“Hey, Blake.” Kristin saunters over and puts a hand on my abs.
“Hey. I need wrists and ankles taped today. That’s it,” I reply abruptly.
“Really, that’s it?” she says as she traces a line down the center of my abs to the waistband of my sweatpants. Okay, so I may have fucked Kristin once in the training room last year after one of the games, and it appears she’s vying for a repeat performance.
“Really, that’s it.” I turn her question into my answer. I have no interest in her anymore.
She pouts, but walks off to get the supplies she needs to tape me up. Get me the fuck out of here.
I hop off the table and make my way down the long hallway to our locker room. It cuts underneath a road from the athletic complex to our stadium. The walls are brick and painted black, and there are inspirational quotes painted in gold written along each wall, along with several framed photos of athletes. I walked past a framed photo of Brooks throwing a pass from last season and I flick him off. I really do miss that fucker.
Our locker room is one of the sickest in Division I football. I push through the double doors that have a larger than life-sized knight painted on them. On the ceiling there is a large light that spells “Golden Knights” in gold letters, the floor has black carpet with white flecks, and in the center is our large knight logo.
Our lockers are black with our names on a placard between the spaces where our jerseys and shoulder pads are waiting for us before each game. We have white and gold uniforms, but today it’s a blackout: black jerseys, black pants, and black helmets. Some of the guys are sitting on the couches in front of a couple of the dozen flat-screen TVs that are hung around the room watching College Gameday.
I pull on my pads, jersey, pants, socks, cleats. I grab my eye black and put it on four of my fingers to spread it from under my eyes down my cheeks. I shake out my hair, which hangs long over the shaved sides. My green eyes are glowing through the black. I look fucking insane, and I know the other team will be dreading every second I’m on the field.
I head up to the field to start my warm-up after I get my uniform on. The turf is bright green, with the exception of the end zones – the north end zone is painted gold with Cambria written in it, and the south end zone is painted black with Golden Knights written in it. There’s an image of our knight mascot painted at midfield. I love the smell of turf.
I jog from our sideline to the other and back a few times then sit with the other defensemen to stretch. Once I’m feeling pretty loose, I’ll start hitting the tackling dummies. Coach Johnson, one of our assistant defensive coaches, will hold another pad and I’ll hit him a few times too. After we're feeling ready physically, we’ll dry-run our defensive schemes just to make sure we all know where to go when Coach Arnold, our defensive coordinator, calls the plays. We were a top ten defense last year, and continue to be this year.
We finish our warm-up and are getting ready to jog back into the locker room for Coach Hayes’ pregame speech when I see her. I knew she would be here. Well, I hoped. I didn’t know how she would take to me being so pushy and she clearly doesn’t know shit about football. I’m hoping my grand gesture will still have an effect though. Shit, I’m just hoping that she’ll understand the meaning behind what I’m going to do.
She’s sitting in the front row of the student section, right above our tunnel, with a chunky girl who I assume is her roommate and the baseball players. Finn is a son-of-bitch. He’s playing against me and he got Logan here to spend a quality Saturday with her. She’s already been more challenging than I thought – I don’t need them running game at her too. I shouldn’t have agreed to that in the bet. My overconfidence is a bitch sometimes.
Maisy looks absolutely stunning. Her black hair is braided kind of funky today and her body looks amazing in that one piece thing. Her shoulders are toned and bronze – she looks like an Aphrodite statue in the sun. I can see her tattoo clearly now. Two birds, wings spread, and in a nose dive toward her tits. Lucky fucking birds.
I grab my gold game jersey from the bench where I hid it.
“She better be worth it, bro,” Rhodes says as he jogs passed me.
“Winning is,” I reply coolly. Rhodes is my best friend, but even he doesn’t need to know she’s in my head 24/7.
As we run back to the locker room, I stop where she’s talking to the baseball players and smack her with the jersey to get her attention.
“Good to see you made it.” I flash her a devilish smile.
“Well, I had a tailgate invite I couldn’t turn down.” She smiles back. Motherfucking Finn. I grit my teeth. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something to get ready for this game?”
Yeah, going to the locker room before my coach beats my ass.
“Yeah, getting you in the proper gear for one. Wear it,” I command, harsher than I intend, but I’m walking a very fine line here. Coach will be coming any second, and I don’t want to get suspended.
“What is it?”
“Why do you always ask so many questions?” Jesus Christ, she has no idea how big of a deal this is. If I gave this to any of the girls around her, roommate included, they’d come in their overalls.
“Why do you always tell me what to do?”
“I tell everyone what to do, Owl. It’s part of my charm. This is one of my other jerseys. Wear it for the game… please,” I ask politely and soften my tone. I’m sure everyone around her is enjoying the show. This may be the first time I’ve ever said please.
“Well since you asked nicely,” she says as she slips it on over her head. Holy fucking shit. I have an immediate boner at the sight of her in my jersey. It looks like a dress on her and I suddenly imagine my hands running up her bronze thighs to her panties… FUCK! STOP!
“Looks good, Owl.” I bolt for the locker room before Coach sees me. That is definitely my new spank bank material.
Chapter 13: Maisy
The Golden Knights won! Donovan hit a guy so hard on one play that he had to be carted off the field. I don’t know if that’s normal, but football is a fast and brutally violent sport, almost barbaric. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I got turned on watching Donovan dominate the other team all day.
“Millie!” I shout from my room.
“Yeah?”
“What do I wear to a Pi Kappa party?” This is my first frat party and I know that my standard beach party attire, which consists of jean shorts and a bikini top, isn’t going to cut it.
Millie strolls in wearing a short lime green skirt, black halter top that clips around her neck and makes her boobs look gigantic, and black wedge sandals that strap around her ankle. She looks really good.
“You look hot!” I exclaim as she walks in.
“I need to do my makeup yet, but thanks!” She flashes me a big smile. “I’m so excited I may pee my pants.”
“You’re not wearing any pants,” I joke as she walks over to my closet.
“Clever,” she says as she digs through my stuff. “This,” she pauses, lifts one of my dresses, and inhales, “is a Chanel. It’s got to be worth like four thousand dollars.”
“Actually, it’s mine and it’s worth like twenty-five dollars,” I giggle.
“What?” She turns and looks at me.
“I made it. I make clothes for fun, and while it may look like Chanel, it’s not. All it’s worth is my blood, sweat and tears, and a bit of fabric,” I say proudly.
“Shit, Maisy, this is perfection. You may need to make me some stuff.” She admires the dress again.
“All I ask is that you buy the material. I’ll design and make whatever you want, and then I get to keep the leftover scraps of material for myself,” I explain my side business to her.
“Deal!” she shouts as she digs further into my closet, listing off my clothes like they’re on a menu. She can’t believe I’ve made most of this stuff.
“What are Ava and Sammy doing tonight?” I try to make conversation while Millie raids my closet.
Ava and Sammy are two of her close art major friends. I’ve met them a few times. They’re nice, but they’re not frat party people.
“They’re going to a poetry reading in Boston. I can’t remember where though,” she replies with her head shoved into my closet still.
“So, find anything I can wear tonight?” I ask again as I pick at my nails.
“Yes. Oh my God, yes.” She walks out holding my white lace halter dress and a pair of booty shorts. The dress ties around my neck and has a deep v-neck. It comes together at my waist and then opens in the front, which is why I need the booty shorts, and fans out longer in the back. It’s one of my favorite dresses. Lace is very hard to work with, so I was happy the way this one turned out.
“You don’t think this is a bit much?” I ask.
“No, it’s the perfect combination of sexy and chill. You don’t know what these parties are like,” she replies.
“You said you’ve never been to one.”
“I haven’t, but I’ve seen pics on Instagram. Remember the sequin mini-dresses at the games? Well think about them on steroids. Tighter, shorter and much more desperate. Big hair, bigger boobs, and ass cheeks flopping around everywhere. You want Blake to notice you?”
“Not really,” I lie.
“Liar,” she calls me on it. “He’s fucking gorgeous and is the most eligible bachelor on this campus. Probably in the world since Bieber got married,” she continues as she walks back into my closet. “Wear that with these and leave your hair down.” She shoves a pair of navy blue wedges at me. Ruby gave them to me when she bought a second pair a few years ago. “You need a little color with that white dress.”
I grab Donovan’s jersey and tuck it into the multi-patched hobo bag I carry everywhere. I need to make sure I return it so he doesn’t get in trouble.
✽✽✽
Millie drives us to the party in her Toyota Corolla, but I told her I would drive home so she can have a great time and let loose. She’s not sure if we will ever be invited back, so she has every intention of enjoying the moment.
The Pi Kappa house is a two-story Victorian that looks like something from a horror movie. The kind where the virgin always runs and hides in the basement or the attic instead of running away from the house. The outside is off-white brick with black trim and a wraparound porch that leads to two turrets on the sides, with Greek letters hung from the second floor.
Millie and I walk in and are hit with the heat of bodies mingling together. There are so many people here that it’s a challenge to walk through the house. The smell of sweat, alcohol and perfume fill my nostrils, overpowering my senses. Pete’s beach house was open air, and never this stuffy. The bass from the music is so loud in the basement that I can feel it pound in my chest.
I look around for a second before Millie says, “Let’s look around,” and grabs my hand. We weave our way through the house. The woodwork is all dark and there are beautiful stained-glass windows. The dark hardwood floors are sticky from spilled alcohol that has never been properly cleaned up over the years. The main floor has several rooms including a kitchen, formal living room, library, sitting room, and what appears to be a formal dining room. I bet this house was once a majestic property that hosted elegant balls or parties like we’re reading about in The Great Gatsby. There’s an exquisite white marble fireplace along one wall in the formal living room.
Instead of a dining room set, two ping pong tables are set up for beer pong with a couple couches around them for spectators. Stoner and Gomez are playing a round right now. There’s a large punch bowl on the black granite island in the kitchen with two kegs on the floor. The cabinets are white, but stained with brown specks. I’m hoping that’s alcohol and not vomit.
“This is the fucking coolest thing I’ve ever done,” Millie squeals into my ear. “I’m going to have some of the punch. You sure you don’t want anything? We can Uber home.”
“No, I’m good. Really. I’m just going to take it all in. This is so different from what I’m used to.” The thought makes me miss sitting on the beach next to a fire, where it was quiet, and my friends and I would talk for hours. It’s loud and it smells terrible in here. I’ve been texting with my friends, but I miss being with them. People who know me and get me. Millie is getting there, and we bonded pretty quickly, but I’m still not ready to open up to her yet.
“Really? How?” Millie asks as she fills her cup.
“Well, we usually party on the beach. Open air. Ocean crashing in the background. Less… sweat.”
“L.A. is on the ocean?” she laughs as she asks the question.
“Well, no, but Vista del Cielo is. No one really knows where that is so I just say I’m from L.A. cuz it’s close.”
“Vista del Cielo? Like the richest zip code in the country? Where Bradley Cooper and Sandra Bullock live?”
Of course Millie would know that from reading those stupid gossip magazines.
“Is it?” I play dumb. I don’t think I need to tell her that I’m actually the super broke daughter of a felon who slept on a couch that smelled like cat pee before coming here.
Just then, Logan walks over and throws his arm around my shoulder again. He does that a lot.
“Hey baby,” he purrs into my ear. He is drunk with a capital D. “You look fucking hhhot!” he slurs as he flicks the strap of my top. This is not a good look for him.
“Hey,” I reply and shove his arm off of me. He smells like stale beer and it’s making my stomach churn.
“We’re hanging out in there,” he motions toward the room where the guys are playing beer pong and spills part of his beer. Not that it matters. The floor is disgusting.
Millie and I follow him. The baseball boys and some of the jersey chasers are sitting on couches and talking or playing beer pong. Millie plops down on a couch next Finn and I sit on the armrest. Millie was right. If some of these girls uncross their legs, I’ll see their uterus.
“Maze, lookin’ good, baby!” Finn shouts.
“Yeah, when are you gonna sit on my face?” Logan slurs as he stares at my thighs.
“Jesus Christ, Johnny.” Finn shakes his head. “Have some class. Sorry, he’s shitfaced.”
“It’s fine.” I shake it off. Drunk college boys are eerily similar to drunk high school boys. Usually pretty easy to reject.
“Maisy, you want to go out some night?” Gomez asks as he tosses his ping pong ball across the table at a cup. No. No, I don’t. The ball hits the rim and bounces off. The huge human being across from him laughs and retrieves the ball to throw it back.
“Nice shot, dick,” the guy says.
“Whatever, Madigan. Your meat hooks can’t even throw that ball without crushing it,” Gomez retorts. Madigan. I heard his name at the football game today. He’s Donovan’s teammate.
“Fuck you, man.” Johnny shoves Gomez. “I asked her first.”
“You asked her to sit on your face, douche patrol. That’s not legit,” Gomez snaps.
“Yeah, dinner for me first, then the movie for both of us.” Logan licks his lips and laughs.
“This isn’t first grade, boys. I’m not a toy. You don’t get dibs,” I tell them as they continue to argue who is taking me out first.
At that moment one of the girls sitting with the baseball players gasps. “Is that,” she pauses and rakes her eyes over my body as if she just noticed I was here, “an Alaïa?”
“Nope! It’s her own design. Isn’t it totally gorg?” Millie answers before I can. Gorg? Where did this girl come from all of a sudden? Liquid courage must be kicking in. I laugh at her response, but I’m glad she’s chilling out. I hope she has a great night and really enjoys herself.
“OH. EM. GEE! No way, you made that?” the other girl wails. “Paige, Gemma! Get over here!”
Two girls saunter over with total RBF (resting bitch face if you’re wondering) – they remind me of the popular girls at VCHS.
“Check her out!” the girl who is now touching the lace bodice of my d
ress squeaks. I feel like I’m on display. “She made that. Doesn’t it look just like that Alaïa you were gonna buy last summer in NYC? I mean, this one is more of a straight cut while the Alaïa was a wrap, but still.”
“Holy shit. Yeah it does!” the redhead replies.
“This is Paige,” the girl motions to the taller one, “and this is Gemma,” she thumbs at the other. Paige, has long, fire-red hair. She’s wearing a very tight black tube top that exposes her navel, and a fuchsia leather mini-skirt. The other one, who is shorter, but still taller than me, Gemma, has dark brown hair with blond streaks that make her look a bit like a skunk. She’s wearing a leopard print mini-dress and black heels. Skunk or not, they are both very attractive.
“Bella, she is so invited on our next trip to NYC,” Gemma says to the girl who initially noticed my dress as she eyes my work. She pops her hip and tilts her head. “Can you make stuff for us?”
These girls know their fashion, and apparently have money to spare. Maybe I could make a few pieces for them as a side job. I could always use the money and new fabric. I bet I could charge a decent price out here. I know the Alaïa dress they’re referring to, and it costs $3,000 at Neiman Marcus.
Just as I’m about to answer, a deep voice cuts through all the noise behind me and sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t have to turn around to see who it is.
“She’s fucking hot isn’t she?” His voice rumbles through my body as he passes by, not actually acknowledging me. I feel my skin prickle and I try to hide my nervousness with him this close to me again.
Paige, Gemma, and Bella all unleash an audible moan as they stare at him. The audible chants I heard a few minutes ago must have meant the football team arrived.
Donovan strolls further into the room and everyone’s attention is immediately on him. He’s a magnetic force that commands a room, winking, smiling, and high fiving as he goes. He’s wearing tight, ripped dark blue jeans, untied black patent leather Jordans, and black crew neck t-shirt with a white pocket. His auburn hair is loose instead of its usual slicked-back style, and flipped to the left, hanging over the shaved side down past his ear. The loose look is fucking hot I think as he runs his hand through it to push it back. His emerald green eyes are blazing and his jaw tenses as they lock on mine. I have a very strong desire to touch him, but I fight against it.
Redemption (Cambria University #2) Page 9