by Lila Price
“Wait, really? This is for me? Why?” I asked the freshman.
The player shrugged. “No idea. They’re amazing seats though— in the reserved section for guests of senior players. So, you know. Go.” He shook his head. “Look, I’ve got the team meal, so I gotta bounce. See you at the game I guess, Mime,” he said, then darted out of the doorway and down the steps.
Kiersten and Piper reeled around to me. “What did you do at that party?” Kiersten asked.
“Nothing! Seriously, nothing. I don’t know why he gave me these,” I said, holding the envelope away from me, like it might contain poison.
“This is bullshit,” Piper said bitterly. But then she blinked and seemed to compose herself. “Those are just…tickets,” Piper said, shrugging dismissively. “Nobody even needs tickets to the first game.”
“I don’t understand. Is this a joke?” I asked, but I was talking mostly to myself by now. I set the tickets down on the counter and folded my arms over my stomach. Was Jacob Everett making fun of me? I was horrified, not just with him, but with myself for caring so much.
I wasn’t supposed to get taken in by this kind of silliness. I wasn’t supposed to be competing for the attentions of some obnoxious jock who thought a pair of tickets and a pre-game blowjob were the height of romance.
“Hey, congrats, tickets to the season opener,” Piper called over snippily. “Come on, Kiersten, we have to go.” She grabbed Kiersten’s hand and started tugging her toward the door. I watched Kiersten stumble after Piper.
This was insane. All this bitterness over what? A guy who didn’t care about any of us?
“Wait, what am I supposed to do with these?” I asked. “I don’t even like football, and I’m not interested in Jacob Everett.”
“Whatever you want. They’re great seats, apparently,” Piper said, mocking the freshman player as she said the last bit. Kiersten gave me a pitying shrug before she allowed herself to be pulled out the door. I was left alone, still in my pajamas, a pair of apparently fancy football tickets sitting on the kitchen counter.
The game started at three-thirty, I remembered. Which meant I needed to get to the student center.
Two hours later, I was on my way home with a handful of shopping bags, two boxes of cereal, and still seventy dollars in cash left in my pocket. I was delighted— I’d easily scalped the tickets for two hundred dollars each at the student center. Jacob Everett thought he’d make a joke at my expense? Call me The Mime?
It’s Sasha, thanks, jackass.
At home, I admired the new dresses I’d gotten. They were far more expensive than anything I’d have normally bought (which wasn’t really saying much, given that my motto was Viva Old Navy!), but I was particularly hungry to spend Jacob’s ticket money on something frivolous.
I did a bit more unpacking, then stared at the television. It was nearly three-thirty, and the game would be on soon. I had no interest in attending a Harton football game, but watching one didn’t seem wholly terrible. I clicked the television on and, after negotiating with the variety of remotes that were on the coffee table, found my way to the game.
The stadium looked wild— a sea of green and gold, people screaming, painted bodies and wigs and streamers and banners. The players themselves looked almost comically small when the camera panned out for a wide overhead shot that had to be coming via blimp or something— tiny dots on a green field. They were playing someone wearing white— I had no idea who— and the sportscasters kept flashing names and stats across the screen. I tucked my knees up under me and tried to make sense of the game, which was just now kicking off.
It was hard to follow, given my total ignorance of football. Just when I thought I’d figured out what a “down” was, something would happen to mess it all up in my head. If I were being totally honest, I thought the halftime show was more entertaining than the game itself, and was sad that they kept interrupting the marching band to interview football experts or former players or whoever. By this point, I’d already collected my biology book and started flipping through it. I was moments from muting the television altogether when I heard a name I knew.
“Jacob Everett is the real star on the field— and it’s not just his playing ability. He manages to turn a group of guys into a real team, and that, Bob, is a type of leadership you can’t learn. It’s innate.”
“You’re definitely right,” someone—Bob, I guessed—replied. “You can tell that his teammates really trust and rely on him, not to carry their weight or anything, but to make them strong. He’s a senior this year, and you’ve got to wonder what will happen after he graduates.”
“Well, there’s always Stewart Adams, the junior quarterback that some say could be even better than Jacob Everett once he’s given the opportunity, but I just don’t know.”
“Surprising the NFL haven’t come knocking already for Everett, isn’t it?”
“It is! But you know, the NFL is bigger and badder than college football, and those teams don’t require quite the leadership that these boys at Harton do— so maybe what we’re seeing as star power, they’re seeing as just another good player.”
I was surprised to find myself insulted on Jacob’s behalf. Clearly he was more than just another good player if he had a shot at the NFL…I reminded myself that actually I knew nothing about football, cared nothing about football, and needed to forget about Jacob Everett once and for all.
The Rams won soundly— so far ahead of their opponents that there was really no doubt of their victory. I could hear the cheers from the stadium from inside the apartment, they were so loud. There was confetti raining from canons on either side of the field, people were rushing out, coaches looking on proudly…
It was an infectious sort of happiness, and I grinned, but it was still hard to understand the school’s obsession with the sport. Some guys ran around on the field and gave each other concussions for a few hours. What was the big deal?
The announcers’ voices suddenly grew louder in my ears. “Now we’re going to go to Jessie, who is with none other than Harton’s hero, Jacob Everett!”
“That’s right, Bob,” a pretty petite redhead said. The camera panned out and I inhaled— there he was, filling up my television screen: Jacob Everett.
Same steely beautiful eyes, though he was now dripping in sweat and his uniform was speckled with grass. There was something so absurdly masculine about it all, especially with him standing there next to such a small, feminine creature. That man— he was hardly a boy, not at that height— had offered me tickets to see him play. He’d sought me out, both the other night at the party, and then again this morning. I shifted on the couch, letting my textbook slide to the floor.
“Jacob, you ran some amazing plays today, the least of which was that incredible pass in the third quarter. Anything you’d have done differently, despite the win?” the reporter asked.
Jacob smiled at her, and I could tell the woman was melting a little— an effect I understood entirely. “You know, I always come out here and try to do my best, but it’s also always a challenge not to be critical of my choices. There’s always something to improve on, no matter if we win or lose.”
“You sure about that? Because that was a pretty incredible game!” She batted her eyelashes at him.
I was certain of it.
“Absolutely sure,” he grinned. “The fact that my teammates and I never stop improving is why we’re able to be so successful on the field. We hold each other accountable every day, all day, whether there’s a game or not.”
“That’s great to hear, and you know, that’s really what college ball is all about. We heard a rumor you invited some special friends to watch you play today— do you think you play better, knowing your friends are watching?”
I tensed— did the reporter mean me? Did Jacob invite multiple people? Maybe that was the real joke he was playing— making me think I was special, when I was just one of many. Well, I thought, I showed him. I straightened my new dress smugly.<
br />
“You know, I was sad to learn the person I invited couldn’t make it,” Jacob said, though he was still wearing a wry smile. He looked directly at the camera. “I’ll just cross my fingers that she was watching from home.”
My body practically went numb as his words hit my eardrums.
“Oh no! I hate to hear that,” the reporter said.
“Me too,” Jacob said, still looking at the camera. I couldn’t cast aside the certainty that he was looking directly at me, just as directly as he’d been the night before. He went on, “But I’m sure I’ll convince her to come to another game. No one can turn down watching me play, right? People pay two hundred bucks apiece for the tickets.”
“Right!” the reporter said, laughing alongside him. “Anyhow, back to you, Bob.”
I stared, mind-boggling at what I’d just witnessed and heard.
Two hundred dollars for the tickets— that was what I’d sold them for. He was talking about me. He knew I’d sold them, knew I’d turned him down.
Did news really travel that fast around this place?
Perhaps he’d checked the stands and then sent one of his emissaries to find out why someone else had shown up in my place.
I still had no idea if all this was a joke or not— maybe he just liked the power of getting people to come see him play. He obviously knew just how good-looking and talented he was, after all— maybe he liked using that power. Maybe I was just a pawn for his ego.
Or maybe he really had wanted me to come watch him play.
Me.
I felt like it was hard to catch my breath, and my hands were shaking from the adrenaline of it all.
I turned the television off, embarrassed at how flustered I’d become, at how excited I’d become, at how much I wanted to believe what seemed impossible: That Jacob Everett, the Harton hero, had offered me tickets not as a joke, but because out of all the girls throwing himself at his feet, he wanted a shy freshman from Tifton.
6
My favorite class was Introduction to Anthropology— the subject that, in a world where all jobs paid equally, I’d want to turn into a career. As it was, I was planning to simply minor in the field, but that didn’t quell my enthusiasm. The class was held in a massive lecture hall, with stadium seating and bright honey-colored desks. I always arrived early to get a seat near the front, so I’d have less trouble understanding the professor over the sound of people cutting up in the back row.
Today— a week after Harton’s first football game— was no exception.
I’d finally, mercifully, settled back into my normal routine, especially when the incident with Jake Everett had never been mentioned again. And obviously I hadn’t heard from him or any of his freshmen lackeys, either.
Despite the fact that I’d secretly hoped for something more, I’d resigned myself to the fact that it had all been either a joke, a misunderstanding, or a fluke that was now most definitely in the past.
Now I was back to doing what I did best—studying, working, putting my head down and getting good grades.
I slid into my seat and opened up my laptop, reviewing Monday’s notes. The room filled up behind me, growing ever noisier; then, like someone had flipped a switch, it went almost totally silent. I assumed the professor had arrived, and looked up, only to see the desk at the front of the room was still vacant. I turned my head around, looking for explanation—
It was Jacob Everett.
He was coming down the aisle in the center of the seats, smiling cockily. Everyone was staring— the football players might technically attend Harton University, but you didn’t just see them in regular classes like this. I knew this because, though I’d never had admitted it aloud, I’d spent recent days scouring every campus crowd for Jacob.
And now here he was. Walking down the steps of my classroom, both aware of and ignoring the worshipping eyes of the largely students on him. I pulled in my stomach, twisting a little in my chair, wetting my lips.
His gaze turned to me, and our eyes met, snapping to one another’s like they had at the party so long ago. Jacob’s lips curved into a wider smile, one that accentuated the squareness of his jaw. I tensed as he walked down the final few steps and, without saying a word, slid into the empty desk beside me.
Breath escaped me, and my heart raced.
Jacob smelled so good, and the way he was lounging casually in the desk, legs splayed and head rested on a hand, seemed to waft his scent toward me. I wanted to ask what the hell he was doing, but I’d lost my voice entirely, and besides, it was already going to take an act of God for me to pull my eyes from his. Jacob— did this guy ever blink?— seemed to relish in this, looking at me long and hard, like he was daring me to speak up.
“Hello class, please go ahead and silence your phones so we can begin,” the professor said, swishing into the room and tossing down a large stack of books and folders. The motion was enough to free me from Jacob’s gaze, though his nearness still had a black hole quality to it— everything about me felt pulled to him.
The rest of my classmates clearly felt the same. They were utterly silent behind me, to the point that even the professor noticed. In a few moments, the professor saw why.
“Mr. Everett. I don’t believe you’re on my roster,” the professor said.
“I’m not— but I’m thinking about taking this next semester. Thought I’d get a preview,” Jacob said with a dashing smile.
“Well, we’re pleased to have you here,” the professor said, and this looked true— the man actually glowed a bit, like Jacob Everett’s presence was akin to having Will or Kate show up in his lecture hall.
The professor launched into the lecture and I tried in vain to follow along and take notes. Jacob, however, was too distracting for me to do much of anything but focus on my breathing. I wanted to talk to him, wanted to get angry at him, get even for the thing with the tickets, wanted to kiss him, wanted to slap him. I just wanted him.
But I was also afraid. He was still bigger than life, literally and figuratively.
The class was nearly over when a note slid across my desk, written in barely legible handwriting.
You seriously chose this as an elective?
The note had arrived so quickly that I only caught the smallest glimpse of Jacob pulling back after depositing it on my desk. I forced myself to take a slow, steady breath, then wrote a careful response.
How do you know that? What are you doing?
I handed it back, painfully aware of the fact that even though the professor didn’t notice, I was most definitely being watched by the rest of the students in the hall behind me.
The note popped back to me quickly.
I make it a point to know about people that interest me.
I avoided his eyes and wrote in response, pleased that I could write what I didn’t have the nerve to say.
Little bit stalkerish.
He laughed when he read the note— out loud, bright and cheerful, and the professor turned around.
“Everything all right, Mr. Everett?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. What you just said reminded me of something. I apologize,” Jacob said swiftly, with the confidence of a guy who had talked his way out of trouble since grade school.
The professor— who normally hated being interrupted, smiled and went on like nothing had happened. A few moments later, the note came back.
9:30 pm
Manhattan Bar
I started. Was he serious? I dared to look at him and, to my surprise, saw that although his eyes were heavy on me, his mouth was no longer curved into that wry, arrogant smile. He looked…eager. Hopeful, maybe— like the note was more of a question than I’d immediately thought.
I folded the piece of paper in half quietly and, after taking a deep breath, nodded once. Jacob broke into a grin, then stood up.
“Thanks so much for letting me sit in, professor, but I’ve got to get to weight training. But this class is great! I’ll definitely look into adding it next s
emester,” Jacob said, voice commanding the room.
“We’d love to have you. Please email me if you have any questions about it, alright?” the professor said cheerily.
Jacob nodded and gave a sort of saluting wave, then darted up the lecture hall steps three at a time, a giant in a room made for mortals. He pushed through the doors at the top, and just like that, was gone— but there was no recovering from the buzz or energy and excitement that he left in his wake. Everyone, it seemed, even the professor, could feel it. He was Harton’s hero, after all. And, from the looks of it, I had a date with him that evening.
No, it wasn’t a date.
A date would imply him asking me out, and he hadn’t. He’d just given me a piece of paper with a time and a place on it. This was an appointment, basically.
I repeated this to myself over and over as I got dressed that evening— wearing one of the outfits I’d bought with my ticket money. Jacob Everett had consumed my thoughts for most of the day, and I was slowly growing furious over the fact. I was here to study, not to get stalked by some sort of football god. I ran through all the things I wanted to say to him tonight to make sure he understood that I had no interest in being one of his pre-game blowjob girls, thank you very much.
Except, when I thought that, I started thinking about what it would be like to give him a blowjob, which consumed my thoughts to the point that I considered touching myself for a bit to calm myself down, relieve some tension. But then it occurred to me that that was the exact purpose of Jacob’s pre-game blowjobs, and I didn’t want to have anything in common with him, since he was obviously just a big-headed jock that was just messing with my head.
Right?
Right.
“What are you all dressed up for?” Piper asked when I emerged from my room. Piper had settled down a little after the drama of the Football House party and the free tickets, though she was still edgy around me. Kiersten more often than not served as the in-between, the person whose presence made the air in our home a little less tense. Still, it was clear to me that in a pinch, Kiersten would always team up with Piper.