“Why the name Blue?” Noah asks randomly.
I shrug; I’m used to being assaulted with this question all the time. “Well, you’ve probably picked up that my mom is a freak. Actually, beyond freak, probably more along the lines of an OCD gorilla. She knew I’d be an only child because of complications.” I twist my lips awkwardly, not really wanting to go into the history of my mother’s ovaries with Noah. “Anyway, I’d be an only child, and she’s always been determined to have me shine and stick out from the crowd.”
“That’s cool,” he replies.
I usually get the look of shallow disgust from people when I tell that story. In all honesty, I generally avoid the question, but Noah is easy to talk to and I can tell he’s really down to earth.
The truck comes to a halt and I realize we talked non-stop to our destination. An apology or four may be called for. It was fun having someone to talk to in a civilized fashion. Tuck treats me like a vile weed, Sophie and Lane are always humping like rabbits, and Ethan…well, Ethan is just rabid.
Noah slides out of the truck, and I glide back over the smooth leather to my side.
“Here.”
I look down to Noah standing on the black asphalt in his loose jeans and tight team t-shirt, smiling with his hand held out and gesturing to me. A smile instantly shines from me just like a giddy little eighth grader. Damn, these pants sure do make it easy to slide back and forth on this leather…always looking for the silver lining. I place my hand in his and let him guide me from the truck.
And yes, I glide out just like a princess in a modern day fairytale down into the arms of a knight in shining armor who melts panties in his kingdom. Or at least that’s how I picture it.
My damn pants catch on a piece of the door, sending me sailing down toward the not-so-cottony-soft asphalt. It’s kind of like when you see a snake or bear in the wild and you piss yourself and run. Yeah, I literally tinkle a bit before crashing into the surface and clenching my eyes shut. I let all common sense float up to the clouds.
As I wait to land face down, two arms wrap around me, and I squeal and pee a little more from being startled.
“Easy there, tiger.”
I look up to Noah’s dazzling smile and know this is the moment any other girl would wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down into her, thanking him with a kiss and savoring his taste on her tongue. Me, nope, just damp panties from a slight tinkle or two.
Fuck you, fuck you, no, I really mean fuck you, Tuck. Fuck you for ruining me and whatever curse you’ve bestowed upon me.
“Thank you,” I ramble out with a clear shake in my voice.
Noah places me on my feet, and like a true gentleman, holds me to his side for a couple seconds until I get my legs underneath me. I’m nestled into his side when I finally pick up on his scent, and let me tell you, it’s grade-A delicious. All sorts of masculine musky aroma wafts from him, and I should be wanting to lick the man from head to toe, but I don’t.
“All right, I think I’m good to go now,” I say, sending him a quick smile. “Thanks for saving my face from becoming hamburger.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that to happen, now, would we?” He gives me one final squeeze before he lets go. “And thank god you changed into those pants to protect to those pretty legs.”
Ah, shucks, and he is sweet to boot. My feet are under me, senses clear, and when I glance up to see where everyone is walking, I stare into Tuck’s eyes. And from the look of his locked jaw and very pissed off expression, I think he saw the whole scene play out. But then again, he looks pissed most of the time, so maybe he couldn’t care less.
The little devil perched on my right shoulder screams for me cuddle right back into Noah’s side and even place a thank you peck on his clean-shaven cheek. But in the end it’s just not me to play a guy, especially not one as nice as Noah.
I break eye contact with the incredibly sexy asshole and begin mentally comparing the two men. Noah, a god, deep southern accent, quarterback, clean-shaven, all-American, Abercrombie and Finch type shit. Then Tuck, dark, mysterious, bold, built like a brick shithouse, there’s no finesse or grace to the man, brown hair, stubble, and melts my panties and pisses me off more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.
It’s as if Tuck put me in a coma as we enter the large hall adorned in crimson, silver, and white. School colors paint everything in the room, and school spirit rings loudly, and all I can do is scan the crowd for Tuck. I’m sure he’s slunk off to some dark corner and the rest of his team will soon crowd around him. I just don’t get it.
I’m jerked by the elbow, not giving me much time to analyze the problem or scan any further.
“Blue, stop.”
“Stop what?” I ask in disgust.
“Stop looking for him. I told you to stay away. Lane’s a good judge of character and told me Tuck has his fair share of problems.”
The automatic eye roll, bite of the tongue, and I want to puke on Sophie and tell her how ridiculous she is, first off for saying Lane is a good judge of character when she’s been humping him since the day they met, and then secondly I want to scream in her face that I don’t give a flying fuck what she thinks.
“You really need to stop, Sophie. I don’t care. And the man can barely look at me, let alone talk to me, so there’s no worry there.”
“I’m just worried that you have so little social life.”
And this is when I can’t manage to tamp back the wealth of anger pooling inside of me. I could throw some really mean words in Sophie’s direction, and I fight to keep them back.
“I do have a social life, Sophie. It may not be what you equate to one, but I came here to cheer—nothing else.”
I don’t leave room for another comment, and she takes the hint. We settle into a table with a good mix of athletes. I’d guess there were a few soccer players, cross country runners, and of course football players and cheerleaders seated with us.
It only takes me minutes to notice an extremely large group of football players at one table, and I’d bet my left tit Tuck is hidden away in them. I’m not sure if the group looks large because of the number of people huddled around the table, or if it’s because of the sheer size of the men. Some of them are practically giants.
Our table falls into an easy conversation between athletes. Noah took the seat by me, but has been a perfect gentleman, keeping his hands to himself. He cracks me up with all his southern phrases and sayings. Every time I raise an eyebrow at him, he stops and explains the phrase.
Coach Lindsey’s voice rings out through the dining hall, demanding everyone’s attention on her small frame up on stage.
“At this time, I need all cheerleaders to meet me in the back. Again, all cheerleaders in the back.”
The woman is all business as she sets the mic back on the stand, hops from the stage, and jogs to the back. I waste no time in hustling my ass. Sophie lip locks Lane, which reminds me I should do something to Noah. I pat him on the back and give him a wink. As I walk away, I shake my head at my swoony move. It was more like a coach sending a player into the game. I’ll be lucky if I don’t send the poor guy running toward the hills.
My long legs close the distance, and I’m one of the first cheerleaders to make it to the back of the room.
“Good hell, did you steal those from Coach’s closet?”
Trainer Jay is glaring at my pants, and I let out a giggle and then give him my best running man with a sassy little head swivel to finish it off.
“You win.” He throws his hands up in surrender. “You have the moves, so you’re allowed to strut them.”