“Wait, wait, wait. You haven’t slept with her?”
“Is that really so ludicrous? I’ve only known her a few weeks.”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” I’m not sure why I’m suddenly feeling hopeful and romantic that these two are going to hook up, but I am straight giddy at the prospect. “So, does that mean tonight is the night?”
“We’re going to a high school baseball game, not looking to do jail time for indecent exposure,” Wes throws back. I’m not buying it. Lame excuse.
“Don’t bullshit me. Tonight’s the night.”
“She completes you,” Nathan adds. We just watched Jerry Maguire a few weeks ago in Z’s quest to see every single one of Tom Cruise’s movies.
“Fuck off, both of you.” Wes tosses the ball from hand to hand.
“I gotta shower,” Nathan announces.
“Hurry up. I’m leaving in fifteen, and I need to make a stop for condoms.” I look to Wes. “You good? Need me to put some in your nightstand?”
He throws the ball back to me.
“Okay, fine. I’ll lay off. You probably need to go take care of business anyway. Since she bailed on dinner, you have time to rub one out before and after your shower.”
“For the love of all that is holy,” he whines.
“What? Please tell me you aren’t planning to show up to the game without clearing your head? Dude, you go in there without taking care of business, and you’re gonna embarrass yourself and the whole male population.”
He shakes his head and lets it hang down.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I mean honestly, the dude doesn’t get laid in months and he’s just gonna show up fully loaded? He’ll be coming in his pants by the time he gets her clothes off. Rookie move.
He stands and ambles toward the stairs.
“You know I’m right,” I call after him. He doesn’t look convinced. I pull my phone from my back pocket and set an alarm for later tonight. Good thing for him, I take orgasms – even when they’re not mine – very seriously. I’ll text him later to make sure he heeded my advice.
In fact, I’d be doing the same thing if I hadn’t already jerked myself raw trying to work Kitty out of my system. Those blue and brown eyes haunted me as I came so hard, I saw stars. Twice. Even picturing her now I can feel myself getting hard again. The fact that Kitty not only said no but did so with such disdain has gotta be why just the thought of her has my pulse racing and a smile spreading across my face.
Blow out a breath and pull up my text history. One hot girl is the same as any other – at least for what I’m looking for. I don’t do romantic gestures or long walks on the beach. Well, unless by long walks you mean sex. Sex on the beach is awesome.
While I wait for Nathan, I scroll through the chicks that have messaged me about hooking up tonight. They said hang out, but every time a girl texts me to “hang out” it ends with her undressing me. Chicks don’t like to come right out and ask for sex.
Busty blonde? Sassy redhead? Freshman good girl looking to break out of her quiet shell? The options are endless, but I am bored.
“Knock, knock,” my sister’s voice calls out from the back entrance.
I hurry to greet her. The smell wafting out of the casserole dish she’s carrying makes my stomach growl.
“That smells amazing,” I say, taking it from her and pulling the foil back.
I grab a fork and plate, give myself a generous serving, take a bite, and then look up.
“Game night?” I ask around a mouth full of pasta and point my fork toward her green Valley High t-shirt and matching green pawprint painted on her cheek.
“Playing Pinnacle tonight. They’re even bigger and meaner than last year.”
“Go easy on them,” I say with humor lacing my tone because even from the stands, Michelle is a force. She is the definition of crazed fan, razzing players and coaches alike. She loves watching basketball maybe as much as I love playing it. And she does it with as much flair as I do.
“Hey,” Nathan calls out entering the kitchen and pulling a clean shirt over his head. “Good to see you, Smelly.”
Michelle rolls her eyes. She hates that my friends have adopted my childhood nickname for her. She’s at that age where she wants everyone to think she’s mature and capable instead of the sixteen-year-old naïve kid that she is.
I push a plate and fork in front of Nathan, and he helps himself to the food.
“What are you two up to tonight?” Michelle asks, pulling a beer from the fridge, popping the top and taking a long pull.
“Give me that.” I take the beer for myself. “Want one?” I ask Nathan.
“Theta party tonight,” Nathan answers for us and shakes off the beer.
“Just the two of you?” She motions between us with a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to take dates or something?”
Ah, innocent Michelle.
“Joel tried and got shot down.”
They laugh and I shoot them both a glare.
Michelle studies me. “Wow, someone actually turned down the great Joel Moreno. What happened? How’d you ask her?”
“Uhh. I just asked if I could get her number so we could hang later.” I shrug. “She said no.”
Let me tell ya, talking about it again is not making me feel super.
My sister groans in exasperation. “Wow. It finally happened.”
“What’s that?” I question, sure I’m going to regret asking.
“Your ego got so big you forgot how to put in the effort to ask a girl out the right way.”
“Oh, shiiit.” Nathan covers his mouth, but it doesn’t hide the huge ass grin on his face.
“I mean, did you put any thought into it at all or did you just wing it and expect her to fall at your feet?”
Nathan doubles over with laughter. Glad he’s amused.
Regarding me seriously, Michelle’s voice is full of sympathy. “Not every girl is a lying, backstabbing, no good cu–”
“Alright, I think it’s time for you to go,” I say, screw my eyelids shut and hope I’ve cut off her rant for good. The fact that my baby sister knows just how badly relationships can blow up in your face is all on me. But at least it doesn’t seem to have made her any less of a romantic.
She laughs softly and I open my eyes and sigh in relief as she heads toward the door. Thank God. “I hope your bruised ego won’t affect the game this weekend,” she adds, waves, and disappears.
“She has a point,” Nathan says. “I mean, when’s the last time someone made you do more than ask nicely before they were volunteering to bounce on your penis?”
“Work for it,” I say, mostly to myself. Sadly, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. Damn. Well, challenge accepted. I mean, honestly, how hard could it be to convince a girl I know already wants me, to go out with me?
3
Joel
Present Day
The sound of an incoming text is my second alarm of the day. The first came five minutes ago when Z pounded on every door of our house.
The second, though, always comes precisely at five thirty in the form of a text. Specifically, a meme. Nathan loves them. Hand to God the guy sends me like ten a day. He must spend a good portion of his free time combing through Imgur to find the best ones. They’re funny as shit so I don’t tell him to stop even though ten texts a day from another dude is a bit much.
Slide my finger over the screen and tap on the text. Squinting through the bright light of my phone, I kick off the blanket and prop a hand behind my head. The meme reads “How do I sleep at night knowing I’m an asshole?” The white words are on a plain black background. Disappointment flickers because I prefer funny pictures to a wall of text, but I keep reading anyway. “Butt-ass naked with the fan on.”
This earns a gruff chuckle and I snap a picture of my junk, angled so the black fan beside my bed is visible. Dude knows me too well. I hit send and jump out of bed. Pull on boxer briefs, shorts, and a shirt. I brush my teeth while I piss – mult
itasking like a pro. Once I’ve finished in the bathroom, I grab socks and shoes and pad downstairs. The rest of the guys are already in the kitchen eating breakfast. Z is the only one that’s sitting. His big frame is seated at the dining room table with a plate and glass in front of him – using manners the rest of us reserve for mixed company. By some unspoken agreement we take turns making breakfast and by the slightly burnt toast splayed out on the counter with various condiments – butter, jelly, Nutella, and peanut butter, I know this is Wes’ doing.
“Breakfast is served,” Wes says as he pulls four more slices of blackened bread out of the toaster and drops them on the counter. Then he grabs a hand full of butter knives out of our silverware drawer and sets them beside it.
“Coming to practice today?” I ask, and daggers are shot in my direction from everyone but the man I’m talking to.
A grunt and head nod are my answer. After a season-ending injury, the senior point man just recently started coming back to practice. It’s damn good to have him back, if only on the sidelines. Not the same without him on the court with us, though.
I pull on my socks and shoes, then grab a cup and fill it with water. Dump a scoop of protein powder in it and mix with a knife because that’s what’s out on the counter for the toast.
I raise the cup to my mouth just as Nathan steps beside me, grabbing another piece of toast as he shoves what’s left of his last piece in his mouth.
“Dude, don’t you know every time you send a dick pic it shrinks by an eighth of an inch?” he says, mouth still full. Then he proceeds to slap my junk. I groan instinctively before the pain even registers. Spill my drink down my shirt and onto the floor. “That’s for the visual of your small prick I can’t get out of my head.”
“Not cool,” I grit out. “So not cool.”
I cup my balls through my shorts and give them a protective squeeze. “The opportunity was too good, man. And if my dick is small then yours is microscopic.”
“Time to go,” Z says as he stands and takes his dirty dishes to the sink.
I grab two pieces of dry toast for the walk over and guzzle what’s left of my protein drink. Wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and follow the boys out the door.
It’s quiet out. Early, dark, and cold. We move at a clip across the street to Ray Fieldhouse where we practice, workout, and play games. It’s my favorite place on all of campus. The fact that it doesn’t have my last name plastered all over it is a definite bonus.
Might be a new semester, but we’re deep in the season. Final Four is less than two months away and everyone is feeling the pressure and excitement. Coach Daniels doesn’t need to yell at us about being lazy or sloppy, although he does, because we’re as hard on ourselves as he is. We want this. Maybe more than ever now that we’ve seen Wes go out with an injury.
We practice for two hours before classes and then most evenings we’re back in the gym for workouts or drills. We’ve got a big game on Sunday, so today’s practice is particularly grueling. Shooting drills, one-on-one maneuvers, full-court press scrimmage, conditioning, and then more shooting drills. By the time we’re done I’m almost looking forward to class just so I can sit and relax.
Walking into the locker room for a quick shower before I head out, I pause as Coach yells out from his open office door, “Moreno, see me before you leave.”
I lift my head in acknowledgment. After I’m showered and changed, I stop in Coach’s office as requested.
“What’s up?” I slouch into the chair on the opposite side of his desk and grab two granola bars from my bag. These things are worthless. I’d need to eat like twelve to satisfy my hunger, but two is all I have left. Need to tell my mom, the saint who keeps our pantry stocked, to get something more substantial next time for snacks.
Coach stares down at his phone, a mixture of confusion and excitement in the way his mouth curves into a smile but his eyes scrunch together. “One second.”
I’m amused as he proceeds to make me fucking wait while he’s lost to whatever he’s got going on.
I give in and comment on his weird actions when the man actually snickers at the ping of an incoming message. “Sexting during office hours?”
It takes a moment before he lifts his head and meets my gaze. “Sorry, what?”
“Nothing. You wanted to see me?” I lift a hand for him to get to the point.
He sets the phone on the desk and then leans back in his chair. “Right. I want to switch things up a little bit on Sunday and have you up top of the zone instead of in the back. Shaw is still finding his place and we’re going to have to play the ball more aggressively if we want to rattle them.”
Makes sense. I’m taller and faster than the other options and Z is a beast down low.
“All right. Anything else?”
His phone pings again and he glances down before answering. “Yeah, what about local restaurant suggestions? Something nice but not too pretentious.”
I feel my left eyebrow arch up in question. “Team dinner?”
“Uhh. No.” He shakes his head. “Just thought you might know somewhere good. Since moving to Valley five years ago most of my dining out has included In-N-Out I’m afraid.”
“We talking restaurants of the romantic variety?”
The embarrassment that spreads across his features throws me off. Coach Daniels is not the kind of guy I expected to be looking for dating tips. “I said nice, not romantic.”
“When it comes to dining, those two things are synonymous.” I decide to put him out of his misery. “Araceli’s. It’s got great views, good menu, but it’s not over the top.”
“Araceli’s,” he repeats the name back slowly like he’s trying to remember it.
I toss the granola bar wrappers in the trash and pull my phone out. “I’m texting you the details. Shouldn’t need a reservation on a Thursday, but if you have any problems, just tell them you’re a friend and you want my table on the patio.”
“Your table on the patio?”
“I have a standing Thursday night reservation.”
He cocks his head to the side looking at me like the twenty-one-year-old kid he thinks I am.
“You better hope tonight isn’t the night I finally need it.” I stand and grin leaving him before he can ask me more.
4
Katrina
I was never particularly fond of mornings. Looking back that seems ridiculous. I mean how hard was it to get only myself up and out the door? Mornings now, though, are torture. Someone should warn you before having kids that getting up before the sun lasts way beyond the baby years. And those little Energizer Bunnies don’t understand the concept of not speaking until you’ve had a cup of coffee.
Nope, Christian barreled into my room before the sun even thought about rising and he’s been going nonstop ever since, chattering away all the while.
“Christian, we’re leaving in two minutes.” I don’t know why I give him a warning like that’s somehow going to hurry him up. My three-year-old son has no concept of time.
I grab my books and laptop and shove them in my backpack running through a mental checklist making sure I have everything for school, and he has what he needs for a weekend with his dad.
“Don’t forget to grab your soccer ball in case you guys go to the park.” Highly unlikely but if he takes the ball, there’s at least some chance that Victor will feel obligated to spend some time with his son. I’m so far beyond subtle manipulation at this point.
“Alright let’s load up.” I heave my backpack on my shoulder and grab the soccer ball that I spot laying on the living room floor. I mean honestly it isn’t like I wasn’t going to have to carry it anyway.
Christian comes running out of his room, messy blonde hair and a smile that doesn’t understand his mother isn’t a morning person. “I need to pack some treats for Rex!”
“Already done. They’re in your backpack. Did you brush your teeth?”
Instead of answering he looks up like he’s tryin
g to remember that far back. That’s a no.
“Come on, let’s brush them real quick.” I put my backpack and the soccer ball back down and he skips off down the hallway. I follow behind, picking up toys and dirty clothes in his path. I can hear the faucet turn on and then the unmistakable sound of him karate chopping the water with his toothbrush. I resist raising my voice, it doesn’t do any good, but gently correct him as I enter the bathroom. “No playing in the water. It makes a mess, remember?”
“It’s just water. It’ll dry.”
Fair point.
Wordlessly I help him brush his teeth, clean up the water with his bath towel, and then I grab my stuff again. It usually takes two or three tries to get out the door. I plan for this by adding a fifteen-minute buffer.
“Do you think Grandma Nadine will let Rex sleep in my room this time?” Christian asks as I head for the door, hopeful this time we’ll make it to the other side.
I bite back a smile at how much he loves that silly dog. I’m pretty sure she bought it just for Christian, but hard ass Nadine would never admit it. Christian loves animals. Always has, but it became a full-blown obsession sometime over the last year. We can’t have pets in our apartment building, but even if we could, there’s no way I could give a dog the kind of attention it deserves.
“You can ask her when we get there, okay?”
He nods excitedly.
“Daddy is coming down late tonight, so you’ll get to see him this weekend too.”
He races back to his room for a toy he has to take. I feel bad that he’s more excited to see the dog than his dad, but in his defense, the dog is far more reliable.
It’s less than an hour drive to my hometown where Victor’s parents, and my own, still live. When we arrive at Nadine’s house, she’s coming out the front door, Rex at her heels, before I can get Christian out of his car seat.
“There’s my favorite grandson.”
“Grandpa told me I’m your only grandson.”
The Fadeaway: A Smart Jocks Novel Page 2