“I also told him that if he screwed up again, we’d make him run suicides nude in the quad until he puked.”
“An appeal to his emotional connection to the team followed up with a threat of public humiliation. I like it.” Hammer tips his bottle toward mine. “While you were out doing Coach’s dirty work, Darryl, Masters and I compiled this.”
He hands me a folder. “More stuff on Mr. Texas?” I ask. I set down my bottle and flip open the folder. It contains a class schedule, a work schedule, and a couple notebook sheets with meticulously printed information. The handwritten notes had to come from Darryl, our engineering major.
“It’s everything you need to know about Lucy Watson. She works at the Brew House, takes sixteen hours, is a junior Public Policy major who enjoys spending her free time doing something called mock trial. She lives with two other girls—both babes—and weirdly has had no serious boyfriends since she’s been at Western.” Hammer reels off Lucy’s autobiography like he’s a narrator on the History Channel. “Ahmed said she broke up with her high school boyfriend before parents’ week her freshman year and that she’s had a series of hookups, mostly with a few fraternity guys her roommate Charity introduced her to, along with some classmates. There’s a list in there.” He nods his head toward the folder.
The last piece of paper is a sticky with seven lines on it, which must be names, but I can’t really decipher Ahmed’s handwriting. I carefully shut the folder so I don’t give in to the urge to rip the yellow sticky into tiny pieces.
“How does Ahmed know her?” I try to school my voice into being as disinterested as possible.
Hammer spreads his hands in disbelief, the beer bottle dangling precariously between his index and middle finger. “He says Ace and her are friends. Childhood buddies. Couldn’t believe it because she’s hot and there’s no way you can be friends with someone that hot, even if you’re Ace, right?”
I nod because Hammer’s speaking the truth. There’s no way I could only be friends with Lucy.
“So he just barfed up this information to you?”
“Not exactly. His girlfriend was there when I asked about the picture in Ace’s locker. She kind of told me everything. Ahmed just wrote it down.”
I toss the folder onto the desk, feeling guilty and a little dirty for knowing this stuff about Lucy. I don’t even ask where they got the other information. There’s always someone around who’s willing to bend the rules when a Warrior’s in the equation.
10
Lucy
By Tuesday, I’m a jittery mess and I can’t even blame it on my diabetes. The sad fact is that I can’t get Matt Iverson out of my head. He’s dominating my thoughts when I should be focusing on mock trial and figuring out just how I’m going to fix our terrible team dynamic.
Over the weekend, I created a few instructional sheets for Heather—a list of courtroom procedures along with a detailed list of the objections she could make. She only needs to make a couple for the judges to give her a good score. Tonight I’m going to work on crafting a tight direct examination.
She may not want them, but I’m doing this stuff anyway.
But mock trial doesn’t hold my interest long enough, and Matt creeps in again. I know I’m right about him—he’s bad news for me. He might be the sweetest guy in the world for the right girl, but I’m not her. My mom might be easily turned by a pretty head, but I’m not, no matter how powerful Matt’s sex appeal. He’s like an Exxon Mobile disaster, spilling his pheromones all over the ocean of female good intentions.
Good sex is not a reason to date anyone. To have a hookup? Yes. To date? No.
So just have a hookup, an inner voice suggests.
Because good sex leads to wanting more, and the one vibe I don’t get from Matt is that he’s a second-and third-round sort of guy. There are too many checks in the risk column and too few in the reward column.
As I’m putting on my coat, the worst thought occurs to me. What if he spots me going to Ace’s house and thinks I’m stalking him? Hurriedly I grab Sutton’s wool pea coat and tug a black cap over my head, hoping that it’s enough to render me unrecognizable.
In the few times I’ve been to Ace’s, I’ve never seen Matt, but today would be the day for that, wouldn’t it? I can just see him saying, “Hey, Luce”—and of course it would be ‘Luce’ because my two syllable nickname is one too many for Matt—”Hey, Luce, I didn’t realize you wanted my address instead of my phone number. But come on inside, my dick’s ready for you.”
Actually, my sex-deprived brain added that tidbit. He probably wouldn’t say that to me—emphasis on the probably.
All my worry is for nothing because by the time I get to the Playground, there’s no sign of him. The front door to Ace’s house is open, so I just walk in. Fortunately, only Ahmed and Jack are sitting in the living room.
Jack flashes a worried look in Ahmed’s direction but Ahmed waves his hand. “It’s just Lucy. She doesn’t care, do you, Lucy?”