TackledP: A Sports Romance(13)

“Because you went off on a drunken tangent about horses and donkeys and unicorns!”

“Horses, and donkeys, and unicorns?” comes a voice.

I turn around to see one of the girls from our program, Dana, and her boyfriend Paul standing behind me. Oh God. That’s exactly what I need. Another embarrassing conversation overheard by someone.

At least I didn’t loudly proclaim I was a virgin this time.

“We’re talking about the size of cocks,” Sable explains.

I choke on my tortilla chip. “We are not.”

“Sounds interesting,” Dana says, sliding into one of the high-top seats at our small table. “You don’t care if we join you, do you?”

“No,” I say, shooting Sable a stop-talking-about-this glare. “We were just talking about Sable’s dating life.”

“Oh, that’s why you’re talking about horse and donkey dicks?” Dana asks.

Her boyfriend Paul groans. “I think I walked into the wrong conversation. I’m going to go grab a beer from the bar. Does anyone want one?”

“I’m good, honey,” Dana says, patting his arm. “I get the horse and donkey thing, but what’s a unicorn dick?”





8





Colton





"What the hell are you doing?" Emmett asks, reaching for the book. "I told you. Twins."

"Huh?" I look up from my history textbook.

My roommate grabs the book out of my hand. "Why are you reading this shit?"

"It's for class," I say, an edge in my voice that isn't usually there. "Maybe you've heard of classes? I have to get my GPA up."

The words come out of my mouth before I realize they're basically a parroted version of what Hot Librarian said to me. Shit. Now I'm sounding like that nerdy virgin. That hot nerdy virgin.

"Since when are you studying on a Wednesday night?" Emmett asks. "You don’t need to do that shit."

I shrug. "I have a paper to write."

"Don’t you have a tutor for that?"

"Yeah," I say, shaking my head. "She's not going to write my paper for me."

"You need a better tutor, then," Emmett says.

I can't think of a better tutor than Cassie.

"Take a break," he tells me. "This chick Ally told her sister you were going to have beers with us. For some reason I can't possibly understand, her sister is your biggest fan. You know what that means, dude."

I groan. I know what that means. When a girl is my biggest fan, I can get her to do anything. It means blowjobs in the backseat of the car on the way to my place, getting my fill of her, and then kicking her ass out the door. They're always grateful to have gotten a piece of me.

Part of me says I should close the book and go fuck the girl's sister. Or hell, both of the twins, even if Emmett thinks he’s claimed one of them. I haven't gotten laid since that damn tutor started working with me, giving me grief about studying and shit. By my own standards, I'm practically a monk now.

The problem is, the thought of yet another girl on her knees between my legs, looking up at me for approval with big doe eyes, doesn't make my cock stir the way it usually does.

Shit. Something is wrong with me.

"Jesus, man," Emmett says, shaking his head. "I can't believe I offered you a chance at this girl's sister and you're turning guaranteed sex down to sit here and read a stupid book."

"It's actually kind of good," I say halfheartedly. "I mean, it's interesting and –"

"Shit," Emmett says. "I can't listen to this. It's sad as hell."

Later, I stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop as I try to formulate a sentence that doesn't make me sound like a fucking third-grader.

I shouldn't give a shit. Why am I even trying to write a dumb paper, anyway? Impressing Hot Librarian should be nowhere on my list of priorities. Who cares what some nerdy girl thinks about me?

Dumb jock.

That's what she called me. I don't know why it grates on me the way it does. I've always been a dumb jock – not like my brother Drew who's smart as hell. Of course, he's not going to get drafted into the pros with a multi-million dollar contract, either.

So, writing some bullshit history paper is irrelevant. Studying plays, that's relevant. That's what my future is about. Not writing some crap about stuff that happened a million years ago.



* * *



I glance up from my playbook at my watch again. Three minutes past the start of our tutoring session. One minute since the last time I looked. Not that I'm counting or anything.

She probably reconsidered after the last session when I lost my shit. I shouldn't have lost my shit. But she was sitting there across from me, and that look on her face… smug, like she was better than me just because she's good at schoolwork. It just got to me.