The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)

“What kind of problems?”

Right. Problems.

I cleared my throat and launched into a quick replay of the scrimmage the other day and my conversation with my ex afterward. I didn’t give details…just enough to reveal that I was a clueless jock on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Obviously. Why else would I divulge embarrassing shit about my life to a guy I’d fucked within fifteen minutes of meeting?

“…so in my head that I’m not sure how to support one of my best players, and I don’t know how to tell my ex, who’s a very cool person and my goalie’s cousin, that I’m not good friend material and I’m even worse boyfriend material. See? I’ve got issues,” I said, throwing my hands in the air theatrically.

He nodded as if absorbing my word vomit; then he crossed his arms and settled back in his chair. “You do, and I sympathize with your plight, but I still don’t know how I can be of help.”

“You’re gay, you’re out, and you’re smart. I’m bi, in the closet, and though I’m relatively bright, I’m in need of intelligent insight. Call it a small consultation between peers. I can pay you for your time,” I offered hastily.

“I couldn’t take money from you,” he gasped. “Intellectually, I might be above average, but that doesn’t qualify me to give you advice. Besides, you don’t know me.”

“You know more about me than a lot of people I consider to be my friends. Get it? I’m unknowable. A shadow of a person. At least that’s how I feel sometimes.”

We went quiet, as if mutually acknowledging that my sad admission deserved a moment of silence.

I stared into space, thinking this had to be a poetic low. Maybe he was right. A good therapist might help.

I was about to ask him if his mom could refer someone, when he spoke.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Well…think about it. I’m not sure if I just need someone to talk to or a script to follow or—”

“A script. Oh.” He ghosted his thumb across his bottom lip and cocked his head thoughtfully. “That could be interesting.”

“How so?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not sharing anything with you yet. We don’t know each other’s names.”

“Oh. Right. What’s yours?”

“Asher Fitzgibbons,” he declared, brusquely offering his right hand while adjusting his glasses with his free hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

I grinned as I slid my palm against his. “I’m Blake Johnston. It’s nice to meet you, Asher.”

He smiled sweetly and damn, he was pretty. The gesture seemed to take over his face, softening his features and giving him a boyishly handsome look. I peered through the glare on his round spectacles into his blues eyes, noting the flecks of gold before staring at his full lips. They were pouty and sexy as fuck. Knowing they’d been wrapped around my cock did something for me. Like really did something for me.

I wondered if he was in the same state, thinking nasty thoughts in the middle of a family-friendly coffee shop on a Saturday morning. Yeah, I bet he was. Come on, he had to be. That was damn hot. Asher on his knees with his ass in the air. My fingers in his ass…my dick in his—

He dropped my hand, covered his hand over his mouth in horror, and let out a pained-sounding squeak. “Blake or…oh, no! Jake. You’re Jake.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s Blake…not Jake.”

“No, it’s you. It’s you. I knew you looked familiar.” Asher fanned his face dramatically. “What have I done? Oh. My. God. My friends will hate me forever. This cannot be happening.”

“Huh?” I narrowed my eyes. “What’s happening? I don’t understand.”

“You! You…you are a player, a rake, and a rogue,” he hissed. “You are the worst kind of snake in the universe. Worse than a common krait!”

“Uh…what’s a common krait?”

“It’s a highly dangerous snake whose venom produces powerful neurotoxins that induce muscular paralysis…the kind that doesn’t respond to antivenom.” He released a jagged sigh and stood, his hands shaking as he reached for his iced coffee. “That’s you. You strike without conscience, unknowing and uncaring who you leave in your wake as you slither from one conquest to the next. Well, not me. Okay…maybe it’s too late to claim immunity. I fell into your clutches, but I am extricating myself now. Right now!”

Asher slid his notebook and pen into his computer bag and his phone into a side pocket, mumbling to himself about deadly reptiles.

To say I was confused might have been the understatement of the twenty-first century. My jaw was still open, and my brow felt like it might be permanently creased with confusion. On the upside, my dick was no longer pressed against my zipper, begging for release.

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I said calmly, lowering my voice when the young woman at the table next to ours turned to see what the fuss was about. “My name is Blake, and we don’t know each other. Remember? We met ten days ago for—”