Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University 1)

“Leave it to me. I got this.” Those are Quinn’s words every time someone’s about to get thrown out of the game.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

And then it dawns on me. Stanford is well coached and well prepared. They’ve studied all the tape there is on us, know each of our individual strengths and weaknesses. They assume we wouldn’t swap the starting lineup in a crucial game. “They haven’t seen Finley play yet, right?” The guys exchange curious glances. “We have to mix it up, throw them off, somehow.”

Finley, a freshman with no actual playing time in a live game––let alone a playoff final––is the fastest swimmer on the team.

“What if Coach swaps me out? Warner, you take lead two-meter specialist. Let the kid take the ball down, but you have to keep up with him. Speed alone won’t win this.”

The gloom on their faces turns into a spark of hope.

“Can’t hurt,” says Cole.

Quinn nods. “Let’s shake it up.”

The noise level in the house is sure to have the neighbors calling the cops. The guys deserve to celebrate, however. It wasn’t pretty, but a W is a W and that makes us NCAA Champions.

Lil Wayne’s Right Above It comes on and I groan. Not again.

No hard liquor tonight for me. When you’re this tired, one beer will knock out a full-grown man and I want to enjoy this moment since there won’t be another.

After Brock and I talked to Coach, he got on board with our plan fast. Down four goals, we had to at least try. And it worked for a while, an entire quarter. Then they got wise that the kid was easily rattled by size and they double-teamed him.

By then, we’d blitzed them for five goals in the third quarter and added four more in the last. Quinn started shit-talking one of their defensive players. The guy threw a punch, which got him ejected, and a man down, we kept scoring. Three of which were mine.

“Hey, Smith,” I call out. He tears his mouth away from some dude’s neck to glance up at me. “What’d you say to Stenovitch to piss him off like that?”

Not for nothing the guy’s nick name is Steely Sten.

“Only the truth. That his brother’s a lousy fucking lay.”

The room reacts accordingly, roaring in laughter and cheering him on. Next to me, leaning against the wall, Brock shakes his head but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

I tap my beer bottle with his. “You still mad at me?”

“I wasn’t mad at you. I just don’t like to do anything for the wrong reason.”

“I saw the Hungarian take a knee to the thigh. He stopped destroying our power plays, which means you fouled him more than once.”

“Yeah, well, winning this game was the right reason.”

He turns and looks me over. “Everything good with your girl?”

I look across the room, and feeling my eyes on her, Alice stops talking to her friend and looks up. Damn. Someone must’ve hit me with a mallet over the head because I’m seeing stars and hearing trumpets.

An automatic smile takes over my face. “Everything’s great.”

Brock nods. “Did you tell her you love her?”

My smile drops. “Way to kill a good mood. For a guy that never dates, you sure as hell have all the answers.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

His assumption feels like sandpaper on an open wound. An accusation. In other words, not good. Telling Alice that I love her is a big step I don’t think either of us is ready for. We’re just hitting our stride now.

Things are great as they are. I get to have my best friend and the best sex of my life. Complicating the situation with promises and declarations of love can only put unwarranted pressure on it. It could screw things up big-time and I’ve been trying to avoid screwing things up with her since the day we met.

Besides, she knows how I feel about her.

Alice

“Has he told you he loves you yet?” Zoe queries absently. Her attention has pretty much been glued to Brock Peterman since we got here.

“You’re not at all nosy,” I deadpan with a smirk. I catch Reagan watching me and take out my phone to text him. A couple of kiss emojis. I almost hit the purple heart emoji, but pull back at the last minute and hit Send. Hearts would’ve gone too far.

The team toughed it out, beating Stanford sixteen to thirteen. Rea was magnificent in the fourth quarter, racking up three goals in the last two minutes alone.

“Jesus, Zoe, maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Blake chides.

“Have you told him?” Dora jumps in. I roll my eyes and she smiles back wickedly.

“Proud of you, Red,” Zoe remarks, taking her eyes off Brock for a fleeting moment to wink at Dora.