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JAY
My classes were kicking my ass, and even though I’d gone out with my O-line for drinks after the Minnesota game, it hadn’t helped. Some of my teammates were being fucking babies. When I was on the field, no problem. But the moment I stepped on the sideline, I didn’t exist.
Well, that wasn’t true. I got hit harder during scrimmages, and one day I came out of the showers post-practice and discovered my street clothes were soaking wet. It wasn’t a prank by Darius. Yeah, his pranks were always unimaginative, but he wasn’t an asshole with them.
I was pissed. My boys knew my loyalty was to Michigan. Did I need to show them my fucking ink every practice to remind them?
Press coverage had grown over the last week. When we traveled to Northwestern on Friday afternoon, it’d been a circus. Cameras and microphones all over the place. Everyone wanted a clip from the 10-0 Wolverines.
Our coaching staff had a tradition the night before a game where the head coach visited each player, wished them good luck, and shook their hand. So, I wasn’t surprised when Coach Weiss knocked on my hotel room door at nine, interrupting the studying I was cramming in while Darius was hanging out in Amos’s room.
“Harris,” Coach said. “How you doing?”
I gave him a strained smile and pretended the stress wasn’t a big deal. “Fine, sir. Just studying.”
“That’s good.” He was great at reading the mood of his players, and saw right through me. His expression was thoughtful. “I know you’ve got a full plate, son. There are a lot of eyes on you and your career. But I also know a smart kid like you can handle it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Best advice I can give you is to focus on one game at a time right now. Don’t think about the postseason, or whatever comes after.”
Even as he said it, it was impossible not to think about the potential playoff series, or the combine, or the dozens of agents who’d come crawling over me with offers to sign—but only if I kept my grades up and continued to play well without getting injured. One screw-up or bad break and it would all go away. Everything I’d spent the last four years working toward could vanish. If I thought about it too much, my stomach ached.
Coach gave a friendly, fatherly smile and put out his hand for the traditional handshake. “I’ll let you get back to it. Good luck, and I hope you have a great game tomorrow.”
I took his hand in mine and hoped I could take his advice just as easily. “Thanks, Coach.”
My team returned to Ann Arbor with our perfect season still intact. No one talked about Ohio State on the bus ride home, but every guy knew. A repeat of the “Big Ten game of the century” was going to happen next weekend, number one versus number two. At least it’d be in our house.
I was supposed to be working on homework, but was fucking around on the Internet when Kayla called me on Google Chat. I clicked the button on my laptop, and she filled the screen, smiling widely.
Until she saw what I was doing.
“What’s wrong?” Her eyes filled with worry.
“Nothing.” I tossed away the ice pack I’d been holding to my t-shirt. “I got a cleat to the side.” I lifted the bottom of my shirt and showed off the war wound. It was red-purple, and hadn’t reached its full potential yet.
“Ouch. That looks awful.”
It hurt like a motherfucker. I’d been buried under a pile, and a Northwestern player had used my body like a doormat to wipe his feet on as he’d stood up. But I didn’t want Kayla thinking I was a pussy, so I just shrugged. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” She blinked, and her face changed. She had something else she wanted to say.
“What?”
She looked embarrassed. “I miss you.”
God, it was nice to hear, but I didn’t like the electronic recording of it. I wanted the real thing. “Me, too. So, I’ve been thinking about this Thursday. Any way I can talk you into coming here and staying the night?”
Her lips turned downward immediately. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. I’ll have to be out the door at seven for breakfast. There’s plenty of time for you to get back. You don’t have class on Friday until eleven.”
“Yeah, class where I have to give a presentation that’s twenty percent of my grade.”
Dammit. “I want to see you, not just through a computer screen. I want to touch you. Kiss you.”
Her eyes hooded, and I could see her weaken. It told me to keep going.
“I want to put my tongue in you. Get you to come all over me.”
Her chest lifted with a hurried breath. “Jay.”
“I want to be with you one more time before The Game. It’ll be just us.” I wasn’t an idiot. Things were going to change after next Saturday, and I could tell Kayla knew too.
So much was riding on The Game. Not only did I need a good showing, Michigan needed the win so we could go to the National Championship playoff. Every bit of visibility would help my chances of drafting.
But how was she going to feel, sharing the field as she watched me defeat her beloved team? Was I going to break her heart before I even had it? Fuck, I didn’t want to think about it. We’d cross that bridge when we got there.
“Okay,” she breathed.
The tender skin on my side didn’t hurt anymore. All I could feel was excitement.
On Thursday, I had my laptop on my desk, trying to finish my homework, when a boom jolted me. The single knock on my door was more like a foot being kicked against the wood. What the fuck? “Yeah?”
It wasn’t an invitation, but the door pushed open. In the hall stood Kayla, of course in an OSU sweatshirt, her gaze turned up at the guy beside her. I hadn’t expected her for at least another twenty minutes. The guy who’d escorted her up was twice her size, and had an ugly sneer directed at my girlfriend. Amos was a lineman who was likely to win a NCAA Offensive Man of the Year award, which meant he was a hell of a player. But he was also kind of a dick.
“Your oh-hi-hoe is here,” he said.
“Not cool, man.”
When Kayla gave Amos the evil eye, he returned the look. “You two make me sick.”
She shrugged. “I hope you’re as good at protecting your QB as you were at keeping me downstairs.” She bounded into my room and shut the door before Amos could get a word in.
Her backpack dropped to the floor, and she threw herself into my lap. I groaned against her mouth as her knee hit me right in the spot I’d been nursing all week. Her lips were urgent and desperate, but I tore mine away to pull in a deep breath. Pain was sharp.
Confusion flashed in her eyes and then terrible realization. She sat back in my lap and lifted my shirt. Her gasp was like being hurt all over again. Her gaze was locked onto the angry colors of purple and sickly yellow. My bruise was wicked.
“I’m sorry, I forgot—”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?” She looked dubious.
I squeezed my hands on her waist, pressing her down against me, reminding her of what she’d been missing for the last three weeks. “I’m much better now.” And she was one hundred percent the reason. “Maybe don’t mention it to Tariq Crawford, though.”
I said it as a joke, but we both went stiff.
Other than Lisa’s awesome plot of Kayla fucking me to death, I’d never really thought about Kayla sabotaging me. She could. I’d left myself wide open to that, which had been pretty stupid on my part. But I trusted her. Right?
“I’m not friends with Tariq,” she said. “I mean, one of the cheerleaders is dating him, but I don’t talk to him, and even if I did, you know I’d never—”
“I know,” I answered quickly.
“Good.” Her warm hands cupped my neck, and she leaned in, setting her forehead against mine. “They been babying you at practice?”
Hardly. “No. I don’t know if you’re aware, but we’ve got a big game against Ohio State this weekend.” She smelled good, like a beach, and I angled my head so I could set my lips on the pulse point of her neck.
“Really?” She shivered under my kiss. “Gosh, I hope you don’t lose and break that fabulous winning streak you’re on.”
“What about OSU? They’re eleven and oh, too.” I pushed my hands under her sweatshirt and ran them over her smooth, flat stomach.
“They sound good. Tell me more about them.”
“Ranked number two in the BCS poll. And their cheerleaders? So fucking hot.”
She sighed into me, melting under my palms as I slid them over her bra. Her voice was strained with need. “Strong argument. I think Michigan’s going to lose. If Chuck were here, he’d say you need to think positive.”
“You mean, if he wasn’t busy polishing his sousaphone.”
Kayla drew back and made a face. “Gross. Chuck’s asexual as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’m not asexual.”
She stared at my grin and shot back a devious one of her own, just before she tugged her sweatshirt off and tossed it to the floor. “Hmm, I’m not convinced. You better show me.”