Clash Page 4

  Screw the medal, I deserved the virtuous equivalent of the Nobel Peace Prize.

  I trembled when his mouth left me. Unmistakably trembled like I was experiencing withdrawals.

  I knew he’d be gloating. Jude loved the way he could make me feel and the responses he could unravel from me. However, I was starting to get a little tired of all the foreplay leading up to a whole lotta nothing.

  Reaching for the door handle, I exhaled, working to recompose myself. “See you in a few,” I said, failing the recomposed test. “I’ll be the one of fifty thousand screaming, throwing my arms in the air, and yelling your name.”

  “You’re the only thing I see out there, Luce,” he said as I scooted out of the door.

  He handed me my bag, propping his other arm over the steering wheel. I wanted to take a picture to freeze that moment. It would keep me warm during the cold winter nights in New York when I slept solo in my bed.

  “Yeah, you’re kind of the only thing I see out there too,” I said. “But it’s mainly because of the way your ass looks in that spandex.”

  He huffed. “And I thought I was the world title holder in objectification.”

  “Was, Ryder,” I clarified, “was being the operative term.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At least the shower that Jude and Tony shared was clean. At least clean by college bachelor standards.

  It had taken a half hour of scalding hot water to do the job of warming me back up. I couldn’t remember a shower feeling so good, especially knowing it was where Jude stood buck naked a couple of times a day. I’d even found my eyes closing in imagination as I soaped my body with his bath wash.

  Winding my hair into a towel, I brushed my teeth and slipped into my jeans and Jude’s favorite Syracuse football sweatshirt. It hadn’t been washed, so it still smelled like him. Fortunately, the good kind of his smells‌—‌soap and man‌—‌and not the way he smelled post practice.

  I slipped on my boots before leaving the bathroom because Jude hadn’t exaggerated‌—‌his bedroom was a mess. Like someone might want to consider calling the hazmat team kind of a mess. I’d had to dodge obstacles like beer bottles, cardboard cutouts of bikini clad women laying on the floor sideways, and one pair of crumbled up boxers to get to Jude’s room earlier. The only thing that made his room cleaner than the rest of the house was the lack of girly cardboard cutouts decorating the floor.

  Closing the bathroom door behind me, I stepped back into Jude’s room, stopping in my tracks almost immediately. This was not the same room I’d left thirty minutes ago. I had to double check the photo of the two of us he had decorating his dresser to assure myself this was, indeed, Jude’s room.

  The room was clean, almost sparkly clean. The bed was made; the corners had even been pulled tight and folded over. There wasn’t a single article of clothing decorating the carpet or any flat surface like there was just a while ago. The mess was gone, but it had been exchanged for something almost as offensive in my opinion.

  Orange and white crepe paper twirled from the ceiling fan to the corners of the room. Human sized poster boards gleaming with orange glitter with the number seventeen, Go Ryder, or Syracuse #1 were plastered at least three to a wall. Someone had called the ra-ra police on Jude and he was going to be over the rainbow pissed when he saw.

  Walking tentatively across the room I didn’t recognize, I slid open the top drawer of my dresser and shoved my toiletry bag back inside. Jude and I tried to switch weekends, so I was at his place every other. Instead of just lending me a drawer of his for my stuff, he’d gone out and bought a whole dresser just for my use. The gesture had rendered me a rare speechless.

  Sliding the drawer closed, I took another investigation of the room. The picture of us caught my attention again. Taking a few steps closer, I understood why. A shatter line ran diagonal across it, cutting Jude from me almost perfectly. Lifting the picture, I ran my finger along the line, suppressing the shudder.

  “Sorry about that.”

  I startled, the picture slipping from my hands and cartwheeling into the corner of Jude’s nightstand. The glass fractured one more time, but didn’t shatter.

  Sure I’d cry if I continued to stare at the fractured photo at my feet, I spun around. Only to wish I’d stared an eternity longer at that cracked glass.

  “I accidentally knocked it over earlier when I was cleaning,” the tall, lean girl in an orange and white cheer uniform gliding around Jude’s room said, not looking at me.

  “Who are you?” I asked needlessly, crossing my arms. I already knew.

  “Adriana,” she said, offering nothing else as she carried an overflowing laundry basket of folded clothes over to Jude’s dresser. “You know, no one’s allowed in the player’s room pre game except for their Spirit Sister,” she said, pulling open the top drawer before she began stacking Jude’s underwear inside.

  Two emotions hit me right then, watching Adriana Vix‌—‌a girl who was doubly as tall and pretty as me‌—‌pawing all over my boyfriend’s clean underwear as she layered them away. There was anger‌—‌pure and raw‌—‌likely the kind Jude felt. And there was something that clenched my throat and heart tight, feeling like both might break.

  “I’m his girlfriend,” I replied, trying to let the anger speak. “I’m allowed any time I want. You can run that by”‌—‌I pointed at the signs‌—‌”number seventeen if you don’t believe me. And what the hell is a Spirit Sister? Other than the obvious,” I finished, appraising her before curling my nose.

  She was copper skinned, dark haired, and had these grassy green eyes that almost glowed against the contrast of her dark skin. Her legs were so long her cheer skirt appeared more like a pair of panties than a skirt, and as Tony had so ardently put it, she had huge tits. And apparently had no problem letting the world know those tits on a leave-nothing-to-the-imagination level.

  “Each one of the cheerleaders is assigned to one of the football players. One of the top performing football players, because there aren’t enough of us to cover them all and what’s the point of waiting hand and foot on the benchers anyways?” she explained, sliding Jude’s top drawer closed and moving to the second one down. Folded and pressed shirts went into that one, color coded even.

  “I’m the captain of my team, and Jude’s the star of his. We were an obvious match,” she said, smiling into Jude’s clean shirts.

  It was impressive how appealing ripping out clumps of this chick’s shiny dark hair was. I even recognized there’d be consequences, possibly even an overnighter in prison. And I didn’t care.

  “Obviously,” I deadpanned, narrowing my eyes as she moved to the next drawer, stacking the three only pairs of pants Jude owned. “So what? As Spirit Sisters you get to clean their rooms, do their laundry, bake them brownies, that kind of fifties housewife shit?” Ah, there it was. That temper I needed to rise so I didn’t choke on my words in front of this exotic Barbie.

  Turning around, she dropped the empty laundry basket on the floor. “And whatever other needs they might want taken care of,” she said, her smile telling the whole story.

  I felt my fists balling, bracing for impact. I had yet to be in a cat fight, but I felt one coming on strong.

  “Listen, Adriana, wasn’t it?” I said, coming around to the foot of Jude’s bed, standing as tall as I could. She still towered a solid half foot above me. “I know the game you’re playing. I’ve seen it played a million different times and a million different ways. But let me save you the suspense on the outcome of this little one you’re trying to manipulate.”

  I took another step forward, crossing my arms because I didn’t trust them not to think of their own accord and land a punch right between those pretty green eyes. “You will lose. Jude is with me and I’m with Jude. The end. You can ask him if you need further explanation.”

  Adriana’s lips pursed for a moment before they flattened back into that waxy smile. “You don’t do his laundry, you don’t clean his room, we all know
you don’t put out, so what good are you to him? A man has needs. He might be yours today. But what about tomorrow?” She leaned into his dresser, her fingers playing with the corner of it. I didn’t want her fingers running over anything of Jude’s like that.

  “All right, let me put this in stupid people terms,” I said, steepling my fingers under my chin. “Stay away from Jude or I will, figuratively and literally, kick your ass. With a smile,” I added, plastering one on.

  Arching a pair of the most meticulously sculpted brows I’d seen, Adriana clucked her tongue. “You want to know what happened to the last girl that stood in my way?”

  Not really, but I couldn’t resist. “What?”

  She lifted a shoulder, gliding across the room towards the door on those damn never ending legs. “I don’t know. I never heard anything about her again after I landed her man,” she said, peering back at me. “She was drowned in my wake. You better hope you can swim if you go up against me.”

  This bitch was lucky I was letting her leave in one piece. “Like a damn fish.”

  By the time I’d weaved my way through thousands of fans to get to the seat saved for me every home game, my anger and Adriana hate hadn’t dimmed even in the slightest. I knew had I shouldered into Miss Vix here, that cat fight that had eluded me for eighteen years would have come to a head.

  Side-stepping down the front row, carefully balancing my popcorn and hot chocolate, I found a familiar face in the seat next to my front and center one.

  “Hey, you!” Holly shouted above the crowd at me, grabbing the popcorn from me so I could get myself situated.

  “I didn’t think you could make it,” I replied, giving her a sideways hug before taking my seat. Syracuse had yet to take the field, but we were seconds away, judging from the eardrum bursting volume in the dome. Jude leading his team out on the field to the adoration of thousands, that spandex forming and highlighting the muscles of his that deserved to be highlighted… well, it was a sight I never wanted to miss.

  Keeping my eyes locked on the tunnel home team charged out of, I nudged Holly’s leg. “Your mom agreed to watch little Jude for a night?”

  “It took some creative convincing, and I had to agree to frost her hair for free for a year, but yeah, she agreed. Plus, I had to perm like a dozen heads of old lady hair at the nursing home in town to afford the airfare,” Holly said, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “This is my first night off, and judging by mom’s lack of enthusiasm to watch her only grandchild, it will likely be my last for a while, so I’m letting my hair down tonight, girl. “ Weaving her fingers through her hair, Holly mussed it, then threw her head forward, giving it a rip-roaring shake. “Fair warning,” she added, when she swung her head back up. Her long blond hair had just achieved an inch and a half of height.

  “Just make sure you use a condom this time,” I said, smirking at her from the side. “And you don’t crawl onto anything that remotely resembles Sawyer Diamond.”

  “Not funny,” she said, shoving my arm.

  “How is Mr. Diamond?” I asked, not caring, but guessing she had the scoop since we lived in a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care,” she answered. “However, I find a great deal of satisfaction in knowing every time one of his friends enjoys a fine piece of ass, he’s getting lucky with nothing other than the soft side of his hand.”

  I laughed, holding out my hot cocoa. She took it, shooting a smile my way.

  After learning she wasn’t Jude’s love child’s mother, I was able to look at Holly in a neutral light. And I’d grown to like her. A lot. Our looks weren’t the only thing similar about the two of us‌—‌our personalities were so similar she often said the exact thing I was about to. Only Holly was braver in her delivery. What I was too chicken to act out, Holly did without a second thought.

  It was a trait I wanted to sharpen.

  The visiting team erupted from their tunnel, welcomed by the booing and bantering of almost the whole dome. Holly even joined in, lobbing a few pieces of popcorn onto the field.

  And then the flags of orange and white, followed by a backflipping, high kicking cheer crew I hated as a whole based on principle, burst out of home tunnel. I didn’t need to consult the number on his chest to identify him when he sprinted out of the tunnel. Jude had a particular brand of swagger, even in a run, that I’d be able to identify fifty years from now.

  “I swear that man swaggers in his sleep,” I yelled over at her.

  “Yeah, but Jude’s swagger is justified, not manipulated. He moves with that strut because he knows how to make a woman throw her head back in bed. And he knows it,” she said, tipping the hot cocoa back.

  “Yes, he does,” I mumbled, lost in the sea of noise.

  The stadium went wild, screaming, chanting, and bowing as their hero led his team onto the field. In barely two months of college play, Jude had already become a legend. He played on a whole different level than the rest of the college boys. He played like he was a god. And his fans worshipped him accordingly.

  Shooting up in my seat, grabbing Holly up with me, I bounced, hooted, and hollered with the best of them. So much so, I already felt hoarse when Jude took his spot on the sidelines, right in my line of sight. The coach was talking to him, but Jude looked back, his eyes finding me right away. The benefits of calling the front and center seat for your girlfriend, I suppose. He waved at Holly, then winked at me, which I answered with an air kiss. His grin split his face mask before he turned his attention back at his coach.

  “That man has such a stare-worthy, needs-to-be-grabbed-onto-in-handfuls ass,” Holly said, gazing a little dreamily at Jude’s backside. I would have been jealous had it been anyone but Jude’s childhood best friend. Holly, and only Holly, could make an honest observation about Jude’s ass without me going all jealous girlfriend on her.

  “I mean, that’s something a girl could hold onto in bed,” Holly added, munching on a piece of popcorn.

  A flash of heat flushed my cheeks, assigning a picture to that statement.

  Like he could feel our eyes devouring his backside, Jude shifted his arm back and gave it a smack, throwing me a quick smirk over his shoulder before huddling up with a few of his starters.

  Jude Ryder was all kinds of cruel.

  “So,” Holly began, elbowing at my side, “you guys…?”

  I glared over at her from the side.

  “That was a firm no,” she muttered, hiding her smile behind the hot chocolate cup.

  I watched as Jude and the guys took the field after the kick off. Number twenty-three’s name caught my attention. Where “Hopkins” had been stenciled in his jersey the entire season, tonight’s jersey had the word “Douche” written in black sharpie on a piece of duct tape. Jude took his payback seriously.

  “Well, it hasn’t been for lack of trying,” I said, turning in my seat to face her. I was comfortable talking with Holly about Jude’s apparent inability to sleep with me because Holly was the epitome of nonjudgmental. I doubted she would have raised a brow had I divulged I had some sort of toe sucking fetish. “On my part, at least,” I added.

  “You know it isn’t because he doesn’t want to, right?” she said, looking over at me. “Because the man wants you so bad he’s about to explode in his pants. He’s just hell bent on doing this whole thing right by you. He doesn’t want to screw anything up, and if you’re Jude, you believe that screwing up is in your nature.” She paused, nibbling on a piece of popcorn as Jude lined up behind his offensive line. I hopped up with the rest of the fans. “Just give him some time.”

  “Much more time, and I’m going to implode and then whether it’s right or wrong to sleep with me won’t matter,” I responded, holding my breath as Jude crouched into position.

  “Honey, I know the feeling,” Holly said. “This mare has been taken out to spring pasture since before little Jude.”

  “God, Holly,” I said, almost choking on my kernel of po
pcorn, but then the center hiked the ball and I froze. Jude feinted to the side, then the other, arching the football back as Tony charged down the field. Jude’s arm blurred, the ball arching into a praise worthy spiral, ticking off the yards until it landed in Tony’s cradled arms at the fifteen.

  The crowd exploded, pom-poms shaking, foam hands bouncing, fanatics chanting; it was more intense than any rock concert I’d attended.

  “Damn!” Holly shouted over at me, after whistling through her teeth, “that boy isn’t only out there for ass candy.”

  “He can play,” I said, underemphasizing. “Ass candy is just an honorary title.”

  Holly smarted something back, but Jude was back in position and I tuned everything else out. This time, as soon as Jude caught the ball, he ran it. Dodging a couple of players that slipped by his line, he blazed a path past the ten, past the five, and the last few yards were wide open.

  And we were on the board with six points less than a minute into the game. I knew there was no J in team, but those points were almost all thanks to number seventeen, Jude Ryder.

  Gripping the rail in front of me, I jumped, hollering out at the field. Holly was screaming too, although hers was punctuated by “ass candy” every other word.

  Jude dropped the ball in the end zone, having long abandoned the theatrics of scoring a touchdown after his first game. Something about running a ball into the end zone one to two times a game had a way of making theatrics a bit lackluster.

  However, there was one opening touchdown tradition he hadn’t let die. I was already leaning over the railing before he’d jogged over the ten. It felt like half the dome’s eyes were on me because if any of them had been to a game, they knew why Jude Ryder was sliding his helmet off and who he was smiling at.