Study Buddy Part 1

Zeke adjusted the thick, black strap of his gym bag on his muscular frame, flexing his half-naked body as he walked down the bustling dorms with a knowing smirk. He was being watched by his expansive fan club, and he knew it.

Fall semester was starting tomorrow, and the girls were all eyeing him up to pick up right where they had left off before summer.

And during summer. He winked at a girl he vaguely remembered sucking his dick at last week’s “before-school bash,” and she giggled, blushing as she turned to her friends, who he also remembered from that same party.

Zeke was down for whatever the girls of San Francisco State University wanted to do with him.

“Zeke. Catch!” Fabian, the Krakens’ catcher, threw him a baseball over the top of the crowded hall.

Zeke caught it single-handedly.

“Save it for the diamond, Fab!” Zeke called, and launched the ball right back, his pitching arm ready for the throw as if they were in the middle of a game right on the baseball field.

It knocked Fabian back, and he grinned, hooting like an idiot.

Zeke shook his head with a lazy smirk, then brushed past the rest of the students, all moving into their dorms for the semester. Zeke ran his hand through his damp, dark hair that fell into his eyes, pushing it back.

Droplets of water fell from the strands and dropped onto the olive skin of his bare chest. He swiped it away with the towel hanging on his other shoulder.

He could barely hear himself think through the chaos of the filling hall, but he was used to the noise. It was never quiet in the dorms, especially at the start of the semester or at night.

Most of the students left their doors open, and there was always a party to go to.

Zeke made it to his door, getting groped at least five times by girls “accidentally” bumping into him, “accidentally” brushing their hands against his abs. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew the lean, muscular six-pack he had was a game changer with the ladies.

He was not built super stocky like the Krakens shortstop, Alex, and wasn’t as lanky as the center fielder, Jase, but he fell somewhere in the middle and had surpassed the six-foot height mark last summer. Now he was apparently in that sweet spot that made women drool. And he took full advantage of that.

He shouldn’t, though. He should study instead, try harder to pass his papers. But it was hard to focus when he could live the life of a star athlete.

He was doing his bachelor of kinesiology, and it wasn’t like the work was too hard—he knew his shit—but when it came to remembering that shit or studying what he needed to learn, he just couldn’t focus. All he wanted to do was play baseball, and everyone knew he was only studying to hold up his end of the baseball scholarship he’d gotten.

Oh, and to prove to his parents that he could get his degree. Even if he was doing a really shitty job of proving that so far.

He just wasn’t a man of commitment, whether that be women or his studies. The only things he could do really well were play baseball, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and fuck.

Grabbing his key from his pocket, Zeke unlocked his door and walked into his single dorm, disturbing the collection of colorful Post-it notes that had been slipped under his door from his groupies. He grinned and picked them up, flicking through them absentmindedly.

There were love hearts, lipstick prints, invitations, and his personal favorite—a pair of black lace panties with a dorm number. He had only been gone for thirty minutes to shower, but coming back to girls’ numbers and messages shoved under the door was pretty common for him.

He lived a blessed, sated life.

He closed the door behind him and placed the notes on his desk in a pile with the others he had already managed to accumulate in the two days he’d been back on campus. They toppled onto the other pieces of paper scattered over his desk, and he grimaced. Those papers weren’t as fun.

His grades from last semester.

He was so close to failing, and he hadn’t taken last semester nearly as seriously as he should’ve.

With a heavy sigh, he tossed his gym bag onto his unmade bed and slid out of his scuffs. He had hoped that those papers and grades would magically change while he was away for the summer. Then he could pretend things were fine.

It was a stupid hope, but he had given into it anyway, disappointment crushing him as he stared at the bright red REVISE on his last submission. He was so fucked.

If he didn’t sort his shit, he was going to lose his scholarship, and his future would be gone because of a few stupid grades. It was his own fault that his grades were bad, and he knew that.

He knew his lifestyle of drinking as many nights in a row as he could and being with any woman he wanted (which was all of them), whenever he wanted, though luxurious and fun, was something he couldn’t keep up if he was going to have a future in baseball.

Once he made it to the top, he could keep doing who and what he pleased, but until he got there, he had to figure something out.

This semester had to be different.

Which included finding a way to study and make time for his assignments to get his grades higher.

Zeke furrowed his brows heavily in thought. He was so mad at himself, mad that he had let himself become so reckless, and he didn’t want to disappoint his coach, parents, or himself.

A loud knock on the door broke him from his thoughts, and he rolled his shoulders back, shaking off the pity party to go and answer the door.

Baseball coach and Krakens legend, Allen Wicker, stood slightly taller than Zeke at six feet four on the other side of the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was a huge man, full of muscle and power from deadlifting.

His build made him seem like a giant, intimidating as ever, and the wisdom in his green eyes commanded a respect from Zeke that not even his own father held.

Coach smirked, his wide, toothy mouth pulling to the side.

“You don’t own a shirt, boy?” he teased, his voice warm and comforting, coated in a heavy Scottish accent.

Zeke grinned.

“Nah, the girls tore them all to shreds or stole them to sniff later.”

Allen let out a booming laugh before turning serious.

“Can I come in?” Coach asked, indicating Zeke’s dorm.

Zeke knew why he was there, but he still held onto that naive hope that maybe he could get away with a string of shitty marks and still keep his scholarship. But Coach wasn’t one to sugarcoat anything, and Zeke had a feeling he was about to slaughter that hope.

Zeke nodded, and Coach Allen stepped inside, his ginger hair under a baseball cap, his bushy stubble more tame than last semester along his jawline.

Zeke closed the door behind him and looked over at his coach, who stood with his feet wide and arms barely crossed over his chest purely because of the size of his impressive biceps and pecs.

He had been lean once, fast as hell in the diamond, but that had been before.

Now he bench lifted, and it showed.

“I’m sure you’ve seen your miserable excuse for a grade by now?” Coach questioned him, holding the sugarcoating.

Zeke nodded, his jaw clenched as he fought the urge to argue defensively, but he had no excuse that wouldn’t get him in more shit.

“Speak, kid,” Coach ordered.

Zeke averted his eyes, hating to see the disappointment there. “I’ve seen it, Coach.”

“Then you already know you have to sort your fock’n shit, yeah?” Coach scolded in the same way Zeke’s dad would have.

But Zeke actually listened to Coach Allen.

Sinking further into “fuck my life” territory, Zeke looked up to meet Coach’s gaze.

He had to own his fuck-up; it was expected, and the respect in that would get him in a slightly better position than being fucked with Coach.

“I know I’ve gotta sort my shit, Coach,” he started. “I’ll admit the distractions here are hard to resist, though, and I indulge in the social scene a bit more than I should, but I’ll change this semester. I’ll find a way to focus on my studies, even if it leaves every girl here crying into my stolen T-shirts at night,” Zeke teased lightly, but Coach’s gaze hardened at the joke.

Coach stepped forward, looking down on Zeke. “Do you love baseball?”

“You know I do.”

“Then stop taking it for granted. You have everything now, but one distraction too many and it can get ripped away from you,” Coach warned, looking down at his knee that had been busted and lost him his scholarship.

Zeke swallowed hard at the reminder of legend Allen Wicker playing his last game and losing everything.

It had rocked the community, and he had never recovered.

Zeke couldn’t imagine what that had been like and hated that Coach thought he was taking any of it for granted, but looking at how he lived, he kind of was.

Coach placed his hand on Zeke’s shoulder.

“You’ve got to grow up, son. This lifestyle is a reward for the hard work you put in, not a right. Stop showing up to do the work, and you’ll be left with nothing. You’ve got more talent in you than players I’ve seen go pro, and I want that future for you. Don’t let it get away because you can’t hit the books instead of the booze,” he said.

Zeke nodded. He had to do better. Had to make Coach proud.

“I can fix this,” he mumbled, not sure exactly how yet.

“Get your head in some books and sort your grades, or your luck will run out, kid,” Coach said, and the way he said it made Zeke think he was speaking from experience.

“What do you suggest I do then, Coach?” Zeke asked, genuinely interested because he had no fucking idea where to start.

Coach smiled his wide, signature grin, and Zeke knew the serious talk was over.

“Well, considering you love talking to women all the time, I recommend finding yourself one with brains rather than a pair of tits to tutor you, and I mean actually studying, Zeke.”

“I’ll sort it,” Zeke said, and his coach gave him an approving nod before seeing himself out.

He stopped just before opening the door and turned back to face Zeke. “Oh, and perhaps move somewhere a bit quieter, away from all those distractions you mentioned. Just a suggestion,” Coach noted, leaving through the noisy hall.

Zeke sighed, not liking the idea of moving, but if it would save his scholarship, then he’d do it.

Hell, he’d try anything to keep it.

Zeke grabbed his phone. His intentions were pure when he unlocked it, thinking he would go on the San Fran State Facebook page and see if there were any rooms off campus that he could look at.

But then a message popped up in the group chat with his friends.

Zeke chuckled.

Zeke snorted dryly. Maybe he was getting too much of a reputation.

But if the girls were up for it, then who was he to turn them away?

His answer earned him multiple dog-piling gifs and laughing emojis before he put his phone in his pocket.

His dorm room door burst open, Alex and Jase falling in, laughing and shoving each other.

They were just as well built as him, but in different ways.

Alex was brawny and stocky, concentrating on bulk and weights so his throwing arm was primed.

Jase had all the speed, fast as anything and the quickest centerfielder in San Fran history.

He did shitloads of cardio and had a lanky six-foot figure hidden beneath the same Krakens gym shorts and tank as Zeke usually wore.

Alex was a little shorter but not by much, and he had brown, curly hair that he kept short at the sides, longer on top.

Jase was blond and blue-eyed with a slightly freckled complexion.

Apparently, ladies found that cute.

Zeke thought it was the dimples that earned him that title though.

“You guys finished groping each other?” Zeke joked as Jase grinned, moving in to man-hug-chest-bump him, then Alex.

“We’re heading down to the gym. Wanna come?” Alex asked, and Zeke considered it.

He should sort out a way to fix his grades, but surely going to the gym with the boys wasn’t the kind of distraction Coach meant?

He had to stay fit.

Sure, he’d already had a session in the gym earlier that morning, but his body was his temple and kept him the best.

No, the Coach had definitely not meant that.

Zeke grinned and nodded.

He turned to his gym bag and swapped out his stuff from earlier for fresh gear, then swung the bag on his shoulder.

He put on his trainers, left his body shirtless, then followed the boys out the door and down to the gym.

It wasn’t far from the university housing, and soon they were deep in their workouts, joking and laughing like normal.

A normal he wasn’t meant to be getting back to.

Zeke grimaced as he left the gym a couple of hours later.

He had wasted a lot of time on a workout that mostly consisted of showing off for the girls that had conveniently decided to work out at the same time.

Maybe that’s what Coach had meant?

Shit, he had to learn to say no.

Jase interrupted his thoughts, nudging him as they walked back to their dorms in Mary Ward Hall.

“There’s a party in the Tower Housing this weekend. You going?” he asked, as if Zeke ever said no to a party.

“You say that like we don’t find parties to go to almost every night,” Alex scoffed.

Zeke laughed. It was true.

There was always drinking, music, and sex to be found somewhere on campus, no matter what day it was, and the Krakens were always invited.

“Yeah, but this party is meant to be way bigger, as in open invitation. As in fresh fish in the sea. As in all the girls bringing all their girlfriends from outside San Fran State,” Jase said, wiggling his eyebrows at Zeke, who laughed easily.

Like he needed more tit pics and phone numbers in his phone. Not that he was going to complain, though.

And neither did they.

“Sounds good to me,” Alex chimed in as they drew closer to the lobby of the dorms.

“So, you in, Zeke?” Jase asked, and Zeke nodded, despite the little voice in his head telling him not to give in.

He didn’t listen to it.

“I’d have to be dying to turn down a party invitation like that,” he chuckled, and the boys cheered.

As they did, two hot-as-fuck girls—freshmen—came out of the dorms, giggling and looking at their phones.

Zeke didn’t give them a second thought, but Alex and Jase were drooling as they walked past.

“I call the redhead,” Alex said, stopping and turning to walk after his new obsession.

Alex loved the chase. It was scary, the way he hungered for a girl right up until they gave in.

Then he got bored.

Jase narrowed his eyes on the other oblivious one who was walking with her friend.

They had no idea they were being tracked.

“That’s fine by me. I like more meat with my meals,” Jase said, eyeing up the one with a thicker body and long, wavy hair.

Zeke rolled his eyes as his friends ditched him to chase them down.

“Yeah, I’ll just catch up with you guys later then!” he called, shaking his head with a laugh before turning back toward the dorms.

Without his friends there, and with his phone almost dead, he couldn’t even listen to music when the silence and self-doubt descended.

He should have stayed in. He shouldn’t have said yes to the party.

Maybe he shouldn’t go? But all work and no play was never a good balance.

Maybe he could study during the day and then have fun at night? But then he had practice and classes.

It all seemed impossible to balance, and he was already falling into bad habits.

It was the first day of the semester, and he’d already fucked up his plans to knuckle down and study instead of go out.

Coach was right—he had to get away from his distractions.

Determined to do just that, Zeke looked up from staring down at his feet just as a girl zoomed past him so fast he faltered back.

She hadn’t even noticed.

She headed straight to the campus notice board with sure steps and a cherry-colored paper in her hand.

He recognized her from campus and classes, but he hadn’t seen her around the dorms before.

She was cute in a nerdy way.

She definitely didn’t hang out in the same social groups as he did.

If he had to guess, based on the cuffed, three-quarter jeans and polo shirt with Vans, he’d say she was a library chick.

A hot one, in a weird kind of way.

She wasn’t a conventional type he usually went for.

Then again, he didn’t really have a type—they all felt fucking great.

But she didn’t look like the kind of girl who would take a tumble on the wild side with him.

She looked like a stage-five clinger type, and he avoided those.

Not to be an asshole, though.

With baseball being his life, he had no idea where he was going to end up, what team might draft him after college, and he was not staying behind or saying no because of a chick.

So he avoided the problem altogether and made it clear he was not looking to settle down.

If the girls he fucked got the wrong idea, that was on them.

Amelia Parker looked like the wrong-idea kind of girl.

He only remembered her name because she was a TA in one of his lectures. She never spoke, though.

So quiet, and yet her body was so bold.

It was full and lusciously curvy.

Her ass filled out her jeans in a way that had him admiring the definitive curve—and her tits.

Fuck, they were fighting the fabric of her polo.

She tiptoed to reach the empty space at the top of the community board and pinned her paper there.

He couldn’t read it from back where he was, but now he was intrigued.

People usually used online adverts or the school chat room, but there she was with her cherry-colored paper, as if people would actually stop to read it.

He wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t caught his attention, but now she had it.

Her hair was a strange mix between blonde and brown; he wasn’t even sure which one there was more of, or whether it was naturally like that, but he decided he liked it.

He liked a lot about her.

Her smooth skin, and the fact that when she turned to walk away from the board, she had a fresh face with no makeup on.

She flipped her hair away from her face with fingers that weren’t done up with talons.

His cock twitched as she bit down on her full bottom lip, her wide hazel eyes looking down.

He licked his lips, watching her as she disappeared down the path toward classes, and he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the effects she’d had on him.

He’d never lusted before, not openly—only at a party, when chicks were trying to grope his cock every few seconds, gagging for it.

Amelia had done nothing, and he could feel the desire clawing at him.

He watched her until she disappeared along the path, clutching her folders, before he went to see what she had posted about.

He was guessing some kind of nerd thing.

She was insanely smart; his professor always showed her work as an example. Classmates always used her notes and asked about her answers.

He wished he was that effortlessly brainy.

Whatever clicked in Amelia’s brain clearly didn’t in his, and for the first time in his life, he was actually jealous of someone else.

His grades were so bad, and yet hers were probably perfect.

A little irritated that he couldn’t just have the drive she did to study and do what she could, he looked up at her paper on the board.

The notice was in white cursive script. It had her phone number too.

Zeke raised a brow and pulled his phone out to take a picture of the phone number. He snapped it right before his phone died.

Looked like Amelia Parker was the solution to all his problems. She was dedicated and focused, and being around that kind of person could only benefit him at this point.

Not to mention her clinger vibes. There was no way she could be a distraction.

His mind made up, Zeke went back to his dorm and put his phone on charge, ignoring the new pile of notes on the floor. He waited until it was charged enough, then messaged Amelia before he could change his mind.

He hit send and tried to busy himself getting his shit together for another shower after sweating it out at the gym.

He didn’t want to leave the dorms, not really, but he just had to keep telling himself it needed to happen and remember everything Coach had said.

His phone pinged a second later.

That was a fair question, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her. If she knew he was Zeke Evans, his reputation might make her hesitant.

He had to convince her in person that he was genuine.

He wasn’t sure it would work, but a few seconds later, she shared her location with him.

He grinned and said he’d be there soon. Then he took off for a shower.

He got ready in jeans, a white shirt, his letterman jacket, and white shoes. Then he left the dorms, hoping like hell Amelia Parker would take a chance on him and see past the jock thing.

Maybe even take pity and tutor him.

She was his only hope at passing this semester; without her expert studying skills, he was going to be fucked harder than the chick he’d just done in the shower stalls.