The Jock by J.L. Beck Page 0,2
and shows off his dazzling smile, which I’m sure makes all the girls lose their minds. Not this one.
“You look a little lost.” He chuckles. His voice is deep and has a timber that could easily mesmerize you if you sat and listened to it long enough.
“I’m fine,” I mutter and adjust my glasses on my face. He moves closer, leaving only a few feet of distance between us.
“Are you looking for someone?” A cocky grin pulls at his firm lips.
I breathe deeply through my nose and will my heart to stop beating so wildly. It doesn’t help, though, because air isn’t the only thing that fills my nostrils. His manly, heady scent follows too. Jesus Christ, he smells like spice and cinnamon. Like a rich liquor that you know will leave you feeling warm all over.
“I was looking for my friend, but it’s obvious she isn’t here.” I shrug and take a step back to put some space between us.
“Hey, you don’t have to leave, you can make other friends. I’ll be your friend.” He winks, just like he did earlier, and a sourness fills my gut. He doesn’t want to be my friend, he wants to get into my panties, and no matter what he says, there is a difference.
“I know your type, and I’m not it. I’m not easy, and I don’t sleep with jocks.” I sneer the last word and wrinkle my nose in disgust at him. I want to drive the point home, and I don’t care if it makes me look like a bitch.
Cage raises a dark brow. “You don’t sleep with jocks?” He chuckles softly, his eyes flick over my body with disapproval, and suddenly, I feel self-conscious. Only this asshole could possibly make a girl feel and think less of herself. “You don’t look like you sleep with anyone. In fact, I’ll bet you’re a virgin. A nerdy virgin at that.”
“You’re wrong.” I curl my lip, rage bustling through me.
He leans into my face, his minty breath fluttering against my red hot cheeks. “Right. ’Cause if you had been fucked before, you wouldn’t be so uptight right now, and you would definitely sleep with me. Admit it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Squeezing my hand, I hear the sound of plastic crunching and realize I’m still holding the red solo cup full of beer. I don’t even think, I simply react. If I acted as smart as I am, I would’ve realized that starting something with Cage Wilder wasn’t a good idea. He was popular, a god among mere mortals, but in my eyes, he was just another asshole trying to get laid.
Lifting the cup, I tip its contents right over his head, watching as the frothy beer coats his dark hair and drips down onto his shirt.
Those dark eyes of his fill with shock, then anger, and his hands, which were relaxed at his sides just a moment ago, clench into tight fists. Maybe I should be afraid, but I’m not. I’m not afraid because Cage has everything to lose if he were to react.
“You aren’t right, but even if you were, even if you were my last and final option of a man to screw, I would never pick you, Cage Wilder,” I growl and toss the cup to the ground.
“You’ll regret this,” he sneers, his voice is rough, gravely, and I don’t doubt I will. I’ll be the talk of the school once this gets out, but at least I stuck up for myself. At least I put him in his place.
Behind him, his friends burst into a fit of laughter that carries across the space and into my ears.
You’ve been iced.
Shit, Wilder got a beer poured on his head.
They snicker, and I can feel others looking at us, their eyes burning into my skin.
“We’ll see about that,” I say as I turn and walk back into the house.
I don’t look over my shoulder. I don’t stay anything or talk to anyone else.
I leave the party and walk back to my dorm, feeling alone, but righteous.
Cage might be the world to other girls, but he’s nothing to me.
Cage
Slamming the gym locker closed, I grab my duffel bag from the floor. The last two weeks have been tortuous, conditioning day and night. Practicing. The constant pressure my father puts on me. It’s a miracle I don’t have gray hair and wrinkles. I spear my fingers through my dark hair, shoving the sweaty strands back.
My best friend, Murphy, struts toward me, a towel