Letting my head fall back against the wall, I sighed.
I needed to see her. Tell her I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t want her to have a normal college experience, but she couldn’t have me either.
What I really needed to do was clean my junk up.
Perhaps I should leave my coaching position.
I made most of my income managing my funds anyway. I’d survive.
Jules
I’d been spending more time on and around campus with the other girls. Hilary had even dragged me to a party or two. The first one was a basketball party in an apartment-turned-nightclub off campus. At five foot nine, I was a midget at this party. Some guy named Mel towered over a DJ table, spinning tunes, his right headphone cocked to the side while a super-tall chick talked in his ear.
Hilary bopped from random girl to random guy to another girl to another guy, kissing everyone on the cheek and saying hello, introducing me and moving on. There was some scene with a runner girl, Tingly, and a new guy on the basketball team. I had no interest in getting involved in any campus drama, so when some other dude, Lamar, introduced himself ... I bit.
He was huge, making me crane my neck to look up at him, yet soft-spoken. Twists of braids swished around his neck as we made small talk, and he got me a diet soda and rum. He made me feel welcome, and even though there wasn’t a spark in sight, I gravitated toward him.
Nothing happened, but he didn’t seem to mind. I’d given him the wholeI’m not looking for anything, just got out of something uglyspeech. Maybe he’d friend-zoned me too.
Either way, after the party, we started running into each other on campus, and he made me laugh. So I started seeking him out in his usual hangouts. We were turning into good friends, even though it probably looked like more from the outside.
And so what?
King had frozen me out. Made love to my mouth and given me silent promises of more to come, and then gave me nothing. Nothing except bullshit criticism. My play was clean. He was full of it.
Last week, I’d even caught the asshole out of the corner of my eye in the Union, and I swear I didn’t lean further into Lamar on purpose. Mar was already making me laugh so hard, I thought I was going to fall over—something that hadn’t happened in a long, long time. But poor King looked like he wanted to slay someone. He tried to school himself over his cup of java, but I’d caught his quick jealous moment.
If he wanted me, he could have me. He still occupied most of my private moments. Hell, I’d googled the heck out of his name on the computer in the library.
But he continued to keep his distance from me.
The bad boy of tennis, he’d gone to some frou-frou tennis school in Florida before getting a full scholarship to Vanderbilt. He’d been ranked high, and despite his temper and rumors of his penchant for several seedy tattoo joints, he’d been expected to go far.
Then, the knee happened. It was his first year on the circuit after college. A slide to the side gone too far. A torn this and a torn that. Several surgeries later, and he had little lateral motion. And no more career.
I dreamed of seeing his tattoos and rubbing his knee. I wanted to sleep with the guy and care for him.
But it wasn’t happening. I had to let go, which was exactly what I was lecturing myself for the thousandth time as I left the athletic complex late on Friday. I knew of several parties, but I wasn’t in the mood. I was planning to watch some movies in my childhood bedroom, just relax and try to avoid my mom.
Yep.
“Jules,” Coach King called from behind me. “Wait up.”
His words came out breathy, and I’m not going to lie, I turned to some sort of goo. Teenage, boy-band goo.
I turned but stood my ground, forcing him to close the distance between us. “What?”
“I wanted to say ... you’ve been playing well. Very well, and we’re not even at the real season yet. I’m pleased.”
When his blue eyes met mine, I raised an eyebrow. “Pleased? So I’m not hitting the ball late? Because from your comments, I thought you were anything but pleased.”
He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple fascinated me again. I dropped my gaze, but then his forearms caught my eye. I was screwed.
“I have to say something,” he admitted. “I can’t say you’re perfect. For so many reasons.”
I kept my gaze lowered and turned my focus on myself to keep from looking at him. My hair felt heavy on my neck, but I resisted the urge to tie it up. I felt naked in formfitting leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I could see the rise and fall of my chest and the tensing of my quads.
Chancing a glance at his face, I shot back, “Oh, really? Because I already endured more than enough bullying to last me a lifetime.”
