Clash (6 page)

“God, Holly,” I said, almost choking on my kernel of popcorn, 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.

I’d never been one for making a scene or partaking in public displays of affection, but when it came to Jude, I’d take him anyway he offered himself to me. No matter if we were alone or the focus of thousands of crazed fans. When we were looking at each other the way we were now, everything faded into oblivion.

Shouldering a hole through his teammates slapping him on the back as he passed, he dropped his helmet before leaping into the air. His hands caught the top rail of the front row and, performing the hanging from the side of a barricade equivalent of a chin-up, he lifted himself up.

Leaning over farther, I grinned down at his sweat beaded face. “Show off,” I whispered, so close I could almost taste the salt of his skin.

His smile curved higher. “Come here,” he ordered, dropping his eyes to my lips.

Dropping my mouth to his, I tasted the salty sweat of his skin. And then I kissed him. The crowd exploded again, loving the show their star quarterback was giving them. But we weren’t doing it for them. This, we did for us. Everything we did as a couple we did for us.

He didn’t let me break away when I moved to. Instead, he somehow managed to hold himself with one arm while the other grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me back at him. He kissed me harder, so I couldn’t breathe and the stadium was spinning and, as expected, everything except for Jude faded away. I had totally and completely faded into him.

Then, leaning back, he pressed one last sweet kiss into my lips. “My god, Luce,” he breathed, the warmth of it coating my face, “how’s a man supposed to concentrate on football after that?”

“Good luck with that,” I answered, my voice as staggered as I’d guessed it would be.

“There better be more where that came from after the game,” he said, flashing an impish grin as he lowered himself down.

“Plenty,” I called down to him.

“Ryder!” The head coach hollered above the noise, “I sure as hell know you don’t mind making a fool of yourself, but quit making a fool of me and the rest of the team! Calm your dick down and focus!”

Jude rolled his eyes up at me before turning and heading back to the sideline.

“Good to see you too, Jude!” Holly yelled, crossing her arms and looking positively put out.

Spinning around, Jude extended his arms. “You know I love ya, Hol!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, waving him off.

And then a bronzed goddess put herself in Jude’s path, hands on her hips and giving him a look that made me see red all over again. She said something, but I couldn’t hear what. Although I knew that had I been a lip reader, I would have been throwing myself over the railing and slapping that suggestive little smile off her face.

Jude nodded in acknowledgement, reaching down to retrieve his helmet. Adriana moved faster, grabbing the helmet and swinging it out of his reach. Jude reached for it, but she dodged him, lifting it higher. Jude’s face wasn’t amused, and mine was enraged. This chick was resorting to playground tactics to get a boy’s attention. It was weak. And pathetic.

Reaching again for it, Adriana side-stepped, hanging it out of Jude’s grasp. He paused, hanging his hands on his hips, and blew out a breath. It looked like he said
please,
to which she shook her head. Then, her eyes landed on me before she tapped her cheek with her finger. She waited, holding his helmet away from him, making sure I was watching her. I was.

So when Jude leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek, she got to witness the storm that clouded my face. Lowering the helmet, she handed it back to him, but not before she lifted a brow at me and settled a victorious smile in its place.

“Who is that bitch?” Holly said, sounding as enraged as I felt.

Glowering at her even after she’d spun around and rejoined the rest of her Spirit Sisters, I planned my revenge. “She’s about to be a dead bitch.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Put this on,” Holly ordered me, throwing a wad of red cloth my way. Stopping it before it parachuted into my face, I held it in front of me. It was a strapless, slinky, knee-length dress.

“Why?” I asked. In a man’s world, this was considered hot. In a woman’s world, it was considered trashy.

“Because you’re going to beat that Vix bitch at her own game,” she sneered, unfolding a white halter dress that was considerably shorter than mine.

“Vix bitch,” I repeated as I slid Jude’s sweatshirt over my head. “It’s got a catchy ring to it.”

“That’s because her ancestors were the muse for the term.”

I chuckled as I fought with peeling my skinny jeans off my body. I was glad Holly was here. She’d all but held my hand through the rest of the game that Syracuse won, thanks to one Jude Ryder getting a total of seven passes into the end zone in one game. Between glaring holes into Adriana’s back and screaming at the top of my lungs after every completed pass Jude tossed, I was a drained wreck.

“What time is it?” I asked as Holly texted someone on her phone.

“’Bout time you got your ass into that dress and showed Vix Bitch that revenge is a dish best served with a smokin’ side of Lucy.”

I sighed and stepped into the dress.

“Just hurry, okay? The street’s already packed with cars and the team’s going to be rolling up soon. You want to be down there when Jude bursts in because you’re going to be the only thing he sees in that thing,” Holly said, shuffling out of her own clothes and sliding into the white dress.

It was a team tradition that Jude’s house hosted the home game after parties. There was never a shortage of women and alcohol, and inhibitions were always in short supply, so a wild time would and could be had by all. The last party the team had hosted here a few weeks back, Jude and I had just hid out in his dark room, petting the hell out of each other. I would be more than okay with a repeat of that tonight.

Tying the halter behind her neck, Holly tossed a cosmetics bag onto Jude’s bed and began sifting through its contents. Grabbing a few tubes, she marched towards me, wielding them like they were weapons.

“Hold still,” she ordered, uncapping what I guessed was black eyeliner.

“Make me,” I shot back, knowing arguing with Holly was futile.

“Don’t think I won’t.”

Giving in with a sigh, I closed my eyes and let her have her way with them. The girl lined, mascaraed, and glossed me in under a minute. She had a gift.

“What size shoe do you wear?” she asked, hurrying back over to her suitcase while I smacked my lips together.

“Seven and a half.”

“Ah, perfect.” Prying a pair of black, patent leather pumps from her bag, she tossed them on the floor by my feet.

I tried sliding my foot inside one, but it wasn’t going. Peering down at the size, I understood why. “These are sixes,” I said, wondering if my boots or barefoot would be the better option.

“So?” she said, dabbing her lips with a shell pink gloss.

How was this not making sense? “So that’s one and a half sizes too small.” There‌—‌I’ll spell it out for her.

“Beauty is pain, sweetpea,” she said, flashing a pair of silver strappy heels from her bag and fastening them on. “Put those sexy ass shoes on and work it.”

“Should I even put up an argument?” I asked, clenching my teeth as I worked my first foot into the tiny shoe, praying a few hours of wearing them tonights wouldn’t affect my dancing for a few weeks to come.

“You could,” she said, throwing her head forward again and teasing the roots. “But it would be a waste of time.”

“I figured as much,” I muttered, bracing myself as I slid my other foot into the last shoe.

“Okay, let me get a look at you,” she said, sliding a silver chandelier earring into her ear. She studied me, like a painter inspected their masterpiece, and a smile made a slow journey into position. “Take off your underwear.”

“What?” I said, never prepared for the next thing that came out of Holly’s mouth. “No!”

“Take. Them. Off,” she repeated, sliding the last earring into place.

“You take yours off,” I threw back like an insolent child.

Her smile broadened. “They already are, baby.”

Shudder.

“Holly,” I said, “I’m not taking my underwear off. End of story.”

“Oh, yes, you damn well are,” she fired back. “End of story.”

I opened my mouth to volley back, but nothing came out. It was hard work making a logical argument against this kind of insanity.

“Lucy, you want to rub Adriana Vix’s perfect little face in her own pile of shit, you’ve got to have as many tricks in your bag as she does. Because I know her type and they play dirty. And they’re relentless little hoe-bags.”

Marching over towards me, she rammed her fists on her hips. “Trick number one: your hot little number,” she started, waving her hands down my dress. “Trick number two: you’re going to give Jude a pair of lidded bedroom eyes across the room any time he looks your way. Trick number three: you’ll be gracious and flattered when the droves of guys line up around you to drive him nuts,”‌—‌Holly must not have experienced Jude’s wrath if she thought any guy within the state would make a pass at me with Jude in the same room‌—‌”and trick number four”‌—‌she wagged her brows at me‌—‌”Adriana comes within an arm’s length of him, you nonchalantly slip those panties into his hand and walk away.”

For a crazy person, she made a lot of sense.

She waited while I worked all this out in my head. Finally, accepting she’d thought this out and any plan was better than no plan, I hitched my dress up and worked my panties down my legs. Thank the maker I’d selected a minuscule lacy pair that would drive Jude crazy.

Balling them up in my fist, I held it in front of her. “And where am I supposed to keep these while I’m waiting for the perfect time to slip them into his hand?”

She hadn’t thought out everything.

Rolling her eyes like I knew nothing, she fished them out of my hand and stuffed them between my cleavage.

“There,” she said, patting my boobs. “You’re good to go.”

“So glad you’re here, Holly,” I said, combing my fingers through my hair and trying the flip and tease thing she was such a fan of. “To make me paranoid I’m about to lose my boyfriend to the likes of Adriana Vix.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Lucy Larson,” she said, looking offended. “I know how Jude feels about you. That kind of crazy love runs deep, babe. He’s not going anywhere.” Opening Jude’s door, she motioned me out. “It’s not him I’m worried about. It’s that Vix bitch. That breed of woman has made an art form out of manipulating men before they even know how their pants wound up around their ankles. They’re dangerous, so the sooner you show her she’s not getting her claws into your man’s back, the sooner she can move on to the next couple she wants to tear apart.”

I sucked in a breath. I was going to need it. “All right, let’s do this.”

“There’s the spirit,” she said, smacking my backside as I passed her. “Time to drive Jude mad.”

The music started pumping as we passed down the hall. Of course it was some bad brand of hip-hop that vibrated the floor boards.

“I know you’ve got a streak of diva in you, Lucy,” Holly said as we rounded the corner to the stairs. “But tonight, I need you to set that diva free. Let her be all she can be. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said, surveying the room that was already two times past max capacity and the football team wasn’t even here yet.

Winding our way through the flood of bodies, I saw that Holly’s impromptu makeover was effective. Every male within a few body radius turned to watch us as we slid by.

“Hey, asshole!” Holly hollered behind me. “Keep your hands to yourself unless you want me to chop them off while you sleep!”

The offender raised his hands and backed away.

So maybe she’d been a little too effective.

“This is good!” she shouted above the music, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a stop. “The first thing Jude will see is you when he comes through that door.”

“You really have thought this through,” I said, telling myself the guy beside me wasn’t purposefully brushing up against me.

“Location, location, location,” she quoted, smoothing my dress down before lifting my boobs higher.

The mouth of the guy behind Holly dropped.

“Stop,” I demanded, shooing her hands that were now molding my boobs into position.