Coaching the Nerd (Nerds Vs Jocks #2) - Eli Easton Page 0,4
you’ve got another thing coming. I will play flag football. And I’ll get in shape, too, because I am going to get laid!
Chapter Two
Bubba
I sat on my bed and rotated each foot. Size fifteen, so there was a lot to move. Ankle mobility was really important and strengthened the peroneus, brevis, longus, and tertius muscles of the calf. Still, probably not the best way to spend my time when I was supposed to be downstairs talking to Tray, but I couldn’t get my legs to move. I usually loved hanging with my Alpha Lambda Alpha frat bros, but my whole brain was stuck on Tray’s face when I jogged across the field after screwing up with that Poin. Like he had more respect for dog poop on his shoe. Right. He could get rid of dog shit. Me, he was stuck with.
I should have known better. The Poin—they called him Hedgehog. I guess because of his spiky red hair, but his real name was Sean—had even tried to tell me he was on Tray’s team, but oh no, Mr. Micro-Brain has to say, You’ll be on my team. And the poor guy catches the ball, maybe the first one in his life, smashes his puny chest in the process probably, runs the whole length of the MFing field, and all he gets for it is crushed in the mud and made fun of. Because of me.
Of course, I got my share of crap slung at me. Tray never stopped calling me wrong-way Bubba the whole rest of the game.
And now here I sat. I could say I felt humiliated, but fuck, if I checked out every time somebody called me dumb, I’d be dead about a thousand times. Still, Tray wasn’t usually the one doing the razzing. I liked him and thought he liked me, but nobody got between Tray and his flag football. Hell, when he told everybody in the house we had to have two of those Poins on our team or the dean might close us down, I thought the man was gonna cry.
“Mrowr.” The sound came from outside my bedroom door, a furry paw slipped under it and felt around, claws extended.
That got me off my ass. Brett the cat didn’t come looking for me every day. Usually, he hung on Jesse Knox’s bed, partly because Brett liked Jesse and partly because Jesse was the neatest guy in the house and always made his bed.
I swung the door open, and the big beige fuzzy guy stared up at me like move your ass, buddy. Maybe Jesse sent him to get me. Messenger cat. I leaned down, scooped him up, and flopped him over my shoulder the way Jesse did. He even let me. Time to face it.
Carrying Brett, I jogged down the stairs of our big frat house. Most of the ALA flag players were gathered in the living room already, about twelve guys. Our frat house flag team was one of the best in the whole country. And flag football was a big fucking deal. There were even NFL pro flag teams. So being the best was no small thing. I was as proud to get to play on it as I was to be a linebacker on the Madison Badger’s football team. Well, second-string linebacker, but still.
At that moment, all the ALA flag players looked like somebody stole their pizza. Tray must have told them about what happened at practice.
Tray glanced up. “Hey, Wrong-Way, join the party.”
I felt my own frown but flipped it over fast. “That’s me, man.” I grinned. Teasing wasn’t so bad if you just agreed with whatever they said.
DeWan slid over closer to Rex on the couch and made room for me, which was nice. I flopped down and put Brett on my lap, but he instantly jumped down and ran upstairs.
Rand, the stupidly perfect, blond president of the chapter sat on a chair he’d pulled from the dining room and looked around like he was about to call the meeting to order. He leaned forward, shook his head, and said, “At least we know that we’re going to win the ten-thousand-dollar bet.”
“Yes!” I shoved my fist in the air and then stopped. Everyone was gawking at me like I was nuts—again. I let my arm drop slowly.
Rand gave me a weird look. “I’m talking about the side bet we made with the Poins—that our guys would do better at Quiz Bowl than their guys would at flag.”