The Tip-Off: A Smart Jocks Novel Read online

  My gaze flits over each of them. From Wes’ blue eyes and crooked smile to Joel’s jet-black hair and charm to Zeke’s dark skin and large build… good God, my body shivers with appreciation as I get a good look at him.

  Zeke Sweets, basketball king and NBA prospect, has traded his jersey for grey slacks and a black button-down shirt. My eyes trace the ink running up his left hand and disappearing into the rolled sleeve of his dress shirt. It’s only when I’m giving that muscular arm a second sweep that I notice the paper in one hand and the clear box in the other.

  He shifts the clear box awkwardly, so it’s lodged between his side and elbow and unrolls the paper. It says something, but between the fluorescent lights bouncing off the glitter and the way Zeke’s brown eyes lock on mine, I’m having a hard time reading it.

  “What’s going on?” Blair asks.

  Joel responds for the guys by stepping forward, tossing me a wink, and handing Katrina a clear box identical to the one Zeke has. “Prom do-over, babydoll.”

  It’s then that Wes nudges Zeke forward and the mystery box is pushed out in front of me. I giggle at the large corsage inside, a nervous reaction. A peek at Blair beside me confirms she had something to do with this. I missed my high school prom and it’s never sat right with her. In all honesty, I’m more excited about starting over than trying to make up for the past, but I appreciate the thought.

  With shaky hands, I take the box and Zeke looks like I’ve taken the weight of the world off his shoulders. “Wanna go to prom with me?” he asks with just enough humor in his tone that I think he might find this as ridiculous as me.

  “Love to.”

  * * *

  Turns out this prom is better than whatever I missed in high school. The back yard of The White House, the nickname for the mansion Zeke, Wes, Joel, and Nathan live in, is packed. A DJ booth is set up in one corner with large speakers that vibrate my insides as we pass by it. Bodies push and grind to an old jam and I raise my arms with the rest of the crowd when Busta tells us to put our hands where his eyes could see.

  “This playlist is killer,” I yell over the music to Blair. “Way better than whatever you had at your prom. And I cannot believe you guys got a foam machine.” On the other side of the party, people are disappearing into the foam and reemerging with big smiles.

  “You said you always wanted to go to a foam party, now you have.”

  I throw my arms around her neck. “You are amazing.”

  “I can’t take credit for this. I had a small idea for a party and Joel took it to a whole other level.”

  We find a spot somewhere in the middle of the party and set up in a circle – girls on the inside and guys hanging back. Wes stands two steps behind Blair, beer in hand. He’s not dancing but doing a tiny little head bob to the music.

  Vanessa has a similar setup – although V is turned toward her boyfriend Mario making it very clear she’s dancing just for him.

  Joel and Katrina have disappeared altogether, but that’s not unusual for them. I think they spend more time naked than clothed when they have a night without Katrina’s son Christian.

  The sight of Mario and Wes watching their girls so possessive and adoringly makes me happy. But also, insanely jealous like if they weren’t already my friends, I’d hate them for being so ridiculously in love.

  In beat to the song, I turn to the side so I can see Zeke standing behind me. He’s not looking at me possessively or adoringly. Actually, he’s not looking at me at all.

  What does it take to get Zeke Sweets’ attention? Basketballs for boobs? And I don’t mean huge boobs, I mean literal basketballs. The only time I’ve really seen him smile is when he’s on the basketball court.

  We’ve barely spoken to each other since getting in the limo to drive to the party, but I can’t help but feel a little burst of pride being here with him. He’s so handsome and big and strong and intense and handsome and… did I already mention handsome?

  “Gabby baby!” Nathan shouts as he enters our couple circle. He tucks one side of his long hair behind an ear and then tackle hugs me.

  I let out a surprised chuckle as all the wind is knocked out of me. “Good to see you, too.”

  Nathan and I have become friends in my short time at Valley, which is nice because I anticipate I’ll be spending a lot of time at The White House since my best friends are dating jocks.

  With a hand around my waist, Nathan moves us with the beat. The beer he’s holding in one hand spills onto my arm and he backs up as he apologizes and then his gaze falls to my dress like he’s just now seeing my outfit.

  “Wow, Gabby. You trying to kill me in that dress?”

  His words make me smile, but I swat playfully at him dodging the compliment like a boss.

  Vanessa twirls, raises her hands, and yells, “Let’s move up closer to the foam.”

  I nod and Nathan and I follow behind her. I peek over my shoulder to see if Z is following and he is, though unhurried and not all that enthusiastically. We’re a train moving through the crowd. Mario holding onto Vanessa, me with a hand on V’s back so no one can separate us and holding my other hand behind me grasping Blair’s. Nathan is beside me and I don’t look back again to verify but I assume Wes is back there pulling up the rear with Zeke.

  Every step closer to the crowd dancing in the cloud-like substance makes my heart thump wilder in my chest. Now this is a party! It’s not as packed in the foam, most people are staying on the outskirts of it, but I want in.

  “I think this is as far as I go,” Vanessa says and Blair nods in agreement.

  “Sorry, Gabby, that foam freaks me out a bit,” Nathan adds.

  I mock pout but no one steps forward.

  Wes shoves Zeke forward and my date’s eyes widen in panic. The nice thing to do would be to let him off the hook, but my desire to get him to dance with me outweighs every nice bone in my body. Also, I find Zeke’s presence a comfort, like I can be as crazy and reckless as I want, and he’ll keep me safe. Stupid, I know, considering we’ve barely spoken. But if it came to blows, I think he’d at least step in front of me and block me with his giant frame.

  “Let’s go, big guy.” I grab his hand and pull. He budges without me really having to put any weight behind it and we enter the foam, leaving our traitorous friends behind and joining a group of girls who look to be as excited as I feel.

  They welcome us, widening the circle before getting lost to the music again. I do the same with Zeke standing behind me. He’s closer now than before and maybe it’s the foam or the way no one is watching us in here, but I grow bolder. I turn and place my hands on his chest, moving with the beat. I keep my eyes downcast until one of his hands finds my hip. My breath hitches and I move an inch closer and meet his gaze.

  Zeke’s eyes are a light brown, warm and soulful, and right now they’re finally on me. Wow. The force of a thousand suns. All that intensity focused on me, I was not prepared for it. I reach down to the foam at my feet and scoop up a handful, stand, and blow it into his face. It takes him a moment to react, but slowly a smile spreads on his face and then he shocks me by reciprocating – tossing giant handfuls of foam at me, hurling it so fast and furious there’s a cloud around us. I swat at the foam until I can see his smiling face and giggle, look down, and prepare to make another move.

  He holds his hand up and says, “Truce.”

  “Okay,” I say at the same time I move to grab for more, but he’s quick and catches my wrist. His large fingers burn into my skin and he shakes his head, still smiling.

  The foam builds between us and his touch disappears from my wrist only to be replaced by his fingertips brushing against the side of my face and pushing the foam away. It lasts only a second, but I feel it even after he’s dropped his hand back to his side.

  The song changes and the girls in the foam with us squeal in delight as the opening to Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” begins to play.

  I feel on top of the world as I give myself over to the beat like I’
ve only done in my bedroom for the past three years. Zeke doesn’t exactly dance, but he seems more relaxed now and I’m patting myself on the back for pulling him in here. All he needed was a little forced fun.

  One song turns to five and I’m drenched with a combination of foam and sweat when I turn back to face the middle of the circle. I offer a shy smile to the girl to my left. She returns it and then tilts her head and studies me. “You’ve got something…” She takes a step toward me, smooths a hand over her face at the same time she must realize the only thing on my face is… my face.

  My scarred face.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Gabby.

  My hand flies to the left side of my face and I give her a reassuring smile. After all, it’s not her fault.

  They can make mascara that withstands a good cry fest, but so far, I haven’t found a foundation that is as magical. Which means mine is gone with the foam and the lines on my face are more visible. The scars on my face from a car accident my senior year of high school are never completely hidden, but with several layers of concealer, foundation, and setting spray, it’s not usually obvious enough that people gasp in horror – yep, that’s happened.

  “Sorry,” she says and averts her eyes back to the middle of the circle.

  I don’t look around to the other girls. One thing I hate more than gawking – the pity. As if my life were defined by my face. As if I’m somehow less than because I’m not perfect. As if they’re better than me because they wear their scars on the inside. And I flipping hate that I feel like they might be right.

  I turn to face my date and hope he’ll shield me from this awkward, awful moment or maybe whisk me away and tell me I’m beautiful no matter what. Cheesy, right? But I long to hear those words from someone even if it’s not true.

  Zeke’s eyes are warm and understanding as his gaze drops to the scars on my face and then to the girls dancing around us. “Wanna head back?”

  Well, it’s not a profession of beauty or love, but it’s an excuse out of here anyway. I grab his arm and duck behind him. With as much dignity as I can muster, I shimmy out of that foam like my pride didn’t wash away with my makeup.

  Man, I was stoked about a real-life foam party. I forgot one minor detail. Foam is made of water.

  3

  Gabby

  Zeke leads me into the gym on the second story of The White House.

  “When I said I wanted to go somewhere quiet, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  “It’s the only place off limits during parties.”

  He turns on the lights and grabs two basketballs from a rack. He extends one to me and I eye it curiously. He can’t be serious.

  “Really?”

  He looks unsure as he gives a little shrug, ball still held out toward me. His eyes light up and he drops the ball to my feet. “Wait, I know what we need.”

  Confused but intrigued, I watch as he tucks the other basketball under his arm and takes out his phone. His head bounces from side to side as his thumbs tap on the screen.

  “Here we go,” he says as music pumps into the room. He pockets his phone and dribbles toward the basket.

  I take a moment to look around the room, taking in the gym. I’ve seen it before, but never really appreciated how nice it is. The polished wood floor is a half-court version of the one at Ray Fieldhouse from the blue and yellow lines on the court to the Ray Roadrunner mascot painted on the wall. It’s a sweet place. Joel’s dad is the president of Valley U and he bought this place and outfitted it with everything the guys could possibly need – and way more. It’s not as outrageous as some of the big university athletic dorms, but it’s pretty over the top.

  Moving up to the free throw line, I try to think back on what I learned in junior high basketball while I watch Zeke take shots. He’s more relaxed than I’ve seen him all night. Even in dress clothes, he looks like he belongs with a basketball in his hands.

  “It’s a little intimidating shooting hoops with you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I make everyone look bad on the court.”

  I’m taken back by his words until I meet his gaze. He’s smiling and wears a cocky grin he’s never flashed my direction before. I feel that look in my toes. “You’ve got jokes, huh?”

  He shoots, rebounds his ball and then dribbles to me. “Let’s see what you got.”

  Under his scrutiny, I take my time getting into position at the free throw line and then shoot. I cringe as the ball doesn’t quite make it to the rim. Airball.

  Zeke gets my ball and brings it back to me. “Try again.”

  “Who knew the night could get more humiliating,” I mutter under my breath, but I take another shot anyway. This one at least hits the rim.

  After my fourth miss, he hands me the ball and then instructs me to widen my stance. “Good, now bring your right foot forward just a tiny bit.”

  Instead of trying to talk me through the upper body, he guides my arms up and into position and then moves my hands where he wants them. Goosebumps race to the surface at his warm touch. His hands are strong and steady, and it’s a sad realization that this is the most a man has touched me since my car accident nearly four years ago.

  “Alright, use your legs and really follow it through, let it roll off those fingertips.”

  With more concentration and focus than I’ve used since trying to read through Game of Thrones fan theories, I stare down the red rim and shoot.

  “Yes!” I jump as the ball goes through the net. Freaking finally.

  “There you go. Nice. Do it again.” He sends the ball back to me with a bounce pass.

  Intent brown eyes watch me as I line up and try and get into the same position.

  “So, I’ve gathered parties aren’t really your thing. Is this where you usually hide out?”

  “Who says I usually hide out?”

  “Everyone. Also, I was in town visiting Blair for the party after the last home game of the season. I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “It’s not that they aren’t my thing, I just don’t party much during the season. What about you?”

  “Are parties my thing?”

  He nods.

  “Yes. Well, I want them to be. I’ve only been to the one and I wasn’t a student yet. So, this is my first official college party. I’m officially a fan, though. There’s something so magical about the bass of the music and people dancing and having a good time. Well, everyone but you.”

  “I’m having a fine time.”

  “Wow, you really know how to make a girl feel special. You’re having a fine time. At least I don’t have to worry about you telling anyone how awful our date was.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you don’t talk much.”

  “Burn,” he says and his lips curve into another smile. “I’m a man of few words.” Palming the ball in one hand, he raises it toward me like he’s pointing. “How about the best date I’ve been on in four years?”

  “Well, then you’d just be lying.”

  He raises a brow and then turns to shoot without speaking.

  I dribble and bring the ball up, pausing before I send the ball sailing to the basket. “This is the only date you’ve been on since then, isn’t it?”

  I remember the guys giving him shit once about never dating, but I’d assumed they were exaggerating the situation.

  He winks and keeps rebounding his ball and putting it back. He’s gotten into it now and is shooting like he’s at practice. Basketball in dress clothes – it’s a good look.

  “So, parties aren’t your thing, dating isn’t your thing, what is your thing?” He opens his mouth to tell me what I already know, but I stop him. “Besides basketball.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s my only thing.”

  “If you had to give up food or basketball, which would you choose?”

  He dribbles as he answers. “I’d die without food.”

  “Some things are worth dying for.”

  A deep
chuckle echoes in the gym. “So, basketball for three weeks… maybe less since I’ll be wasting away or a lifetime without it?”

  “Mhmmm.”

  “That’s savage.”

  “That’s what makes it such a good question. You can learn a lot about a person by what they’re willing to give up for the things they really love.”

  He agrees with a head bob and another quiet chuckle and goes back to focusing on the basketball goal.

  “Peanut butter or jelly?”

  “Both.”

  “That’s cheating. You can only pick one.”

  “Peanut butter.”

  “Show up to class naked or knee to the balls?”

  “Class naked.” He shivers like the other option is too awful to contemplate.

  I keep firing off questions and he answers – not in a lot of words, but I’m getting used to the subtle way his body language says what he doesn’t. Right now, he’s relaxed, and he thinks I’m at least a little bit funny. I can work with that.

  I give up shooting and sit on the floor, ball in my lap, as I watch him. He’s really something to take in. I’ve seen him play before, of course, but up close, all that testosterone and skill is just… well, it’s a little breathtaking if I’m honest. This is almost better than the party.

  As if he can read my thoughts, he looks over and stares at me a beat, sympathy in the way he takes me in. “Do you want to go back out to the party?”

  I look toward the door with longing but shake my head. “I don’t think so. Tonight is kind of a bust. This is not how I pictured it going down.” Guilt steals the air from my lungs, and it burns as I let out a breath. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that. Blair would be devastated if she thought I didn’t have a good time tonight.”