Third and Long: A Sports Romance

by Caitlyn Maxwell

  She says she wants to be friends, but that wasn’t a friendly kiss. That was a shut up and take me kiss.

  For the first time in years, I hit the hay early. Tamber’s not an all night kind of girl.

  To make a good show of it to Coach Ainsworth, Cam and I hit the practice field at 9 a.m. Even though Coach loved my performance last week, he definitely made it known that he’d cut my balls off if he had to deal with the media asking about my antics again. One day he may follow through on his threats.

  “So tell me how it went down. Is this chick crazy like Gwen?” Cam asks as I throw an easy ten yard pass to him.

  My arm feels great today. There’s no soreness. In fact my entire body feels ten years younger. The benefits of staying mostly sober and going to bed early I suppose.

  “I can’t even believe she knows Gwen to be honest. They’re like polar opposites.”

  Cam catches a deeper pass. This time it’s a real dart. My throwing arm feels stronger, invigorated. We might set that record today. Four touchdowns to the same receiver in one game. Would be nice. Might even make my dad proud. Who am I kidding?

  “You guys get in on?”

  “I got a kiss,” I say with the earnestness and enthusiasm of a school kid who got his first A.

  Cam catches another pass another pass and starts cracking up. He drops the ball, staring at me disbelief. “And?” he asks.

  “And nothing. I don’t want to rush it.”

  He gives me a look like I’ve lost my mind. “Shit man are you in love?”

  I spend a lot of time finding my grip on the next ball that I grab off the rack. Spinning it in my hands, I can’t help but think about Tamber. A girl has never had me all mixed up like this. Girls like Tiffany and Kelly? They’re easy to forget. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. That’s how I liked to live. I never thought I’d meet a girl that I’d want to see more than once or twice.

  Then along comes Tamber Long, screwing up my game plan. She’s so different. She knows what she wants. All these other girls are hanging around waiting for a guy like me to a put a ring on their finger. Tamber doesn’t even want that. She’d spit on a ring.

  “Go long,” I say.

  Cam runs down the field. I spot Coach watching from the sidelines. Good. I’d hate to be doing all this without him noticing. A perfect spiral of a pass leaves my hand, and Cam catches it in the end zone. Good practice. We’ll win today. I’m throwing better than I ever have.

  My bro and I run a few more drills. When I start thinking about kissing Tamber my passes get sloppy. I’ve got to get her out of my head before game time.

  Back in the locker room, Cam keeps giving me shit about her, so I retaliate the only way I know how. I give him shit about Gwen.

  “How am I gonna fall for a girl that’s best friends with a freak like Gwen,” I say.

  That stops Cam in his tracks as he shoves his gloves back in his locker.

  “I guarantee you she is nothing like Gwen. But if she is? It’ll be the best month of your life until it’s over,” he says.

  He’s all smiles. A year ago when Gwen dumped him, he was a mopey piece of shit for like six weeks. Finally he got over it. Since he’s such a beast on the field, no one suspects that Cam is actually a sensitive guy.

  I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s a romantic. See, he thought after a month that he and Gwen Tully were exclusive. Thing is she didn’t see it that way. That was an awkward conversation if there ever was one.

  Not that you can blame her for anything. It’s college. We’re all seeing other people. Cam didn’t understand the game. Now he does. If anything Gwen turned him into a bit of a player.

  It was total coincidence that my man knew Tamber. Last Sunday I started texting every girl I knew about her, and no one had ever heard of her. Then I started asking the guys, and Cam knew right away who I was talking about. He gave me Gwen’s number and the rest is history.

  After a quick shower, I grab my bag and wander off to watch film. No other players are in the facility at this hour. Coach is haunting the facility somewhere, probably going back for his third pot of coffee. Shutting the lights off in the film room, the latest tape on Ole Miss’s defensive line rolls.

  To be honest, I barely pay attention. My eyes close, and I can’t help but picture Tamber Long in her little black dress. That was some push-up bra she had on making every inch of her perky tits work. Her thighs were silky smooth and strong, every bit what I expected from a runner.

  Thinking about her legs reminds of me her ass in those tight, red running shorts. Her mocha brown hair. Her toned legs and tight body. Her work ethic. Her honesty. Her drive. She’s everything. Her kiss and her touch.

  Then my phone buzzes. It startles me awake, and I damn near fall out of my seat.

  “Good luck today, son,” dad says when I answer the phone.

  The fact that he’s even acknowledging that I have a game is bad fucking news. Terrible news in fact. He’s buttering me up for the bomb he’s about to drop.

  “Thanks,” I say. My voice is leaden on the phone, keenly aware that there is more coming.

  “Enjoy it because you’ll be giving up football,” he says.

  The phone feels icy in my hands. I want to smash it against the wall even though I know that won’t fix things. I summon every bit of my courage.

  “That’s not going to happen,” I say.

  “I asked you to go one week without another dust up with the media, and you couldn’t do it,” he says.

  “Wait. What are you talking about?” I ask. Honestly, I have no idea since I was such a good boy this week.

  “It’s time for a change, Logan,” he says.

  I pace about the locker room. Thankfully, I’m the only one here because I really want to punch someone.

  “Your mother and I both agree that a wife would be in everyone’s best interest,” he says.

  He means his best interest. It’s always about the family which means him. I have two sisters, and he never talks about them, never criticizes them. They’re off studying in Europe, and he never puts the whole weight of the world on their shoulders. It’s bullshit.

  “You’re asking me to get married?” I haven’t felt timid since I was four years old.

  Despite my interest in Tamber, I am not the marrying type. The fact that I even want another chance with her is a landmark for me. Unless she called me, I was all set to hit the clubs tonight to get her out of my head. Now my dad is coming at me with this shit.

  “Son, I’m not asking. I’m telling. We’ve selected a bride for you. She’s upper crust. Appropriate. Beautiful and talented. She understands what it means to be an Oliver,” he says.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, anger dripping in my voice.

  That sets him off. Dad doesn’t brook disagreement very well.

  “You know exactly what the fuck it means. You’re an Oliver. Certain people expect certain things of you. These kinds of people don’t tend to care for your late night antics. It reflects poorly on your character. And it reflects poorly on the family.”

  I’m silent on the phone as my father takes over my entire life, threatening to marry me off. In the back of my mind, I was always afraid this day would come. Part of getting into football was an escape. I thought if I earned millions, then my dad wouldn’t be able to touch me. When I was a kid playing ball in high school, I had these fantasies about disowning the family, going my own way. Stupid me comparing my potential millions to his very real billions. And I’m his only son.

  “Who is she?” I ask, slumping against my locker.

  “Katerina Prescott,” he says.

  I know the name. She’s from New York, a fashion model. Her parents have their money in all kinds of stocks. Century of wealth just like us. So I should be happy right? I’m silent on the phone, yet my dad keeps talking.

  “She’s beautiful. You should be happy. A wife, a couple of kids. All this media attention will go away,” he says. I’m not so sure
about that, but that’s the bubble my dad lives in. Then I get it. He’s not saying they’ll leave me alone because I’m married, he’s saying that a wife will get me to settle down. They’ll leave me alone because there won’t be anything worth reporting.

  “Sure dad,” I mutter. I’ll be in the billionaire bubble before I know it. Everything I’ve done, all the work I put in to make it to the pros will be for nothing.

  “I’m glad we see eye to eye for once, son,” he says.

  Then an idea pops into my head and out of my mouth. I’m not sure why I say it. Maybe it’s nerves, a touch of panic. Maybe it’s the shrewdest move I’ve ever made. Whatever the reason, I blurt out something that completely changes everything. I call an audible on the whole situation.

  “I got engaged last weekend dad,” I say. “I was waiting tell you when the time was right.”

  Dad hangs up the phone without even saying another word. That’s how I know he’s really mad.

  Of course there is no girl. I don’t even know what I’m doing or why I said it. All I know is that I’m marrying some girl I’ve never met. I figure if I can bluff my dad for a few days that will at least give me time to figure out a way out of this.

  I grab my phone and pull up the news, wondering what the fuck my dad was complaining about. Nothing I did this week was worth the paparazzi reporting on me.

  Then I see it.

  “Oh shit.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tamber

  Gwen ambushed me last night when I walked through the door after saying goodnight to Logan. However I was feeling way too euphoric to put up with her bullshit, so I promised I’d tell her everything in morning.

  First thing after walking out of my bedroom, she jumps on my back. Another ambush. She’s a goddamn ninja.

  “So did you suck his cock?” Gwen asks, wrapping her arms around my neck, so I can’t drop her. There’s nothing like gasping for breath at eight in the morning.

  Somehow I carry Gwen over to the couch and throw both of our bodies down on it. She wraps her legs around my arm like she’s Ronda Rousey, making it clear that I’m not going anywhere until I dish on all the gory details. To be honest everything that happened last night seems like such a lovely dream. I’m a real lightweight and those glasses of Pinot hit me harder than I thought.

  Kissing Logan was a complete and utter accident. An amazing accident. I can still taste him on my lips. The sheer masculinity of his touch. Regardless of the kiss, I made myself clear. We are just friends. Next time I see him, I won’t be so tipsy, so easy to get.

  “I’m not letting you go until you tell me,” Gwen says, my arm still between her legs. “Tell me I was right about that athlete cock.”

  “We didn’t fuck or anything,” I say.

  I start to feel guilty. I have absolutely no intention of dating anyone let alone a guy as dangerous as Logan. He’s the ultimate distraction: rich, famous, and utterly sexy. He would be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Yet I led him on. I let him kiss me. I told him I wanted to be friends and then immediately contradicted myself. I’ll be regretting that kiss for years.

  I’d cringe myself to death on the couch if Gwen wasn’t on top of me.

  “But you touched his cock?”

  I burst into a red flame. My entire face feels like it’s on fire. Suddenly, I remember how it happened. I swear I was only trying to grab his thigh! Gwen cracks up. She’s so happy.

  “It was an accident!” I plead my case. “We were just kissing, and—”

  “Your hand slipped? Cool story babe,” Gwen says. She purses her lips and gives me the double thumbs up. “Are the rumors true?”

  “Shit Gwen,” I blush again. “It went like all the way down to his knee.”

  “Athletes. I’m telling ya! So do you like him?” she asks, her legs letting go of my arm.

  I throw myself dramatically back on the couch like I’m Blanche DuBois. Do I like him? The fact that he’s already distracting me pisses me off. He’s such a handsome asshole. I’ve gone years without worrying about stupid things like boys only for Logan to crash headlong into my well-laid plans. The part that really annoys me is Logan’s status. He’s been a billionaire since the day of his birth. Everything has been given to him.

  “He’s so perfect, but—”

  “So have his babies,” Gwen interrupts me again. Rarely will she let me finish a thought. “Shit girl. Your whole thing is about making money. Just get his,” Gwen says.

  “I would hate myself,” I say.

  I’m serious. I’m not a gold digger. There’s no way I’d feel comfortable going from rags to riches. Cinderella I am not.

  “Your morals are trash,” Gwen says releasing my arm.

  She sits up on the couch and checks her phone. For every one athlete chasing after me, there’s probably a dozen chasing after her. Gwen’s known me for years, yet she doesn’t know my whole life story. I’ve only told her the parts that she asks about, and she doesn’t ask much.

  I’m doing some hard thinking on the couch, and she can tell. Gwen gets up in a huff.

  “You are impossible! Your whole thing is infuriating! What is the big deal?” she asks, heading into the kitchen.

  “You really want to know?” I ask.

  “Bitch, I’ve been trying to get you to tell me for years. Everyone always asks me ‘what’s the deal with Tamber, why’s she such a nerd?’ I tell them ‘beats me. Girl’s a mystery.’”

  “You know my mom settled down with the first guy she fucked right? Her high school sweet heart?”

  “Yeah. It’s a boring story,” Gwen says, grabbing an banana off the counter. “Remind you of something?”

  “Oh geez Gwen. And no. It’s a bit small.”

  “Go on,” she says, her eyes lighting up.

  I disappoint her by avoiding the thing she really wants to hear about.

  “The thing about my mom is that she had a scholarship. She was going to be a doctor. That first summer home she reunited with my dad. Couple of hot nights later, she was pregnant and school was a distant memory.”

  “Fucking hell Tam. No wonder,” she says.

  I leave out some of the worst details. No need to bring down the mood that much.

  “So yeah, I don’t have much time for boys.”

  “Shame. They aren’t all like your dad. You’re missing out,” she says.

  “Oh yeah? What am I missing out on?”

  “You’ll find out. When you fuck Logan, you’ll find out,” she says.

  “That’s not going to happen Gwen. We decided to be friends. Besides I don’t even think he likes me that much. I know how fast he moves with girls, and he didn’t move very fast with me last night.”

  It was only one kiss after all.

  Gwen rolls her eyes hard. “You idiot. He’s moving slow because he likes you. If you were some random girl, he totally would have banged you last night.”

  Not sure that makes me feel better. I get off the couch to grab a cup of coffee. If Gwen hadn’t ninja ambushed me, I’d be two cups deep already. Meanwhile I’ve got two books to read and annotate today. It’s Saturday, so surely I can’t count on The Party Girls to get anything done with our project.

  I let myself take a break last night, and it was nice, but it was nothing serious. I can’t be. Getting wrapped up with Logan is the first step toward slipping down a dangerous path. Next thing I know he’ll be calling me up every day. At that point I’m no better than the do-nothing Party Girls.

  “Shit,” Gwen says.

  The creamer mixes with my coffee as my roommate corners me in our tiny kitchen. The look of her horror on her face makes me think someone died.

  “You’re not going to like this,” she says.

  Taking a deep breath, I brace myself and look at her screen. She has the South Texas Dirty pulled up. I wonder for a brief moment what they’re saying about Logan now. Then I realize that they publish all the time, and there’s only one person who Logan was with last night. They nev
er report on girls like me. But there it is. The headline.

  1 WEEK AFTER COACH SCOLDS HIM, LOGAN OLIVER III OUT LATE WITH NEW SLUT.

  “New slut?” Gwen asks. “What the fuck! I wish you were a slut!”

  Thanks Gwen. The picture shows me stumbling out of the Marquise Steakhouse. My face is blurry enough. The average person wouldn’t recognize me and they don’t have my name. It really does look like I’m stumbling shitfaced out of the restaurant.

  “It was the heels! I couldn’t walk in the heels!” I scream.

  Gwen gives me the side eye. “I saw you last night. You stunk,” she says.

  “Okay I drank a little too much wine, but still!”

  I’m mad. Quietly, I walk into my bedroom, and Gwen knows not to fuck with me right now. She thinks my rule about staying away from boys is crazy. So nice to have my rule validated so quickly.

  Running shoes, running shorts, tank top, hoodie. Time to hit the track.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Logan

  When Coach Ainsworth called me into his office, I thought for sure he’d be giving me kudos for getting in an extra practice with Cam. Instead he sat me down and gave me a long winded lecture about optics that ended with him showing me another headline on the South Texas Dirty. Coach isn’t the kind of guy that follows the gossip blogs. The boosters on the other hand—and it’s the boosters that keep everyone like him employed around here.

  I told him it was an innocent date. I didn’t even get drunk. We only kissed, and I took her home.

  In the end it doesn’t matter if Coach believed me or not because his point is the same one my father is always trying to make: people expect certain things of me. Once again everyone needs me to behave a certain way. I can’t take it anymore.

  I can’t believe the Dirty wrote that shit about Tamber. I feel terrible. If I ever find the guy who wrote that article, I’m going to knock him out. Not to mention the snake-in-the-grass paparazzi that took those pictures. They were waiting outside the Marquise Steakhouse, waiting for the valet to bring my BMW around. The sneaky fucks must have been hiding in the bushes.