“Har, har.” I push back my hair with a weak, shaking hand.
“Who's this?” Masters says, returning with his two books. Make that one of his books and the book that belongs to me if he would let me buy it.
“Riley Hart. Knox Masters. Masters, this is my roommate, Riley.”
“We're back to Masters, huh? Disappointing.” He shakes Riley’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You guys look like you had an intense conversation.” She smirks.
“Ellie and I are discussing where she’s taking me on our first date. I hope it’s not to that dog movie. I swear he’ll die at the end and then I’ll sob like a fucking baby. Nearly had to walk out of Bridge to Terabithia. That shit is not good for my image.”
Just like that, Riley’s pants get charmed off.
“You could go to one of her intramural softball games,” she offers helpfully. “They play on Wednesdays.”
I glare at Riley for revealing that tidbit, but she avoids my eyes.
“Intramural softball? I like the way you think.” He smiles at Riley and she smiles right back. “Tell you what, I'll buy that fantasy book, but you can read it first. Then when you're done you can bring it back to me, and we'll go out and discuss it. Hold on while I pay for these books.”
“No,” I protest but neither pay attention to me. Masters leaves, and this time both Riley and I watch that fine ass, covered in cotton, as it disappears from sight.
“Stop panting. It's embarrassing,” I grouse and pull myself away from the bookshelves.
“Holy shit. I take that back. Did I say I wasn’t into athletes? Because I’ve changed my mind. Football players are totally my type.”
They’re everyone’s type, I think sourly.
“And Christ on a cracker, he devoured you.” She laughs semi-hysterically. “I once heard this ridiculous rumor that he's a virgin. Can you believe it?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Yeah, I thought it sounded off when I heard it. Probably some—what do you call them?” She winds her hand.
“Jersey chaser? Gridiron groupie?”
“Yeah those. Probably one of those got turned down and started the rumor because, honey, he wants to do you so bad I thought for a minute he'd take you right here and now, and we'd get kicked out by mall security.”
“Let’s go,” I tell her. I don’t want to talk about the spectacle I made of myself. I want to escape before he comes back, even though he does have my book, dammit.
“I thought you wanted that book?” Riley peeks around the corner. “Besides, he’s coming back, so it’s too late.”
“Fine.” I straighten my own T-shirt and try to inject steel into my spine. “Thanks.” I hold out my hand for the book. I might as well take it if he’s so willing to let me borrow it.
Instead of laying the book in my hand, he holds up his phone. “I’ll need your digits so me and my book can stay in touch.”
“I’ll give the book to Jack and he can give it to you.”
Masters raises an eyebrow. “Is that the direction you want to take this?”
Dammit. No. I rattle off my cell phone number in a sour tone, which has zero effect on Masters’ good humor.
“Here you go.” He puts the book in my hand. “Think about where you’d like me to take you for dinner when you’re finished with it.”
“Why so interested in eating with me?” God that sounded filthy.
By his smirk, he thinks so, too. Locker room talk has taken all the innocence out of this virgin. “I’m interested in all of it.”
Riley makes a choking sound and I know I’ve turned bright red.
“I’ve got to get back to campus,” he says. “Can I give you two a ride?”
“No. I’ve got some stuff to buy. Girl stuff.” I glare at Riley.
“No problem. See you back at school.” And then he’s gone.
Thankfully Riley doesn’t say another word…until we exit the bookstore. “So when is the wedding?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said you would marry the first guy who hit on you at the bookstore.”
“Riley, you are not funny. Not at all.”
“Really? I'm feeling pretty hilarious.”
15
Knox
Matty is in my apartment again when I get home from the bookstore. The encounter with Ellie has left me in a good enough mood that it doesn’t bother me that he has half my cupboard spread out on the coffee table and his big ass perched on my preferred side of the sofa. I give him the business anyway.
“Matty, don’t you have a home?” I kick the door shut and throw the books on the table.
“Yeah, but you have better snacks up here.” He reaches for the bag and rifles through the contents. “No comics? Your taste in books is questionable. Please tell me this book is for class.”
“I did have a book that had guns, machines, and sex in it, but I saw Ellie Campbell in the bookstore and had to give it to her or else.” I grab the half-empty Doritos bag and shove a handful of the fake cheese wonders into my mouth.
I pull my phone out from my pocket and pull up Ellie's entry. I wonder how long it will take her to read the book. “Are there rules for when you should text a girl?” I vaguely remember the guys arguing about this in the locker room.
“Three days unless it’s a booty call, then anytime after ten,” Matty says and flips the channel from the NFC preseason game to the AFC preseason game. It’s week three and the undrafted rookies, practice squad guys, and late pre-season signs are getting their chance to play their way onto the fifty man roster. It looks like the Seattle second and third string is beating the pants off the Kansas City team. Not looking good for KC.
“They need a good pass rusher,” I murmur between bites.
“And a decent quarterback, offensive line, and secondary.”
“That too.”
“Wait. Did you ask me when to text a girl?” Matty rouses from his football induced stupor. “Is this a Western co-ed?”
I nod.
He looks at me in disbelief. “You’re Knox Masters. Didn’t you just say your name?”
If only that’s what it took. Actually that’s all it did take most of the time. Having a jersey hanging in the closet was all some girls needed. Ellie is not one of those girls. Just my luck.
“I did, but she’s not jumping at the chance to go out with me.”
“Dude, wait, does this mean you’re going to have sex?”
I don’t answer, but I can’t help the shit grin that spreads.
“Holy fuck,” he shouts and starts to high five me. Then he stops abruptly, hand hanging in mid-air. “You can’t. I’m sorry to be a cock-blocking son of a bitch, but you can’t. We got the national championship on the line. You gotta keep that locked down.”
“Matty, you don’t get a say in when I have sex.” I pick up the remote and switch to the NFC preseason game.
“It’s a team issue,” he insists. He starts punching stuff into his phone.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I grab for the phone but he holds out one hand and presses send with the other. The damage is already done by the time I wrestle the phone from him. Sure enough, I see a group message for the entire defensive line to get the hell up to my apartment for an emergency meeting. The rush of shoes on the stairs thunders into the apartment before half the team bursts through.
“What’s the emergency?”
“Did Masters get hurt?”
“I was watching Adult Swim. This better be good.” The last comment comes from Hammer.
Matty stands up. “Masters here thinks he wants to mess with a good thing.”
Eight men, all weighing over two hundred pounds, crowd into my small apartment. If I got claustrophobic, I would freak out. Once the shit show gets started, though, it’s impossible to stop. I fold my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling while the guys gear up.
They all want to stick their noses in because I’ve spent the la
st year harping on the importance of team. We win as a team and we lose as a team. Now we’re discussing my non-existent sex life as a team.
“What good thing?” Hammer grabs the Dorito bag and pours the remainder of the chips in his mouth. The other guys raid the fridge.
“Masters wants to lose the big V.”
“He wants to lose our game?” Jesse, a new starter on the line, asks. He’s ordinarily quiet, hanging out with his longtime girlfriend.
Hammer slaps him across the back of the hand. “Not V for Victory, numbskull. Virginity.” Hammer tosses the empty chip bag onto the coffee table. “Masters, my man, if you’re looking for tips you’ve come to the right place.” He muscles Matty aside and takes a seat. “First, to prevent a false start, jack off at home before you go out. If you’re out for more than a couple of hours, excuse yourself and pump another one out in the bathroom. That way you won’t get a reputation for being quick on the trigger. These chicks will spread that shit faster than crabs at a frat house. Second—”
“Shut up, Hammer. You’re supposed to be telling him to keep his pants zipped,” Matty snarls. “Not giving him tips on playing hide the salami.” At Hammer’s blank look, Matty throws up his hands. “Don’t you want to win? Masters here is the monster on field because he doesn’t play off the field. Haven’t you made that connection yet?”
“Ohhhh.” Hammer gets it.
I figure now is the time to step in. “Guys. We lost last year. That shellacking we took at the hands of the Ducks? That had nothing to do with what I did off the field and everything to do with the fact that we didn’t make the plays and they did. We didn’t get enough pressure on the quarterback. We allowed them to light up the backfield. They had us chasing players all over the field that didn’t even have the fucking ball. We lost because we played shitty ball. This year, we don’t play shitty ball. Not next week, not right before the bye, not in November.”
Matty’s wavering and Hammer looks troubled. Looks like I’ll have to talk in the terms Matty used. “Look, we haven’t won the championship in the last two years and I’ve kept to myself. Now’s the time to take chances.”
Hammer turns back to Matty. “Should we get Ace over here?”
“No way.” Matty shakes his head emphatically. “This is a defensive unit issue.”
I drop my head into my hands. It’s hard to believe my pursuit of Ellie has turned into this.
“Have you cleared this with Kintyre?” Hammer is the only one that calls my brother by his full name. Everyone else, including my mom, who named him Kintyre for reasons we can never confess to anyone, calls him Ty.
“Ty knows,” I say shortly.
“If he said yes, I bet he’s spiking our guns,” Matty declares. He crosses his arms and glares at me.
“No way,” Hammer disagrees. “Kintyre’s not like that. Plus he has no chance. Not with the kindergarteners on his offensive line.”
Matty considers this and concludes Hammer’s correct. “Truth.” They exchange fist bumps.
“Let’s call him.” Hammer’s suggestion receives a chorus of approval.
Jesus, these guys act as if I take an unanticipated shit I should check in. I rub an agitated hand through my hair. I guess I need to let them work it out of their systems, because it seems if I don’t, they won’t focus on anything else. If they think it affects our team unity, it will affect their on-field play.
I kind of wish we could go back to arguing where fruits land on the fructose scale.
“Kintyre, my man, what’s happening?” Hammer places his phone on speaker and sets it on the coffee table in between the Doritos dust and the empty bottles of Gatorade.
My brother’s voice slides out of the speaker. “Not much, Hammer. You living up to your name?”
“You know it. Well, not right this second,” he replies. “You talk to your brother lately?”
“Not today,” Ty responds cautiously.
“Your bro is threatening to mess with our team mojo.”
“Ahhh,” Ty drawls. The light has dawned. He coughs, likely to cover up to howling laughter he wants to release, but won’t. “Hammer, you trust Knox? You ever see him give less than a hundred percent on the field?”
“No.”
“You know you’re like the brother from another mother to me, but you got to trust your teammate. Think of it this way. He’s reaching max potential. Like maybe his virginity placed an artificial cap on his play, and now, with this girl, he’s going to the next level.”
Matty and Hammer nod slowly, evaluating this new piece of information.
“That it?” Ty asks.
“Yeah, man. Thanks. Good luck to you this weekend.”
“You, too.”
A text buzzes on my phone. It’s Ty.
You’re welcome.
Thanks for nothing, dill hole, I type back.
I’m laughing so hard I can’t text anymore. Good luck.
Jesus. I’m surrounded by assholes everywhere. Is it any wonder I’d want to spend time with Ellie?
Hammer slaps his hands together. “Okay, we’re in agreement. Masters should bang this chick.”
They look at me expectantly as if I’m supposed to produce her right that minute and take her in front of them.
“If I was a chick, I’d date you, Masters. I’ve seen your dick. It’s good,” Hammer assures me.
“Fuck that. It’s not the size of the wand. It’s the wizard using it,” Daryl Nunn, our nose tackle, pipes up. He, like Potter, wears a pair of black glasses when not on the field.
“Not according to Voldemort.”
Hammer’s retort generates a sharp bark of laughter from me, but poor Jesse looks confused. Hammer sighs. “Voldemort wanted this certain wand, but only Harry could use it.”
“Men. Can we get on subject here?” Matty waves his hand toward my bent head. “Masters asked me for texting advice. The girl is turning him down.”
The amount of disbelief in Matty’s voice is heavier than the sledgehammer in the weight room. Memo to self: do not bring up women around the team again. Have I hassled these guys when they had chick problems?
I squeeze the back of my neck. Maybe.
Oh shit, probably.
“Maybe she’s got a boyfriend already,” Jesse offers.
“We can take him out,” Matty replies immediately.
“Like how? Kill him?” I say sarcastically.
“Nah. But maybe maim.” Matty shrugs. I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.
“We aren’t maiming anyone.” I rub my temple.
“What if she’s a lesbian?” Hammer asks.
“She’s not. If it’s the girl Masters danced with at Hammer’s party, she’s at least bi. I had to leave because I got worried my girlfriend would get pregnant off the hormone high the two of them generated,” Jesse says.
“Hey, wasn’t that Campbell’s sister?” someone asks.
I pretend I can’t hear.
Matty whistles and I hear a quiet “damn, son” from Daryl.
“Okay, she’s single and not a lesbian.” Hammer’s criminal justice degree kicks in. “Is it her brother? Man, we need him. He’s got good blocking technique and good hands. Runs a tight route. Do we have to take him out?” Hammer’s worried.
“No, it’s not her brother.” The last thing I need is these guys turning on Campbell. That’d be good for team unity. Not.
“Masters wants to know when he should text her,” Matty informs everyone.
“I think he should text her now.” Daryl straightens his massive shoulders as if the answer is so obvious the question should never been put up for debate.
“No. Three days or she’ll think you’re panting after her. Got to play hard to get.” Hammer picks his phone up from the table and shakes it at me.
“I am panting after her,” I interject. I want them to know that not only do I want her, I don’t care who knows it.
“You can’t tell her that,” Hammer objects.
“Why?” I
ask impatiently. I’m ready for this conversation to end. I was ready about ten minutes ago.
“Because you lose all the hand in the relationship. She’ll have you by the balls,” he says earnestly.
“That’s what he wants,” Jesse interjects, but then turns to me. “How do you know this is the chick to do the deed with? You’ve waited all this time, and you’ve known this girl for what, a day?”
The guys fall silent again and it’s clear this question is important to them. When you’re a recruit, the coach takes you around the school, showing you the facilities, promising you that not only you’ll play, but you’ll compete on one of the best teams in the best conference. He promises your parents that he and his staff will be your family away from home. Then when the sun goes down, the players take you out. They tell you about the easy classes and the easier women.
When you sign, the song changes. They’ve got you now, and they want to whip you into shape. That includes speeches about wrapping it up, avoiding the girls who believe you’re their ticket out of the life they don’t currently enjoy or to the life they want. There’s this strange dichotomy as an athlete—here’s as many women as you want, but be careful because 99% of them have a trap in their vagina.
I glance at Jesse, thoughtful. “When did you first realize you wanted to play football?”
“Don't know the first time. It seems like I knew all my life.”
Now I turn to Hammer. “Hammer, you played three sports. Excelled in all of them. Got drafted for baseball. Turned it down to play football. Why?”
“Felt right.” Hammer tosses his phone between his hands, thinking about my question. “I loved it more than the other sports. It was the only one that all the sacrifice felt worth giving up everything for. It…felt right,” he repeats.
“It felt right,” I echo meaningfully.
“So she's your football?” Matty asks, quick to understand where I’m going with this. And people accuse jocks of not being perceptive. “What about actual football?”
“I want to have it all,” I say simply. “Don’t you?”
They nod slowly.
Matty speaks up again, wrinkling his forehead. “Okay, so if it feels right, what do you need us for? Text her whenever you want, dude.”
Sacked: A Novel (A Gridiron Novel Book 1) Page 11