Big Gray: A Romantic Comedy (In The Dark Series Book 1) Read online

  Big Gray

  A romantic comedy

  Ina Carter

  License Agreement

  Copyright © April 2020 Ina Carter. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 9798645568122

  Disclaimer:

  This is a work of adult fiction. The author does not endorse or condone any of the behavior enclosed within. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity, explicit sexual situations, alcohol, and drug consumption.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  2. Melanie

  3. Grayson

  4. Melanie

  5. Grayson

  6. Melanie

  7. Grayson

  8. Melanie

  9. Grayson

  10. Melanie

  11. Melanie

  12. Grayson

  13. Melanie

  14. Grayson

  15. Grayson

  16. Melanie

  17. Grayson

  18. Melanie

  19. Grayson

  20. Melanie

  21. Grayson

  22. Grayson

  23. Melanie

  24. Melanie

  25. Grayson

  26. Melanie

  27. Grayson

  28. Melanie

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Chapter One

  Grayson

  We are boarding the charter plane from Utah when my friend Brian hollers from somewhere behind me.

  “Hey, Gray, your fan page went viral. ESPN broadcasted that shot of the Uties groupie waving a #BigGray banner. It’s one more reason for the suckers to cry tonight—we not only kicked their asses 45-7, but even their own fans are worshiping your dick.”

  Some of my teammates start hooting and slap me on the back when they pass me on the way to their seats. I am frozen, trying to digest the news Brian dropped on me. This is the last thing I need. The rumors circling around UCLA are one thing, but I am totally screwed if this obsession and gossip spread nationwide.

  People not only follow college football religiously, but they are always intrigued by controversies and how the key players are portrayed in the press. I hope to make it into the NFL one day, and it’s not going to happen if the pro teams are concerned with my personal life and reputation. How would I escape the interview questions like, “What’s the deal with the hashtag #BigGray?” and “Why does the QB for the UCLA Bruins have a fan page dedicated to his manhood?”

  I have no one to blame but myself for this disaster. Last year I earned my bad rep partying and screwing around. It all got a little weird when some football groupie I hooked up with bragged to her friends about my prowess in the sack. Another girl took it upon herself to get to the coveted prize in my pants, and soon it became a challenge for every football groupie on campus to sleep with me and see what the big deal was.

  I didn’t know how serious they took the mission … until I found the website. All the things I read online about my cock made me cringe internally: girls asking if the famous kinky book “Fifty Shades” was based on me, since the main character was kind of a namesake; some claiming they saw me in porn movies; others offering evidence my penis size was a result of overusing steroids.

  It’s a total mania, I am telling you.

  I know I shouldn’t care and just enjoy the circumstances—as any normal college guy would—but I feel a bit insulted to be objectified by women so bluntly. I might be crazy, but deep down, I want a normal relationship, where sex is only part of the deal and not the main attraction.

  “Hey, man. I just Googled ‘Gray’s Anatomy’ and guess what popped up in the results?” Cory, one of the defensive linemen, teases me as I dejectedly drop down on the seat next to him. I give him a nasty look and push away the phone he’s trying to shove in my face. I hope he’s kidding, but I’m really afraid to look at the screen.

  “Cut it, Cory. Gray just won us the game, including two rushing touchdowns. Don’t pester him, okay.” My friend Mark, who sits on my other side, comes to my defense. My teammates like to tease me about this craze with the groupies, but Mark’s words make Cory look at me more somberly. He nods his head and his grin fades.

  “Sorry, Gray. You had a great game, and you don’t deserve the teasing.”

  I appreciate the praise. I’m the offense captain of the team, and I need the guys’ respect on the field. I’m solely focused on football this year. Dating is not in the cards for me.

  At the beginning of the semester, after I discovered the website, I was determined to clean up my act and avoided the groupies and the frat parties. I went to all my classes and tried talking to regular girls. Total fail. My reputation preceded me, and no self-respecting female gave me the time of day. Some girls turned their backs and left as soon as I approached them. The more outspoken ones told me to take my big dick and shove it up my ass. Last month in the cafeteria, when I asked one girl if her hot dog was any good, she gave me this look meant to leave me dead and bleeding, and threatened that if I pull out my sausage, she is going to cut it. The bitch pulled a knife on me. Seriously.

  I tried the artsy crowd from the film and theater department for about a month. Joanna, a cute, funny blonde, didn’t seem to mind the stories about me at first. She was the only partial success in my dating endeavor. I asked her out, and we went on a few dates. I was hopeful, until the third date, when she invited me to her room to watch a movie—and then jumped me, going straight for my crotch.

  The next day there was a new post on the website, where she wrote a poem about my dick. It was called The Power of the Gray. Sounded like a tribute to a horse. Poetry and songs dedicated to someone’s manhood should be outlawed, banned like blasphemous religious works of old, and the authors made a public example by having to literally eat their words. The heck with freedom of speech and liberal expression. My dick wants justice for being subjected to this travesty. Joanna apparently was up for the challenge; she just had a smarter approach about it.

  I am giving up on the idea of dating. It takes time and effort, and I am way too busy anyway. Besides school and football, now I have a third full-time job of dodging the hunters. They are relentless in their chase to get to Peanut.

  Yup, I call my dick-Peanut. I don’t want all that bullshit to get to his head.

  I should be celebrating the win with my teammates, but instead I’m hiding in my room like a coward. Brian and Mark promised to ditch the celebration party and come over to my dorm to play some video games. Eddie, my roommate, also invited a few friends. I am a closet nerd, a computer science major, following my dad’s footsteps to become a software engineer. It’s difficult to manage all requirements for the program with football practices, but I want to get a good education, not just a free ride, until I enter the draft for the NFL.

  I live kind of a double life. The popular athlete is the persona everyone knows except Eddie and his gang of genius computer prodigies. The nights I’m not playing football I spend with my roommate, playing X-box or writing code. My nerdy friends get along well with my athlete friends, even though they don’t run in the same circles. I am the common denominator between the two groups, and all guys bond over “Call of Duty” and beer.

>   I am getting out of the shower when my phone rings. I see my mother’s name on the screen and wince. My eardrum has not fully recovered from her earlier call, after the game in Utah. The woman is overly enthusiastic when she cheers at my games. When I was younger, there were always a few empty seats on the bleachers around her. People learned their lesson to either stay away or suffer permanent hearing damage.

  I pick up and wisely put her on speaker, holding the phone away from my ears.

  “Grayson, why are Bruins’ Nation bloggers sending me emails, asking for baby pictures of you? Naked baby pictures.”

  God, no. The insanity is escalating. Last week there was a heated discussion on the BigGray.com message board and ridiculous cock speculations. They were all curious if I was born this way and if my baby peanut was a zucchini at birth.

  “Mom, you didn’t send a photo, did you?” I screech like a little girl. I can’t have a dick pic circulating on the internet, even if it’s from my first sonogram.

  “Of course not, son. I would never do that,” she replies somberly. “I sent them the picture of Tinkerbell instead.” She delivers the hit. Did she just laugh? Of course, she finds this entertaining. She is nuts.

  “Mother, I hope you are kidding. I swear I’ll burn all of your photo albums next time I come home.” I warn her, completely serious.

  “Come on, Gray. You looked cute—” she starts. I can’t even … I hang up on her midsentence and turn off my phone. I want to die.

  I can’t believe my mother shared Tink with the world. To this day I still have nightmares involving glitter and fairies. When I was about two years old, my immature parents decided it would be hilarious to dress me in a tutu for Halloween and take pictures. Those two married young and, before I was old enough to fight back, they used me as a prop for their childish pranks.

  We do have a weird family dynamic and our roles are reversed—to the extreme. My sister, Sierra, and I outgrew our parents in maturity by sixth grade. If my mother really sent that photo to my groupies, I’ll have yet another rumor to dispel. I bet the members of the #BigGray gang would conclude the reason I’m not fucking them anymore because I finally came out of the closet. On the other hand, maybe this will finally get them off my back …

  I drop down on the sofa and look down at my crotch dejectedly.

  “Sorry, Peanut. I know that leotard was tight and didn’t leave much to the imagination.” I need to apologize in advance to my dick about the upcoming public humiliation he might be facing.

  The door flies open and my two friends walk in. Brian might have heard my last sentence and stops in his tracks, looking at me, dumbstruck. He gawks. “Are you talking to your dick, Gray?”

  Eddie shakes his head in disbelief and murmurs in my direction. “I am seriously starting to worry about you, Grayson. This self-imposed celibacy is messing with your sanity.”

  “Yes, bro. You need to get laid ASAP.” Brian jumps on the offense. “We need your hand well-rested for the next game. You can’t make a good pass if you are jacking off 24/7. Take some pity on those girls. They are grieving, Gray. At the last party your exes support group built a shrine to your dick out of empty Solo cups. There were tears. I swear.”

  In the last six months, I’ve heard this lecture numerous times from Brian. It’s the same old get laid or… whatever speech. He still doesn’t get why I am done with that shit.

  “Brian, what would you do if your dick was sold at a discount on Group-ie-on?” I say and stare him down.

  “I’ll make a schedule and start accommodating,” he replies resolutely.

  Of course he would be excited about girls worshiping his penis and writing ghastly poetry about it. Brian was a bad influence on me last year. The moron pushed me down the party slide and found it hilarious when I landed hard on my ass. I am seriously done with him.

  Video games don’t sound like fun anymore if I have to listen to more of his shit. I grab a beer from the fridge and drop down on the couch with the TV remote in hand. I leave Eddie to keep my ex-best friend company.

  I start browsing TV channels, trying to find something interesting that can distract me from my misery. I am about to skip to the next station when something catches my attention. It’s some singing competition. I think it’s called The Voice. I don’t care for reality TV, but all of a sudden, I am transfixed. I watch as a few singers take the stage and perform their cover versions of songs. They are not bad, but that’s not what keeps me glued to the TV screen. It’s the fact that their identities are unknown to the judging panel. Their looks, their age, or even the fucking sequin outfit that guy thought was appropriate to wear are completely irrelevant to their singing talent.

  I am so envious. Is it possible to be in the same room with someone and have complete anonymity? It sounds like a dream to be judged based on my personality and nothing else.

  I lost my privacy a long time ago. When your face is plastered all over ESPN, you get recognized everywhere. Fame is a real curse sometimes. When my public persona failed to attract any regular girls, I considered for a moment making a fake profile and trying online dating as a complete nobody. I dropped the idea because I am a social person, and to me it’s a really impersonal way to meet people. Not to mention you never know who is also hiding their identity online. I’ll be fucked if I fall for a cute picture and then meet Larry, who is convinced we are soulmates.

  Lost in my head, I don’t hear when Mark and Steven come in. A heavy body drops down next to me on the sofa, and Mark grumbles patting me on the shoulder.

  “Gray, I hope you are not watching this singing competition and getting any ideas to audition for it?!”

  “Please, don’t even mention it.” Eddie shrieks. “This time we might get evicted for real.”

  It’s not a secret to anyone that I am tone deaf. Singing is not one of my talents. Last year the neighbors signed a petition to ban my shower karaoke, claiming it sounded like animal torture. I even heard some linebackers threatening the opposing team that they’ll make me sing during the game. I am that bad.

  Right now though, my lack of talent is not what I want to discuss. As I’m looking at Mark, I have a total eureka moment. The premise of The Voice is not so impossible to replicate in real life. I can make this work. I just need space for the operation.

  The football program pays for our housing, but Mark comes from money. His dad is a Hollywood executive and bought him an apartment close to campus. Mark and his roommate, Steve, kept their rent-free dorm room so they can bring dates after parties. I also have a key to that room, but first I need to convince them to get on board with my amazing plan.

  “Mark,” I change the subject, “do you think I can use the ‘shag pad’ for a few days a week?”

  “He is getting laid. Hooray,” Brian cheers. I don’t even look at him. Instead, I explain to the rest of the guys what I’m talking about.

  “I am not going to fuck anyone in your room. I’m talking about having parties. Like in this show we can hang out with people who don’t know we are football players. It would be like a normal dorm party, but we turn the lights off and no one would know who is in attendance. Complete anonymity. Fake names and all.” I lay down my genius plan.

  “What’s wrong with normal parties?” Brian, of course, is slow to catch on. I am about to answer him, but to my surprise, Mark is the first to speak.

  “That’s actually not a bad idea at all,” he concurs. And for Brian’s sake, he explains his reasoning.

  “Look at me, Brian,” he gestures to his big 6’4”, 250-pound frame. “I can’t hide the fact I play football even if I try. Not that I lack female attention, but I haven’t had a normal conversation with anyone in years. Everyone assumes I don’t care about anything besides sports, and I am just a stupid athlete who has no other interests. I seriously hate to be labeled as a dumb jock. I am a smart guy.”

  See, he gets exactly what I am talking about. Eddie looks contemplative and then adds his two cents to the conversation. br />
  “Talking about dating … I also do better with girls in the dark,” he admits. It’s TMI, but I know he’s not making stuff up. Eddie is a bit shy and reserved in female company, but he totally rocks the hot nerd image, and I am sure it also applies to the girls he dates. With his geeky shirts and the glasses, he kind of reminds me of my father—and as much as I hate to picture it, I know he keeps my mother happily satisfied in bed. We do have thin walls in our house.

  Steven jumps in, “Don’t even get me started on prejudice, guys. I am Filipino. I’ve met a lot of people who won’t talk to me, just because of my ethnicity. I bet if they don’t know who I am, they might actually give me a chance. Who knows? This might be an interesting social experiment to break some barriers and change people’s biases?”

  The conversation lost its light tone, and we are discussing some serious issues, but it seems I might have hit on something even bigger with this idea than what I initially intended.

  Brian is the only person in the room who is not getting in the spirit.

  “Grayson, this is not funny. Visuals matter, bro. What happens when you meet some chick, hook up with her, and when you turn on the lights have a ‘Coyote Ugly’ moment?”

  I am seriously starting to wonder why I’ve been friends with this guy since fourth grade.

  “I am not that shallow, Brian. If the girl is cool, I’ll ask her out regardless of her looks. And it’s not just about dating. Like the guys said, we all want for once to feel like normal people and not be judged for any superficial reasons.”