Jockblocked: A Novel (Gridiron Book 2) (28 page)

I place a knee on the edge of the bed, but he holds out his hand. “Wait, take the pants off first.”

As I ease down my jeans pulling my panties with them, his eyes grow slumberous. He reaches out until his hand curves around my butt. His warm fingertips dig slightly into the padding while his thumb runs down the hipbone to the crease where trunk and leg meet.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he says huskily.

I let the jeans fall to the floor and kick them away. Then, with confidence born of his undisguised lust, I straddle him. I flip my hair off my shoulders with both hands and cup myself.

“Is this going to make up for the lack of a cake?”

His blue eyes gleam. “You bet your ass it will.”

“What do you have in store for me?”

“How much time do we have?” His big, rough hands draw circles around my back, pulling me closer to him with every pass.

I struggle to remember the details. “The competition starts at one tomorrow. I should be out of here by nine.”

He leans forward and bites the ball of my shoulder before saying, “You’re going to need a little sleep. I want you to kick ass tomorrow, so I’ll go easy on you. But the minute you step back onto campus, I want you in my bed for a solid twenty-four hours.”

“No,” I beg, “please be very hard.”

We both laugh at my juvenile joke until I reach between us to cup his hard shaft. The sound of him sucking in his breath as I stroke him through his sweatpants puts an evil smile on my face.

His eyes are mere lust-filled slits. “You’re going to need to do the hard work because my ribs are sore from practice.”

“Too sore? I could just give you a hand job?”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s about the most ridiculous thing that’s ever come out of your mouth.”

I know what the man wants, and I want to give it to him. I want to totally rock his world.

She pushes out of my clasp, but before I can protest, she’s on her knees, pulling my cock out of my pants. I tip my head back and close my eyes because the sight of her down there is making me want to come before her mouth is even on my shaft.

Then her mouth surrounds me, and with my eyes closed, the sensation of hot and wet is the only thing in my head. My balls tighten, and I pinch my nose in frustration. I do not want to come right now. I want to enjoy this for just a second longer. Please, for the love of God, where is my self-control?

Her warm, wet mouth pulls away.

“Is something wrong?” she asks. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“Oh, Goldie, no.” I groan. “It’s so fucking good, I’m scared I’m going to come in the next ten seconds and I want it to last. Not like hours, but even a couple minutes longer would be amazing.

My incoherent ramblings make her laugh. “Maybe you should lie back.” She takes my cock in one hand and cups my balls with the other. “Because this is going to be the best blow job you’ve ever had.

“And miss the show?” I sweep her hair back. “No fucking way.”

“You have a beautiful dick,” she murmurs and rubs her face along the side of my shaft. I practice deep breathing exercises.

“You have a large frame of reference?” I choke out.

“Naah. I just like the look of it and generally I think penises are gross, but yours is…” She pauses to pet it, one hand on the bottom holding it while the other hand strokes lightly along the top. This is some new kind of torture, I think, but I love it. “It’s strong and interesting. So hard and so soft at the same time.” Her fingertip runs along the edge of the hood, and my eyes roll back into my head.

But that’s nothing to the sensation that roils through my body when her mouth is back on me. She rubs my shaft along the roof of her mouth, cradling my cock with her tongue as it slides toward the back of her tight throat. Her soft hand cups my balls, rolling them gently, perfectly in her palm.

I grip the side of the chair, and my toes curl into the carpeted floor. Each pass of her mouth is more erotic than the last. She hums, and the vibrations make my entire body shiver. I’m harder than the concrete steps of the stadium. Between the suction of her mouth, her wicked, wicked tongue, and her deft fingers, I have no defense. A eunuch would have erupted in her mouth a minute ago.

Sweating and shaking, I push her away. She moans in protest but I shake my head. I tug awkwardly at her bra, while one-handing my aching erection. Her eyes widen, but she understands what I want and whips off her shirt. Her creamy breasts are bound together in a sweet-looking lace number.

I send her a silent word of apology, and with three swift jerks paint my come all over her chest. The milky white seed spurts onto her delicate collarbone and pools in the valley between her tits. The sight of it makes me hard again.

“I would have swallowed,” she says in a slightly piqued tone.

“I know, Goldie.” I sigh. I pull off my own T-shirt and regretfully wipe off the come. “But I don’t know what the carb content of my stuff is, and I didn’t want to fuck up your glucose measurements.”

A sharp, surprised laugh sparks out of her. “Seriously? That’s why you pulled out?”

I nod in confusion. “Why else?”

“I don’t know.” She giggles again. “I’ve never even thought about it.”

I pull her off the ground and onto my lap. “Well, it was also hot as hell coming all over you, so there’s that.”

“I think your sperm would have been fine. It’s full of protein, right?” I shrug. I have no idea about the nutritional content of sperm. “Anyway, I think that might have been the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

If I was a blushing man, I’d probably be red-faced at this but as it is, I’m too horny to concentrate on anything but getting Lucy out of her clothes and onto my bed.

“Speaking of good nutrition,” I tell her, “I’m going to waste away if I don’t get my mouth on you.”

She blushes. “Is that right?”

“Never a truer word have I spoken,” I declare.

I take her on the desk. I sit her pretty ass on the edge of the shitty hotel room structure, spread her legs and devour that delicious pussy until her nail marks score against my skull.

“You are way too good at this,” she whimpers, and I suck on her clit like the sweet candy it is, enjoying the breathy moan that escapes her lips until her whimpers turn to pleas and then escalate into sharp, staccato cries as she creams all over my tongue.

I surge to my feet and then I’m inside her, sliding between her quivering thighs, into the hot clutch of her sex until I’m fully seated. I grab an ass cheek in each hand and hold her, suspended above the desk, while I hammer into her, steady, long, hard strokes.

She places a hand on the wall behind her and plants the other on the desk and meets every thrust with one of her own.

“I lov—”

“Don’t say it,” I order through gritted teeth. “You say it and I’m not going to last long enough for you to come, and you know I love it when you come. Do you know how good it feels when you come around my dick? I can feel every ripple, every flutter. It’s the sexiest goddamn hug a man can get.”

Her eyes glitter, and I see her mouth form those words again. The ones I didn’t think I’d get to hear again. And because they’re what I need and she’s so beautiful and irresistible, I lean closer to hear them, even though I know they’re going to set me off.

“I love you, Matthew Justin Iverson.” Her smile is wide and joyous when she says it, as she pushes me over the cliff.

“Fuck me. I love you, too.” Even as the orgasm shoots down my dick and fireworks detonate in my brain, I keep pumping and miraculously, she comes, too, gasping, clutching, and loving me all the way over the same, wonderful edge.

“
F
inally
.” I rub the back of my neck as the last straggler out of the hotel throws his bag into the back of the car and climbs into the back seat.

It took Ace and me forty minutes to round everyone up. It was worse than herding cats. Twelve guys forgot something in their rooms. Thank God for Lucy, because she helped run around, count heads, and generally get everyone’s ass in gear.

We couldn’t find Getty, who had been sitting on the shitter in one of the bathrooms down by the conference rooms where our team meetings were held that I didn’t even know existed. By the stench coming from the toilet, it was easy to figure out why it wasn’t ever used by anyone but Getty.

Eight guys left their playbooks in their rooms and three had forgotten equipment on the field. Stoltzy had some chick in his room. He couldn’t remember her name and she took about ten minutes to find her phone and dress.

She probably thought she was being cute as she crawled around with her thong and Stoltzy’s T-shirt draped like a scarf around her neck, but Ace and I just wanted her ass gone. By the time we were done chewing out Stoltz for breaking yet another rule, he was tired of her act, too.

But here we are—all thirty of us shoved into eight cars, SUVs, and vans—and ready to go.

I slide into the driver’s seat and put the Rover in gear. Is this what the captaincy is all about? Riding herd on a bunch of college football players who think they’re above the rules? I sigh when I realize that I used to be one of those guys. Back when Masters was in charge, I screwed around as much as anyone.

I had chicks in my room when I wasn’t supposed to just like Stoltzy. I was always forgetting something whether it was my jock, my shoes, or my phone. I thought by showing up to practice and then playing my heart out on Saturday, I had faithfully discharged all that was expected of me.

What an asshole I was to assume that I could lead on the field without worrying about stuff off the field. There’s a hella big difference between being a teammate and being a leader.

“Uh, Matty, we’ve got a problem,” Hammer says worriedly from the backseat.

“What’s that?” I glance up in the rearview mirror.

He holds up a black case. “I think I took your Luce’s insulin kit by mistake.”

My head jerks back so fast I nearly break my neck.

“What? How did you get that?” Our eyes clash in shock and dismay.

“I don’t know. This morning I came in to get my playbook and must’ve swept it into my backpack.”

“Holy shit.”

“Let me see.” Ace reaches behind and rips the case from Hammer’s hands. Ace opens it up and sure enough, her digital glucose monitor and several dosages of insulin lie nestled against the padding of her insulated case. He curses and slams his hand against the dash. “Goddammit, Hammer!”

“I know.” He sounds miserable and in the rearview mirror I can see him cradling his head in his hands.

“Holy shit,” I repeat. “What time is it?”

“Ten,” Jack supplies. He’s the only calm one in the entire vehicle. The two guys in the back—Darryl and Jesse—are wisely keeping quiet.

I do some quick calculations in my head. We left at eight. Chicago is three hours in the opposite direction and we have five hours left to get to Western. Curfew is at ten tonight. If I drive to Chicago from here, it’s three hours there and then eleven hours back home. I’ll never make it back in time for curfew, not even if I flew. I reach into the console and throw the phone at Hammer. “You search out the closest car rental place.” I point to Ace. “You text Luce right now and find out if she has any extras.”

“She doesn’t,” Ace says. “She has one kit. This is it.”

“Text her anyway.” Because we need to know.

Ace pulls out his phone and punches something in.

“Hammer, what’s the word?” I call back. My foot eases off the gas and I switch to the right-hand lane so my sudden snail’s pace doesn’t piss anyone off.

“Man, the closest rental place is two hours away.” We exchange sick looks in the mirror. Every mile I advance is a mile farther away from Luce.

She drove out of her way to come to me when I needed her and because of it, she’s going to suffer? No way. Not on my watch. “Call them. Book a car.”

“Would it be faster to fly?” Jack questions.

“No, closest airport is four hours north. He’ll be back at Western by the time he’d get on a plane.” This comes from Darryl in the back. They must all have their phones out now.

“She says she feels fine. That she won’t need an insulin shot until after the competition.”

“How will she know? Can she buy another blood monitoring thingy? She has to do it every hour!” The miles pass and each one puts more distance between Luce and her wellbeing.

Ace and I exchange a grim look. We both know Luce does not have an excess amount of funds.

“Heather’s got a call in to her dad to wire cash to them,” Ace reads. So the monitoring kit must be too expensive. I bet Luce is writhing with embarrassment.

“Thought that girl was made of money,” Jack asks.

“Her dad cut off her credit cards a few weeks ago,” I tell him. “She got a B on her midterm in Calculus.”

“She got cut off because of a B?” Jack’s mouth falls open. “What kind of shit is that?”

“The kind that turns you into a girl like Heather,” Ace replies. He holds up his phone. “Luce is going to drink some OJ and lie down.”

“That team has less money than my change cup,” I growl. There’s only one way to solve this for Luce and that is to get the kit to her. I can be there in three hours. “Hammer, how are you doing on getting me that rental?”

“You’ll never make it. Luce’s first match is at one. It’s already fifteen minutes past the hour. By the time you get the car rented and on the road, it’ll be like two or three. You won’t have the time.”

“I will if I speed.”

“You got to be back by curfew tonight.” We have a 10 p.m. curfew because of the spring ball game tomorrow. It’s a televised event. A shit ton of boosters will be there, and it could make a difference in what our pregame ranking will be in the fall.

“And I’ll make it. I’ll go and drop off the kit and turn around and come back.”

“That’ll give you zero hours of sleep and you’ll play like shit,” Ace notes.

“So I play like shit. Do you have a better solution?”

Hammer pauses and I look up in the mirror. All of the guys look back at me. “If you turn around right now, you’ll get to Luce before her match.”

“And what? You guys will hitchhike back to Western?” I scoff.

“No. We all go with you.” Hammer stretches his long arm past my seat and out the windshield. Ahead of me, the caravan of vehicles carrying all the starters and number two players on the depth chart are signaling left to take the off ramp.

“What the hell, Hammer?” I flick my eyes up to the rear view mirror again.

He holds up his phone to indicate he texted the other cars. “You need to get to Luce. She ran around this morning, knocking on doors, getting everyone up. When Stoltzy forgot his playbook, she went back and retrieved it from the hotel. Plus, you’re our captain. Our ship floats or sinks with you.”

I look at Ace, who’s staring out the window. We don’t move without him. He’s still pissed at Luce. He hasn’t gotten over the fact that Luce chose me. That it wasn’t that athletes weren’t her type, but that Ace wasn’t. He might have been able to have her if he hadn’t treated all the women in his life like dirt.

But he had. She saw it. While she loved him like a friend, she couldn’t ever love him like he wanted, like she loves me.

Part of him wants her to twist in the wind. I can see it his face.

“Do I drive on or get off at this exit?” I ask grimly.

Hammer doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “Turn at the exit. Ace and Jack can go back to Western,” he says with utter disgust.

“No way. I’m coming with the team,” Jack protests.

“And you, Ace? You with the team?” I ask softly.

He waits a heartbeat longer and then sighs. “Yeah, I’m with the team.”

“Fuck, my throat is raw.” Heather flexes her jaw. The hoarseness in her voice makes me wince.

“We shouldn’t have gone last night.” Now that the drug that is Matty Iverson has worn off, I see the foolishness of my decision.

“Stop stressing out about it,” Heather scolds me. “The drive didn’t make me sick. It’s been coming on all week.”

“You should’ve rested up.”

She rolls her eyes. “I did rest up. I was sleeping while you were screwing Matty. If we hadn’t gone, you’d have been worthless. At least now you can concentrate on the case.”

“Right.” I pace nervously. Despite my morning insulin, I’m sluggish and weak. I pull out the orange juice I bought from the vending machine and take a small sip. I have no idea about my sugar levels because I haven’t taken a measurement in nearly three hours.

My sweaty palms, racing heart, and lightheadedness could be because I’m nervous. It could be because my BG levels are wildly unstable at this point. Dry-mouthed, I take another sip of the juice.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Jesus, it’s like the third time this hour,” Heather complains. Even though she’s lost her voice, she still manages to eke out a bitchy comment. Classic Heather. I flip her off and walk slowly toward the girl’s room.

Nothing comes out of me when I sit down. I flush, stand up and nearly fall backward into the bowl. I’m going to have to tell Randall and Heather and the rest of the team.

Would Randall be able to carry on? Would we have to forfeit? God, that alone makes me want to puke and cry. We’re so close.

But there’s no time to drive to the drugstore to pick up insulin. I Googled it and the closest one is twenty-five minutes away. The clerk at the gas station I spoke to across the street didn’t even know you could buy insulin over the counter. He insisted I would need to go to a pharmacy. Even if we could make it, I didn’t have the money. I had to go to Heather and ask for help. She called her dad immediately but neither believed the wire would get here in time.

I push my way out of the stall, ignoring the shakiness of my hand. I wash, dry, take another sip of my juice and go find Randall and Heather.

“I don’t know if I’m going make it,” I admit when I find them.

“You took one this morning, though, right?” Randall asks. His normally dark skin is looking alarmingly pale.

“Before breakfast,” as is my custom, although I’ve slipped now and again. Like the time I stayed over with Matty.

“Then you’re probably feeling like a piece of shit because of your nerves.”

Heather agrees with Randall. “You need to do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” She grabs my clammy hand. “You know this case better than anyone. You wrote all our examinations. No one is better suited to this than you. Just stand up there and own the courtroom. Believe you’re better and what happened to you freshman year won’t happen again.”

“Is this some Tinker Bell shit? Believe?” I scoff.

“Hey, that bitch is earning billions in royalties what, a hundred years after her creation? You should dial back on your critiques of her. She might be basic, but she knows what’s what.”

Randall and I stare at each for a moment and then burst into laughter. Only Heather would call a fairy who can make people
fly
basic
.
We laugh until we can’t stand, leaning against each other until we end up on the floor on our asses.

And that’s where Matty and what looks like the entire football team finds us—on the dusty floor of the high school that is hosting the competition—laughing like a couple of loons while Heather stands over us, tapping her expensively shod toe near our heads.

“Matty, what are you doing here?” Wordlessly, he hands me my insulin case. “Did you drive out of your way to bring me this?”

“Of course he did,” Heather interjects with exasperation. “How else would he get here?”

“That basic bitch Tinker Bell?” Randall suggests and I start cracking up again because this situation seems utterly absurd.

Matty reaches down and hauls me to my feet. Over his shoulder, he says, “I think she’s loopy.”

Hammer nods. “Better test her.”

Matty takes the case out of my lax hands and efficiently runs the test before I can issue a protest. The monitor beeps and the read out says I’m perfectly normal.

“What’s the verdict,” Randall asks slowly, as if dreading the response but I’m the one who’s filled with dread.

“It’s normal.”

Heather smirks. “The show must go on.”

“Good thing you’re sick or I might have to punch you in the face.”

Heather flaps her wings and Matty drags me away as if he thinks I’m serious.

“I think I need to retake the test,” I whine when he sets me down a short distance from the crowd.

“Sure,” he says far too agreeably. We both know the second test will show the same results.

I’m feeling awful because my nerves are about to overtake me, the same ones I suggested that Heather suffered from yesterday. Oh, the hubris.

“You’re going to do fine,” he says, rubbing my arms.

“Do not give me a half-time inspirational speech,” I order. The last thing I need is some rah-rah-rah about being my best.

“Sure. We can go to the bathroom and fuck away your nervousness.”

I mock punch him, but I can’t say the idea doesn’t have appeal. Maybe we’d spend too much time in there and then Heather will be forced to go on with Randall. The judges will feel sorry for us because Heather’s so obviously impaired and—

“I was actually just kidding.” Matty brings my runaway-train thought process to a halt.

“What if I open my mouth and I can’t remember anything? Again.”

He shrugs. “So what? You already went through that. You survived. If it happens again, then you know you’re not cut out for this sort of thing. But if you don’t try, then you’ll always wonder. That sort of wistful regret isn’t something you want hanging around.”

The matter-of-fact delivery of his risk assessment helps calm my nerves. And frankly, it’s not like I have a choice because Randall can’t do this on his own, and Heather’s clearly too ill to go forward. I can either try or sit out here in the hall and hate myself forever for being a coward.