by Alley Ciz
“Because I’m totally in love with a football player,” I admit after a long silence.
“I sure hope it’s Mason, otherwise things will get awkward,” Q jokingly singsongs to lighten the mood.
“Thanks, Q.”
Shit! Why don’t we use pom-poms? I could totally be plucking the ribbons out like, “He loves me. He loves me not.” Cheer fail.
“Hey.” G places a hand on my arm, bringing me back to the present—again. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve never seen him this way with anyone before.”
But is it enough? Will it help me keep him?
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
“Spit it out, Smalls,” G says after my third failed attempt at speech.
“I…” I drop my head to the couch behind me and look to the ceiling. “I stayed away from Mason’s type for so long, even fighting him when it came to us in the beginning, and I almost don’t know how to admit what I’m really struggling with.”
“Tell us, Kay.”
I take in my surroundings, the shelves displaying some of my greatest accomplishments and snapshots of all those who’ve made an impact in my life. Then I look at four sets of eyes, at the people who only ever knew me after and still accept me. I’m hit with the startling realization that this, them—they are my safe space.
Maybe if I give voice to my greatest fear in front of them, it will help give me a boost to admit it all to Mason.
#Chapter51
I take in the beautiful painted Hawk mural and photographs of past U of J players on the walls as I make my way through the tunnels underneath the football stadium to the locker rooms.
The lanyard around my neck keeps me from being stopped by the security guards and officials I pass, and for the millionth time I question how Mase talked me into meeting him down here before the game.
From the beginning, I’ve said he was the epitome of my personal kryptonite, but tonight sure as hell proves it. Between this and my plans for later, I know I’ve fallen for him in a serious way.
I have butterflies in my stomach and I might get sick from nerves, but I’m doing this. No turning back.
As I approach the doors I’ve been looking for, I pull out my phone to text that I’m here. He must have been waiting for me because less than a minute goes by before his massive frame is pushing through the doorway.
I thought I was used to how much bigger he is than me—a foot and a half and well over a hundred pounds—but him being all decked out in his football gear only exaggerates our size difference. His shoulder pads magnify his already impossibly broad shoulders and strong chest, and combined with his tight football pants, it only emphasizes the inverted triangle down to his narrow waist. All that’s missing from his uniform is his helmet.
A part of me can’t wait for him to turn around so I can catch a glimpse of his butt in those tight pants, because I know that is a delicious sight. Thank you god for the invention of football pants.
“Like what you see, babe?” There’s laughter in his voice when he speaks.
I have to force my eyes off his body, but when I get to his magazine-cover-worthy face, it doesn’t do much to help break me out of my stupor as I get lost in his light green eyes.
His kissable lips are tipped up at the edges as he waits for me to respond.
It’s his hands wrapping around my waist that ultimately pierces the haze of lust I’m wrapped in.
“You could say that.” With no one around, I rise onto my tiptoes to hook my hands around his neck, bringing our bodies flush against each other.
“If you think I look good in my uniform, you should see what I look like out of it.”
“Oh, I have.” Our heads draw closer together.
“Annnnddd?” He draws the word out.
“And…it’s one of my favorite sights to behold.” My lips brush his as I speak.
“Right back at ya, babe,” he says before pressing his lips to mine.
My brain, still slow from taking in all the gorgeousness of my man dressed up for a game, completely shuts off when he kisses me. I forget everything else, and it’s a struggle to remember what I wanted to talk to him about.
Our tongues dance together before I suck his bottom lip into my mouth and nibble on it, eliciting a groan from him. I’d be afraid of how much he affects me if it wasn’t so obvious the feeling is mutual—at least sexually.
It’s the need for air that finally breaks us apart. As if unable to fully end our connection, Mase stays bent over with his forehead touching mine. Now able to breathe, I remember what I wanted to ask him.
“Do you have to go to the AK afterparty tonight?” I bite my lip, nervous as I wait for his response.
“Did you have something else in mind?” He rocks his hips against my body.
I’m so twitchy not even his innuendo is enough to calm me.
Here goes nothing.
“I was thinking we could go to my house tonight for some alone time.”
His eyebrows rise. Guess I piqued his interest.
“Where are the roomies going to be?”
“Not my dorm. I mean my house, like where I grew up.”
His previously raised eyebrows now do their best to disappear into his hairline.
“What’s the occasion?”
Oh, only that I need to bare my soul and spill my secrets because that’s apparently what mature adults do in relationships.
“I just thought it would be nice to not have to worry about anyone else being around and stuff.”
“You can be quite loud.” He rocks his hips into me again.
I pop him in the chest as I feel a blush spread across my cheeks.
“Pervert.” I can’t help but smile at him. “Actually, there’s some stuff I wanted to talk to you about.”
Crinkles fan out from his eyes and his jaw pops from clenching. I can’t tell if he’s nervous or pissed.
“So…you’re telling me ‘we need to talk’?”
“Not like that.” Shit! The last thing he needs on his mind during a game is a misunderstanding about our relationship. “It’s nothing bad.” Relatively speaking. “It’s just with our friends’ propensity for showing up or dragging us out with them, it might be nice for you and me to go off the grid, so to speak.”
Far, far away from those who follow our hashtags.
In need of a distraction, I press my lips to his, but one kiss leads to another, and before I know it we’re making out in the tunnel under the stadium. I’m not sure how much time passes before we’re interrupted by the clearing of a throat and a gruff, “Nova.”
Mason springs back from me like he was electrocuted before cursing softly. “Shit.” He turns. “Coach.”
Coach Knight is scowling at Mason as I peek around his large frame, but his lips quirk up slightly when he catches sight of me. Not exactly the reaction I thought I would get. “And who is this?”
Mase turns, putting an arm around me, pulling me forward and into his side. “This is my girlfriend, Kay. Skit, this is Coach Knight.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Coach.”
“You too.” Coach Knight studies me the way he does his players on the field. Not gonna lie, it’s a little intimidating. “Is she the reason I haven’t had to hound you about your grades for the first time ever?” He directs the question to Mason.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well then…I guess I can forgive this little indiscretion. But, son, do you really think the best thing to do before a game is make out with your girlfriend?”
“Absolutely, sir.” Cocky jerk. “She’s the best motivation there is.”
Aww, don’t make me blush. My inner cheerleader preens.
Coach Knight is still studying me closely—then suddenly my worst nightmare rears its ugly head. “We’ve met before.”
Whoop there it is.
I’m not sure I can stop this thread from unraveling now. Damn Coach Knight and his steel trap of a memory.
“Yes, sir.�
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“We met when I was trying to recruit your older brother.”
I feel Mason whip his head down in my direction, but I don’t look. I can’t.
“I’m surprised you remember me.”
“You had grit. I remember thinking to myself I’d recruit you too if you played.” Coach chuckles to himself. “You were arguing with a young man about some cheerleading trick you wanted to try.”
I can’t help but smile at the memory.
“I remember that,” I say, thinking of how JT always had to be talked into attempting our craziest stunts.
“The way your brother shifted his focus to your conversation when the topic of you potentially getting hurt came up had the same intensity I’ve seen him use on the field.”
“He always did blame JT if I came home with an injury, even if it was just the nature of the sport.”
“It was a real shame he chose Penn State instead.” Coach Knight takes off his Hawks Football ball cap and runs a hand over his hair. “I breathed a sigh of relief when he declared for the draft early.”
Mason’s gaze bounces back and forth between me and his coach. I can tell he’s trying to piece together the information.
“Yeah, but Penn is where he met his wife, so I know he doesn’t regret not choosing the U of J.”
“I bet you were happy he was drafted by Baltimore, though. You two seemed pretty close.”
I know the moment Mason puts all the pieces together. His body radiates his shock.
“Makes it a lot easier to go to games.”
“Okay then.” Coach claps his hands in front of him. “Nice to see you again, Kay.” He turns his attention to his tight end. “One more minute, Nova. Then get your ass back in my locker room.”
As the doors close behind Coach Knight, the tension between Mason and me becomes suffocating. When I look into the seafoam green eyes I love so much, for the first time ever, I can’t read what he’s thinking in them.
I’m not sure how to handle this. Mase has to go out and play in a few minutes, and this drama is nothing compared to how I thought he was feeling when he thought I meant we need to talk.
“Soooo…spoiler alert.”
My joke falls flat.
“Eric Dennings is your brother?”
I look down as I nod.
“The pro football player?”
Another nod.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The betrayal I hear in his voice cuts deep.
“I was going to tonight.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me sooner.”
Because if I told you I would have to tell you about all the reasons why I keep it a secret, and I didn’t want you to think less of me—or worse, have you only stay with me because of E.
I reach out for one of his large hands, and even with both of mine wrapped around it, it dwarfs them. I force myself to meet his hurt gaze. “I’ll explain it all later. I promise. Right now you need to focus on kicking Indiana’s ass and not this.”
“You’re right.” His voice is cold, his tone sterile. He sounds nothing like the guy who annoyed his way into my heart.
Spinning on his heel, he disappears into the locker room. No kiss. No goodbye. Just…gone.
Those butterflies from earlier now feel like a ball of lead in my stomach.
I was going to tell him.
About E.
About He-who-shall-not-be-named.
About why I’m not on social media—all of it.
I had a plan.
I vaguely knew what I was going to say, even practiced it on my friends. I was prepared to apologize and already had my fingers crossed that he wouldn’t be mad.
Why do I feel like none of that matters now?
#Chapter52
For four quarters, I was able to push down any frustration I felt about the situation and concentrate on football.
When the game is over, the adrenaline from both it and the win pumps through my body. I have to force myself to keep from pacing the locker room like a caged lion.
I can barely remember the game. My mind has been spinning over the revelation.
See? I told you girls were a distraction. You’re lucky you still played well tonight; otherwise you’d be running suicides.
I try to make heads or tails of the information, going over everything Kay has ever mentioned about her brother, looking for the lie.
Eric Dennings is Kay’s brother.
Holy shit.
Eric Dennings is my girlfriend’s brother.
He’s one of the top tight ends in the league, right up there with Naples, Travis Kelce, and Delanie Walker.
Secrets, secrets, secrets. I feel like everything I’ve learned about Kay has been born from a secret.
But…
Then again, it was a secret, not a lie. I feel like this is an important distinction I need to make for myself to keep from falling down the rabbit hole left by Chrissy/Tina.
How many more can one person have? Is E being…well…who he is why she doesn’t want her face on social media? If it is, it’s kind of a weak argument.
There’s a text with an address waiting for me on my phone. A part of me wants to ignore it and head to the AK house, but the other part, the one that recognizes Kay as my other half knows I won’t get any answers by running away.
Decision time.
If it weren’t for my GPS, I would have ended up in Narnia instead of Blackwell I’m so lost in my thoughts. I’ve run through everything I’ve learned about Kay since we’ve been together, and almost every single piece of information has come reluctantly.
Looking at the white-sided, black-shuttered colonial, I’m not even sure how much time has passed since I parked the Shelby next to Kay’s Jeep.
The leather of my steering wheel creaks under my white-knuckled grip around it.
Buzz!
My phone rattles around on the dash, the screen lighting up with a text.
GRAYSON: Give her a chance to explain.
It doesn’t come as any surprise that he is championing for Kay, and his message has almost fortuitous timing. I needed something to knock me from my stupor, and it accomplished just that.
Grayson is right. I have to find a way to push past the hurt so I can listen. When it comes down to it, Kay has become too important to me not to.
With a deep breath, I climb out of the Shelby and head for the front door. My hands clench and unclench as I try to shake the tension from them. Going in hot, prepared for a fight isn’t going to do either of us any favors.
Ding-dong!
My heart thunders in my ears as I wait for Kay to answer the door. When she does, it’s obvious she has taken the time to shower as well. Her long curls are still damp, hanging around her, leaving droplets of water on her tight blue tank and the swells of her chest. A loose pair of black NJA sweats hang from her hips, completing her comfy vibe.
With the exception of her wearing my clothes or being straight-up naked, this has always been one of my favorite looks on her.
“Mase.” There’s hesitation in the way she says my name.
“Skittles.” I try to reassure her with a grin, but it falls flat.
“Come in.” She holds the door open for me to enter.
I focus on every minute detail of where she was raised in an effort to stay out of my head.
She leads me through a large foyer, pale gray walls accenting the dark gray tile. I can see doors open to my left for a bathroom and a laundry room, and off to my right looks like an office. We walk past a staircase and into a spacious eat-in kitchen, the long rectangular table separated from the cooking area by a large peninsula countertop.
She turns left through an archway that opens up to a huge den. The room boasts two-story ceilings, a stone fireplace in the corner, a massive sectional couch, a glass and chrome coffee table, and a separate seating area by a large bay window.
There’s a sizeable flat-screen in the space above the fireplace, and along the walls are gl
ass and chrome shelves lined with pictures, awards, trophies, and medals.
Kay sits in a corner of the large couch, curling her feet underneath her, knees up, one arm resting on the back and the other hooked over her knees protectively.
She seems unsure of herself. I don’t like it.
I spot a half-full wine glass on the coffee table and quirk a brow.
“Liquid courage,” she says when she notices my interest.
“Why?”
The idea of her not being comfortable enough to talk to me without the aid of alcohol does not sit right with me. Since the moment we met, she’s given me shit. This reticence has me worried.
“This wasn’t really a conversation I was looking forward to having to begin with, but now that I’ve been outed by someone else…”
“Babe.” I wait until her eyes meet mine and I have her full attention. “You can tell me anything.”
She reaches for her glass and takes a big gulp, and I wander over to the shelving to give her a moment to get her thoughts in order. There are pictures of Kay and her brother at various ages, dressed in their respective football and cheerleading uniforms.
I spot a few photos with an older gentleman who has to be their father. The smiles on their faces are so infectious I can’t stop returning them with my own.
There are a few pictures of Kay with a red-haired boy in a matching NJA uniform. I lift one up: Kay on top of his shoulders, medals around their necks, each holding their fingers up in the universal sign of number one.
“That’s JT,” Kay says from her spot on the couch.
Placing the frame back down, I nod. I remember seeing the red hair in the videos the twins showed.
I continue my perusal of the awards. There are a few hand mannequins with rings adorning the fingers. Some I recognize as football rings awarded for winning the state championships—I have two of them myself—and the ones I don’t recognize must be Kay’s from cheerleading. The number of accolades in this room is staggering.
“Wow,” I say when I finally come to the last display.
“Yeah.” She turns her head my way, but it feels like she’s looking past me and not at me. “Dad was super proud. We were forbidden from keeping any of them in our rooms.”