We take our paper bags of food over to the rock and sit down, unpacking. Troy's a bit surprised when I fold my hands and bow my head, and when I look up, it's my turn to be embarrassed. "Sorry. Habit from my Mom."
"Your Mom's one of those, huh? Not my scene, but I respect it,” Troy replies, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. "From what I've seen, if there is a God up there, he isn't interested in my life."
"What do you mean? Your life seems pretty perfect in my opinion. Big man on campus, easy path to college, tons of friends . . .”
Troy sets his burger down and looks at me like I'm crazy. "You're serious, aren't you? Jesus, Whitney, you really don't know me very well, do you?"
It’s my turn to be angry, as if somehow I'm supposed to know Troy Wood's life story. "Excuse me, Mister Five-Star QB, but they don't issue out your biography along with the Social Studies textbook. Admit it—until yesterday, you didn't even know who I was! You're not the one who's spent three years being called Pancake Nelson, or do you think I didn't know about that?"
I realize I’m raising my voice and standing up, and I've not even taken a single bite of my food. Troy stares at me, his powerful jaw muscles working, and he sets his burger down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're right. I was wrong. I'm sorry, Whit . . . just, today's been one of those days that I'd like to forget, you know what I mean?"
"What happened?" I ask, sitting back down on the warm rock. "And I'm not going to crack any jokes, I promise."
"What do you mean?" Troy asks, confused. "What's wrong with jokes?"
I shrug and pick up a fry, sticking it in my mouth. "I guess I've gotten tired of being teased, that's all. It's hard to talk to people when you know that if you tell them how you really see things or how you feel, you're going to get teased. But . . . that's for another time, maybe. Tell me about your day."
"Well, football went like shit today," Troy starts, closing his eyes. He kind of half turns away from me and looks out over the river, his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging. "If I keep playing like practice today, that idea of an easy scholarship isn't going to be coming my way. Hell, if I keep going like today, I won't even be starting by Homecoming."
"Everyone has bad practices," I say, scooting over next to him. For some reason, I put my hand on his leg, then kind of wrap my arm through his and take his hand. "I mean, I don't know football, you know, but nobody can be perfect all the time, right?"
Troy nods and opens his eyes, looking out at the river. "I have to be. At least on the field—I need to be. If I'm going to get out of this town, away from . . .”
"Away from what?" I ask. "Because I know this town isn't all that bad. We're not San Francisco or Seattle or anything, but it could be a lot worse."
Troy swallows and looks down again. "Just . . . home life's tough, you know? The eye . . . that isn't from football."
I gasp, moved. I mean, Mom's strict on the church side of things, and sometimes it’s strange having a mom who is younger than all of your teachers and gets confused for your older sister when she goes shopping with me, but Mom loves me. When she has gotten boyfriends, she's always put me first, which has cost her a few of the guys, but we both agree that we’re a package deal, at least until I head off to college. Most of all, Mom never lays a hand on me. "Troy . . . why don't you tell someone?"
"Like what? 'Hey, I'm a total worthless shit who has a drunk for a father and no mother, since she abandoned me to that asshole when I was three, and the only hope I've got of not going down the same path is to get into the NFL.’ I'd get laughed right out of school."
I'm shocked to see Troy, who I'd never even imagined would be insecure, at least based on what Dani told me at lunch today. He hangs his head, then laughs bitterly once before looking at me again. "Hell of a first date, isn't it?"
I smile and lean my head on his shoulder and give his hand a squeeze. "I could think of worse. All day, I figured you'd bring me here or to some other place, where you'd try and talk your way into my pants. In case you don't know, the girls on the cheer squad know about what you and your buddies were doing in the stands yesterday. Dani filled me in on it. I guess I've been more innocent than I knew."
Troy chuckles and we relax, just watching the river roll by. "Can I be honest? When I asked you out yesterday, I had the same idea as the other guys. The way they reacted when you started practice . . . you damn near caused a scene, and a fight between the guys—me included. A lot of them saw you as something like that McFlurry that we've got melting here. A little bite of dessert."
"And you?" I ask, not offended, but for some reason, I just want to know.
"I think . . . well, let me put it this way, and sorry if it takes a while. After fucking up at practice so much today, I apologized to the guys for screwing up. I've never done that before, and like you said, I thought I'd get jeered for it. Instead, a couple of the guys really stuck up for me, and I thought a lot about what Coach keeps telling us. Own it. Own your fuckups and your victories both. So I'm not going to lie. You're hot as hell, and you can't teach that. But talking with you now, I'd be lying if I said that all I wanted was to, as you said, get into your pants."
I laugh and put my hand on the side of his face, turning him to look at me. "Well, at least you're partially honest."
I kiss Troy, surprised by my forwardness, but I relish the feeling of his lips on mine, and even though I've only kissed a few boys before, I can't compare any of them to Troy. We don't rush, and there's nothing forced about the way we get closer and closer, his lips so amazing on my skin. He kisses to my neck, and I feel electricity in parts of my body that I'd never felt before with a guy, my whole body feeling tingly and almost humming. I realize now why Mom keeps warning me about guys. If Troy pushed right now, I'm not sure I'd be able or even willing to stop him, but he doesn't. Instead, he kisses back to my lips and I reach out with my tongue. Troy responds, and it's even more amazing than I'd ever imagined.
Troy breaks our kiss, and I know I've got a stupid, dreamy look on my face. I blink a few times, then smile. "Why'd you stop?"
Troy smiles back and strokes my hair with his hand. "Because if I keep going right this second, I'm worried that I won't hold back . . . and to be honest, Whitney, I want to hold back. You're . . . you're pretty special for some reason. I'd like to get to know why, or at least have a chance to know why."
"So you don't want to just pop my cherry and then run off?" I tease, and Troy's face drops in shock. "What? Yes, a girl can get to a month shy of her eighteenth birthday and still be a virgin, you know. Especially one who spent all of high school until the past two days overlooked."
"I shouldn't have overlooked you," Troy says, then laughs. "I guess I'm not as good a guy as I thought."
"You're a guy," I reply, leaning my head on his shoulder again. "Ruled by your penis, and just barely more evolved than your average chimp. I get it. Girls, we're not much better. You should have seen the nasty looks I've gotten over the past few days from some of the other girls on the cheer squad. As Dani puts it, bitches be hatin'."
Troy laughs and shifts his arm around so that he can hold me with his left arm. He reaches behind us and comes back with the box that my chicken sandwich is in. "Yeah, well, you can tell them that I'm not interested right now. Here, you don't want that to get cold."
We talk for another hour, occasionally turning or shift around on the rock to grab our food or just reposition ourselves until the sun goes all the way down. As I drink the last of the McFlurry—the rest of it had melted—I can't help but laugh. "You know, Troy, this isn't how I imagined our date would go."
"Neither did I," he says, running his fingers through my hair. "I know this might be a bit fast, but I was wondering if you'd like to go out again sometime?"
"What about Saturday?" I ask. "I'd say Friday, but Mom already told me she's taking me out for a celebration dinner for my making the cheer squad."
Troy laughs and nods. "But it has to be Saturday early aftern
oon. I uh, well, I've got a part-time job that takes up Saturday from four thirty until midnight. All day Sunday too."
"Oh? Where?"
“A pizza joint just outside town. Don't tell anyone that, please? State law says that I'm not supposed to be working that late while I'm in school. The owner doesn't know anything about football, and he thinks I graduated last year. I'm just glad I don't need to lie about my age anymore now that I'm eighteen."
I see the tremble in his jawline, and I nod. "That's fine, Troy. So I guess this means that we're not going to be going on a lot of typical dates during football season?"
Troy shakes his head, then shrugs. "Sorry. No Friday or Saturday nights at the movies. Best I can do is the occasional matinée."
I smile and lean in closer. "I think I can deal with that. On one condition."
His cocky little grin is back, playful and, if I can use that word, arousing. "What's that?"
"Another few of those amazing kisses?"
Troy keeps to my condition and is actually a gentleman, cleaning up our mess and walking with me back to the car. When he opens the door, I turn to him and take his hand. "Just a moment," I say, tugging on his arm.
Troy turns and give me a quizzical look. "What?"
In a move that I can't even believe I'm doing as I do it, I take his hand and lift it, putting it on my right breast, where by instinct, he cups it, sending shivers down my body and heat between my legs. I let him stroke with his thumb for a few seconds, then reluctantly, I lift his hand off, and it's my turn to kiss his knuckles. "There. You can tell your buddies you at least got to second base. I know they're going to bug you about it."
Troy shifts, and I smile when I see that his pants are fitting him, well, a little more snugly around the crotch than they were a minute ago. Troy shakes his head and takes my fingers in his again, kissing my knuckles. "No, I don't think the guys need to know what happened here tonight. Some things are too good to share, and you want to keep them all to yourself. Come on, let's get you home before your Mom wants to kill me, and that would totally ruin our plans for Saturday."
Chapter 6
Troy
I sit in the stands of Fox Stadium, wearing my number 12 jersey, hanging out with the rest of the guys. We just completed our final walkthroughs for tomorrow's game, and Coach Jackson handed out our game jerseys. Some of us, me included, put them on before we head home. We're ready.
"You looking forward to the pep rally tomorrow?" Cory asks. He's really stepped up over the past two days, and he's feeling good about things. I understand, because Wednesday's practice, and then today's walkthroughs, went like fucking clockwork. "You know, I'm kinda looking forward to it."
“You're just looking forward to seeing the cheerleaders in those skirts and tops," Russ shoots back, laughing. "You're trying to see if Dasha is going to wear that thong like you've been trying to talk her into."
"Fuck that, man, that was just a side joke," Cory says, "but yeah, I'd tap that ass if I had a chance. Nah, to be honest, I'm looking forward to seeing Whitney's ti . . . sorry, her figure in the uniform."
I raise my eyebrow, and Cory clears his throat. Russ, however, doesn't get the clue. "Those are some bodacious ta-tas. You got to sample them yet, T-man?"
"She's not that type of girl," I reply, leaning back. I know the guys, and they're still not convinced that I'm really serious about Whitney. Not that we've exactly been seeing each other long, I mean, it's only been three days. "I'm going to take this one slow."
"Holy shit," Russ replies, his eyes wide with wonder. "Is that Troy Wood, or am I seeing a fucking unicorn? Three days and she's got you pussy whipped? She must be magical. Unicorn Nelson!"
"Call her that again, and you're going to be watching tomorrow's game from the sidelines in a cast," I growl, looking into Russ's eyes. "I don't care if you're the free safety or not. Say something again about Whitney, and I end you."
The guys fall silent, and there's some nervous shuffling. Russ and I have been buds since freshman year, and of everyone on the team, he's the one who is closest to standing up to me. Coach Jackson says that if Russ hits the weights hard and gets serious, he'll also have a chance to play college ball, but Russ is normally too laid back, a party kind of guy. Russ stares at me for a second, then gets up, brushing off his jersey. "Whatever. I'm gonna go sit down there, see what Watkins is up to. He doesn’t have a bug up his ass."
Most of the guys kind of drift off after that, until it's just me and Cory. He's got a look on his face, and I give it back. "What?"
"Nothin'," Cory says. "Just . . . you're changing. Last year, you were the guy, on and off the field. I figured this year would be more of the same.”
Out on the field, the marching band is doing a review of their halftime show, minus the ridiculous uniforms they wear. I never have figured out how a team from a town named Silver Lake Falls, and whose high school colors are Silver and Blue, calls themselves the Scarlet Regiment and wears red as their main uniform color. Damn near treasonous, if you ask me. I shrug, “Things can’t always be the same.”
Cory leans back and shakes his head. One of the drummers, a girl with a cute face, drops her stick, causing Cory to cup his hands over his mouth and holler, "If you need a bigger stick, I've got one for ya!"
The girl turns bright red, and Cory laughs while a few of the guys, who've gathered around Watkins, laugh as well. Cory shakes his head and looks back up at me. "Where was I? Oh yeah, you and your changing. I noticed it during summer workouts first. You got more serious about the football. I just chalked it up to you pushing for the scholarship. I know you've got verbal feelers from some schools, but nothing's set in stone until you get something on paper."
"Which you know I can't get for another month at least," I say. "Signing day's a long way off, Cory. But I feel like you’ve got more to say."
"I do. Past week, man, since Monday, you've really gotten, I don't know . . . serious? I won't go as far as Russ and sign my death warrant by saying something about Whitney, but you two looked pretty damn chummy at lunch today, ignoring the rest of us. Even her girlfriend—what's her name?"
"Danielle Vaughn," I remind Cory, who nods. I know Cory hadn't forgotten. He's had Dani on his 'to bang' list ever since Dani joined varsity cheerleading. He's got a thing for dangerous looking blondes, and Dani's the epitome of that. "But your point?"
"I'm just saying—you stepped up Tuesday after screwing up. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.”
"But?"
"But you're showing a softer side too, and that includes Tuesday. I guess what I'm asking you is, which Troy Wood is going to show up tomorrow night? The one who smashes heads on the field, or the softheaded fuckup? I know which one I'd prefer . . .”
I look out on the field and pat my friend on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it. First time I put my face mask in the Blueridge QB's chest, you'll see."
* * *
"Boys . . . no, I guess the time has come to stop calling most of you boys," Coach Jackson says as we gather around in the locker room. My blue and silver jersey is tied back, and on my left hand is the lineman's glove that I wear. It's a strange thing for a QB to wear, but with a tacky palm and a lightly padded back, it's great for me when I play linebacker as well. My other glove is tucked in my belt, in case we go on defense first. I can't wear the glove when I'm on offense. It screws up my grip on the ball for throwing.
"The time has come for you upperclassmen, you seniors and juniors, to step up and be men," Coach continues, and I glance over at Cory, who gives me a nod. He's painted up like he does for every home game, the eye black taken to ridiculous extremes until both of his eye sockets are completely black, with a single line drawing down his cheeks. He says that he's copying the look of the ancient Spartans, and I have no idea if he's correct or not, but I do know that when he pulls his helmet on, it’s pretty terrifying. "You know what to do. This is your season now, gentlemen. I can only send in plays or give guidance. It's up to you now to make a difference
."
After we go out of the locker room, I look down in my helmet, a little smile on my face as I see the folded up square of paper that I've wedged in between the air pocket and the outer shell. Even though it’s folded up, I know what's on it.
Dear Troy.
I know this may be weird. After all, I'm planning on giving this to you in about twenty minutes when we have lunch together. But I wanted to say good luck tonight. Just know that I wish I were out on the field with you, instead of on the sidelines just cheering. Actually, I take that back. There's no way I could do what you do, but know that I'm going to be cheering loudest for you.
Whitney
"You ready, Troy?" Coach Jackson asks, coming by. "Like I said, son, the future's in your hands."
I grin and pull my helmet on. With my teammates, we line up behind the big paper banner that the cheerleaders painted up for us, and I see Whitney out of the corner of my eye, standing on one of the other girls’ shoulders, holding the paper tight for us, and she gives me a smile, even if it is a bit scared from being up in the air like that. I smile back and wink.
I hear the band that's lined up on the other side of the banner start up the fight song, and I turn. "All right, it's SHOWTIME!"
We charge through the banner, and I lead my team onto the field. We win the toss, and as I watch Watkins take the opening kickoff, everything drops away. It's a comfortable feeling, one I've felt before. The rest of the world can be fucked up. But this field, this space that's a hundred and twenty yards long and fifty-three yards wide, this is pure and right, and I know I own this spot.
"Split left, forty-four blast," I say in the huddle, looking around. "That's you, Gabe. You got this?"
"See you in the end zone," Gabe replies, ready. I look around and grin. This is going to be fun.
Anaconda: A Sexy Romantic Comedy Page 25