Free The Jock and the Fat Chick by Nicole Winters Page A

Well, we’ll just have to meet up again.”
    “Yeah, sure, no probs.”
    Yeah, sure, no probs? What am I saying? Way to fumble a beautiful pass. I try to recover the play. “Uh, thanks for helping me study. Oh, and for dinner. Your folks are cool.”
    She rolls her eyes, like her parents are embarrassing, and I want to reach out and take her hand to kiss the top of it. I’ve never done anything like that before, but it feels like a classy thing to do. She clasps one hand in the other. Now if I can just haul mine out of my pockets, I might try it. I remove a hand—
    “So, I’ll see you in class?” she says, and my window of opportunity shuts. But wait, what was all that in the kitchen before her mom came home, and the “thanks for helping me study” just now?
    Claire leans in and gives me a kiss on both cheeks. “Bye, Kev.”
    I smile. She called me “Kev.”
    I ride home feeling sky high.

CHAPTER 6
    FIRST THING I DO ON SUNDAY IS WAKE UP AND plug my phone into its charger because I forgot to last night, and the battery’s dead. It buzzes to life with eight missed messages, all from Viktor. The texts basically ask where the hell I went to and how much I missed out. He said he hung out with Alyssa and Missy at Missy’s place, and he was pretty sure if I’d gone, Missy would have sucked my dick. Yeah, right. Like I’d have let that happen. I delete his messages. I hope he doesn’t bring this up when we’re around the guys. If Armpit finds out, he’ll probably punch me for blowing my chances at getting laid.
    I meet up with Viktor at Shreds for our Sunday cardio session. He’s already on the treadmill, so I hop on the machine next to his and glance at his workout display. He’s roughly five minutes into it.
    “Hey, man,” he says, finishing his warm-up and kickingup the pace. “Where were you last night? I texted you like a hundred times.”
    I press a series of buttons, setting it to interval sprint mode, and the machine beeps three times before the running belt churns. “Yeah, sorry. Battery ran out. Didn’t get your messages until this morning.” His treadmill revs high and loud for an all-out sprint. His shoes slap in a heel-toe, heel-toe formation. I told him he should shift his weight so that he runs on the balls of his feet and there’s less stress on his knees, but Viktor’s going to do what Viktor wants to do. Two minutes pass before the machine slows to a jogging pace and he can speak.
    “I’m telling you, Missy was hot to trot. Where were you?”
    I increase my speed and deliver the excuse I came up with on the bike ride here. “My mom nagged me about doing some painting around the house.” My machine ramps up for two grueling minutes.
    “Well,” he says when I slow to a jog again, “you missed out. The girls picked up some gin—you know, the panty remover—and when we ran out of soda, Missy walked to the corner store to get more and that’s when Alyssa blew me.”
    “No way,” I say, a little too loud because a random guy, staring at himself in the mirror, breaks his gaze to look at us.
    Viktor makes me wait until after his two-minute sprint is up before spilling details.
    “Yup. Right in the living room.”
    I do what’s expected when a buddy gets some: I hold out my palm and say, “Score!” We slap hands while still running.
    Our workout syncs, and the thud-thud-thud of our footsteps echo throughout the space.
    When we slow down again, Viktor still won’t drop the topic. “I’m telling ya, you would have gotten some too if you had your phone on. Missy wants what’s in your pants.”
    Between breaths, I tell him, “Nah,” and try an honest tactic to get him off my back. “You know me, I like me some boobs.” I hold out my hands, like I’m grabbing a luscious handful. “And she lacks.”
    Viktor doesn’t take the bait. He seems more confused, borderline annoyed. “Dude. I’m doing my best to help you get laid. You must be the only guy-virgin with standards. How