“Nope.”
Apparently Ace has a girl in his room. I check my watch. It’s three in the afternoon. I swear to God that Ace can’t go one twelve-hour period without having sex. Because the guys all watch each other’s back religiously, if I was dating Ace I wouldn’t be allowed upstairs until he was done with his current fling, Stella.
Only it’s not Stella standing in the doorway of Ace’s bedroom. It’s a thin, busty blonde wearing the traditional gear of all winter Midwestern sorority girls: tight yoga pants, Ugg boots, and a pretty coat with an infinity scarf. Maybe the two were practicing yoga poses in there, although that wouldn’t explain why his tongue is currently exploring the back of her throat for what I presume to be tonsillitis.
“Ahem,” I clear my throat. Ace’s head rises lazily to look in my direction while his companion makes a throaty sound of disappointment. “Should I wait downstairs?”
I wonder if they had sex on the couch and whether I can find a clean pair of sheets in this place. One of the perks of living in the Playground, a set of eight houses bought by a booster to house the starters, is the laundry and cleaning services. It’s a good thing, because otherwise this place would smell like balls and sperm.
The first time I came here some guy was casually fondling himself on the couch. There are more women in and out of the bedrooms, bathrooms, and game rooms than go through the MAC counter at Macy’s on Black Friday. Less than half the guys on the team have girlfriends, and even the ones who are in relationships have a loose idea of fidelity.
If I wasn’t friends with Ace for so long, if he wasn’t like a brother to me, I’d probably have a hard time hanging out with them. As it is, I shut one eye to their indiscretions and remind myself that as long as I’m not the one putting my heart on the line, the team is full of good guys.
When I arrived on campus as a freshman, Ace and his buddies—already moved in from summer camp—were there to carry everything from my dad’s truck up three flights to my dorm room. Three weeks later when my high school boyfriend of four years decided we’d never make a long-distance thing work, they took me out, filled me full of vodka and orange juice (and made sure I didn’t end up in a coma), and proceeded to tell me how pretty I was and how worthless the shithead was. Ace and his merry band of linemen, wide receivers, and running backs are sweethearts as long as you don’t fall in love with any of them.
Ace is giving me a high-def example of why Matt is a bad risk. I take him on and I’ll be just one girl out of a long line of girls who have crushed over a Warrior only to have her feelings hurt.
Plus, the guy hasn’t shown his face at the Brew House since last Thursday. He knows I work there and showed up two days in a row, but after Crowerly’s it’s been radio silence. If he thought me being a vegan was bad, which I’m not, just wait until he gets a load of my diabetes. It’s a hassle and some guys get really impatient with my strict dietary habits. Again, the pretty boys are flight risks. They, like my mother, don’t stick around when the going gets tough.
It just goes to show that football players will say anything to get laid. All that stuff about how much fun it was for him to have to try so hard with a girl, making me think he was actually serious about putting in the work to win me over? Ha! Maybe Matt did his own risk assessment and decided I wasn’t a big enough reward.
Not that I care. I want him to quit pursuing me. Makes it a whole lot easier to put him out of my mind.
You’ve spent all day thinking about him, dummy. He is on your mind!
Fine, that’s true. But starting right now, I am not allowed to think about him anymore.
I lean against the wall and watch Ace stroke the blonde’s hair, no doubt telling her that he’ll see her later even though if he did, he’d probably avoid her. She giggles and lifts her face for another kiss. Ace plants one on her forehead, which isn’t what she wanted, then he turns her toward the stairs and gives her a friendly pat on the ass.
She frowns when she sees me, so before she incorrectly assumes I’m here for sloppy seconds, I lie. “I’m his sister.”
The girl’s face brightens immediately but falls when Ace interjects. “More like kissing cousins, really.”
“Ace was dropped on his head as a baby, so most of the time whatever comes out of his mouth doesn’t make sense,” I reassure his friend.
She flicks her gaze from Ace to me, and from the way the lines around her mouth relax, I can see that she’s categorized me as non-threatening. It could be because my hair is lying limply against my sweaty face. Damn, Sutton’s coat is hot. It could also be because I’m wearing ratty old jeans and a pair of boots that look like I’m headed for a construction site, but it’s Ace. I don’t have to dress to impress him.
She gives me a patronizing smile and turns back to Ace. ““I’ll see you tonight at the Gas Station then?”