“What the fuck?” he says, staring down at his pants. He does a weird little shimmy and before I know it, he’s jamming his hand down the front of his pants, scratching his balls. “What. The. Actual. Fuck!” he howls, going to town on his johnson.
Parker, who’s about as big a morning person as I am, turns from his locker and gives me aWTF?look before turning back to Coop with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I told you to double bag that shit. Bet it burns when you piss too.”
“I don’t have an STD, asshole,” Coop mutters, yanking his pants down and inspecting his junk. “I always wrap it before I tap it.” The volume in the locker room begins to climb and there’s more yelling and cussing than usual. Coop kicks off his cleats and strips off his pants before lifting his jockstrap for inspection. I avert my eyes. I’m used to being surrounded by naked dudes, but I don’t need his dick right in my face. “Which one of you assholes put itching powder in my jockstrap?” he yells, holding up the flimsy garment. “That shit’s not funny!”
Yeahfuckin’right. It’s hilarious considering Coop is one of the biggest pranksters on the team. Parker and I both snicker. “Payback’s a bitch,” Parker says, extending his closed fist so I can bump it. Then his face goes slack and he glances down, a look of panic on his face. “Oh shit.”
I inspect the jockstrap in my hand and decide not to risk it. Looks like Coop isn’t the only one getting pranked, and I’d rather free ball it than spend the day with my hand down my pants. I toss the jock on the bench and tug on my practice pants.
The locker room erupts in chaos and Coach storms in, no doubt wondering why the team is standing around with their dicks in their hands when they should be on the field. “What the hell is going on in here?” he roars, glancing around at his half-dressed team. He narrows his eyes in my direction. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m captain or because I’m the only one wearing pants. “Reid, care to tell me why you aren’t on the field yet?”
I sigh and rub the back of my neck. Not really. After the Spellman incident, Coach made it clear he expects us to toe the line. If he finds out who did this, there could be a suspension involved.
“Well, sir,” I say, stalling for time and forcing myself to meet his steely gaze. “It seems—”
“Spit it out, son.” He waves his hand impatiently and my gaze slides to Coop. He’s too busy scratching to crack the joke Coach just set up and I know we’re in deep shit.
“Someone put itching powder in our jockstraps,” I say, relieved I narrowly avoided the same fate as my teammates. How’s that for loyalty?
“Fuckin’ pranks,” Coach mutters, shaking his head. “Who did this?” he demands, face flushing a deep shade of crimson as he scans the locker room. I seriously doubt anyone’s going to step forward, but the truth will come out eventually. It always does over a couple of beers and a solid brag. “Y’all wanna win a national title and you’re wasting my time with this kind of romper-room bullshit? You have ten minutes to take care of business and get your asses on the field. And when I find out who did this…” The rest of the threat is lost in the pandemonium of the locker room as he stomps back to his office.
“Who do you think did it?” Parker asks, using a towel to dust off his junk.
“No clue,” I say, glancing around to see if anyone else dodged the itching powder bullet, “but I hope it’s not one of our guys.”
Or worse yet, Carter.
Four minutes later, I take the field fully dressed. I’m nothing if not an overachiever. Most of the guys are still washing up, so it’s just me, Carter, and a few of the support staff.
The sun’s already high in the sky, and I can feel my temperature rise as I swagger down the sideline to where Carter’s stretching, waiting for the team huddle.
“It’s about time,” she says, not bothering to look up. She’s sitting on the ground with her legs spread, stretching her hamstrings. Her blue shorts are, well, short, not leaving much to the imagination and reminding me of Coop’s suggestive comments. Carter’s got great legs. They’re long, golden, and perfectly toned. I’ll bet they’re smooth as hell too. Desire stirs in my gut and I drag my eyes from her shapely legs, instead fixing them on her face—or rather, the back of her head, since she’s not looking at me. Her dark hair is braided, falling over her shoulder, and she’s wearing a headband, not unlike the one circling my own forehead. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to give me crap about punctuality when I’m literally the only one who showed up on time today.”
“There was an incident,” I say, trying to keep the edge from my voice.
“Oh?” She looks up—and interested—for the first time. “Do tell.”
I study her carefully, searching her dark eyes for any sign she might have been the one behind the prank. After all, as she so quickly pointed out, she was the only one who showed up on time today. Kind of convenient, isn’t it? And while most of the guys have been cool with Carter’s presence on the team, there are a few, like Langley, who still need to be brought into line. Couldn’t exactly blame her if she was looking for a little payback, although I’d rather put on a Buckeyes jersey and stroll across campus than admit it out loud.
“Come on, spill,” she prods with a grin, her full lips tilting up at the corners.
Damn, she has a nice smile. Too bad those lips are dedicated to the forces of evil. I could think of better ways to put that mouth to use than all the snark she’s been dishing. Much better ways.
Shit. I sound like Coop.
I sigh and rub the back of my neck, feeling like an asshole. “Someone put itching powder in the guys’ jockstraps,” I say, going on the offensive. The last thing I should be thinking about is Carter’s lips. Coach would have my ass. Besides, I’ve got a national title to win, which would be a helluva lot easier if my teammates weren’t in the locker room scratching their balls. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Carter snort-laughs. “Priceless.” She tosses her braid over her shoulder and climbs to her feet. She’s not quite tall enough to look me directly in the eye, but she comes closer than most girls, which is kind of hot. Some of the guys on the team are into short girls—spinners, they call them—but I’m a leg guy all day long. “I wish I could take credit, but sadly, the thought never even crossed my mind.” She smirks. “But I’d love to meet the evil genius behind the prank, because she’s clearly awesome.”
“You think it’s a chick?” I ask, raking a hand through my hair.
“Chick? Really, Reid.” Carter wrinkles her nose. “Do better.”
I lift my brow. So, what, nowchickis derogatory? It’s like, the equivalent ofdudeor something. I stare at her, but she doesn’t budge, just meets my defiant gaze with one of her own. Like two twelve-year-olds in a staring contest. Fine. Whatever. “You think it’s a woman?” I say, caving, because I’m truly curious.
“Totally.” She nods her head, the thrill of victory shining in her eyes. “You know what they say, hit ’em where it hurts.”
8
