Covering the Quarterback

by Amber Thielman

  “I don’t know what the deal is with you and Jackson Tate, but it’s weird.” Alex sipped her coffee at the dining table the next morning as she half-heartedly picked at a blueberry muffin. We were both in our pajamas, but per usual Alex looked better than I did as if she was doing a cover of a magazine. You’d think that in the three years living with such a beauty might take a toll on my self-esteem, but it was impossible for my self-esteem to drop lower than it already was, so we were good.

  “What do you mean?” I said. “There is no deal.”

  “You guys having been spending a lot of time together,” Alex said. “And it doesn’t seem to be all about football, either.”

  “That’s because football blows,” I said. “Besides, it’s not my fault Jackson refuses to give me my interview when I need it.”

  “One minute you couldn’t stand the guy and wanted off the report, and the next minute he’s showing up at the bar, and you’re his wing-woman,” Alex said.

  “That’s all on him. He’s stalking me.” I took a bite of Alex’s untouched muffin, chewing thoughtfully. “He’s not as bad as I thought he’d be, okay? He’s, well, I don’t know. He’s okay.” I thought back to the moment at the restaurant when he’d commented on the political issue I’d been trying to bring up to Shawn. I couldn’t make up my mind about Jackson; one second he was the stereotypical jock who teased me in high school and pretended to have the IQ of a slug, and the next second he was engaging with me in an intellectual conversation about the world when no one else would.

  “While I think it’s lovely that you have someone to socialize with who isn’t Shawn or me, I want you to be careful,” Alex said. “You know, get in and get out. Jackson Tate is a notorious player at our school, and I don’t want him breaking your heart.”

  “To break someone’s heart, don’t they have to be together?” I asked. When Alex didn’t answer, I continued, “I appreciate you’re worried, but nothing is happening between Jackson and me. I am not attracted to him whatsoever, and it’s clear he feels the same way. We’re not even friends. I’ve only ever met him a handful of times, Alex.”

  “You can’t say you’re not attracted to him,” Alex said. “Everyone with human DNA and two working eyes are attracted to the jerk.”

  I thought of Jackson’s abs; the twitching muscles in his arms, the way his jaw got tense whenever he was thinking hard about something. And that smirk, that adorable, self-assured little smirk that made women drop their panties and beg for his attention.

  “So, he’s cute.” I turned away so she wouldn’t catch me drooling into my mug of coffee. Mmmm, a drool-laden mocha. “But lots of people are cute. It doesn’t mean I want to be with him.”

  “Yeah, I know, I just . . .” Alex hesitated. “I don’t know. Just be careful.”

  “Speaking of, I need to get ready to go. I still need to drop by his apartment for another pregame interview.”

  “Homecoming is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Alex asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Are you going?”

  “I have to,” I said, with a sigh. “Wanna come?”

  “Football isn’t my forte,” Alex said. She hesitated for a moment as if trying to decide between the prospect of an untimely death or a slow and excruciating torture fest. “But I guess it’s better than sitting at home alone,” she continued, with a long sigh. “I’m in.”

  After getting dressed and gathering my things, I walked to campus to see if I could get a quick interview with Jackson before the game tomorrow. The homecoming game would be huge; I knew that already. Most of the school would be there in support, dressed in the school’s colors, with faces painted, and signs held up egging our team on while shouting profanities at the opposing players at the same time. College girls would be dressed scantily in short shorts and tanks tops despite the cool weather, and the guys would be swinging around plastic mugs of cheap beer and sizing each other up drunkenly.

  While I had only ever attended one or two football games in my life, I was almost excited to watch this one. I didn’t know who we were playing yet, but I was already expecting they would get their asses handed to them so long as Jackson was playing. The prospect of watching the game was more exciting because, if anything, I knew the quarterback and could cheer someone on instead of being left in the dark.

  After arriving at Jackson’s apartment, I knocked lightly, hoping he was awake. I couldn’t leave without a Q&A or Gavin would have my head, so I knocked louder and prayed he was home. After three minutes of no answer from inside, I tried the handle, just for the hell of it. It was unlocked. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was too weird just to walk in, but then I remembered how annoying he’d been at the bar last night and I didn’t care anymore. I shrugged to myself and poked my head in. Jackson’s bedroom door was closed, so I assumed he was still lying in bed, sound asleep and probably snoring.

  “Jackson,” I sang, and crossed the living room. I knocked on his bedroom door, hoping he’d hear me and I wouldn’t have to bombard him, which I was more than ready and willing to do. “Jackson?” There was no answer. I considered turning around and leaving, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I had work to do, and I didn’t intend to leave without getting what I needed.

  “Tate” I hissed, and opened his bedroom door.

  The first thing I spotted was a naked woman. It was the girl from the bar with the dark hair, and her eyes fluttered open right as I appeared. She shrieked, sounding like a startled animal. Jackson was asleep next to her, and when she cried out he bolted upright, eyes landing on me. He, too, was spectacularly naked.

  “What is your sister doing here?!” the naked girl screeched. Her tone reached a decibel that I assumed only dogs could hear.

  “Jesus, Tate, can you put some friggin’ pants on?” I slapped my hand over my eyes as the dark-haired girl in his bed flushed and yanked the blanket up to her chin.

  “Learn to knock, Grace,” Jackson said, but he was laughing.

  “I did knock,” I insisted. “I knocked for like fifteen minutes.” I made it a point to turn away so the girl in his bed could get up and put on some clothes without me staring her down. The appropriate thing to do would have been to leave, but in my moment of disbelief, I couldn’t seem to get my legs to respond to my brain.

  “Call me,” she said to Jackson as she gathered her purse and rushed for the door. She glanced at me as she passed, her face burning red with shame. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to be embarrassed because I was embarrassed enough for all three of us, but I couldn’t seem to speak. As soon as she shut the door behind her, I turned back around to face Jackson, only to find that he was now standing at the foot of the bed with no pants on. In fact, his bottom half wasn’t covered by anything at all.

  “Fuck me.” I nearly keeled over. I slapped both hands over my eyes and swung back around to bolt, smacking blindly into the wall. Pain shot through every muscle in my body, and I nearly fell to the floor.

  “Don’t tempt me with a good time,” Jackson said as he pulled on some pants. He didn’t seem surprised that I’d almost knocked myself out against his bedroom wall, but given how gracefully I’d conducted our last interview, I can’t imagine he’d been expecting anything more from me.

  “You’re a pig,” I snapped, and stalked out of the bedroom. I went to the fridge for a beer, not caring that it was only eleven or that it wasn’t even my house. After seeing Jackson naked, I figured alcohol was the better route to go instead of scratching out my own eyes as I’d briefly considered doing. Not that there had been anything wrong with Jackson’s stark-ass naked physique—that was precisely the problem.

  After a minute Jackson joined me in his kitchen, fully dressed, but still smirking. He was pleased with himself, per usual, and not for the first time since I’d known this guy I wanted to backhand him.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked, popping the top off his beer.

  “I told you last night that I had to come today and interview you b
efore the big game tomorrow,” I said. I couldn’t get the image of this naked football player out of my mind. I hoped my astonishment wasn’t showing on my face.

  “That’s right,” Jackson said, with a nod. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Clearly.”

  “If you’re failing to remember, you’re the one who hooked me up with her,” Jackson said. “Keep that in mind while you’re silently judging me.”

  “Oh, trust me, I have no intention of judging you, Tate. At least, not silently.” I smiled and tipped my beer at him. “Are you ready for the game?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

  “It’s homecoming. Kind of a big deal.” I followed Jackson to the living room and took a seat on his couch. I hadn’t made up my mind yet about Jackson Tate, but I was trying harder not to hate him as vehemently as I once had.

  “Yeah, homecoming,” Jackson repeated. He seemed less than thrilled. “I’m sorry you’re stuck reporting on football. I know you’re not a fan.”

  I was surprised he was acknowledging that fact but pleased he understood how little I cared about the sport. I wanted to tell him he was the only reason any of it was in the least bit interesting, but I feared he’d take it the wrong way. Jackson and I weren’t friends, and we probably never would be. Once the semester was over, we would go back to the strangers we always had been.

  “Hey, listen,” Jackson said. He finished off his beer and shrugged, mostly to himself, I think, because he was having a tough time looking at me. “I’m having an after-game party tomorrow night here. You should come.”

  “Oh yeah? And, what, stand around with your blonde bimbos while chatting about hair extensions and fake manicures?” I started to laugh but then remembered it was entirely accurate and there was nothing funny about it.

  “Hey,” Jackson said, offended. “They’re not all blonde.”

  “It doesn’t sound like my kind of scene,” I admitted. I resisted the urge to tell him that none of this was my “scene” because I was as weird and unpopular as someone could get, and he would do well not to hang around me longer than needed.

  “Maybe it’s time to change your scene,” Jackson said.

  “But I like being socially hindered.”

  “I know you do,” Jackson said tenderly. He patted my hand. “But I think it’s time you experienced real life.”

  “Will there be booze?” I asked hopefully.

  “Unlimited. But if you get drunk again and puke somewhere in my house, I’m probably going to have to put you out in the hallway for the night.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to resist the urge to drink until I can’t see you clearly anymore, huh?” I teased. Jackson looked over at me, grinning, the dimple in his left cheek appearing. We stared at each other for a moment, not speaking, just watching, until finally, I looked away.

  “I better go,” I said, and stood up a bit too quickly. I headed for the door, tripping only once over what I could only assume were a dirty pair of boxers in the middle of the floor. Luckily for the both of us, I stayed on my feet and made it to the door in one piece.

  “I thought you wanted to do an interview,” Jackson said. He’d already gotten up and was standing by the kitchen entrance, looking like a puppy dog I’d just smacked on the nose with a newspaper.

  “No need,” I said, and stepped out into the hallway. I felt breathless like my heart was hammering away in my chest just quickly enough I couldn’t breathe right. “I’ll just come to the game and report on it. It’s fine. No problem.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said doubtfully. He leaned against the door frame, folded his arms, and watched me go. I could feel his eyes on my back, curious, wondering what in the hell had just happened. I know that’s what I was wondering. “See you tomorrow?” he called, and I turned around to shrug at him.

  “I guess that all depends on if you win or lose,” I said.

  Chapter 14

  Jackson

  I watched Grace go, her ponytail swinging behind her as she vanished around the corner and out of sight. I lingered, listening to her press the elevator button, and the ding of the doors opening, and closing. It wasn’t until I’d gone back inside and closed the door behind me I found I was smiling like some kind of idiot.

  The more I got to know her, the more I realized how much I liked her. I mean, really liked her. She was unique, a breath of fresh air from the women I knew so well, the girls in my bed. Most of them had been nothing more than flaky, annoying women who closely resembled Barbie dolls. Something about Grace intrigued me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t just that she was witty and intelligent and even a little bit funny, or the fact that when she was nervous or intimidated she rambled like a senseless crazy person. It was so much more, and maybe nothing at all.

  I hopped into the shower, trying to focus more on my football strategy and less on girls. As I was getting out, refreshed and ready to go, my phone rang. It was Tyler.

  “Coach wants us to practice before tomorrow,” he said. “Where you at?”

  “Home,” I said, rubbing a towel over my head. “I had to give Grace another interview.” Okay, so nothing had been given, but Tyler didn’t need to know that.

  “Grace?” he said. “Like, that dorky little newspaper reporter?”

  “The one and only,” I said.

  “Does she ever go away?” Tyler asked

  “She’s not so bad,” I said, but I’d lost Tyler’s interest.

  “Meet us at the arena in twenty minutes. We need to get cracking on that game plan.”

  “You know that’s not necessary,” I said. “Of course we’ll kick ass. You’ve got me.”

  Chapter 15

  Grace

  “This is so not my idea of a good time.” The look on Alex’s face as we took a seat in the bleachers was comical. She kept brushing at invisible lint on her jacket as if trying to brush away her annoyance I’d dragged her to—God forbid—a football game played by men, of all creatures.

  “Relax before you have a stroke,” I said. I handed Alex the container of cheap nachos we’d bought and sipped my soda. She was looking around at the players on the field, disinterested, but she was sweet enough I knew she’d stick around, even if it were only for me.

  “What number is Jackson?” she asked, pretending to care.

  “Thirteen,” I said. We spotted him at once, huddled up with his team on the field. The opposing players, the Falcons, were hoorah-ing on their side of the arena. As exciting as it was watching them get ready to tear each other apart, the fascinating part for me, was probably the vibrant colors and face paints being shown off by our college students. It was school pride, something I hadn’t experienced much of during my time in college. I’d always been more concerned with studying and bedtime than I ever had been with school sports, so this was a new experience for Alex and me both.

  “He looks kind of good out there,” Alex said as the players got into their positions. As she stared at Jackson, she lifted the sunglasses from her eyes to get a better view.

  “He’s not your type,” I said. “It’s the penis.”

  “He doesn’t have to be my type for me to want to jump those bones,” Alex said. “You could bounce a quarter off that ass.”

  “You’re such a guy,” I said.

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” She elbowed me in the ribs, smirking.

  “Jealous of what? You’re allowed to dream about humping anybody you want. It’s no skin off my back.” If I was trying not to pout, I was failing miserably, and Alex knew me almost better than I knew myself.

  “I see,” she said. I had a bad feeling that although she was quiet now, this issue wouldn’t vanish anytime soon.

  “Hello, ladies,” someone said behind us. Alex and I looked up just in time to see Shawn plop himself down on the empty bleacher seat next to me.

  “Hi, Shawn,” I said, and Alex offered him a nacho. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a football game,” he
said. “I’m here to support the team.” He took a chip off the top of the nacho pile and chewed loudly.

  “You hate football,” Alex pointed out.

  “So, do you,” Shawn said, and she shrugged because unfortunately, he was totally right. “Both of you do,” he added.

  “It’s my job to be here,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Oh really? You certainly minded quite a bit when I tried to give you the assignment.”

  “Yeah, well, lucky I didn’t take it because it seems to me you don’t mind reporting on Jackson Tate,” Shawn said. “Not even a little bit.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. Although Shawn was only my friend—a loyal and dedicated one, but just a friend—I found myself growing irritated by the conversation. Even Alex was starting to fidget uncomfortably as she pretended to focus on the game.

  “You know what it means,” Shawn said. He sniffed loudly and rubbed his nose. “You have a thing for Jackson Tate. You stuck to reporting on the games because that meant you got to be around him. You’re just like every other idiot girl who feels the need to throw themselves at him.”

  “Seriously?” Alex and I said at the same time. Shawn shrugged, and Alex reached over and squeezed my arm before I could do what I really wanted to do: punch Shawn in the face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded like he actually meant it. He turned to me and caught my gaze, his expression sincere. “I don’t want to watch you get hurt, Grace, and Jackson will inevitably break your heart.” He paused and took a breath. “Just...be careful. Please?”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” I looked away from him and at Alex. “I can take care of myself.”

  Chapter 16

  Jackson

  We were going to win.

  I predicted it going into the game, but I wasn’t one to gloat. At least not yet. Our rival school, the Falcons, weren’t as good as we first thought, so by second quarter we were kicking their ass and had taken the lead by sixteen points. While I felt appropriately stoked over the fact we were going to win homecoming, I was slightly bummed taking the Falcons down had been so easy. I didn’t mind a challenge, and I’d wanted to impress my fans; and Grace, of course, since she was the one reporting on it.