Quarterback's Virgin

by Ivy Jordan

  The white ape was getting closer now, and the players of the team were lining up on either side of the path that’d been cleared. It was a walk of shame.

  Nicole was nowhere to be found. She should’ve been there. She needed to see what her bullshit did to me, but I knew her better than she knew herself. She was too much of a coward to face me right now, and she good reason for it too.

  I kept my back straight, my nose held high, and waited while the men prepared a hellish procession of taunts and half-hearted congratulations. One of them would probably smack my ass on the way in. He’d lose a hand, but he’d try.

  They were taking their time. One of them, a young Latino, looked at me from his place in line, ruffled his brow, and turned back. “Dude, she’s actually going to do it.”

  The white ape smiled and nodded his head. I could smell his unwashed body from where he was sitting, and his greasy red hair was catching the light. He was just a few feet away now, walking slower. I let him hesitate.

  “You take it like a champ, don’t you?” My stomach churned at sight of his sickly smile.

  I didn’t say anything. Instead, I let him reach out and place the tiara on my head. Then, when he was about to pull his hand away, I punched him right in the nose. It cracked beneath my fist.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” His hand flew up in a futile attempt to block the wave of blood falling down his face. The team members watched in horror as I started to walk past, smiling at the sound of him wailing. Everything was silent, like the quiet before a tornado falls to the ground.

  Nobody moved except for me. I marched right down the line, past the frightened drunks on the porch and into the house, where a cloud of smoke had engulfed the living room and a group of thugs was sitting in the dark, gathered around an ancient sectional.

  One was sitting in the on the far edge of the couch. He was hitting a bong when his eyes went wide. He shot up out of his seat, and glass and black water scattered all over the floor. “D-d-d-d….”

  My feet moved so fast, it looked like I was hovering off the ground. I closed the space between us in seconds and grabbed the scrawny thug by the throat. “Where is he?” I asked in a low growl.

  He was struggling to breathe, and his mouth was opening and closing like he was trying to answer, but he couldn’t. I didn’t care. His face was starting to turn red, and I could see by the way his eyes bulged that he was starting to realize just how serious I was. He raised one tattooed arm and pointed at the staircase near the front door to my left. I let him go, and he fell to the floor.

  “I can’t believe you broke that thing. That was $200,” the thug next to him said.

  There was a string of used panties tied in a sloppy spiral around the banister. I could smell the urine and sweat on them when I started walking up the stairs. I didn’t like the way it looked, so I tore the whole thing down and kept walking.

  There was an open door at the end of the hall to my right. When I got closer, I heard muffled voices. At first, I couldn’t hear anything but their murmurs, but with every step I took, their voices got louder and louder until I heard Channing saying something.

  I threw the door open to see him sitting on a bed with his friend Mike. “I’m so sorry. Please,” he shot up off the bed, and I reached into my purse and pulled out a can of mace. I aimed straight for his eyes, and when he shrieked, I smiled.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again.” He hunched over, and I kicked him in the gut and ran out.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Channing

  My face was still burning when I got up the next morning. I could barely see. Every time I tried to wipe it away, it got into my eyes and seeped into my skin. My cheeks were screaming, and my hands felt like I’d dipped them in lava.

  I let that burn sit. There was nothing I could do about it, and it felt good. It reminded me of exactly what I did to her. The way she felt was a thousand times worse than anything I could put myself through. She didn’t just get heartbroken like I did; she was completely humiliated by the man she wanted to be with.

  Practice was torture. My sweat mixed with the mace and sent it seeping down my forehead, into my eyes, over my cheeks, and down my nose. By the time I was done running, my whole face was on fire, and I was starting to feel it on my neck.

  The coach must’ve noticed, because he stopped practice early and let me run back into the shower. Water didn’t help. The second the steaming liquid hit my skin, I screamed at the top my lungs, my fists flailing, my voice echoing throughout the locker room.

  Everyone knew now. I might as well just wait it out until everyone was gone. My face was swollen, and my eyes were bright red. I looked like I’d come down with a bad infection. Eventually, though, I had to get out of that water. The pain was unbearable, no matter how badly I deserved it. I shut it off and took a moment to catch my breath.

  She didn’t have to do that.

  She could’ve listened.

  Those thoughts were my one indulgence. I felt bad even considering the idea, but I wanted another chance, and I knew that there was no way we could get back together, so I made up a series of events that followed along with the way I wanted things to go. I kept playing it in my head over and over again, wishing that I could go back in time and make it happen.

  She would’ve cried and told me that she never wanted to see me again. She’d be subdued but stubborn. She probably would’ve ran out, but she wouldn’t have attacked me. She would’ve let me run her down and after some screaming, I would’ve explained things. She’d see that I was wrong, but that I really cared for her, and we would’ve moved on.

  It could’ve been simple, but the guys had to make a show of things. They wanted to really have some fun. I watched in horror as they made the sash and the tiara. They even sat down for hours gluing beer cans together to make a throne for her. They called her the Cherry Queen.

  I broke two noses trying to get rid of that throne, and by the time I was done, Mike had his arms wrapped around my waist and he was pulling me into the house. I was livid, spitting and screaming, so upset that I could barely talk.

  I begged Mike to let me go down and take the sign off, but he said that they were pissed, and that I was lucky they hadn’t attacked me already. By that time, she was already on her way up to the house, and I was too upset to go down and take the sign down. I was never going to stop kicking myself for that. I should’ve fought Mike off and done whatever I could to get rid of that thing. She deserved some dignity—after all this.

  But he said that it didn’t matter. She wasn’t coming, so I stayed put. I had no way of knowing what would happen. When I saw her face, I knew there was no way. She wasn’t coming back from that. We were over.

  I walked out of the shower and back to my locker. Mike hopped up from the bench where he’d obviously been waiting for me and pretended to be busy fooling around with his locker. “Just leave.” I pulled on my underwear, then my jeans. I turned back and saw him leaning forward with his head resting on his locker.

  “Go. Now.”

  “Get her back, Channing.”

  I whipped around and slammed him against his locker, my face so close I could smell his breath. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  He wrenched away. “Have you ever been this happy—ever?”

  “Stop!” I roared.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not going to let you walk away from this.”

  “Did you see what she did to me?” I pointed at my swollen face. “She won’t listen.”

  “Then keep trying.”

  “Why are you doing this? I can’t listen to this crap. I’m a mess, Mike.”

  “That’s why. We’re not going to get anywhere with you acting like this. You’ve got a chance to finally make your dreams come true, and you’re blowing it, man. You were the best quarterback I have ever seen, better than the pros.”

  “Yeah, well, you warned me and I didn’t listen. It’s my own fault.”


  “No, fuck what I said. I mean that. When I saw the way you acted at the Alpha house, I knew that it was different. It scared the living crap out of me. You almost killed those guys.”

  “I should’ve.”

  “Probably,” he shrugged, “but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we both know you will never forgive yourself if you don’t go after her.”

  “I should go now.”

  “No, don’t you dare get dragged back into this now. Give her some time. She’s probably ready to kill you, and if you get upset, you’re gonna lose your chances on Sunday. Wait until then.”

  “It might be too late.”

  “With something like this, there is no too late. She could see you 10 years later, and it still wouldn’t matter.”

  “No, not her. She’ll get it all twisted up in her head. By the time I get to her, she’ll have herself convinced that I’m the antichrist. I can’t let that happen, Mike. I have to get to her as soon as possible.”

  “And when she says no, you’re gonna hit rock bottom, and you’ll never come back from it. You’ll be like all those other washed-out drunks talking about how they almost got signed. And you’ll be alone, Channing. You have to wait.”

  “Fuck,” I slammed my fist against a locker and felt the metal give way.

  “Barker!” the coach yelled out from his office.

  “Screw you,” I yelled back.

  Mike was staring at me. “Do it, but do it right.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “That’s the risk you took when you got into this, and you knew that. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt bad, and it’s gonna hurt a lot worse if she rejects you. But it’s worth it and you know it.”

  “I have to go. I’m sorry, I—”

  “Don’t you go to her.”

  I pushed past him and ran down the row of lockers and out into the hall. I couldn’t sit under the microscope like that. Mike had been judging me this entire time, and I suspected Ava had been going through the same thing. Neither of us needed anyone to get involved in this. All that did was screw things up.

  This was about us being together, and right then, all I wanted was to see her face. I’d walk up to the tutoring center, and she’d be there sitting in a room talking to some dumb jock. Then she’d turn her head, and she’d see me, and we’d both break down. She’d run out and apologize, and I’d explain everything to her.

  I’d tell her that I was innocent, but not fully. I went along with the bet, but I made sure to make my views clear. This was wrong. She deserved dignity. Her first time was meant to be special, and I did everything I could to make sure that it was. My intentions were pure. I wasn’t planning on screwing her and walking away.

  I made sure that I was in it all the way before I went forward, not just because that was the right thing to do. I actually cared. That was more than any of those fools could say. They just liked the way she looked, like a steak in the meat aisle. They wanted to eat her up and shit her out, but I wasn’t that guy, and I needed her to know that. She couldn’t really care about that guy, but she could care about me.

  By now, she probably thought that what she was feeling was just puppy love, a result of a misguided infatuation and a twisted con man. Her perception of me was all twisted up. I wasn’t the guy that brought her out onto the lake, or paid for her mother’s mortgage. I was the guy that lied to her and stole her virginity away for a hundred bucks.

  A hundred bucks.

  That thought caught me when I reached the courtyard. A shudder rolled through me. They actually tried to give me the money. I figured they’d spend it on beer and pot, but they made a point of it. They wanted me to be happy, so they had a big party planned. They got my favorite beer and even the cherry liquor I liked. They even called a couple strippers to come by. I should’ve torn their throats out.

  I kept walking, even though my feet were swaying and everyone was staring at me, even though the sun was eating into my skin. Everything was just too bright, too real. I had to see her. My feet moved of their own accord. I knew where I was going, but I didn’t have the energy to will myself there. My body had to take control.

  I could give into this haze. So long as I got there, it’d be okay. She’d be waiting for me. She was probably worried. Nothing as simple as this could possibly break us apart. She cared about me. She really wanted to be with me.

  I was walking up to the elevator. My hand darted forward to press the button, and I leaned forward. I had to brace myself from succumbing to the sudden burst of nausea. She was close now. She was angry, but she wouldn’t completely betray me, not like that. She really cared about me. What we had was real, and if it was real, then there was no way that she’d turn her back on it. That was how this worked.

  The nausea didn’t subside when I got into the elevator. It got worse, and now my stomach was churning, and my skin…ugh. There was a sickening chill running down my whole body. She’d be there. She’d be waiting for me.

  When the elevator door opened, I saw her. She was sitting in the tutoring room, leaning over a book in that way that always brought me peace. I knew what I had to do. I met her eyes and started walking. She got up out of her chair to meet me.

  “Ava,” I called out the second she opened it.

  She turned back to say something to Jason, who was staring up from his book as if he actually cared about his studies. He didn’t matter, not to her or me. She was coming out of the room now, and I was only a few yards away.

  I was going to tell her how I felt, lay it all down, and when I did, she’d listen. That’s what this was about. She doubted me. All I had to do was make sure that she knew exactly how I felt, and who I was.

  She stepped out and closed the door behind her with her eyes averted. “Ava…”

  She walked right past me up to the desk.

  “Ava, please, listen to me. I’m not that guy.”

  “Listen, I can’t have this crap going on,” she told the receptionist. “Get him out of here.”

  “No, Ava,” I was panicking. “Ava, please, don’t—no, Ava.” I reached out to grab her wrist as she was walking through the door. She whipped it open, jerked, and the door slammed into my face, grating against the mace that was still eating its way into my skin.

  “AH!”

  “And you can take this, too.” She threw a wad of money at me and walked back into the study room.

  I tried to go in, but Jason was on his feet in a second. He got right up in my face. “What are you gonna do? You know she doesn’t want you. You keep this up, and you’ll get arrested.”

  “I’m not that guy, Ava.”

  She ignored me and turned back to the book while Jason stared me down. I bent down and picked up the money to make sure he didn’t get it and walked out. That evening when she got back home, she’d find an envelope with the cash and an explanation inside. I didn’t think it would work, but I wasn’t going to let this happen.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ava

  Channing looked terrible, wearing a plain gray T-shirt, covered in sweat, and his face was so swollen it looked like he’d been through a bee attack. It was obvious that he was in pain, and he deserved to be. He used me for a bet to look good in front of the team.

  He wasn’t the guy I thought he was. It was making more and more sense with every passing minute. The further I delved into my studies, the more I realized just how easy it could be for a man to put up a façade like that.

  When I was a kid, dozens of men came into our house. They’d pick me up off the ground and swing me around, talking about how sweet I was. Then they took my mom straight to the bedroom. Some would even stick around and act like they were my father. To my mom, it was seamless. She liked the attention, and she wanted things to work, so she went with it until the guy got bored.

  With Channing, it was worse. He was so convincing that he had everyone fooled. The man was a genius. I knew his reputation. He was a seamless game player. There were dozens of
girls, all over the school that thought he was the one. Now that I knew what he was like, I knew that they weren’t swooning over a pseudo-celebrity. He just led them on like he did with me.

  That led to an entirely different series of thoughts: the way he looked, the way he talked to me, how he stared into my eyes when we were in the bedroom. That wasn’t affection. It was sadism. He probably knew that I was going to find out eventually. He was silently gloating over the fact that he’d pulled one over on me.

  Now I didn’t know what he was doing—saving face? I saw the way he looked at Jason, like he wanted to kill him. He didn’t like the fact that I humiliated him. Well, good. He could rot. I had studying to do, and I was done with the petty distractions. My mind was on my books, and I was in the library where I belonged.

  The door was locked. It was a special favor from one of the librarians. I could leave, but nobody could get in. It was perfect. There were no more distractions, no more petty drama or misguided dreams. That’s why I burnt the painting.

  That night, when I got home, it was the first thing I saw. I’d never hated myself more. He must’ve thought I was the biggest fool in the world, hanging it over my TV so I could see it. I snatched it off the wall and threw it out the window, but that wasn’t enough. I didn’t hear it break, and somebody could see.

  So, I brought it back behind the dumpster and held a flame to the canvas. When it went up in flames, I dropped it. I didn’t care about the sparks or the grass. I fell to my knees and I sobbed it out. I told myself that that was the last time I would cry, and it was.

  I wasn’t going to mourn him. He didn’t deserve that. He deserved to burn for taking my heart and twisting it around his finger. I couldn’t believe it. More than once, I thought of trying to get him back, but what was the point? He’d just make me look like some jealous stalker.