The Jock Script (The Script Club 3)

“No more.” He waved his arms, rattling the ice in his cup ominously. “I have to erase the memory, erase the app, and somehow forget I ever met you…Jake.”

“I repeat…my name isn’t Jake,” I hissed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about coffee! And Topher.”

“Shh.” I glanced at the neighboring table again, then leaned forward. “Toffee?”

“Topher, you…you, scoundrel! We were sitting over there…in the corner.” He pointed at the far side of the coffee shop. “You were with a pretty girl with long blonde hair. And you kissed her.”

The vague description could have been Katie, so that part made sense. Maybe. But nothing else did.

“Okay?”

“You ignored Topher. You broke his heart, which he couldn’t care less about now that he’s happily attached to a hunky ex-football player. At the time, he didn’t feel that way. You hurt him. And in my book, if you mess with my friends, you mess with me.” He shook the ice in his cup angrily.

“Wait a second. I didn’t—whoa.” I squinted warily when he popped the top off his drink and rounded the table. “What are you doing? Don’t even think about—”

Too late.

He poured the icy coffee remnants of his drink over my head.

“That was for Topher. And me. Good-bye…Jake the snake.”

He nailed me with a parting steely look before turning on his heels and marching out of the coffee shop to the sound of thunderous applause.

Yep. The whole damn coffee shop erupted in a chorus of wolf whistles, clapping, and cheers while I sat there, in a state of utter shock, with ice cubes on my head and cold coffee dripping from my hair.

3

Blake

My first thought was that I’d narrowly escaped befriending a completely bonkers mad scientist. My second was… Shit, this is really fucking cold.

I shot to my feet and grabbed a handful of napkins from the cream and sugar station near the front door, aware of a dozen or more pairs of eyes on me. This was not okay. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet as tempting as it was to assure complete strangers that what they’d witnessed had to be the result of a wild case of mistaken identity, my brain tripped over the name “Topher.” It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

Topher. Topher.

I swiped at my wet cheeks, glaring at the group of teenagers pointing at me as I pushed the door open and stepped outside. Topher.

I glanced right, then left, and—

Oh.

Fuck.

I knew Topher.

I rubbed my stubbled chin and tried to picture him. Curly brown hair, green eyes, freckles. He was kind of a geek…like Asher.

And speak of the devil.

I spotted Asher on the corner with his head lowered, typing furiously on his cell as he waited at the corner. I hurried toward him, falling into step beside him when he crossed the street.

“Thanks for the iced coffee bath.”

Asher started, setting his hand over his chest in surprise.

“I’m not speaking to you.”

“Yes, you are.” I growled, steering him off the main road to the side entrance of a bank. I paused next to a spiral topiary and put my hands on my hips. “What the fuck was that for? I’m covered in coffee!”

“You deserved to be covered in dog poop. I let you off easy,” he spat. “Jake.”

Damn, he was fierce for a little guy. And sexy as fuck…even while staring daggers at me. Yeah, if looks could kill, I would have been a goner.

“My name isn’t Jake,” I bristled.

“I don’t care what your name is. You’re a lying liar of the worst degree. You’re despicable…a ninnyhammer, a hobbledehoy, a mooncalf with a black heart and…”

I couldn’t decide if I needed a dictionary or a muzzle. What I did need was for him to shut up so I could hear myself think. In a panicked-induced, desperate moment, I did the first thing that came to mind and crashed my mouth over his.

Blessed silence. And the delicious feel of his soft lips against mine.

We froze in the awkward lip-lock for a beat, then sprang apart, staring at each other in disbelief.

“Uh…”

“You kissed me,” he mumbled, setting his forefinger on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, well…I didn’t mean to do that.” I plucked my wet shirt from my chest as I took a quick glance around to make sure we didn’t have an audience before refocusing on a dazed-looking Asher. “Sorry. Although, let’s be honest here. You should be apologizing to me.”

He gasped. “Our acquaintance has ended for good this time.”

“Wait.” I barreled on. “I do know Topher, and I can explain. You might not like what I have to say, but it isn’t as bad as whatever you’re thinking. I swear I’m not a hobble-doy…whatever that is.”

“A hobbledehoy is a clumsy, awkward oaf, which might not be a suitable insult now that I think of it. But you certainly are despicable.”