-19-
JAY
Kayla’s apartment was on the second floor, and when I stepped into the sad looking hallway that might be classified as a lobby, she appeared at the top of the stairs.
I sucked in a breath. Part of me wanted the cheerleader uniform, but the Michigan loyalty in me was glad she wasn’t wearing it. She had on tight jeans and a loose-fitting top, which hung off a shoulder. I wanted to peel it down some more and see what she had on underneath.
The game today had been tough. I was tired, and the long drive hadn’t helped, but seeing her now gave me a second wind. I bounded up the steps like I hadn’t spent the day running up and down the field.
As I got closer, I stopped two steps from the top. I tossed my overnight bag down on the landing, reached out and yanked her to me.
She made a startled noise of surprise, but gave in to me.
I liked being on the stairs. She was as tall as I was. I slipped my tongue into her mouth and electricity shot through us. I cupped her face in my hands and climbed another step, bringing our bodies closer and putting me over her. She tilted her head up, deepening our kiss and slipped her arms around my waist.
My thoughts slowed, like she was feeding me a drug. I just wanted to stay here, standing one step below her, kissing the hell out of her, damn whoever saw us.
But, besides the privacy, there was a bed in her apartment. A lofted one I wasn’t sure I’d fit on, but I was all for finding out. I took the final step, breaking our kiss, and pressed my forehead to hers.
“Hi,” I said. Her eyes were bright and wild, which was awesome. My kiss had turned her on. Imagine what else I can do to turn you on, Kayla.
“Hey.” She seemed reluctant to move, but did it, heading in through the open door to her apartment. I grabbed the strap of my bag and followed her inside.
Oh. Well.
There was a lot to take in. A scarlet flag with the Ohio State logo was pinned to the wall over the couch. Her cheerleading stuff was in a corner—a large equipment bag and pom-poms stacked like they’d been dropped there in a hurry. The living room was just a small couch and two mismatched chairs.
The “coffee table” was one of those large wooden spools construction companies usually had cable wrapped around. It had been painted red. It was laid on its side, with the top finished and decorated—of course—with an OSU logo.
Kayla gauged my reaction. “Have I activated your flight or fight response? Now you know how I felt”—she shuddered—“at Biff’s.”
Yeah, standing in her apartment made me uncomfortable. I didn’t hate her school like she did mine, but there was no love lost, either. “I don’t think it’s the same for me.”
“Because you don’t care about the rivalry?”
“I don’t care about it, like, with you. Against the OSU players? That’s a different story.”
Her visible confusion grew. “What do you mean?”
Did I look as awkward as I felt, standing in her living room with my bag in hand, staring up at the red flag? “Forget it, it’s not important.” I tried to change the subject and smiled. “Want to give me the tour?”
She wasn’t fooled. Her hands went to her hips and her gaze narrowed. “What do you want to say, Eighty-Eight?”
Christ, I should have kept my mouth shut. No way Kayla was going to like what I was about to tell her, and it wasn’t exactly going to put her in the mood, either. Her expression said she wasn’t going to let me drop it.
“It can’t be news to you,” I said plainly, “that your football team has a bad rep.”
She waved a hand, brushing my words away. “That’s garbage. It’s not true.”
“Yeah? It is, in my experience.”
She stiffened, her defenses up. “What do you mean?”
“Shit goes on when you’re holding the ball at the bottom of a pile. Everyone expects to get stepped on or get a finger poked in an eye.” Stop talking, numbnuts. “When we play Ohio State? We know punches are going to get thrown. Spit in our faces when the refs can’t see.”
She gasped. “That does not happen.”
Was she a mom refusing to hear her baby was less than perfect? I didn’t like being called a liar. “The fuck it doesn’t. And Tariq Crawford? He’s, like, on a whole different level.”
Crawford was a cornerback for OSU, and a senior like me. The guy would draft, and probably high in the first round, but only if he could keep his ass out of trouble. He was fast as hell, and nobody could cause a fumble like him. I protected the football as if it were the Baby Jesus when playing against OSU.
Crawford also threw legendary fits. His sideline tantrums whenever someone gave up a big play or missed coverage were replayed on ESPN after every game.
Kayla’s shoulders drew back sharply. “I know Tariq. One of the girls on my squad is dating him. Yeah, he gets fired up sometimes, but he plays with passion—”
“You mean passion for getting a lick in whenever he won’t draw a flag. Spare me the bullshit. I’ve heard coaches justify it that way for years. He’s not passionate.” My tone was absolute. “He’s a volatile, spoiled little bitch.”
What the fuck are you doing, Jay?
Kayla glared at me. “Wow, don’t hold back or anything.”
The room went silent, squeezed tight with awkwardness. Fuck. Had I just driven three hours here to get thrown out in the first five minutes? How had I let this spiral out of control? I shifted the bag in my hands. Seemed stupid to put it down if she was about to kick me out.
“Are you telling me,” she said abruptly, “you can’t handle a spoiled little bitch?”
I raked a hand through my hair and paused at her challenging words.
“I thought you could,” she added. “I’m pretty sure he’s never been able to stop you.” She admitted it like it was both painful, but maybe there was also a hint of pride. Was it possible she was proud I outplayed one of the best guys on her team?
She was right. I wasn’t as fast at Crawford on paper, and my vertical leap wasn’t as high. Yet, I managed to break away, or fight for a lofted pass and come down with it over him, year after year.
There was fire in Kayla’s eyes. Heat from our disagreement was rapidly changing into something else. Something . . . more.
“No, I can handle him,” I said. “I don’t know why I brought it up.” I tore my gaze away from the offending flag and focused on her. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “You want a beer?”
At this point, I’d kill for one, if only to shut me the fuck up. “Sure.”
To the right of the living area, there was a small kitchen, and she padded into it. There was hardly any counter space, and the microwave sat on top of a square table, and on top of that was a case of ramen noodles. The whole thing blocked my view of her ass as she pulled open the fridge, and I was annoyed to miss out. It had to look amazing in those jeans.
Beside the kitchen was a darkened doorway, which seemed to lead to the bathroom, and at the back of the living area were two doors. The left one was closed. The door on the right was open and the light on, and I could see the lofted bed in there that I hoped I still had a shot at tonight.
Kayla strolled toward me with a can of Bud Light in each hand, and her gaze was guarded. She’d moved past my comments, but they clearly weren’t forgotten. She handed me the can, then took hold of my bag by the strap, tossing it beside her cheerleading stuff near the couch.
It sent a message of where I’d be staying tonight. Or maybe it was a challenge.
There was a soft hiss and pop as she opened her beer. She sat on the couch, leaving plenty of space, snatched up a remote, and turned the television on. “Mind if we watch the highlights on SportsCenter?”
I almost laughed, but cut myself off. No need to dig myself a deeper hole. “Let’s do it.”
She gave me the side-eye as I sat right beside her. She probably needed space to cool off, but I didn’t drive all the way here on a game day to sit on the other side of the couch.
When they came back from commercial, the two anchors at the desk were talking about an NFL player who’d gotten a PED suspension. I opened my beer and took a long sip, paying more attention to her than what the guy was talking about onscreen. Who cared what kind of drugs the player had taken? All I needed to know was he was doping, and . . . forget that noise. Way to fuck up your whole career, pal.
The beer in Kayla’s hand was ignored. She was fixated on the screen, and she didn’t seem to be watching the ticker across the bottom, either. If she had been, she would have seen the beating Michigan put down on Florida as our 13-36 score scrolled past.
“I like this guy,” she said, gesturing to the anchor. “He knows his stuff, and he’s so funny. The other guy? He doesn’t add anything. There’s no banter. He just recycles stats.”
As if to prove her point, the camera cut to the other anchor, and the sportscaster listed all the accomplishments of the suspended NFL player.
“I bet he gets shuffled soon. They need a new guy on the Saturday desk.”
“Guy?” I asked. Wasn’t she interested in going into broadcasting? Shouldn’t she have said ‘person’?
She turned to face me and her expression was cool. “I’d love to see a woman on the desk, but I’m a realist. Sportscasting’s come a long way, but it’s still a boys’ club.” She turned back to the television and grumbled. “I’ll have to work twice as hard as a guy, and I’ll be lucky if I get any higher than a sideline-reporter job.”
I took a sip of my beer, considering what to say. “It’s not fair,” I agreed, “and it sucks. You can play by all the rules, but football’s not always fair, either. It’s still hard for black guys to get the starting QB spot. Coaches want to start them at running back or wide receiver.” I gave a humorless laugh. “And then look at me. No way a white boy like me can be fast, coaches say. Doesn’t matter I won the Indiana state title in the four hundred meters my senior year of high school. I have to prove how fast I am every time I take the field.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by the highlight promo for Division I football.
We watched the clips go by. Oklahoma. USC. Alabama. The list of powerhouse football programs continued, showing five-second recaps of each game. Ohio State’s was a punt returner darting and weaving through special teams toward the end zone, and a smile spread on her lips. Fuck, her smile was beautiful.
It was selfish, but I hoped the clip of Michigan’s game would feature my touchdown in the first quarter, and I’d get that same smile. There were a lot of great plays by my teammates, though. We’d given the ESPN folks plenty to select from.
Kayla was stoic when it happened. She didn’t blink as the Michigan player, number eighty-eight, filled the screen. He was wide open, caught the short pass, and walked it into the end zone while the cheerleaders nearby went crazy. That TD had been awesome. Everything seemed to be clicking for my team this year.
The highlights continued, but she lifted the remote and muted the television.
It was surreal watching the play, and more so with her.
Since starting at Michigan, I’d never had a girlfriend during the season. I needed to focus, I told myself. But here I was now, my career on the rise, and I . . . hell, I wanted her to be impressed.
She didn’t smile. Was I going to die from the waiting? I needed Kayla to say something.
“You won’t get that open against us.”
My mouth fell open. That was it? I deflated. What the fuck had I expected? She hated Michigan.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I gritted out, and then took a long pull of my beer to stop myself from saying anything else. So much for sweeping her off her feet.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Force of habit.” She gave me a glimmer of hope when her blue eyes latched onto mine.
“It’s okay,” I said, even when it bothered me. “Although, what are you going to do if you end up on a sports desk and have talk about a Michigan game?”
“I’m not worried. I’m really good at faking it.”
She hadn’t meant it sexually, but of course my mind went there.
“I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” she said quickly. “I faked with the other guys. Not you.” Her face went white. “And, oh my God, I need to stop talking.”
I grinned. Did I like knowing I was the only guy who made her come? Hell yeah, I did. “Do you think that’s proof we should be together?”
Her face skewed with fear. “Together?”
“You’re sexy. Funny. Into football. Basically, you’re awesome. And me? I’m definitely awesome.”
“Okay, Kanye.”
“We’d be awesome together.” I leaned in and traced my fingertips over the curve of her cheek. Her eyes hooded. Everything turned serious with that one gesture. A stroke of my finger over her skin. “I want this,” I said. “I don’t want it with anyone else.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“Did you not just hear my ‘awesome’ speech ten seconds ago? On top of everything else, I’d know exactly why you’re with me.” I set my beer down on the ‘coffee table.’ “Look, if I want to get laid, finding a girl who’s down isn’t hard.”
I’d reaped the benefits of my starter status my sophomore and junior year. I could fall out of bed and land on a girl, putting forth zero effort. I half-expected Kayla to tell me I was wrong, or for her face to fill with disgust, but all she did was press her lips into a tight line.
“But finding a girl who’ll put up with all the bullshit in my life, and do it only because she likes me, is a different story.” I cupped her face, brushing a thumb along her cheekbone. “I’ve reached a point with football where every new person in my life has motivations. They want or need something from me.” Everyone was fake to some degree. New ass-kissing friends came out of nowhere. Agents showed up at random places, needing to chat me up and see if they could get me anything.
The turning point had been after finals week in May. I’d gone to a house party, stumbled into a room with some girl whose name I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure of, and she’d announced she was down to fuck without a condom because she was on the pill.
It’d been like a jug of icy Gatorade dumped on me.
Even if she wasn’t trying to get pregnant and trap me, I wasn’t about to stick my unwrapped dick into a girl who was cool with it. I told her I wasn’t “down” with getting an STD and left her gawking up at me on the couch.
Kayla, however, had no ulterior motives.
“You,” I said, gazing into her eyes, “wouldn’t be with me because of my spot on Michigan’s football team. You’d be with me . . . in spite of it.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she visibly struggled to find words. “Jay, I like you—”
“Good.”
“But I can’t date a guy from Michigan. My family will have me committed.”
I wasn’t fazed. “Your rivalry excuse doesn’t hold water, McCarthy. If you really care about it so much, then why do you let me do this?”
I cut off her startled breath, sealing my lips over hers. Heat seared through me. It fired down my muscles as she returned my kiss. She matched me stride-for-stride.
“Maybe I’m just using you for sex,” she whispered, only half-joking.
I couldn’t even half-ass an attempt at being offended. My body was all for this plan, and my ego was, too. Our chemistry was off the charts. What was the likelihood she’d sleep with me and then not want more?
“I don’t mind,” I said.
I took her can of beer and the TV remote, plunking them down on the weird coffee table/construction spool, and then I pulled her into my lap where I could resume kissing her.
“Do you want me to record that?” she said between kisses.
“What?” My mouth moving against hers made it difficult for her to speak.
“You were just on SportsCenter, Jay.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry, my mom records it and save the tapes. My parents have got to be the last people on the planet who still use a VCR.”
Her lips were soft, and I dipped my tongue between them, seeking out hers. When I found it, my heartrate kicked up. Exhaustion from the day dried up, burned away by need. I pulled back and enjoyed how heavy her eyelids were, like my kiss had leveled her. “Where’s your roommate tonight?”
“Out,” she whispered. “He could come home whenever.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ran the tip of my nose along the curve of her neck. There was that familiar coconut scent, the one which drove me insane. Distinctly her. She was so small, but powerful. “What’s he going to do if he catches us fooling around on the couch?”
Her words were slow and seductive as she tilted her head to the side, giving me more access to her throat. “He’s not going to.”
“Are you telling me,” I skimmed my lips over her racing pulse, “to keep my hands to myself?”
“No.” She fisted my shirt, tugging me closer. “Let’s move this discussion into my bedroom.”
I let out a wicked laugh and scooped her up into my arms. My ribs were sore. My knee ached from an awkward tackle right before the half, but I didn’t care now. As long as I had the invite, I’d crawl to her bed if needed.
She climbed out of my lap, and I followed her up off the couch. She grabbed her beer, and then pointed to the corner. “Get your shit, Eighty-Eight, and come on.”
Holy fuck, she didn’t need to tell me twice.