Clash (Crash 2)

“If coach wanted us to be there an hour early, he should have told us sooner,” Jude replied, not looking at him as he shuffled through some more contents in his bag. “I’ve got to get Luce some breakfast before taking her back to our place, so coach will just have to wait.”

“You want me to tell him that’s the reason you’re late?” Tony asked, nothing antagonistic about it, just an honest to goodness question.

“Damn straight I do,” Jude said, grabbing my waist and lifting me into the cab. “Tell him my girl comes before football. Tell him my girl’s breakfast comes before football.” Turning his gaze on Tony, he stared at him, waiting.

“You need me to write that down for you or you think you can manage that?” he added when Tony just stared his answer.

“Nah,” he said finally, managing a small smile. “Girl. Breakfast. Then football,” he recited, tapping his head. “I think I got it.”

Fastening the center lap belt over me, Jude slammed the passenger side door and came around the front of the truck. Pausing outside the driver’s side door, he peeled the wet thermal up and over his head, throwing it into the trees. Opening the door, he threw himself in and cranked the truck on. Blasting the heaters on, he centered every one of them on me. I’d just been freezing cold, and now everything felt all gooey and warm, even though the heat hadn’t kicked in yet. All because of one recently de-shirted man, wet and smiling beside me.

“What?” he said, his smile jacking higher as I continued to stare at him.

Sweeping my eyes down his upper half, I ended my investigation at his silver eyes. I matched my smile to his. “Now that’s a sight to wake up to in the morning.”

After assuring Jude I in no way required a sit down breakfast and that an egg white sandwich and a hot cup of coffee would be more than sufficient, we pulled into the driveway of the house he and five other guys rented. If it wasn’t for the man I loved living in it, I wouldn’t have stepped inside. It wasn’t flat out filthy, but it was close, and the whole place‌—‌no matter if it was morning or afternoon, weekend or weekday‌—‌smelled like dirty laundry and sex.

It took an hour and a half to get back, after taking Jude’s insisted pit stops for food and caffeine, which meant he was already running a half hour late. Jude wasn’t the everyday college football player, he was the one coaches prayed for on Sundays, so he wouldn’t be riding the bench. But he’d be in trouble. Some sort or another.

“I’ll walk you in,” he said, still shirtless, still smiling that barely-there smile of his. Having to sit next to that man for close to ninety minutes, managing to keep my hands off of him, should have earned me some sort of medal. A big one.

“You’ve got a game to win,” I said, kissing the corner of his mouth that was upturned. “I know my way around.”

“Watch your step. I think Ben might have had a party last night while the rest of us were gone and you know how his parties are,” he said, catching my chin between his thumb and finger. Moving closer, his lips barely grazed mine before they ended on the underside of my jawline. Running his lips down, his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. And the man was still shirtless, so I could witness every muscle that tightened and rolled as his mouth and hands explored me.

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 na**d 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.

o;If coach wanted us to be there an hour early, he should have told us sooner,” Jude replied, not looking at him as he shuffled through some more contents in his bag. “I’ve got to get Luce some breakfast before taking her back to our place, so coach will just have to wait.”

“You want me to tell him that’s the reason you’re late?” Tony asked, nothing antagonistic about it, just an honest to goodness question.

“Damn straight I do,” Jude said, grabbing my waist and lifting me into the cab. “Tell him my girl comes before football. Tell him my girl’s breakfast comes before football.” Turning his gaze on Tony, he stared at him, waiting.

“You need me to write that down for you or you think you can manage that?” he added when Tony just stared his answer.

“Nah,” he said finally, managing a small smile. “Girl. Breakfast. Then football,” he recited, tapping his head. “I think I got it.”

Fastening the center lap belt over me, Jude slammed the passenger side door and came around the front of the truck. Pausing outside the driver’s side door, he peeled the wet thermal up and over his head, throwing it into the trees. Opening the door, he threw himself in and cranked the truck on. Blasting the heaters on, he centered every one of them on me. I’d just been freezing cold, and now everything felt all gooey and warm, even though the heat hadn’t kicked in yet. All because of one recently de-shirted man, wet and smiling beside me.

“What?” he said, his smile jacking higher as I continued to stare at him.

Sweeping my eyes down his upper half, I ended my investigation at his silver eyes. I matched my smile to his. “Now that’s a sight to wake up to in the morning.”

After assuring Jude I in no way required a sit down breakfast and that an egg white sandwich and a hot cup of coffee would be more than sufficient, we pulled into the driveway of the house he and five other guys rented. If it wasn’t for the man I loved living in it, I wouldn’t have stepped inside. It wasn’t flat out filthy, but it was close, and the whole place‌—‌no matter if it was morning or afternoon, weekend or weekday‌—‌smelled like dirty laundry and sex.

It took an hour and a half to get back, after taking Jude’s insisted pit stops for food and caffeine, which meant he was already running a half hour late. Jude wasn’t the everyday college football player, he was the one coaches prayed for on Sundays, so he wouldn’t be riding the bench. But he’d be in trouble. Some sort or another.

“I’ll walk you in,” he said, still shirtless, still smiling that barely-there smile of his. Having to sit next to that man for close to ninety minutes, managing to keep my hands off of him, should have earned me some sort of medal. A big one.

“You’ve got a game to win,” I said, kissing the corner of his mouth that was upturned. “I know my way around.”

“Watch your step. I think Ben might have had a party last night while the rest of us were gone and you know how his parties are,” he said, catching my chin between his thumb and finger. Moving closer, his lips barely grazed mine before they ended on the underside of my jawline. Running his lips down, his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. And the man was still shirtless, so I could witness every muscle that tightened and rolled as his mouth and hands explored me.

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 na**d 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.