King of Campus (22 page)

Ivy seems to be the only person at Barnett who doesn’t give two shits about who I am and the status that comes from being one of my friends or sleeping with me.  She never talks about football.  Hell, I think she actually admitted last week that she doesn’t
like
football.  Never watches it.  Doesn’t even go to the games.

You’d think hearing that would be a major turn off.  But damn, it’s just the opposite.  I kind of like that we don’t have to discuss football.  It doesn’t seem to matter one bit to her that I’ll be entering the draft in a few short months.

No one can say she’s falling all over herself to get my attention or be with me either.

You know what I like best?

After my initial-
let’s-get-it-on
and her subsequent-
go-take-a-flying-fuck
, we’ve kind of settled into a… well… friendship.  I’ve never spent time with a girl before without the intent of getting laid at the end of the evening.  And Lexie doesn’t count because if Dylan wasn’t there, I wouldn’t be hanging with her either.

Of course, the girls I sleep with aren’t friends.  They’re more like groupies.  Just one of the perks of being an athlete.  Being with those kinds of girls is more like an exchange of goods/information.  I’m able to get laid on a regular basis and they get to brag to all their friends that they were boned by Roan King.

So, you see, it works out for all parties involved.  And I make it perfectly clear at the onset that this is strictly a onetime deal.  Once in a while, I’ll screw someone twice, but I don’t make a habit of it.  Once you do that, you enter into the murky territory of a quasi-relationship and I’m not getting involved in one of those.  I’ve got too much on my plate to screw around with shit like that.

And yet… and yet Ivy has my thoughts hesitantly turning in that direction.  I can’t have her without some form of a commitment and the thought of her with anyone else just pisses me off.  So clearly I have a dilemma on my hands.

“It’s not about her being a challenge,” I finally grit out because by the fifteenth rep, my arms are seriously killing me.

“Damn,” he shakes his head, “I knew this contemplative mood had something to do with her.”  He plows a hand roughly through his golden blond hair.  “Shit.  Lexie is going to fucking kill you.”  His face becomes even more screwed up.  “And I’m not going to get laid because of it.”

Setting the bar back in place, I sit up on the padded bench.  Dylan is full out glaring now.  He doesn’t like the idea of Lexie withholding sex and I can’t really say I blame him for it.  After all, that has to be the major perk of being in a committed relationship, right?

You take away the anytime-you-want-to-have-it sex and what’s left?

Exactly.

Grabbing my towel, I wipe the sweat from my brow.  “Chill the fuck out, man.  I’m not after Ivy.” Throwing down the damp cloth, I get up so we can change positions.  As Dylan sits on the bench, he continues scowling as if he doesn’t quite believe me.

Hell, I’m not sure
I
believe me at this point but I also know I can’t just fuck this girl and walk away because yeah, Lexie will beat the piss out of me.  Plus, Ivy lives right next door and we kind of have the same friend group right now.  Which is where that old saying-
don’t shit where you eat
comes in to play.  And I really don’t want to cause problems for Dylan.

Now, if you pressed me to add one more item to the list of reasons why I should keep this thing with Ivy strictly on a friends level, I’d have to say it’s because I have zero interest in having a girlfriend.  I need more pressure heaped on me like a fucking hole in the head and that’s exactly what a girlfriend would be.

And honestly, over the years, I’ve found girls to be fairly superficial creatures.  They want to be with me for my looks or because I’m an athlete.  Not a damn one of the girls I’ve been with has ever asked me what I plan to do if football doesn’t pan out.  Nor do they care that I’m a straight A student.  Or that I scored a thirty-three on my ACT when I took it at the end of my junior year in high school.  

Nope.

I could be dumber than a freaking fence post and they wouldn’t blink an eye.  I could treat them like a piece of shit smeared across the bottom of my shoe and it wouldn’t matter one bit.  Although I would never do that because my mom would slap me upside the head if I treated a girl disrespectfully which is exactly why I’m always courteous and upfront about my intentions.  If they aren’t into it, then they aren’t into it.  No big deal.  But let’s be real here, other than Ivy, I’ve never come across a girl who wasn’t into it.

They get to be with Roan King and that’s all that really seems to matter. They get their friends to snap lots of pics which are then uploaded and posted by the time I’m even done fucking them.  So I don’t feel bad for banging all those faceless females and not bothering to tie myself down to one in particular.  As far as I’m concerned, I’m better off on my own than dealing with some mercenary chick who only wants me for the status I bring them.  I have to wonder if I’d be getting as much ass if I weren’t looking to turn pro this year.  If I weren’t on my way to making millions.

Not that I’ve spoken to anyone about this, but I’m starting to waffle about entering the draft this year.  Because I red shirted my freshman year which essentially means I was on the team and I practiced, but didn’t play in any games.  NCAA guidelines only allow players four years of college eligibility.  So far, I’ve used three.  The red shirt season doesn’t count.  So, technically, I’m able to stay at Barnett and play for one more season even though I’m currently in my senior year.

The plan had always been to use these four years to earn my degree and enter the draft if it looked like I could potentially go in the first or second round.  Which it does.  There’s been a lot of hype and that only seems to be growing.  And I’ve shown well at the combines I’ve attended.  So, I’m in a really good position right now.

Possibly the best I’ll ever be in.

Except I switched majors last year and that set me back credit-wise.  Plus, with football, I haven’t always been able to take fifteen credits a semester like I thought I would.  Sometimes I’ve have to lighten my load.

So I’ve been playing around with the idea of staying for a fifth year.  I haven’t spoken to my family about it because they’re not going to like the idea.  But I know I need a fall back in case things don’t work out.  I’m all too aware that most guys who go pro only play for an average of three years.  And it can be cut shorter if they sustain a career ending injury.  Which in football, is always a possibility.  It’s highly doubtful this will be the only thing I do with my life.  I need to have a solid game plan in place if things go south.

So finishing up my degree is important to me.

Dylan lays back before picking up the bar and the two hundred pound weights added to it.  He grits his teeth before slowly raising it above his chest.  After the forth rep, the grunting begins.  I almost shake my head.  Dylan is ridiculously loud when he works out.  Unfortunately, that also carries over into the bedroom… if you know what I’m saying.

I unfortunately know this because the walls of our apartment are paper thin.  And Lexie spends the night frequently.  And that dude can be loud as fuck.

“You need to keep away from her.  I’m serious.  Everything is going well with Lexie.  I don’t need you fucking up my relationship because you can’t stand to be denied.”

I roll my eyes.  “Give me a damn break.  What am I?  Like two?  I’m not going after her because she isn’t interested, okay?”

Although I think Ivy is, in fact, interested.  I’m just not going to admit that to him.

Without answering me, he continues benching until he reaches fifteen reps.  Then he sets the bar back in place before sitting up. His eyes arrow straight to mine.  “You better not.  There are plenty of other chicks out there clamoring for your attention, so do me a favor and leave this one alone.”

We move onto the next station.  God, I should just drop the subject.  I shouldn’t say one more damn word about Ivy.

But…

I just can’t seem to help myself.

Ever since Sunday, there have been all these thoughts rolling around in the back of my head and they just won’t go away.  No matter how hard I try to banish them.

“What if I wasn’t interested in just a quick fuck?”

Dylan picks up forty pound weights and starts bicep curling.  “What the hell are you saying?  That you suddenly want a relationship?”  He snorts as if that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard come out of my mouth.

And maybe it is.  After all, I’ve never been interested in being tied down before and hell, I’m not even sure I want to be tied down now.  But I can’t stop thinking about her.  I can’t stop thinking about how nice it felt to spend the day with her.

I liked knowing she needed me.  That me being there actually made things a little easier to deal with.  And I liked wrapping my arms around her and making sure she was okay.  The situation had all these protective instincts surging to life within me.  I’ve never felt that way before.

“Maybe.”

Dylan just shakes his head, a chuckle escaping his lips.  “Dude, stop trying to make me laugh, I’m working out here.”

My brows draw together as I pick up weights.  Fifty pound ones.  Fuck that guy.  Feeling absurdly aggravated, I slowly curl my weights up towards my chest.  “Maybe I do want a girlfriend.  What’s wrong with that?”

The smile drops clean off his face and he’s back to giving me the stink eye.  “Because you’re only interested in nailing as much pussy as you can.”  Before I can argue, he continues, “And that’s fine.  Hell, I applaud your efforts to plow your way through the female population at Barnett.”  He smirks.  “If I had your pretty face, I’d be doing the same damn thing.”

Why those words piss me off so much, I don’t know.  But they do.

Big time.

“They all want a piece of you before you hit the bigtime.”  His voice turns just a tad shitty as he sneers, “They all want to fuck the King of Campus.”

My eyes narrow but I don’t say a word.  Dylan and I are bros.  We have each other’s back.  And we’ve been friends since freshman year orientation.  But I know his dream is to play in the NFL just like mine is.  Although his future looks a little murkier than mine does.  A few scouts have shown interest but he hasn’t generated nearly the amount of attention as I have.  Plus, he suffered from a shoulder injury last year that I suspect still bothers him.  Every so often, I catch a fleeting glimpse of pain on his face when he thinks no one is looking.  I also know he sees the trainer for cortisone shots.

So, even though we’re friends, I think there’s a little bit of frustration that my rise has been seemingly easier than his.  I’ve never been hurt.  Nor have I ever had to sit out for any length of time to recover.  And playing football is like second nature to me.  It’s more of a natural instinct.  I just get it.  I can look at the field and think a few steps ahead.  It’s kind of like playing a faster paced chess game.  It’s that ability which has thrusted me to the top of my college football career.  And people have sat up and taken notice of it.  Especially scouts and coaches.

Dylan doesn’t seem to have developed that skill or it’s just not as intrinsic as it is for me.

Instead of tackling the real issue sitting between us, I merely say, “You got your share before meeting Lexie, if I recall.”

He grunts before admitting, “Yep.”

“So, I’m not sure what your point is.”

Glancing over, he skewers me with a cutting glare.  “The point is that I don’t want you messing around with Ivy.  Steer clear of her.  You’re not after anything more than a piece of ass for the night.  You’re not the relationship type, King.  So find your kicks elsewhere.  I don’t need you fucking up my relationship with Lexie so you can nail some chick because she isn’t falling onto her back and spreading her legs wide for you.”

Instead of jumping down his throat like I want to do, I look away while continuing to curl my fifty pound weights.  I’m so pissed at what’s spewing from his mouth, that I’ve lost count of my reps.  Gritting my teeth, I start all over again.

After five minutes of uncomfortable silence, Dylan starts yapping about something else entirely and because I don’t want there to be a problem between us, I let go of my anger.  I mean, Dylan is probably right.  My interest in Ivy has to be because no one ever turns me down.  That’s probably why she’s been occupying so many of my thoughts.  Maybe I just need to get laid and then everything else will fall neatly back into place and I can spend my time concentrating on football and classes and less time thinking about Ivy Kaster.

See?

This is exactly the problem with becoming involved with females.  You spend way too much damn time thinking about things that aren’t important all the while losing sight of the goals you’ve set for yourself.

I can’t allow myself to lose focus.

Not when I have everything to lose.

Chapter Seventeen

Hmmm, is it just me or is our legendary wide receiver, Roan King, not spreading around the love like he used to?  What’s up with that?  All I know is that there are an awful lot of sexually deprived women out there clamoring for a little Roan King.  If you’re reading this, RK, be a dear and give us what we want…  KingOfCampus.com