Exception (Cambria University Series Book 1) Page 2

  We have an extra room on the main floor dubbed “The Office.” That room is “where the work gets done.” There is something too personal about bringing a girl to your own space – it sets up unrealistic expectations. None of us, except Bateman because he is pussy-whipped, fuck in our own beds. That’s one of the life rules that my dad passed onto me. Rule number three, specifically. I passed it onto my roommates, but unfortunately, Rhodes likes to learn things the hard way sometimes. That is a cluster fuck of a story for another time though.

  What is rule number one? Well, rule numero uno is don’t fall in love. That rule is easy to keep thanks to Rule number two: don’t date. Can’t fall in love if you never really get to know anyone, right?

  I follow my rules strictly. I set that expectation early on as a freshman—hell I set that expectation in high school. I am fairly certain every girl on campus knows that about me by now. When girls choose to come back here with me they know what they’re getting. No flowers, no dinner, no jewelry. Great sex and a free Uber ride.

  There’s a mattress on the floor of “The Office” and a bowl full of condoms next to it for when we bring girls home. We all chip in to replenish the stash when it gets low. Rules number four and five sort of go together. Never fuck the same pussy twice and always, always, always wrap your tool. We don’t need a baby Brooks running around, now or ever.

  All my rules are in place for one reason. For the sake of my future. No distractions. Girls are the biggest reason guys like me give up on their future. Pussy can ruin lives. My dad, Rhett, drilled that into mine and my brothers’ heads growing up. That’s why I don’t date and I don’t let girls sleep over. Sleepovers lead girls to believe there is hope for a relationship. Hope that they can change me or that they are going to be the exception to my rules. Those girls get clingy. Those girls have expectations that I will never meet, because my future is more important to me than their feelings. When a girl starts to believe she’s the exception to my rules the psycho version shows up at your door in the middle of the night with a puppy or a positive pregnancy test. Rhett has been on the receiving end of both of those things. Quite traumatizing to witness actually. I wish I knew what happened to that puppy to this day.

  I have two seasons left to win a National Championship and then declare for the draft. Most scouts wanted me to declare this year, but I want to win a title first, and while we have the potential, I think we need one more year to make it happen. My dad, who played in the NFL, doesn’t agree with my decision. He always tells me that if I get hurt, I’ll fuck up my whole future. He’s been living vicariously through me since he retired. so he’s ready for me to enter the draft.

  “That wasn’t fucking pass interference, asshat!” Rhodes shouts at the fake guy refereeing their game of Madden. Blake is beating Rhodes’ ass at the moment, and Rhodes takes Madden very seriously. I actually can’t believe Rhodes is playing. He was wrecked last night. I have never met a guy who can party like a rock star and still function the way that dude can. Bateman isn’t home. He stays over at his girlfriend’s place a lot. A lot.

  Bateman and Blaire have been dating since second semester sophomore year. She’s a softball player. Contrary to popular belief, they’re not all lesbians. They met at a Pi Kappa party last spring and it was love at first sight – after a quickie in the bathroom of course. Bateman had just hooked up with a random jersey chaser in said bathroom. When he came out, Blaire was waiting in line. He took Blaire back in and wham bam it was over. Blaire was fucking pissed when she found out that she was his sloppy seconds. They’ve obviously worked through their issues, but it took a while of Bateman straight groveling. We’re pretty sure Blaire has a beer-flavored pussy or some shit. Otherwise, we can’t figure out why Bateman worked so hard for one chick.

  Blaire lives on campus in an apartment with three other softball players. I’ve never met them or been to Blaire’s place, but she’s been pretty cool since she forgave Bateman. She gets the athlete’s lifestyle and commitment. She’s not super clingy, which is rare. She’s blond, tall and skinny, just like Bateman. They’re going to have some lanky-ass kids.

  After I finish my Captain Crunch Berries, I head upstairs to shower for class. This is the first week of classes, and I’m already dreading my bio psych course. Science isn’t my thing. My advisor said I need to finish my science credits before they let me dive deeper into my major which is marketing/finance. Not that I will need a degree when I go pro, but I need to be working toward my degree to be eligible. Bio psych seemed to be the most interesting option on the list he provided.

  I pull on some washed-out blue jeans with holes in the knees and a white CU football dri-fit t-shirt, then run my fingers through my hair and throw on a Golden Knights basketball cap. I slip on some running shoes and I’m out the door. I could wear a potato sack and girls would still want to jump on my dick.

  What to drive – the truck or the motorcycle? My parents happen to be loaded and spoil the shit out of me. I have a blacked-out GMC Sierra Denali and a black Harley S-Series Fatboy. I like black. I choose the bike since the sun is shining and it looks like it’s going to be a nice day. Plus, the bike makes girls squeal. Not that my image needs help. Being the starting quarterback of a pretty damn good football team has earned me some privileges among the female student body that other guys just don’t get. I don’t fuck too much, not like Rhodes and Blake, but enough to keep me sane. The girls who do want to hook up know by now it is a one-time deal. Do I sound like an asshole? Yup. But they’re not really interested in getting to know me, just like I have no desire to get to know them. They just want to brag to their friends that they bagged me. It’s fine. I don’t mind. I get laid and they get bragging rights for a few days.

  I wind through the quiet streets of Woodbury on my way to campus. Woodbury is a suburb of Boston and home to Cambria University. We’re not quite Ivy League, but we’re up there for academics, and we are sure as shit on top for athletics. Our baseball and tennis teams won national championships a few years ago and the softball team came close last season too.

  As I pull into campus and drive through the large stone archway and wrought iron gates, I admire the campus. It’s beautiful – large trees, winding sidewalks with benches scattered along the paths, old stone buildings covered in ivy. I park and walk down the sidewalk to my first class, marketing strategies and research.

  ✽✽✽

  Holy shit. That was fucking painful. Apparently, Professor Mangold is old school. We need to use actual books for research and not the all-powerful Google. What a waste of time. He spent fifteen minutes complaining that our generation doesn’t know what the inside of a book smells like. It probably smells like him. Old and musty.

  There’s a limited number of Dr. Mangold’s book, A Marketing Strategy Tool Kit, in the library, so now I need to run there before my bio psych class. I have to get one so I don’t get sucked into a study group. Those are the worst. We never accomplish anything because the guys just want to talk football and the girls can’t stop drooling. The library is across campus, in the wrong direction. Fucking wonderful.

  As I walk in, I can’t help but notice how busy it is for the first day of school. Do people even have homework yet? Just out of pure curiosity, I wander upstairs through the study cubes to see how many people are trying to get a jump on the semester before I go find Dr. Mangold’s book. I pass one cube and I look down to see a girl listening to my favorite sports talk radio podcast on her iPhone. She’s completely engrossed in whatever she is reading because she does not notice me hovering over her. I tap her on the shoulder and she literally screams.

  “Holy shit!” She jumps so high and yells so loud I think someone may call campus safety. It makes me laugh a little bit. Not the usual reaction I get from the ladies.

  After she calms down, I take a look at her. Whoa. She is stunning. I am not sure how her path and my path have never crossed, but suddenly I’m grateful for my professor’s old-school research bullshit. Her hair is the
color of milk chocolate and caramel swirled together. It’s pulled into a high, messy bun on top of her head. Her eyes are so dark brown they’re basically black. Her tan, smooth skin is flawless and isn’t covered by layers of makeup, which is different from most college girls I’ve bagged. I’ve heard about girls who are naturally beautiful. They’re like finding a fucking unicorn. They don’t really exist – until now, I guess. A girl this beautiful is probably a stage-five clinger though. Can’t have good looks and be normal.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” I say once she calms down. I flash her my dimples. “I get all sorts of reactions from a lot of ladies, but this is a first for me.” I can’t think of anything else to say. This chick has me flustered right out of the gate. The dimples win every single time, so I’m going to rely on them until I can get my shit straight here.

  “Umm, are you talking to me?” She raises an eyebrow in question. Well, that’s not what I was expecting in response. Are we in the fucking, Godfather? Are you talkin’ to me? I chuckle to myself.

  “Yeah, who else is gorgeous in here? I’m sorry I scared you,” I continue with a laugh as I remember her overreaction. No response. Huh. Okay. “I was walking by and noticed your phone playing The Triple Play Morning Show. I love that show. Those guys are hilarious! I can’t believe Tree bet against us,” I say casually, trying to slip in the fact that I’m a football player. Real smooth, douche. I wonder if she’s actually listening to the show because she enjoys it, or if she just uses it for talking points at parties. Girls do some shady shit to get male attention.

  “Yeah, I listen to it every day. Usually when I’m studying or lifting,” she responds nonchalantly. Holy shit – she doesn’t know who I am. This is going to sound conceited, but I’ve never met a person on this campus who doesn’t know me. She may be a challenge, and I’m all in for it.

  “I’m Brooks,” I offer and I flash her my best smile again. I glance down and notice she’s reading up on bio psych. “I have that too.” I motion toward her book. I’m suddenly not dreading that class anymore.

  “Nice to meet you, Brooks. I’m Kiernan,” she replies and begins to pack up.

  What the fuck is happening? She’s leaving? As she stands to go, I get a whiff of vanilla. This chick smells like fucking vanilla. She’s stands and holy shit she’s tiny. She barely comes up to my chest. I’m almost a foot taller than her. Her waist is so small that my fingers could probably touch if I wrapped my hands around her. I’d like to try. Her tits are perfect. She’s wearing a black CU softball dri-fit t-shirt, which clings to them. Solid B cup, possibly small C. I know my boobs. Her gold running shorts expose her tanned and super toned legs. Her ass is perky and she has some thickness to her thighs and booty. She could be a Kardashian, without the weird family. She did mention she lifts, and I can tell. Her lips are full and a perfect shade of light pink. They are luscious, but not too big for her small face. I want those lips on my lips – and on my cock. I want to cup her apple bottom ass, and caress her perfect tits until I make her thighs tremble. Oh my God, Mac, get your shit together. I need to start thinking about baseball or some shit before this semi I’m suddenly sporting turns into a full hard-on. How is she doing this to me with just her presence?

  “Heading out? Did I offend you?” I ask. I was going to offer to walk her to class. Not sure why I feel inclined to do that. All I know is that I don't want her to leave yet. Such a weird feeling. At least we’re both heading to bio psych, so I’ll get to see her sooner rather than later.

  She looks up at me with her black eyes through her dangerously long black lashes and says, “Uh, yeah. I mean, no, you didn’t offend me, I have class and then I have to get home and change before practice. It was nice to meet you. The show is great today, you should listen. And, you’re right. Tree is stupid to bet against you. I wouldn’t.” She literally sprints out of the library and I’m left standing there, dumbfounded, with a semi hard dick pressing on my zipper. I wouldn’t bet against me either, gorgeous.

  Chapter 2: Kiernan

  I’m heading to Sampson Hall, where all the psych classes are held, and am still racking my brain over the encounter with Mr. Perfect. I can’t believe that happened. I’ve seen the girls he talks to at the Pi Kappa parties. He’s never talked to me for a reason. I’m not his type. Maybe I’m reading too much into this encounter. I’m sure he calls everyone “gorgeous.”

  Pi Kappa is the fraternity for the athletes. They live in a huge mansion turned frat house on Greek row, near campus. They throw parties after every home game. That house is loaded with girls who throw themselves at the athletes. Some are just looking for a quick hookup so they can brag that they bagged a stud athlete, but some are looking for more, which tends to be a problem for a lot of the guys.

  I remember last year, one freshman girl went all Fatal Attraction on Jessup Rhodes. Jessup “rhoder hard, put her away wet” Rhodes of all people. I know Rhodes a little bit because he’s Bateman’s roommate.

  Rhodes is the campus hook-up king, known to fuck two or three girls a night, sometimes at the same time. Just depends what presents itself I guess. He fucks so much it seems like he’s trying to set some kind of world record. He’s known for being gorgeous and a total slut, plus the starting running back for the football team. He’s a six-foot-tall ball of muscle. His eyes are the color of root beer and he shaves a mohawk into his hair, which makes him look totally badass. He usually dyes it the opposing team's jersey color each week, to taunt them. I love his cockiness on the field, and other girls like it off.

  This one girl, Maggie, I think was her name, proceeded to stalk the living hell out of his life after they hooked up during a Pi Kappa party. She would show up to his classes with donuts and coffee. She called or texted him hundreds of times a day, until he finally changed his number. He still doesn’t know who gave her his number. Bateman swears it was Blake. That’s the type of asshole move Blake would pull. She would bring food from the cafeteria to his room and leave it by the door. I heard they had a raccoon issue in the dorm because of it. Her dad even offered to pay his college tuition if he dated her for a while. Too bad he’s on scholarship, or maybe he would have done it. I’m pretty sure Maggie transferred after he refused to be the male version of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

  After a few stops for casual conversation about my summer with some people in the Quad, I finish the trek to Sampson. As I enter the lecture hall, I take in the room. The seats are arranged in a semicircle, low in the front and climbing higher to the back like stadium seating. The semicircle of desks curves around a large screen with a long table in front of it, where Dr. Bigelow will lecture and project his notes. I find the perfect seat because I’m early. Not too close to the front, but right in the middle so I can see the screen easily. I am guessing Brooks will sit up top with the jocks and sorority girls. A girl named Chelsi sits next to me on my right. We’ve had some classes together over the last couple years. She wants to become a child psychologist. She is sweet. We chat about summer and then a few students who are also psych majors file in and sit behind us. I turn around to say hi, but notice that sorority row is staring at me, and so is their cleavage. Their frosty stares make me uncomfortable, so I turn back around to get prepared for class.

  Just as I’m pulling my laptop out of my backpack, I feel someone slip into the seat next to me and bump my arm. I look up to see none other than Brooks McCarthy. I’m having a lot of WTF moments for the first day of school. I knew he said he was in this class, but I didn’t expect him to sit by me.

  The girls in the cheap seats must have seen him coming, no wonder they were staring at me. Brooks is on their radar and thanks to our new seating arrangement, so am I.

  “Hey again, gorgeous.”

  “Oh, hey, Brooks. Long time, no see.” I smile. He smells like soap and some kind of citrusy-spicy cologne. Heaven. He smells like heaven.

  “Too long, sweetheart,” he smiles. “You a psych major?”

  “Yup. Sports psych actually. I’m into all th
is garbage. You?”

  “Nah, I just needed to fulfill my science credits. I’m a marketing/finance major. Which I’ll only need if I don’t get drafted.”

  “That’s cool. You’ll get drafted though, so you’re kinda wasting your time here.” It’s true. First round pick when he’s ready.

  “Really? How are you so sure?” he questions. I’m sure he’s used to girls just being after his dick or future paychecks. Little does he know I actually pay attention to football.

  “Well, as a sophomore you threw for over 4,000 yards, 40 touchdowns, and had a QBR over 90. Pretty sure you’re going pro.” Sound like stalker much, KK?

  “Well, I appreciate the recap of my sophomore season, gorgeous. I’m fucking impressed.”

  Just then, Chelsi leans over me and introduces herself. She’s starstruck, and mouths What the fuck is happening? to me. I shrug. I seriously have no idea. I’ve gone two years without meeting this dude and that includes the six months that my BFF has been dating his roommate. But today I’ve run into him twice. Twice he’s made an effort to talk to me.

  “Hey, Kiernan, got a pen?” Brooks interrupts my train of thought.

  “You came to the first day of class without a pen?” I question with an exaggerated eye roll.

  “Sure, those chicks,” he nods toward sorority row, “usually take notes for me, but I’m guessing you won’t be doing that.”

  “That is a good call, my man,” I say as I hand him a pen. Of course they do. He could tell them to jump off a cliff or chew on rusty nails and they would.

  “Paper?”

  “For real?”

  He grins and winks at me. I hand him a few pieces out of my notebook.