The Jock by J.L. Beck Page 0,3

slung around his tapered waist.

“Any luck snagging the chick with the cold heart from that party we went to two weeks ago?” he asks, stopping me in my tracks.

Blair Jenkins. Even thinking her name gets me in a bad mood. I still can’t believe she poured a beer over my head. The audacity. I’m pretty sure it had everything to do with the fact that I called her out on being a virgin. A nerdy virgin. Okay, maybe it was an asshole thing to say, but she was being a bitch when she said she didn’t sleep with jocks. As if I would miss the scoff at the end of her sentence. Even though she was technically my enemy now, she was all I could think about. Pushing back her layers, dipping inside her to see if my assumptions were correct. She looks nothing like my usual catch, but change was good sometimes.

“I don’t know if I want to anymore.” I had more important things going on. I needed to focus on my plays and my academics, plus, I had chicks readily available to fuck, and ones that I didn’t have to work for like I knew I would have to do with Blair. Pussy like hers would come with a price, and I wasn’t about to pay up.

“Too big of a challenge?”

I scoff. “Nothing is too big of a challenge for me. I could definitely melt her icy heart if I wanted to–”

“Wilder!” Coach’s gray-haired head pops out the window of his office. His eyebrows are downturned, telling me everything I need to know. “I need to see you in my office before you head out.”

Oh, great.

“Sure thing.” I nod, turning to Murphy, who is smiling like a smug fucker, I say, “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Yeah, you’re not off the hook yet. Go see what the Coach wants. I’ll see you tonight.”

Swinging my duffel bag over my shoulder, I walk into Coach’s office with a bad feeling in my gut. I’m not sure what he wants to talk to me about, but something tells me it’s not going to be good. Getting called into his office is never a good thing, everyone on the team knows it.

“Wilder, close the door and sit your ass down,” he growls, pushing his glasses up onto his face. Yup, definitely not good.

“What’s up, Coach?” I sink down into the seat in front of his desk.

He grabs a piece of paper off his desk and tosses it at me. I don’t move to grab it, knowing he’s going to explain whatever is on it.

“Your grades are shit, that’s what’s up. You know I can’t let you play if you are failing classes. Academics always come before sports, Cage. You need to get your shit together before I’m forced to bench your ass, and we both know you’re better on the field than on the bench.”

I suck a sharp breath into my lungs and nod my head shamefully. It’s even worse than I thought. Not only do I suck at school, now football is at stake. I knew I was struggling, but I didn’t think I was doing so badly that I was putting my football career at risk. Fuck me. My father will kill me. Literally, kill me if he finds out.

“I’ll do better.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” he questions, his head tilted to the side, disbelief reflecting in his dark gaze. “You have a plan, do ya?”

I smirk. “No, but something tells me you do–”

“Damn right, I do. See, you’re not dumb, Wilder, you just need a little push in the right direction. I set you up with a tutor. Best on campus. Got a 4.0 average. I’m not saying that’s where you need to be at, but please, just make a passing grade. I need you on the team, boy.”

“Got it, Coach.”

“Here.” He hands me a sticky note. Library, room 202, Five o’clock. “Be there, Wilder,” he warns. “I mean business, don’t push me, boy. I’ll push back, and we both know you won’t like that. You can do this, you just need a little help, and there isn’t anything wrong with admitting that.”

“I’ll be there, and I’ll get my grades up. I promise,” I tell him, ’cause what the fuck else am I going to do? Tugging my phone out of my shorts, I check the time as I leave the coach’s office. I’ve got thirty minutes before I have to be at the library. There isn’t any point