by Harper James
Still, I thought as I closed my eyes and sighed. I wish I knew what it’d actually be like to have him fuck me.
5
Jacob Everett was a problem.
Well, no, he wasn’t a problem— but the memory of him, and how thinking of him had made me feel…that was a problem. I had never had trouble focusing on school before, my hunger to put a check mark beside the “studied for two hours” line of my to-do list was usually the big priority in my life.
Now, though, I found myself thinking of Jacob in the middle of class. After class. At the library. And perhaps, worst of all, late at night, when I fought fantasies of him off for hours before finally giving in and touching myself to the thought of him on top of me.
So, yes, Jacob Everett was a problem.
Two weeks into the semester, I woke on a Saturday morning to find Piper and Kiersten were buzzing around the common area in Harton green sundresses, hair pulled up and makeup flawless. The fact that they were awake before me was remarkable— I rarely saw them before noon.
“You guys are up early,” I noted blearily, rubbing my eyes.
“It’s game day,” Piper said brightly, like it was Christmas or her birthday or the first day of eternal world peace.
“Oh. I didn’t realize,” I said. “Are you going? This early?”
Kiersten looked a touch offended, but went on, explaining as though I didn’t speak English. “It’s a three-thirty game, so we’ll go tailgate with some friends in about an hour until it starts. We don’t have tickets. Hardly anyone gets lottery tickets to the season opener, except seniors.”
I nodded. “Right. Anyway, I was just going to run down to the grocery store and get some cereal and stuff, so I guess I won’t see you guys till after—“
There was a quick knock at the door that cut me off mid-sentence. Piper and Kiersten looked at each other, clearly confused; Kiersten was the one that finally walked over and answered the door. On the other side was a muscle-y guy wearing athletic shorts and a Harton Rams jersey. It took a moment, but eventually I remembered the guy from Football House— one of the freshman football players.
“Hey, I’ve got a letter for—“
“Oh my god,” Piper said, bouncing up and down on her heels.
“Is it from Jacob?” Kiersten asked him frantically.
“Yes,” he said, hesitant in the face of their gushing.
“Oh my god,” Piper squealed even louder, then snatched the letter away from the freshman. “I knew it. I knew it’d be me for the first game!”
“Open it open it open it open it,” Kiersten said. “Hurry!”
I swallowed nervously as Piper tore open the envelope. Was this the invitation that bartender told me Piper was after— was Piper going to be the one to suck Jacob’s cock before today’s game?
My inner feminist recoiled in horror at the notion, and yet I found myself growing envious, then hurt, that Jacob could look at me the way he had at the party but still come to Piper this morning.
“These are tickets!” Piper said, sounding alarmed and angry. She spun around to face the freshman player. “Where’s my locker room pass? Don’t I get to see him before the game?”
“That’s what I was trying to say,” the football player said. “He asked me to give tickets to someone called The Mime?”
Piper looked like she’d been punched. She turned to me, lips parted, eyes flashing angrily.
I felt as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head.
“What? What’s happening? Who’s a mime?” Kiersten asked, frantically looking to the others for an explanation.
You’d have thought we’d just heard the school was closing down with the panic she was showing in her eyes at this turn of events.
“Well. You must have made quite an impression,” Piper said, rolling her eyes and shoving the now-torn envelope towards me.
“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.
“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, on
e 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.