Exception (Cambria University Series Book 1) Page 3

  I’m guessing life is pretty easy for Brooks McCarthy.

  Chapter 2: Brooks

  After my run-in with Kiernan, I lose focus on what brought me to the library in the first place. I lean over the cubicle she just left and watch her stroll calmly through the Quad. She doesn’t make it twenty feet before three baseball players approach her. Finn McElmery, Jake Stone, and Pauly Sims stop her to talk. She flashes them a mile-wide grin and hugs each of them. Finn, Stoner, and Sims are douches. They’re all chew spit and nut scratching. How do they know her if I don’t? They chat for only a few minutes and then she nods, which I assume is her way of saying goodbye. As if they’re in a bad movie, they all slowly turn around and watch her fine ass walk away. They start punching each other and Stoner puts Finn in a headlock. Like I said, douches.

  I continue to watch her walk away, just like the douchebag baseball players did, and she gets stopped at least a dozen more times before I lose sight of her. Everyone wants to talk to this girl. Seriously, how is it possible I don’t know her? Basketball players, baseball players, a few girls who would not be invited to a Pi Kappa party – yup, I’m still an asshole – a few girls who would, and some random guys who are definitely not athletes. Holy shit. This girl is popular. The intrigue is building. She blew me off and she seems to be some kind of special on this campus. I need to pull my head out of sorority pussy and pay more attention at the Pi Kappa house. I bet she’s been there. She’s a softball player, so I assume she goes with Bateman’s girlfriend. He has to know her.

  I check my watch. I have twenty minutes to get over to Sampson. Shit. I wanted to get there early so I could grab a seat by her for the semester, but I spent too much time ogling her from the window. I hustle out of the library and through the Quad over to Sampson. I pull out my phone to text Bateman.

  “Dude. Just met an amazingly hot chick. She had a CU softball shirt on. You holding out on me?”

  “Who was it?”

  “If I knew I wouldn’t be texting you. Short. Smoking body. Dark hair. Black eyes. Listening to the Triple Play in the library.”

  “Didn’t talk to you much? Kinda blew you off and that’s why you’re texting me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Kiernan Kelly. She’s B’s roommate actually. They’ve been BFFs forever.”

  “Why the fuck haven’t you hooked me up? She bat for the other team?”

  “No, not all girls want to jump on your dick.”

  “But, they do.”

  “She’s different. B says she doesn’t date. Every dude and even some chicks have tried, but she never goes out with anyone. B says she’s married to softball. Lol.”

  “I can respect that, but she’s never met me. Gotta go I’m in class.”

  “Never gonna happen, asshole. But good luck.”

  I walk in as the class is filling up and I glance around the room to find Kiernan. There’s an open seat next to her. Thank you, God. She’s chatting with the two people behind her and a mousey-looking girl on her right. She’s smiling and laughing along with them.

  Bateman’s last text fuels me a little more. I can break this chick. I think I may like the challenge she presents. Finally, someone interesting.

  As I walked down the aisle past the sorority row, they literally moan out loud. Ugh. I’m almost to Kiernan when another dude has the same idea. He sees me just as he’s about to walk into her row. I glare at his pudgy ass and he freezes in his tracks. I point to a different row, and he scoots out and walks to a different seat. Sometimes, power can be useful.

  I slide through the narrow aisle and plop down next to Kiernan as she’s pulling her laptop out of her backpack. “Hey, gorgeous,” I offer again since she didn’t seem to acknowledge the compliment when I first said it.

  “Oh, hey, Brooks. Long time, no see,” she responds with a cool smile as she gazes up at me through those black lashes.

  “Too long, sweetheart,” I say and flash her my best smile that pops my dimples. She smiles politely back at me while I hear sorority row shift in their desks. Their seats are soaking wet, and this girl is literally not phased in the least by me. This is – exciting? It’s been a while since I’ve had to chase a girl. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever had to chase a girl. I have no idea how to approach this. Do I even want to? Remember, you have rules, you giant turd.

  “You a psych major?” I ask. Because what is the next most boring topic of conversation besides the weather? Kill me.

  “Yup. Sports psych actually. I’m into all this garbage. You?” Not even a little ‘til now, sweet cheeks.

  “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.” Oh my God. I am a douchebag. Why the hell did I just say that?

  “That’s cool. You’ll get drafted though, so you’re kinda wasting your time here,” she says and nudges my shoulder with hers.

  “Really? How are you so sure?” I probe. Most would give me a non-football related answer about my hot ass in tight pants and blah fuckity blah.

  She takes a long sigh, “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,” she concludes and smiles.

  My fucking heart is on fire and my dick just twitched in my jeans. Who is this chick? “Well, I appreciate the recap of my sophomore season, gorgeous. I’m fucking impressed.” I try to remain calm as Little Mac is screaming at me to get out of my pants.

  The mousey girl leans over Kiernan and introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Chelsi,” she says as she bats her eyelashes at me. I nod back at her and she looks like she’s going to faint. That gets old sometimes.

  “Hey, Kiernan, got a pen?”

  “You came to the first day of class without a pen?” she asks and seems genuinely annoyed. I love it.

  “Sure, those chicks usually take notes for me,” I motion toward the sorority sisters above us, “but I’m guessing you won’t be doing that.”

  “That is a good call, my man,” she says and hands me a pen without an ounce of jealously in her voice

  “Paper?”

  “For real?” she questions. She seems to almost loathe my presence at this point. My usual cockiness that makes panties drop is turning her off, I think. My confidence is waning a bit here. I need to do something to fix that, and I haven’t the slightest idea what that is. Again, you have rules for a reason! I try to remind myself. But I don’t fucking care right now. All I want is more of her.

  Just then, Dr. Bigelow graces us with his presence and she turns her attention toward the front of the room, completely ignoring me.

  Chapter 3: Kiernan

  September

  The next couple weeks fly by. Learning my new schedule, attending all my classes, studying in the library, lifting and fall ball practice take their toll, but trying to keep Brooks’ image from creeping into my head is a full-time job lately. I am beat.

  I finally get home from class on a Friday afternoon, collapse on the couch and fall asleep rather quickly. I live in the Franklin Apartments on campus, with my best friends and teammates Blaire Lyon, Mary Duncan, and Tori Watley. Blaire is from Massachusetts and is our starting left fielder. I may be biased because she’s my best friend, but she’s beautiful – all arms and legs, long blond hair and bright blue eyes. She’s kind, but has a certain swagger to her that keeps her interesting. Duncan is a California girl, and our starting catcher. She has a legit cannon affixed to her right arm. No one runs on Duncan, contrary to the popular coffee company slogan. She’s tall, thick, and has long black hair and green eyes. She dyes it that color, but it works for her. It makes her eyes pop. She’s cocky, with a penchant for short men – I think she has a dominatrix complex. Watley, aka Watts, plays second base. Together, we make up the middle infield. She and I are like one person when we play. We turned the most double plays in the country last year, including one against Alabama in the championship game that saved a run. Sh
e’s a little taller than I am, but nowhere near as tall as B and Duncan. She’s from Georgia and has a thick southern accent. She has sass for days and I love it. Her caramel-colored eyes and auburn hair perfectly complement each other. She’s a stunner. Thinking about it, I have really hot friends.

  I wake up early Saturday morning, and just as I get comfortable back on the couch with a bowl of Captain Crunch Berries, the trio strolls into the living room from their coffee run. Our apartment is small, but nice. There’s a living room with a couch, loveseat and recliner, and a 50-inch flat screen that sits on top of a dark wood entertainment center in the corner. There’s a pass through to the kitchen which has a small eat-in area, and down a short hallway are four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Blaire and I share one bathroom while Duncan and Watts share the other one. We usually all end up in one bathroom before going out anyway though. We always have a candle lit, usually a fresh linen scent. Blaire is on baking kick and unfortunately has been testing out recipes on us, so our apartment smells like burnt cookies and clean laundry. There’s one large, bright blue beer sign that reads “Buschhhhhhhhhhhhh” hanging on the wall. We usually have our friends autograph it when they come over. Otherwise, the walls are decorated with framed pictures of me and my girls.

  “Oh hey, girl!” shouts Blaire as she enters the room and hands me a large black coffee. She knows me too well.

  “Hey, ladies,” I say.

  “So, there’s a party at Pi Kappa tonight after the football game and we’re going.” Watts says, glaring at me. I haven’t been to a party yet this year. She knows if she attaches the party to the football game I will be more willing to go.

  “We didn’t go to their party last night, so you can come tonight,” Duncan commands and shoots me a glance that says don’t fuck with me on this.

  “Ugh, fine. You know we didn’t go last night because you all went out for their Thirsty Thursday party the night before and were still hungover. If I go, you all are going to the game and not leaving at halftime. Period. No negotiations.” My friends are notorious for tailgating hard before the game and dipping out at halftime for a nap. Then they rally and party at Pi Kappa all night. That usually leaves me at the game alone because I actually want to watch it.

  “Ugh, fine.” Blaire sarcastically uses my response against me. She winks and saunters off to her bedroom to get ready for the game. It will take her hours. She takes pride in her appearance, and the fact she’s dating the star wide-out. She says she’s like a trophy wife, but without the husband. She’s practicing for the future role. I don’t really get it, but whatever, bring on the glitter.

  It’s 9 a.m. – I’m watching College Gameday and haven’t moved from my spot on the couch. The game today is at three, so tailgating will start soon. The lots open five hours before game time. I’m about to roll my ass off the couch when Watts and Duncan come out in their Golden Knight gear. We all dress in the same game day attire: striped black and gold overalls with black tank tops underneath that read Golden Knights Football across the chest. In gold glitter lettering, of course. They have gold glitter headbands wrapped around their heads and perfectly curled ponytails hanging down their backs, plus a glitter CU tattoo on their cheeks. I head back to get dressed. I hop in the shower – ten minutes and I’m out, dried off and dressed. I slip on my striped overalls and black football tank top. I bend at my waist and throw my long hair upside down to wrap it in a messy bun on top of my head. It’s still wet, but I don’t care. As I look in the mirror, I see Blaire walk out of her room. Her hair is perfectly curled and flowing down her back, a glittery headband shining though her golden tresses. She’s going to make a flawless trophy wife one day for real. I throw on my headband and a little mascara, which is usually the extent of my makeup. Blaire and I stroll into the living room together, where Watts plasters CU tattoos on our cheeks.

  Game day is my favorite day. The energy, the hype, the sports banter. The boys are currently undefeated in non-conference play, with conference games starting soon. There’s a lot of national buzz around this year’s team, and next week will be a test against Florida, but today’s game against William & Mary College should be a piece of cake.

  It’s a beautiful September day as we walk to the stadium from our apartment. There’s a slight breeze, the sun feels warm, and it’s perfect weather for football. Fall in Massachusetts is amazing. We always tailgate in the Pi Kappa lot, which is very close to Golden Knight Stadium, also known as “The Fortress.” It’s a large gray stone, open-air stadium that seats about 70,000, oval in shape, and sort of looks like the coliseum in Rome, except for the large turrets on the north and south entrances. In the north end zone, the jumbotron flashes highlights and replays of what just happened on the field. There’s a large gold knight’s helmet affixed to the top of the screen, and an electronic ticker runs all the way around the stadium, right under the second deck of seats. That will display cheers during the game and flash scores from around the NCAA.

  The student section, where we sit, is on the south end. It spans the entire south end zone and all three seating decks. Our seats are usually right near the tunnel, in the southeast corner of the stadium, where Coach Hayes leads the boys onto to the field. I always get chills when that happens.

  Beer bongs are flowing by the time we get to the tailgate lot, and the smell of burgers on the grill fills my nostrils. I’m starving. We walk down the rows and rows of tents to several people saying some version of hi, looking good ladies, or whistling at us. Watts lives for this shit. She flirts back every chance she gets.

  We stop at the baseball tent. We’re good friends with the baseball team and they have the best setup, with a black and gold custom Golden Knights Baseball tailgate tent – basically a canopy with no walls. They have a stereo on full blast, pumping rap and rock music through the parking lot. Currently, “Truth Hurts” by Lizzo. I love this song.

  Some of our teammates are there already, so we walk over to chat with them for a while. Rachel is our starting centerfielder, Rooks plays first base and CJ is our third baseman. CJ is a senior – she and I have been playing together since I was a freshman. She didn’t like me at first because I earned the starting spot at shortstop over one of her best friends, who eventually quit the team. We’re good now though. She and I work well together on the left side of our infield.

  Our freshman pitcher, Coco Holden, is sitting on Andrew Gomez’s lap. That didn’t take long. She’s only been on campus a couple weeks. Gomez is very handsome and flashes me a bright smile. He’s a shortstop like me. Small, quick, and very flashy. I give them a nod as I walk by. Coco smiles sheepishly, as if she’s doing something wrong. I hope she doesn’t think I care.

  Inside the tent are two grills, which are currently sizzling with hamburgers and hot dogs. They have a long white table set up with condiments, chips, and baked beans in a crockpot. On the other side of the tent are five 80-gallon coolers full of beer. There’s also a Bloody Mary bar adjacent to the condiment table, with Bloody Mary mix, vodka, pickles, olives, cheese, beef sticks, and Tabasco sauce if you want it spicy. Outside, there are two cornhole games set up next to the condiment table.

  I grab a burger from Jaren Rickert, who usually tends the grill for the baseball team. “Rickert, top notch burger, my man!” I shout over the crowd. Rickert smiles sheepishly and gives me a thumbs up. He’s a nice guy, one of the tamer baseball players. I fill up the rest of my plate with pickles, cheese, and chips. I reach into one of the coolers and pull out a Bud Light before walking back to where I left my friends.

  “Kelly!” I turn to see Sims, Finn, Stoner, and Logan strolling over to us.

  “Oh good, here comes your fan club,” Duncan says as she rolls her eyes at them.

  “Stop it. They are not,” I reply, slightly annoyed. I hate when my roommates make comments about guys hitting on me. Most of the time they’re just joking around because we’re friends. They don’t actually mean what they say. They’re pigs really.

  “You need to
open your eyes one of these days, KK,” she replies.

  “Just be nice,” I warn her and turn my attention to the guys as they arrive. “Hey, how’s it going, fellas?” Duncan, Watts and Blaire acknowledge them too.

  “Fucking all right now that you’re here,” Stoner replies and spits some chew residue on the ground. He seems tipsy already. “You ladies having fun?”

  “It would be better if we could get a round on the beer bong,” Watts blurts. I know she doesn’t mean to sound so bitchy, but she does.

  “I got it,” Finn says and literally grabs it out of the mouth of another baseball player. The beer shoots out all over the kid and he looks pissed. He won’t do anything to Finn though – Finn and his boys are pretty fucking crazy. “It’s fine, he’s a freshman,” he says dismissively.

  “Now it’s a tailgate party!” Watts shouts as she cracks a beer and smiles seductively at Finn. “Let’s go, KK!”

  I glare at her and hold up my index finger. “One. I will do one and then you’ll leave me the hell alone with this shit, yeah?” I like to drink and party with my friends, but I don’t like being hammered before noon. It makes for a very long day. Plus, I do actually want to watch the game.

  “Fine, you pussy,” she concedes. The baseball players laugh at my expense.

  I hand my plate of food to Blaire and drop to my knees so the funnel that Watts is holding is above my head. I hold the hose with my right hand and plug the open end of the tube with my left hand.

  “While you’re down there, babe…” Logan says with a slick grin.

  “Super original, Logs,” I reply and roll my eyes at him.

  “You fucking wish, Logan,” Blaire snaps back at him.

  “Yeah, I do fucking wish!” he shouts in response to Blaire and winks at me. Logan is hot – a tall outfielder with an athletic build. He has muscles, but is a bit lanky. Long and lean is the best way to describe him. He has dark brown hair that’s shaved on the sides and longer on top, so if he let it fall it would be down to his shoulders. He has it pulled into a man bun. He has brown eyes and a perfect smile, and his southern drawl makes the ladies swoon over him. Yes, ma’am. He knows he’s hot and uses it to his advantage with the ladies. Which is good, because he can’t dazzle them with his wit. He isn’t the brightest bulb in the box. He’s taken too many inside pitches to the head I think.