick who only wants me for the status I bring them. I have to wonder if I’d be getting as much ass if I weren’t looking to turn pro this year. If I weren’t on my way to making millions.

  Not that I’ve spoken to anyone about this, but I’m starting to waffle about entering the draft this year. Because I red shirted my freshman year which essentially means I was on the team and I practiced, but didn’t play in any games. NCAA guidelines only allow players four years of college eligibility. So far, I’ve used three. The red shirt season doesn’t count. So, technically, I’m able to stay at Barnett and play for one more season even though I’m currently in my senior year.

  The plan had always been to use these four years to earn my degree and enter the draft if it looked like I could potentially go in the first or second round. Which it does. There’s been a lot of hype and that only seems to be growing. And I’ve shown well at the combines I’ve attended. So, I’m in a really good position right now.

  Possibly the best I’ll ever be in.

  Except I switched majors last year and that set me back credit-wise. Plus, with football, I haven’t always been able to take fifteen credits a semester like I thought I would. Sometimes I’ve have to lighten my load.

  S
o I’ve been playing around with the idea of staying for a fifth year. I haven’t spoken to my family about it because they’re not going to like the idea. But I know I need a fall back in case things don’t work out. I’m all too aware that most guys who go pro only play for an average of three years. And it can be cut shorter if they sustain a career ending injury. Which in football, is always a possibility. It’s highly doubtful this will be the only thing I do with my life. I need to have a solid game plan in place if things go south.

  So finishing up my degree is important to me.

  Dylan lays back before picking up the bar and the two hundred pound weights added to it. He grits his teeth before slowly raising it above his chest. After the forth rep, the grunting begins. I almost shake my head. Dylan is ridiculously loud when he works out. Unfortunately, that also carries over into the bedroom… if you know what I’m saying.

  I unfortunately know this because the walls of our apartment are paper thin. And Lexie spends the night frequently. And that dude can be loud as fuck.

  “You need to keep away from her. I’m serious. Everything is going well with Lexie. I don’t need you fucking up my relationship because you can’t stand to be denied.”

  I roll my eyes. “Give me a damn break. What am I? Like two? I’m not going after her because she isn’t interested, okay?”

  Although I think Ivy is, in fact, interested. I’m just not going to admit that to him.

  Without answering me, he continues benching until he reaches fifteen reps. Then he sets the bar back in place before sitting up. His eyes arrow straight to mine. “You better not. There are plenty of other chicks out there clamoring for your attention, so do me a favor and leave this one alone.”

  We move onto the next station. God, I should just drop the subject. I shouldn’t say one more damn word about Ivy.

  But…