by Lila Price
“Sasha,” I corrected. “My name’s Sasha.”
“Sure,” Tyler said, still looking more than a little wary. The three of them brushed in.
“Is he going to get in trouble?” I whispered to Kiersten as we started up the steps.
“Maybe. But that’s sort of what he’s for. There’s a pecking order with the football team— captains, then seniors, then first string, then everyone else. Tyler’s an everyone else. Don’t sleep with him, by the way, or anyone else on his level. They’re cute, but once you’ve been with them, you’re practically damaged goods so far as the upperclassmen on the team are concerned.”
“I’m not really planning on sleeping with any of them, but I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, trying to not be offended by the phrase “damaged goods” and failing. And people think Tifton is backward.
Kiersten rolled her eyes. “Whatever. More of the good ones for me, then.”
“You…sleep with them?” I asked. We were nearly to the top of the stairs now, and the front porch was coming into view. There were elegant lawn chairs set up across it, most of which were occupied by boys in dress shirts and girls in outfits similar to mine and my suite mates’. There was a level of class to the whole thing, a sort of old school, swanky feel.
Kiersten shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Piper snorted. “Often,” she corrected, and then she and Kiersten both laughed. I laughed as well, trying my best to hide a fact that I was certain would horrify both of my suite mates: That I had never had sex. Not sometimes, not often.
Never.
It wasn’t a religious thing, or even a guilt thing. I’d just never met anyone in Tifton that I wanted to have sex with. Sure, I got turned on by the thought of someone’s hands on me, someone’s body against mine, someone in me, but then I’d inevitably see my crush swilling Bud Light and belching and suddenly, the idea of letting a Tifton boy near my was horrifying.
I’d never even really had a serious boyfriend— what was the point? I’d known ever since fifth grade that I was going to college and getting out of Tifton— better to not have ties. I had the same plan here, at Harton, since despite what my aunts and grandmother said through giggles, I had no desire to use college to get my MRS degree.
We were finally at the top of the staircase, Football House’s first level splayed out before us. There were massive windows that were thrown open, as were the doors. Inside were hardwood floors covered in fancy rugs, though aside from that, the house had clearly been modernized. There were Leather sofas, an enormous television, a series of video game systems, a long table covered in snacks, and an honest-to-God open bar.
A bartender wearing a vest was mixing drinks, though I saw three kegs on the porch as well. Younger-looking boys— the freshmen, I reasoned— were darting to and from the older guys, bringing them drinks, snacks, their phones…whatever they wanted.
Pecking order indeed, I thought.
It wasn’t until we were walking toward a few of the older guys that I realized two things: One, that girls seemed to more or less be exempt from the pecking order, laughing and being waited on every bit as intently as the older players, and two, that college football players were all huge.
Which, of course they were. Football was a contact sport. They had to smash into each other or whatever. And the football players at my high school had been sort of big. But nothing like these guys. The seniors, in particular, were enormous. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular beyond reason. Their jaws were chiseled and their arms protested against their sleeves.
“Ladies,” a young player said, sweeping toward us with three matching cocktails in his hands. He passed them out. “Who’s your friend?” he asked Piper, nodding toward me as if I was a mute.
“This is Sasha. She’s the New Lily,” Piper explained.
“Got it. Someone was asking,” the young guy said, then skirted off before saying whom.
“Someone was asking?” I said, looking at the drink warily.
“Newcomers to Football House are noteworthy. I told you, Sasha, this is a big deal,” Piper informed me, looking pleased that I was attracting attention.
Piper took a careful sip of her drink, while Kiersten gulped hers and then tossed the cup to the nearest football freshmen.
I hesitated.
“Oh god, don’t tell me you don’t drink,” Piper said, looking horrified.
“No, uh, I just…you know. I didn’t see who made this, and I’ve heard more than a few horror stories,” I said.
Piper gasped a little and looked embarrassed. “Oh, honey, no. Not here. I mean, yeah— good thinking. But like I said, Football House is a big deal. That sort of shit just doesn’t happen here.”
“Promise?” I said, glancing down at the drink again. The last thing I wanted was to become a statistic my first day of college.
“You’ll be fine,” Kiersten said seriously. “But hell, here—“ She snatched the drink from my hand and downed it, then tossed it toward one of the freshmen. The boy caught it soundly, then continued on his path. Kiersten looked back to me and grinned. “Go have the bartender make you another.”
“Thanks,” I said, flushing a little, and made my way to the bar. Kiersten and Piper watched me go, then turned their backs on me when one of the older football players— a tall, Latino-looking guy with dark eyes and cheekbones carved by angels— approached them.
“What can I get you?” the guy behind the bar asked as I slid up to it. There were no seats— just the tall bar table— but I still found myself clinging to its edge like a life raft.
“Something easy to drink?” I asked.
The bartender smiled— he was wearing eyeliner that was so on point, I wanted to ask him for tips on doing my own. “How about this?” he asked, and opened a cheap beer.
“Yes, please,” I said, taking it from him. “Will I be the only one not drinking something fancy?”
“Nah— everyone dissolves to PBRs by the end of the night,” the bartender said. He rested his elbows on the bar and leaned across. “So. You’re new.”
“Yes. I came with Piper and Kiersten,” I said, turning to motion toward them. “Oh!” I said, feeling my face flush.
Piper was steadily making out with the Latino guy, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. He reached down and lifted her from the ground like she weighed nothing at all which, given the size of his muscles, she probably didn’t so far as he was concerned.
“Piper, Piper, Piper,” the bartender said, shaking his head a little. He sounded unimpressed. “That’s Stewart Adams. He’s a rising junior, future star quarterback. Just ask him.”
“Oh,” I said, unsure what else I could say. “So he’s a jerk?”
The bartender shrugged and tidied the neat bowtie at his throat. “He’s fine. She’s just using him. Trying to get to the real prize,” he said, and grinned.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
The bartender side-eyed me. “You are new. Well, honey, first off: Welcome to Harton. Second off, allow me to be the first to point out the hero of Harton, the king of this particular castle. He’s the fire in the loins of every girl and at least one of the boys in this room,” he said, raising his own hand. “And the king’s name is Jacob Everett.” As the bartender said the name, his voice got low and sultry, as if even uttering it was somehow decadent.
The bartender motioned over to his left and into a room just over his shoulder. There was a fireplace with a brick mantle, and around it were dozens and dozens of posters, photos, and newspaper cutouts celebrating the Harton Rams’ football achievements. A beaten but cozy looking leather couch was positioned along one wall, and was occupied by a variety of girls (who looked like off-brand versions of Piper and Kiersten).
Other football players— all clearly the upperclassmen— were lingering near the couch arms or standing in the open doorways, laughing at jokes I couldn’t hear and more or less blocking my view of the center of the couch.
“Which one is he?” I whispered to
the bartender.
“You’ll know. Wait till they move,” the bartender said a little hungrily. A few breaths later, one of the largest of the players finally shifted and stepped to the side and yes, the bartender was right— I knew immediately who Jacob Everett was. Sitting in the center of the couch as if it were a throne, he forced me to take him in piece by piece.
I noticed first that he was tall— or at least, I figured he was tall, because it looked like he could barely sit comfortably on the couch, his knees were bent so high. His t-shirt hugged the muscles of his shoulders and neck, soft material against hard, toned skin. He had full, dark hair that looked flawlessly tousled, and angled eyebrows that turned up the volume on each and every expression.
Then I noticed his eyes— gray-blue and deep-set, gems in the center of his carved face. They were eyes that made my stomach twist, that made something between my legs clench and my tongue press to my teeth.
And they were on me.
I jumped, realizing this— I’d been so busy watching him that I hadn’t noticed he was watching me until I’d probably been staring for a ridiculous amount of time. The bartender laughed nervously under his breath and waved at Jacob Everett, who raised a hand back. I attempted to dissolve into the floor, and when that didn’t work, spun away from Jacob and pretended to meticulously study the label on my beer.
“Relax, honey. That’s everyone’s reaction to him,” the bartender said as he prepared a drink for a nearby freshman player. “He’s basically the reason I work these parties. I mean, can you blame me?”
“Yeah, he’s good looking. And he’s the one Piper is really interested in?” I asked.
“Well, he’s the one they’re all really interested in, but Piper especially. She’s worked her way up from the lowly freshmen, and now with Adams, she’s one step away from Jacob Everett’s nine-inch cock.”
I nearly choked on my beer. “What?”
The bartender grinned impishly. “He chooses a different girl every week to suck him off before games. You know, to get the nerves out before he plays. He’s the star quarterback, so he can’t just change the tradition.”
“And girls…want to do this?” I asked.
“People want to do this. But so far he’s only let girls. Pity. I’m damn good at sucking cock,” the bartender said, pouting. “Piper’s never been chosen, but she’s sworn for years that once he’s got her lips on his dick, the whole new-girl-every-week thing will be done for. She wants to be the girl on his arm, not just the one on her knees.”
“Well. Um. Good luck to her,” I said, unsure what else I was supposed to say. I threw back the beer and, to my relief, the bartender handed me another one. I dared to glance back toward the couch; Jacob Everett’s eyes were elsewhere, now, specifically on a pretty black girl with legs for days. A moment later he was chatting with an ice blonde pixie queen.
It was actually amazing, now that Jacob’s looks weren’t totally disarming me, to watch the way girls zipped in and out of his circle. One would instantly replace another, so that it looked almost like a conveyer belt of girls being funneled toward him. Other football players—without Jacob Everett’s charisma (or, to be fair, his smile)—chatted with girls as they arrived or departed, clearly content to be members of the court even if they couldn’t be royalty in their own right.
“So. What’s your name, honey?” the bartender asked.
“Sasha. I’m the New Lily,” I said.
“Oh!” the bartender said, looking alarmed.
“What?” I asked, going still.
“New Lily!” Piper’s voice broke into the conversation. She was clearly a little tipsy, as she linked her arm through mine. “You can’t just hang out at the bar all night,” she told me. Come on!”
I shrugged at the bartender, who had a cautious look on his face now— but there was no time for me to ask what that was all about, because Piper was dragging me to the other room, toward Jacob Everett’s couch.
Jacob Everett was something of a lightening rod; all energy and light and power shooting toward him. Piper pulled me along behind her; Kiersten was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t until Piper had wrestled me over to the edge of the couch that I realized we’d taken the place of the girls I’d been watching adore and admire Jacob Everett just a few moments before. And so the scholar becomes the subject, I thought, wanting to roll my eyes at myself for becoming one of the many conveyor belt girls.
“Having a good time?” Piper asked, very deliberately keeping me one space behind her on the conveyor belt.
“Yeah, yeah. The bartender is really nice,” I said.
“Never say that again,” Piper said, her voice carrying just enough edge to be serious. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous— but your lipstick is smudged,” I said, actually impressed that it wasn’t more smudged given how hard she’d been kissing Adams.
“Dammit,” Piper hissed, and rustled through her purse to reapply. As she did so, the conveyor belt moved a bit. A cute redhead moved along, and suddenly, Piper was sitting beside Jacob on the couch, sparkling, shining. She looked tiny next to Jacob Everett, who immediately wrapped an arm around her and tugged her close. It wasn’t so much romantic as it was possessive, and seeing him do this dimmed the glow around Jacob— at least, as far as I was concerned.
“Hey, Piper, baby,” Jacob said, leaning against her a little. “So you finally made your way back here to see me.”
“You’ve got a line, Jacob,” Piper said teasingly. She kissed him on the lips, lightly, and while Jacob allowed it, he didn’t deepen the kiss either. Piper leaned in even closer and played with the edges of her hair.
“I got the third game in the lottery,” Piper said, sipping on her drink.
“Oh yeah? Florida. Should be a good game. For us, anyway,” Jacob said.
“Yep. So. I’ll be there. If you need anything,” Piper finished, letting the final words roll around in her mouth a bit. The eyes of the nearby girls flashed dark for a moment, and even if I hadn’t learned what Piper was implying, there’d have been no denying the jealous wave that rippled through the room.
My feet were starting to hurt in Kiersten’s shoes; I lowered myself down to the arm of the couch, trying to stay as far from Jacob’s orbit as possible without totally abandoning Piper. Jacob and Piper continued to chat for a moment, just long enough that I relaxed a bit, even started looking for an in in the conversation two nearby girls were having (it wasn’t easy— they were talking about local bars, which I knew absolutely nothing about).
“So, tell me something, Piper,” Jacob said, turning his head so that his voice— it was a solid, strong voice— hit me full on. I startled when I turned and was struck again by Jacob’s gray-blue eyes on me, so much closer this time, and so much more disarming when paired with his voice. He lifted an eyebrow at me. “Tell me about this new girl.”
3
“That’s the New Lily. Her name’s Sasha,” Piper said with more than a hint of dismissiveness in her voice.
“I already know her name. But why is she a mime?” Jacob asked without pulling his gaze away.
A mime? Why is he saying I’m a mime?
I meant to move, or speak, or hell, even look away, but suddenly I couldn’t do any of the above. All I could focus on were his eyes, and all I could think of, was what the bartender had said earlier: That Jacob Everett had a nine-inch cock.
Heat started to rise up my neck, and I knew without having a mirror that I was turning dark red. This seemed to please Jacob; a smile teased at the edge of his mouth.
“She’s new. She’s a freshman, actually,” Piper said, speaking quickly, like this conversation was a nuisance.
“A freshman!” Jacob said, looking surprised— but the wry smile was still there. “You don’t look like the other freshman, Mime.”
“Sasha,” I finally managed to say, though the word came out more whispered than I intended.
Jacob’s smile widened, though didn’t get any less….what was it, e
xactly? Dazzling? Clever? Surveying? There was something about the way he was staring that told me he knew exactly how paralyzing his eyes were, and was enjoying watching me squirm. I swallowed and realized that heat was spreading from my chest down to my hips; when Jacob leaned a little closer, all but edging Piper out of the conversation, I pressed my lips together and felt the first wave of wetness in my panties.
“Sasha the mime, “ Jacob said, his voice seductive somehow. He was wearing some sort of cologne, or deodorant, or something, and it was dizzying. “Where are you from, Sasha?”
“The middle of nowhere,” Piper said quickly, and leaned back, hard enough to push Jacob back into his central spot and nearly knocking me off the couch entirely. I had to stand up to avoid just sliding off the arm.
Piper continued speaking without so much as looking at me. “I thought she might have a good time meeting some of the freshmen players, so I brought her along. She doesn’t know anything about football.”
“Really! Interesting,” Jacob said, finally looking back at Piper.
Piper’s spine seemed to straighten under his gaze. “Yeah, I had to explain the ticket lottery to her, even. She’ll figure it out. I think she and Barrett would be adorable together,” Piper said.
“Oh, they would!” someone— one of the nearby girls— said quickly, and stepped closer to me. “Seriously. He’s a linebacker, muscles for days and so sweet. I can go introduce you if you want.”
“You should! Really, I think he’s in the front,” another girl said, and before I totally knew what was happening, I was being led away. I looked back over my shoulder, meaning to spot Piper’s face, but instead I once again found Jacob’s eyes— it was so easy to find his eyes, his and mine clicking together like puzzle pieces. My lips parted— I wanted to say something, but what? It wasn’t like I could call out his name. I’d barely even spoken to him, and besides, Piper was now wiggling her way into his lap. But his eyes were boring into me, and then, to my delight— and surprise— his gaze was running down my body. Even while being pulled away, I inhaled at the feel of his eyes on me, at the realization they were lingering on my breasts, on my hips, on my legs…