Sunday, February 11, 2024
🏈Sunday's Sport Stats🏈: Schooling the Jock by Eli Easton & Tara Lain
Nerds vs. Jocks #1
Only an unfair universe makes a guy who’s that gorgeous so damned obnoxious.
A-hoe!
Poindexter!
Snarky, superbrain Dobbs and snooty football star Jesse stare at each other from their rival frat houses on opposites sides of the street -- and opposite sides of everything else.
Alpha Lambda Alpha and Sigma Mu Tau have been sworn enemies for decades. Then one disastrous prank proves to be the last straw, and the college dean blows his cork!
Work together or lose both your houses.
Question - -How can Dobbs win his coveted Quiz Bowl championship with when he’s forced to put a dumb jock on his team?
Answer -- Lots of personal schooling.
But when personal becomes very personal, Jesse risks causing his overtaxed family one more huge worry and the running back starts running.
Will Dobbs give up on the shocked jock, or show him that the answer to the big question is, Yes?
SCHOOLING THE JOCK is an enemies-to-lovers, opposites attract, campus romance – with one hell of a lightning round.
CHAPTER 1
Dobbs
In hindsight, the prank that brought down the wrath of God—or at least, the wrath of Dean Robberts—was one of the weakest and most harmless pranks we Sigma Mu Taus had ever pulled against the Alpha Lambda Alphas. Over the years, we’d put itch powder in their laundry, delivered pizza made with extra hot peppers, and rigged some pretty elaborate ruses, all a part of our ongoing feud with the rival frat house across the street. But this? This one was peanuts. Most of us didn't even know about it beforehand, not until the sirens and the flashing lights flooded our street making it look like our entire block was holding a retro ’70s disco party.
The Sigma Mu Tau frat house is on a street of frat houses just off campus at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Over fifty frats and sororities occupy big old homes around the university. Ours is a turn-of-the-century Victorian with a round cupola on one side and a wide gray porch. Only about fifteen percent of the student body are in fraternities and sororities, but the influence of the Greeks, as we’re called, is outsized. A lot of the brightest guys with the highest GPAs are SMTs, while the biggest athletic stars—or dumbest jocks, depending on how you look at it—are ALAs.
I'd been cramming for a computer architecture test in my flannel PJ bottoms and a thermal shirt when the sirens began. It was as good an excuse as any to take a break, so I grabbed a coat, stuffed my feet into some dodgy old loafers, and jogged down the stairs and out the front door. A half dozen of my frat bros were already on the lawn, watching as an ambulance rolled to a stop across the street, joining a jumble that included several cop cars and a massive fire truck. Being January, the night air was cold, and a thin layer of snow crunched under my feet as I crossed the front lawn.
The center of attention appeared to be the huge brown craftsman-style house of the ALAs. We called them, the A-hoes. It was a house full of assholes, each one bigger and more obnoxious than the next. And now, apparently, they were on fire. I didn't see flames at the front of the house, but there was a haze visible in the night air, and the acrid sting of smoke hit my throat.
"Ha! Now what did those geniuses do?" I asked Jax as I sidled up beside him, grinning.
Jax was our fraternity president and one of my best friends. He normally appreciated my sense of humor, but the glare he shot me was anything but amused. He stroked his red-brown beard and resumed his vigil of the A-hoe house, his arms crossed over a UW hoodie, his lips pressed tight.
"What is it? What's wrong?" I asked, my smile fading.
"Billings and Johnson set fire to the A-hoe kitchen."
"What?" I gasped. Billings and Johnson were our guys. "Do they know it was them? I mean, what happened? Why would they do that?"
He shook his head in disgust and didn't answer.
Shit. This could be bad. We were already on shaky ground with the dean. I looked around and saw Billings and Johnson across the lawn talking to Felix and Sai. They were back in the shadows of the yew hedge that flanked one side of the Sigma Mu Tau property, as if they didn't want to be seen.
Billings and Johnson were juniors. They looked like twins—both slender with longish brown hair and brown eyes. But they weren't related at all. They came from the same small town, though, had been best friends growing up, and now roomed together on the third floor. You rarely saw them apart.
In fact, I wasn't sure I'd ever heard the name Billings separate from Johnson in a conversation. They were practically the same entity, like some two-headed carnival attraction. It made sense if one of them had pulled a prank, the other had been right there with him.
I jogged over there. "Jax said you guys did something? What happened?"
Felix answered. "They burnt popcorn in the A-hoe's microwave and started a fire."
"They couldda burnt the whole house down!" Sai snorted.
"We just wanted to make some smelly smoke!" Billings insisted hotly. "The A-hoes had date night tonight."
Ah. Motive revealed. Billings had a crush on Jennifer Tyson, a football cheerleader who was dating one of the A-hoes. Of course, he'd be up for anything that would disrupt date night.
Felix grinned. “On the plus side, we get to see a bit more of the divine Jennifer and her sorority sisters than they might have planned due to the popcorn incident.” He ogled the ALA lawn where a few of their dates were clutching sweaters and coats over underwear. Felix appreciated anything female.
"Okay… but burning popcorn shouldn't start a fire," I said.
"It turns out that when you set the microwave timer for thirty minutes, and it's an old and crappy one, it actually does start a fire," said Sai. His tone held an obnoxious glee that was totally inappropriate given the potential repercussions of the situation.
Then again, Sai Patel was often inappropriate. He was slender, had a bit of a slouch, black floppy hair, and glasses. On top of his questionable social skills, he was also a pain to live in a house with because of his OCD. But we put up with him because he was a fucking god at Quiz Bowl. Hence his nickname Sai-ber Attack.
"It's not our fault that no one in their house bothered to check on the noxious fumes coming out of the kitchen," groused Billings. "Like, imma just ignore that the house reeks like fried ass. Who does that?"
Johnson nodded adamantly. "Right? And apparently their smoke alarm was busted. That's not our fault either."
Despite their bravado, I could tell they were worried.
My gaze went back to Jax, who was still looking across at all the emergency vehicles, hugging himself now. He was protective of Sigma Mu Tau and our reputation. Every line of his body looked tense. We were already on probation after the infamous Dog Poop Incident in September.
That one? That one had definitely been our fault.
Billings stepped closer to me and spoke low. "How bad do you think it'll be, Dobbs?"
"Uh…depends on how much damage was done to the house. And if anyone was hurt." I eyed the ambulance across the way. It was hard to tell because of the angle, but it looked like a guy was sitting on the ground behind it, blanket over his shoulders, maybe being given oxygen? Crap.
"Look at the bright side!" Sai chortled. "The A-hoes won't host a date night for a while! Ha ha!"
Yeah, no. Read the room, Sai.
"Everyone just chill. They'll probably think it was one of their guys who started the popcorn," Felix said.
"That would be fortunate," I agreed. "Though I'm sure the cops'll try to find the guy."
"Just because no one fesses up, that doesn't mean they didn't do it," reasoned Felix. "I mean, if we just keep our mouths shut—"
"Uh, guys? We might have been seen sneaking around the side of their house after we started the popcorn," Billings admitted sheepishly. "Two A-hoes came walking out their front door just as we went past. We ran. But they shouted at us. So."
I groaned. "Are you kidding me? Are you trying to get us all expelled?"
"A-plus on the ninja skills." Felix rolled his eyes.
Johnson looked miserable. "We can't get expelled. Our folks will kill us." He and Billings looked at me pleadingly.
They wanted reassurance. And as the Sigma Mu Tau Membership Coordinator, they wanted me to give it to them. I could do that. "Hey, as Grammy Dobson always said, There's no use anticipating trouble. I'm sure it'll be fine."
I didn't tell them that the rest of Grammy Dobson's saying was, ’Cause it'll hit you in the balls from outta the blue more times than not."
As it turned out, the punishment that rained down on us was not expulsion. No, it was much, much worse.
Jesse
Jesus. Hacking up a lung. “Ow!”
I stepped back into the same attack holly bush I’d run into twice already, but the lawn of the ALA house was so crowded with people, it was hard to avoid. My too-thin-for-January-in-Wisconsin sleep pants now sported a rip while I was suffering a serious shrinkage factor.
Who the fuck set our house on fire?
Firefighters in bright-yellow uniforms pushed into the front door of our house, and the lawn was covered with my Alpha Lambda Alpha frat brothers and their dates in various stages of undress. It’d been a date night. Well, not for me, but still.
Coughing, I sidled over to Tray. “Hey. What the hell happened? Was it Bubba?” God knows it wouldn’t be the first time Bubba’d decided to dry his jock in the oven.
Traynor Blackstone, my best friend on the campus, shook his head. “No clue.” He turned his handsome face and really looked at me. “What happened to you? One minute, I handed you a beer and then poof.”
“Had to study.”
“Come on, my man. I know you’ve got tough-ass classes, but football season’s over, and date night’s sacred.”
I shrugged and stared at the sneakers I’d managed to rummage from under my bed before I ran out the door. “Got an exam.”
He barked a laugh. “One of these days, Mr. Running Back, we’ll hook you up with a female so fine you’ll turn in your texts for sexts.”
“Could happen.” I smiled. But not in this life.
“We’ve got to get you out of your ivory tower somehow, my man.”
I just shrugged. Not much I could say. Tray was my friend. I loved the guy, but no one, even him, had ever gotten me to tell the truth.
He shook his head, but it was friendly. “Come on.” He pushed through the masses of coughing people and trip-hazard hoses to Rand, the president and all-around phenom of the human kind. Rand was so perfect he made me antsy. I liked and respected him. Hell, he was the only ALA who’d ever had the nerve to come out as gay, and he was still so admired, the chapter put him in charge. Maybe I just couldn’t stand the comparison. Tray, however, saw everyone as his equal. One of the best qualities in a friend.
“Rand, what the fuck up?”
“Not sure yet, but I’m getting a damned clue.” He spoke from the corner of his mouth and never took his eyes off the SMT house across the street. Like all the other frat houses on the block, their guys were out on the lawn staring at the chaos that was ALA. I’d never tell my brothers, but some of those dudes were seriously cute.
I crossed my sneakered feet.
But then I’d never tell my brothers I thought any dude was cute.
Tray thrust his chin toward Rand. “Share.”
Rand turned and lowered his voice. “JC and Rex say they saw a couple of the Poins sneaking out from behind our house like forty-five minutes ago.”
The Poins were what we called the frat bros at Sigma Mu Tau. Short for Poindexters, aka nerds.
The words shot out of my mouth. “The Poins set fire to our fucking house?” I bit my tongue because Rand really looked at me, and that made me want to go back to the holly bush. But damn, ratfucking with practical jokes was one thing. Burning down a frat house—my frat house—was way beyond. Just the thought made me breathe hard, and I had to suck air in through my nose. Hell, the cost of living in the frat house was doable for me—barely. If I had to move? I shied away from the thought.
Rand said, “I don’t know. But if they did it, Dean Robberts is going to eat their balls for breakfast.” He grinned evilly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Tray chuckled.
All three of us stared across the street. The SMT president, Jax, stared back. He was kind of a hipster with a beard and wool beanie permanently attached to his head. Rand hated his guts. Next to him was that skinny guy, Dobbs, who was so obnoxious there should be a restraining order on his mouth. Our rivalry with the SMTs was tradition and kept the ALAs on their toes. But when it came down to it, I had way bigger things in my life to worry about than those douchebags. If the rivalry fucked with my house and my scholarship, then, hell yeah, the SMTs and I had a significant problem.
Having been, at various times and under different names, a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, and organic farmer, Eli has been a m/m romance author since 2013. She has over 30 books published.
Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.
In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.
Eli has loved romance since her teens and she particular admires writers who can combine literary merit, genuine humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, bulldogs, cows, a cat, and lots of groundhogs.
In romance, Eli is best known for her Christmas stories because she’s a total Christmas sap. These include “Blame it on the Mistletoe”, “Unwrapping Hank” and “Merry Christmas, Mr. Miggles”. Her “Howl at the Moon” series of paranormal romances featuring the town of Mad Creek and its dog shifters has been popular with readers. And her series of Amish-themed romances, Men of Lancaster County, has won genre awards.
Tara Lain believes in happy ever afters – and magic. Same thing. In fact, she says, she doesn’t believe, she knows. Tara shares this passion in her stories that star her unique, charismatic heroes and a few adventurous heroines. Quarterbacks and cops, werewolves and witches, blue collar or billionaires, Tara’s characters, readers say, love deeply, resolve seemingly insurmountable differences, and ultimately live their lives authentically. After many years living in southern California, Tara, her soulmate honey and her soulmate dog decided they wanted less cars and more trees, prompting a move to Ashland, Oregon where Tara’s creating new stories and loving living in a small town with big culture. Likely a Gryffindor but possessed of Parseltongue, Tara loves animals of all kinds, diversity, open minds, coconut crunch ice cream from Zoeys, and her readers.
Eli Easton
Tara Lain
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EMAIL: tara@taralain.com
Schooling the Jock #1
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