My blood pressure spikes and my fists clench. I take a step toward Archer, but Coach holds his hand up at me, warning me to chill out. He looks back at Archer. “That was last year and this is a new season. We’re moving on. What’s your point, son?”
Archer straightens his shoulders. “Moving on is exactly right, sir. We’d like to elect our own captain—for the defense. It might be good for morale.”
That sonofabitch. He thinks he can just slide in and take Maverick’s place? I want to spit nails. No one can replace Maverick. Archer is just manipulating Coach to get what he wants.
“I’ve been talking to the defense, and they want me in charge.” Archer takes another step until he’s standing at the front of the team.
Coach looks around, his gaze taking in faces, trying to read us. “Is that so?”
Some of the defensive guys nod.
Coach thinks for a moment. “If the defense wants it, that’s good enough for me, but when Maverick comes back, you’ll need to work it out amongst yourselves. This isn’t a competition, boys. It’s a team. Got it?” Coach looks at me. “You good with this, Ryker?”
Fuck no. I think Archer is a piece of shit, but what can I say that doesn’t sound like I don’t have the best interests of the team in mind? My jaw pops. “I’m with you, sir.”
He nods. “All right. Let’s do it and move on. Got it?”
“Yes sir!” I say with several others.
He puffs up his chest. “Now get the fuck out of here and get to class.”
I nod in agreement and do my best to shake off the practice.
I need time to process the new Archer situation.
His face appears behind me as I style my hair in the mirror. My lips thin. “What do you want?” I say.
“Now, now, take it easy, number one,” he says in his lilting accent. “I’m not trying to ruffle your feathers, just dropping by to say your arm looked real good out there today.” He grins. “We’re captains now. We need to pep each other up, keep our teams running smooth.” He holds up his hands at my glare. “Just sayin’. I’m impressed, especially considering how spectacularly you got shot down yesterday. I figured your confidence would be in shambles today.” He makes an exploding sound and moves his hands, mimicking a blast. A grin flashes on his face. “She. Nailed. Your. Ass.”
A muscle twitches in my jaw. Archer has a knack of knowing what to say to piss me off.
“Goddamn, but she’s a hot one,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind taking that out for a ride.” He grinds his hips as if he’s screwing. “Oh yeah, baby.”
I flip around to face him, my face hard as stone. “You wanna try me, asshole?”
He reads me loud and clear and stops his grinding.
Yeah, that’s right, my eyes say. Pussy. He might be our fastest cornerback, a big and capable player, but I’m taller and meaner and I fucking want it more, whatever it may be. I always have. Since the moment I walked out on the field for my first high school game as a freshman and smelled the grass, felt the bright lights of the stadium, I knew football was my dream.
I snatch my Wildcats shirt out of my gym bag and slip it over my head. I shove on my khaki joggers and forgo my sneakers for a pair of leather flip-flops.
“Losing that bet still bothers you,” he murmurs, hovering around me. “I don’t blame you, because honestly, who turns down Ryker Voss? And this girl, I mean—she hates you.” A gruff laugh comes out of him. “I’ve been replaying that restaurant scene all damn day. It’s like a movie in my head that I can’t turn off.”
I ignore him and throw my towel in the bin then bend over to pick up my dirty practice clothes and put them in my bag.
He holds a finger up. “I’ve been thinking…a girl like that, with all that fire…I really wanna go for it. Know what I mean? Tame her. Maybe wine and dine her then fuck her so good she begs me to never leave.” He chuckles, his eyes sharpening. “That is, if you’re okay with me moving in on her?”
A switch is thrown inside me, and it isn’t so much about Penelope as it is about everything that’s happened over the past few months. The thing is, I’ve been at a tipping point since the scandal. I wasn’t docked games like Maverick, but I was investigated and lost any chance at the Heisman Award. You have to have a spotless rep to be named the best player in college football and, well, let’s be honest…my name is pure shit in the media right now. That ship has sailed, and my anger and disappointment have been simmering for months, only heightening now that school is back in session, and I have to face everything and deal with it.
I’m not the golden boy everyone likes to describe me as.
And all I want to do right now is take it out on Archer’s face.
My chest rises rapidly as I throw a quick look around the room, checking for any coaches, and when I don’t see one, I move fast, getting up in his space and pushing my hand into his chest until he’s pinned against the concrete wall.
He briefly squirms to try to get away from me, but it isn’t going to work. When he sees that he can’t get loose, he settles for puffing out his chest. “I didn’t know you cared so much about her.”
My open palm slaps against the concrete behind him. “This isn’t about her. This is about you maneuvering to be captain. Please. You’ll never take Maverick’s place. Just stay out of my way. Got it?”
Blaze appears at my right, a hand on my bicep as he tugs on me, but I’m immovable. This little fight has been building for months. “Dude, let him go.”
“Get out of my face, Blaze,” I say, my eyes not wavering from Archer’s.
“You’re a leader, man. You can’t be pushing people around,” he says, bouncing around us.
I grit my teeth. “We’re playing like shit. No one cares. Why should I?”
“I care, man.” Blaze looks around for help, but the rest of the team is silent, waiting. I feel their eyes on me. Hell, everyone is watching me. All the damn time. I’m sick of it.
“This is exactly what Coach was talking about.” He gives Archer a glare. “Plus, Archer was just kidding, right?”
He nods and attempts to raise his hands in mock surrender. “All I’m saying is it looked like you have a thing for her.”
“I don’t.” I move in closer and put my nose to his. “And if I really wanted her, I could have her.” The words feel wrong, but I can’t pull them back. The truth is, part of me was wired up and excited during the bet—excited to see if she’d say yes. What if she had?
Would I have stood her up? Maybe. I don’t know.
A sly expression grows in Archer’s eyes. “Prove it.”
I frown. What the hell is he talking about?
“Prove it,” he repeats, louder and with a bit of shrill in his tone. He looks around at the players. “Everyone listen up. We’re going to have us a doozy of a bet—one we don’t put on the board.”
My jaw twitches again. “I’m not playing your games.”
“The bets are good for the team. We’ve been doing it for years,” someone says, and I see most of the players nodding. A few rumble amongst themselves.
“…yeah, Ryker…”
Archer smirks and gives me a victorious look. “I bet you can’t tap that, number one. I bet you can’t score that girl before homecoming. Defense against offense for the whole shebang. If you lose, the whole offense loses. Got it?”
Some of the offensive players agree and clap me on the back, offering words of encouragement.
“You got this, dude.”
“Easy peasy.”
“Don’t you want that trophy?”
I eye the guys surrounding me, reading their excitement, and tension wraps around me. My teeth grind together. A bet to fuck a girl is not in my wheelhouse.
I release Archer with a push.
He gives me a hard look, one that tells me he isn’t going to let this bet go. “It’s all up to you, number one. If you want to win that trophy, you’ve got to bang Penelope.” He curls his lip. “I don’t think you can do it.”
<
br /> Bang Penelope.
My gut tightens and my fists curl at his crude words. Penelope and I may not like each other, but I do respect her, and I don’t like him talking about her like she’s a piece of meat.
“Fuck off, Archer.” I give him and everyone a final glare then stalk out of the locker room with Blaze on my heels.
“Come on, man,” he says as we walk out of the field house. “What’s so bad about the bet? I don’t think she hates you. There’s something between you and her already.”
I frown. “No, there isn’t.”
“I disagree.”
I give him side-eye and he shrugs. “What? Everybody thinks I don’t notice shit because I’m spastic, but it looked pretty steamy behind that plant before she dumped the water on you. She was into you.” He sighs as we walk to the parking lot to get in our cars. “Besides, wouldn’t it be awesome to get one over on Archer? It would bug the shit out of him.”
I get to my black Chevy truck and unlock it with the clicker.
He watches me. “Dude, take one for the team. Ask her out again. Hell, you never know, you might really like her.”
“Nope. Not interested.” I motion to the passenger side. “Now, do you need a ride to class or what? You don’t need to miss that upper level psych class. I saw the F you got on your paper. Focus, man—we need to keep those grades up. What if the NFL doesn’t work out?”
“Yes, Mom, I’m going to class.” He exhales and gets in the truck. “I just don’t see why you won’t at least play along.”
“Football isn’t fun and games,” I tell him as I crank the vehicle. “It’s serious shit and we can’t screw it up. The draft is coming, and everyone’s watching us.”
“You thought the ketchup was fun.”
I sigh.
“You like annoying her,” he adds in a singsong voice.
“Maybe.”
He exhales.
We pull out of the parking lot, and I should be thinking about my next class, but in the back of my mind I’m still replaying Archer’s wager in my head.
I bet you can’t score that girl before homecoming.
Penelope
I’m standing in my kitchen, about to feed my bird when my phone pings with a text from an unknown number. I set the food down and study the message.
Hey, you there? I want to talk.
Hmmm. I study the text. Talk? Well, that sounds serious and it’s obviously from someone who gets straight to the point. No bullshit—I like it. Studying the number, it seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. My brow wrinkles. It’s the prefix for this area, so it could be anyone around Magnolia.
I shrug. Unknown texts can be intriguing. Once I got a series of messages about the best toga party on campus, and Charisma and I ended up asking for the address and crashing. It was out on a farm in the middle of a field, and there was free chardonnay—albeit, not the best, but I’ll drink any kind of white wine. To this day, Charisma claims to have hooked up with some guy in the barn who blew her mind. Too bad she was too drunk to recall his name…
Anyway. Fun things can happen when you eavesdrop on someone’s texts.
Talk about what? I reply.
It’s better if we do this face to face. I got your address from someone in class. Would you mind if I dropped by? I need to see you.
I need to see you. I make a whistling noise under my breath. Oh, that’s a tantalizing phrase, and it makes my romantic heart jump. It’s so…emotional. Is this a guy or a girl texting? With the brevity of words and straight-to-the-point way of speaking, I’m guessing male. It’s likely a college guy since he mentioned class, and obviously they don’t know each other well since he had to ask where she lives…hmmm… My head pictures a lonely guy who’s just trying to make things right with a girl.
But what if it’s the mob and this is a lure so a hitman can kill the snitch who’s squealed to the police? Maybe “face to face” really means I’m going to whack you.
Too much Dateline, Penelope.
Yet…
I’m fascinated as I pace around the kitchen. I decide to indulge my curiosity and text him back.
What do you want to talk about? Just text it. I want to know all the things!
There’s a pause, and I wonder what he’s thinking. What if this issue is a big deal to him? Worry pricks at me, and I feel guilty for being nosy.
Are you okay? I send.
His reply arrives fast. Just a shitty day, but this isn’t about me. Look, I’m sorry for what happened between us. I want to make it up to you.
How will you make it up to me? I ask, excitement curling. Type it here. Because this girl is dying to know.
My mom always said I was too curious for my own good and it’s landed me in trouble plenty of times, but I can’t resist prying away layers to get to the heart of the matter. It’s part of who I am. Maybe it’s what pushes me to be a writer, to get all those emotions out and bounce them around to see what they can do.
He hasn’t replied after several beats, and my conscience tugs at me again. I waffle about coming clean just as another text comes in.
What do you want? he says.
You, I send, biting my lip. What if I read this scenario completely wrong? Have I screwed everything up and given myself away?
Me? Are you sure?
Yes, I reply.
I mean, I could be wrong and this isn’t a boy/girl love thing, but what if I’m not? I’m committed to seeing how this plays out now. Romance must always win! is my motto.
There are three dots on my screen for several moments, as if the person on the other end is typing and deleting his response over and over.
Come on, I think, clutching the phone in anticipation.
You can’t handle me, babe, is his reply.
Babe? My eyes widen. Oh. This is a bad, bad boy. And his words send a buzz right through me.
He sends another. Let’s talk about this in person. Do you mind if I come by your house tonight? 8:00 PM?
I study the words. Well, technically, I’ll be at my sorority meeting and then off to dinner with some pledges, so…what’s the harm? Maybe I’ll reunite two people who obviously need to talk.
Before I can reply, another message appears.
You see right through me and don’t take my shit, he replies. I dig that.
Oh, wow, he’s getting sweet? I grab a raspberry sucker from the drawer next to the fridge and pop it in my mouth.
I believe you. We can work this out, I send happily and then announce aloud, “Call me Dr. Phil, people. I’m saving a relationship somewhere.”
Can’t wait to see you, I send. Wait…was that too much? Nah. See you at 8.
Got it, is his reply.
I set my phone down and focus on my bird, a pretty African Grey parrot who’s been watching me the entire time, his small pale yellow eyes going from me to the box of Ritz crackers on the counter.
“Jock is today’s word, Vampire Bill,” I tell him as I approach his cage by the bay window. “I know, normally I have harder words of the day, but a certain person named Ryker has been on my mind and he’s a real asshole.”
I recall the episode at Sugar’s and my chest hurts. Not to mention I saw him today in my upper level calculus class, one we unfortunately share. He attempted to speak to me in the hall before class started, but I sidestepped him, dashed into the room, and plopped myself between two people so he couldn’t sit near me. As soon as the bell rang at the end of class, I was up and darting out of my seat.
Whatever. I don’t care what he wants to say. He’s already done and said enough.
I push my fingers into the cage and give Vampire Bill an encouraging scratch on his head. He’s a small fellow by parrot standards, a runt really, only weighing about half a pound. One of his wings is also slightly smaller than the other. His beak is black and surprisingly delicate considering what a little pig he is when he eats.
“I know it’s hard to say, but you can do it, buddy. Jock.”
> “Shit!” he squawks in his high-pitched mimicry.
I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I said, but I like where you’re going.”
“I want a cigarette!” he says, and I shake my head regretfully.
“No, and I apologize again for your previous owners who taught you those words. I just hope they never actually gave you a cigarette. Say, Ryker is a jock.”
He rolls his eyes at me and pecks at his soft gray feathers.
I sigh and we have a stare-off. He wins.
“Fine,” I say, reaching for the box of Ritz crackers. He positively bristles in excitement, bouncing his feet on his perch.
“Oh? You asked for the meaning? Of course, let me get to it.” I clear my throat. “A jock is a guy who thinks he’s the best athlete in the world, but in reality he’s going to end up selling used cars or pumping gas. Go on, say it: jock.”
He moves his head around, studying me as if I’m the crazy one here.
I pull out a golden cracker and wave it at him. “Say it. Go on.”
“Jock! Ryker! Shit!” he squawks, and I hand over the Ritz.
“I’m glad you came along when you did, Vampire Bill. You make my days happy—even if you don’t like me.” I grin at him, and he uses a claw to grab some food pellets out of his bowl and fling them at me. Psycho bird.
My phone pings with a text, and I glance down at it.
Please come to dinner this weekend? You can see Cyan.
My fingers tighten around the cell. I definitely know who this sender is. The message is from my dad, and Cyan is his new baby. I stare at the words, imagining my father typing them out, sitting at his desk in his office at Waylon, dressed in his nice suit. My teeth grind together until I make myself stop.
After Mom passed away three years ago, he retired from the NFL and moved back to Magnolia. He said it was for many reasons: to get back to his roots, to teach at Waylon, but mostly for me. So I wouldn’t be alone. So I’d have family around.
Liar. I don’t believe him.
I Bet You Page 4