SPIKED (A Sports Romance)

by Harper James

  “The fuck are you, Everett? Marcus wants us, now,” a thick, deep voice called out.

  “Shit, that’s Greene,” Jacob said hurriedly. He jumped out of bed and sprang for the door, tugging on athletic shorts as he went. Before I could remind him that I was totally naked, he’d swung the front door open, revealing six football players so large they took up every inch of space I could see in the doorframe.

  “We’ve been calling for like an hour, man,” the guy in front said.

  “Shit, phone must’ve died last night. I was busy,” Jacob said, and spun around. He tore open his dresser and nabbed a t-shirt from the top.

  “I see that,” one of the other guys snickered, and I realized they’d noticed me. I had a sheet pulled up around my body, but I still felt myself blush deep scarlet, embarrassed and more than a little horrified that Jacob didn’t even seem to notice or care that all this was happening.

  “What’s it about?” Jacob asked, grabbing the wall to balance himself as he slid on a pair of sandals.

  “I think he wants to try Adams out this Saturday,” Greene said. I saw Jacob’s jaw tighten, and from the way the other players shifted, I knew that this was a big deal—and recalled that Adams was the other quarterback on the team. It hardly seemed like that big a deal to me. So what if some other guy got to play in a game?

  “Come on, man!” one of the guys in the pack urged, and Jacob grabbed his keys and hurried for the door.

  “Let yourself out whenever!” he called over his shoulder without even meeting my eyes, moments before the door slammed shut.

  I sat there, stunned. In his bed. Where I’d lost my virginity to him. Where he’d taken me, but never another girl. Where I’d allowed myself to think for a tiny, tiny moment, that given how hard he’d pursued me, that he’d left the party for me, that he’d taken me to the pool and here, that maybe I wasn’t another one of Jacob Everett’s many conquests.

  I took a few long, deep breaths, willing myself not to cry. I’d wanted for Jacob Everett to fuck me, and he had— I hadn’t gone into it wanting a relationship with him, exactly. What was I so upset about? Hell, if anything, I’d gotten to be the first girl in his bedroom.

  Probably the first of many, now that he’s done it, a voice in my head— that sounded annoyingly like Piper’s voice— said.

  After all that, after everything, after the way he’d made me feel— the way I made him feel— it’d just been a one night stand.

  Whatever. You’ve got class, and you don’t have time for a relationship anyway. Who cares? I scolded myself, and rose to find my clothes.

  11

  There were worse things, I decided in the end, than being one of Jacob Everett’s one-night-stands. A week and a half later, there was no denying that that’s what I was. Jacob hadn’t called— how could he, when he’d never asked for my number, or I for his? He hadn’t come by my class again, hadn’t sent one of the freshman minions to my door with a singing telegram. He’d simply vanished. Once he’d finally convinced me to pay attention to him, he’d moved on.

  Piper and Kiersten had seemed to buy the story I’d told them after sneaking back into the dorm the morning after my date with Jacob. They’d been asleep, and never realized that I’d been out the whole night. When we saw each other, I played it off as though Jacob had in fact snubbed me at the bar, without really having to truly lie. Just talking about the way it had gone in the first few minutes was enough to comfort them with the idea that Jacob had rejected me as easily as they’d anticipated he would.

  Since then, tensions in the suite had eased.

  It hurt that in a way Jacob had snubbed me in the end, but yes, there were worse things. I shook it off each morning and focused on my classes, papers, essays, on a new obsessive-compulsive type of journaling system that was so fussy it was the perfect thing to launch myself into whenever thoughts of Jacob sprang up.

  Besides, how was I going to graduate in three years if I got distracted by a guy?

  There was, however, one part of Jacob Everett that I couldn’t shake— the football part. Football was such a way of life at Harton that there was no use avoiding it. Enormous posters of Jacob and the other star players in the student center. Football schedules plastered across the study cubicles. Professional photos of the marching band’s majorette line, standing in the stadium, plastered in every local bar (the majorettes were, apparently, considered the real hotties of the football field, sorry cheerleaders).

  So I decided to lean into the whole thing.

  Piper and Kiersten even invited me out with them to a local bar a few weeks later to watch the game. It was packed when they got there, but the three of us managed to wedge into seats beside some girls Kiersten was friendly with.

  “Who are they playing?” I asked, trying not to feel too claustrophobic in the tight space.

  “Who are we playing, Sasha. And it’s North Carolina,” Piper said. She still hadn’t entirely forgiven me for everything with Jacob, but it wasn’t quite as bad, these days. A perk, I reminded myself, to things with him fizzling out so quickly.

  “Got it. North Carolina,” I said, nodding. The cameras peered down on the field via sweeping overhead shots and the bar began to buzz with excitement, conversations about stats and yards earned and other terms I didn’t understand swirling around me. The lineup was announced; when Jacob’s name came up, the bar cheered— me included, since staying silent would probably have gotten me thrown out.

  “Wonder who it was today?” Kiersten wondered aloud to Piper.

  “I think it’s that Asian girl, Zoë? She’s sucked him a few times, lucky bitch,” Piper said under her breath. I wondered if Piper would believe me if I explained that the whole “blowjob before every game” thing was all a myth.

  And I hated the fact that I wanted to defend him when he’d so easily forgotten about me.

  The game began, a blur of yards gained and lost and shouts of “GO GO GO!” from the bar around me. Even without much football knowledge to fall back on, I could still tell Jacob was commanding his team with military-precision. Whenever the camera got close to him, I felt my stomach clench— he was sweaty, and firm-jawed, and seeing him in a uniform that accentuated his muscles reminded me of how easily he’d carried me to the cabana in the pool house.

  Ugh. How could I be so turned on by someone who had clearly used me and then thrown me away like a disposable camera?

  It was just before halftime when someone from North Caro tackled Jacob to the ground, sacking him moments after he’d completed a long, powerful pass that got Harton nearly a third of the field. It seemed fine at first— a few people around me even used the break between plays to order fourth or fifth beers. Then, however, something became clear— Jacob Everett wasn’t getting back up.

  “Looks like number forty-two, star quarterback Jacob Everett, is still down. Medics and coaches joining him on the field now. Let’s take another look at that play, here,” one of the sportscasters said. They pulled up the clip, and the whole bar watched anxiously as, in slow motion, the North Carolina player drove Jacob to the ground.

  “It doesn’t seem like a particularly bad hit, but you never can tell— it looks like they’re tending to his shoulder now…”

  The announcers trailed off as a camera zoomed in on Jacob’s face. He was thin-lipped and a little pale. I tensed, as did everyone else in the bar—

  “And he’s up!” the announcers said. “Back in the game. Looks like there’s time for one, maybe two more plays before the half. Let’s see what Everett sends us out with.”

  The bar as a whole gave a sigh of relief so loud that people chuckled afterward, then leaned in, eager to see how the first half of the game would close. Horton had scored earlier, and lead with seven points, but that wasn’t a strong enough lead to merit too much confidence just yet.

  They set up the play— lots of shouting of numbers and phrases and I really had no idea what it all meant. The ball snapped into play, the announcers narrated loud and q
uick and the ball passed to Jacob. He reeled back to throw—

  The ball barely made it ten yards— I figured I could have thrown it that far. Jacob grabbed at his shoulder the moment the ball left his hand, though he tried to keep playing—

  The ball was intercepted by a North Carolina player, who narrowly dodged being tackled and began to sprint. The bar went crazy, shouting, screaming for someone from Harton to catch him, but it was no use— the player ran the ball in for a touchdown, and the North Carolina crowd went wild. When they ran the ball in, I saw the scoreboard click up— North Carolina, eight points, and Harton, seven.

  “That was insane,” Kiersten said to a stranger next to her. “Five seconds left in the half and they run in a seventy-five yard touchdown?”

  “Look,” the girl said, pointing to the television screen. The announcers were replaying what happened when Jacob tried to make the failed pass— when he clutched his shoulder, obviously in pain.

  “Looks like he might have a more serious problem. Sure wish he’d let the coaches know so they could replace him,” one of the sportscasters said.

  “Absolutely, and you know, that’s sometimes the trouble with having a team hero— they want to stay in at all costs, and that’s clearly not always the best move. Now Harton is going to have to recover in the second half, and I’m guessing Jacob Everett isn’t going to be the one to lead that charge.”

  The sportscasters had predicted correctly— when the Rams reemerged after halftime, Jacob was nowhere to be seen, and Adams was leading the charge.

  Horton won the game, but there was a sense of unease, of frustration, even, around the campus as everyone returned to their dorms and suites and apartments. Relief that it’d worked out, but worry over Jacob’s injury, frustration that he’d tried to soldier on and nearly ruined it all.

  I found myself feeling worried for Jacob too on a more personal level, but it wasn’t all too difficult to squash those feelings down long enough to make cereal for dinner and settle onto our tiny balcony with a book while Piper and Kiersten caught up on the lives of the Kardashians in the common room.

  It was almost midnight when I realized I’d fallen asleep. I blinked awake and sat up straight in the camp chair I’d drifted off in. It took me a moment to realize what woke me up— Piper and Kiersten talking, loudly. I turned my head to look inside. I could see my roommates at the door, but whomever was on the other side was still out of my line of sight.

  “Look, let’s just go out and get a drink. Take your mind off everything,” Piper was saying brightly.

  The person at the door must have replied, because Piper paused for a moment, then said, “Well, then maybe we just go back to Football House for a little while. Relax?” It was clear what she meant by “relax”— sex, and lots of it.

  The person at the door said something else, and Kiersten jumped in. “I’m serious, she’s asleep. Besides, we’re way more fun. Come on—“ she stepped forward, into the doorway, and out of my line of sight.

  I rose, curious, and slid the screen door open. Piper’s eyes flicked my way, and they were furious— so furious that they confirmed who I suspected was on the other side of the door.

  “Sasha,” Jacob Everett said when I came into his view. “Come on. Let’s go out.” There was so much arrogance in his voice, the cocky smile. Did he seriously think he could ignore me for weeks, then show up and have me leap into his arms?

  “They were right. I was asleep. Another time,” I said stiffly.

  “See? Come on. Let’s you and me go,” Piper said gleefully, and took Jacob’s hand. Jacob smiled at her, but shook his head.

  “I’m really here to see Sasha right now, Piper. But we’ll catch up later?”

  Piper smiled through a stiff breath, then nodded. “Sure.” She looked between me and Jacob for a minute, then added, “Watch out though. Sasha’s PMSing so bad right now.”

  Kiersten laughed and I flushed— both because I was not PMSing and because arguing that I wasn’t would only make it look like I was.

  “I’ll be careful,” Jacob said. “Sasha?”

  “I’m really not interested,” I repeated.

  Piper and Kiersten went still, like they couldn’t believe what was happening. When they looked away from Jacob for a moment— a half second, he mouthed “please.” His eyes were stern— hardly begging— but intense nonetheless. I knew he wasn’t going to say the word aloud— wasn’t going to let Piper and Kiersten see him like that. But I also knew that him mouthing it to me, letting ME see him like that, his being here, his coming here, meant that he needed me in a way I couldn’t help feel mowed down by.

  I wasn’t going to have sex with him again, but what could it hurt to just talk?

  “Let me get my shoes,” I said.

  Me and Jacob walked down the steps of my apartment, but when I tried to turn to walk toward the campus, Jacob put a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “I can’t go that way. I thought we’d drive somewhere,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked, keeping my voice clipped— I wanted to make sure he understood I was still mad at him for seemingly forgetting I existed.

  “There are reporters and fans and general psychos all around my apartment right now. If they hear I’m on campus they’ll run us down.”

  “Why?” I repeated.

  “The game today. The choices I made, the injury, I just—“

  “Oh! Are you alright?” I asked. I’d been so caught up in the surprise of his arrival, with Piper and Kiersten, that I’d forgotten what happened at the game entirely.

  Jacob exhaled and looked toward the parking lot, then shook his head. “We need to go somewhere else,” he said firmly. “Come on. My car’s right there.”

  I glanced back toward her apartment, then nodded, albeit a little reluctantly— being somewhere alone with Jacob made me distrust myself. As hurt as I was that he’d abandoned me so unceremoniously, I had to admit that even now, the idea of touching him, of him touching me, was more than a little arousing.

  Jacob led me to his car— or rather, not his car. “People know what I drive. This is Greene’s,” he said when I sat down in the hatchback that definitely did not reflect the Jacob Everett I knew.

  “It’s seriously that bad?” I asked.

  Jacob backed out of the parking spot and we started down the street. “I made a stupid choice today. I was trying to power through, I figured I’d just tweaked my shoulder…”

  “Is it serious? The injury, I mean?” I asked. “It looks like you’re moving fine.”

  “It’s wrapped up under my shirt,” Jacob said. “It’s a partial rotator cuff tear.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “That’s huge. For a football player it might as well be cancer,” Jacob said flatly.

  “Wait, seriously?” I asked, stunned.

  Jacob licked his lips and guided the car through the city, toward Ansley Park— a neighborhood very much not on the campus, but full of houses and townhouse that cost an amount I couldn’t even understand. We’d pulled into the drive of one of the townhouse and parked before Jacob spoke again.

  “It could be career ending. The rest of college, the NFL. If it doesn’t heal perfectly, it’s just…over. Everything. Everything I’ve worked for.”

  We sat in the darkened car for a moment, Jacob staring through the windshield, me staring at him, neither of us wanting to speak just yet. Finally Jacob took a long, drawn breath, and grabbed for the car door. I followed him out and toward the townhouse. The small yard was professionally landscaped and lit, though the inside of the house looked dark.

  “Whose place?” I asked when Jacob pulled keys out of his pocket and inserted them in the door.

  “One of the football alumni. He uses it for home games,” Jacob said. “I had to listen to an earful from him on my decision to stay in the game before he’d give me the keys.”

  “Oh,” I said as he pushed the door open.

  “Yeah,” Jacob said flatly. I stepped inside
and he closed the door behind me and flipped on a light.

  The place was roomy and modern, with craftsman touches— like reclaimed wood doors and an enormous farmhouse sink in the massive kitchen. The two of us walked around for a moment, exploring silently; when Jacob reached the living room, he sat down hard on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees. His size made the defeat emanating from his body language look even more overwhelming.

  “So…why did you come get me?” I asked, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch.

  Jacob shook his head and smiled a little. “Everyone else is a fan, Sasha. And I don’t want to be around fans right now.”

  I laughed lightly and nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Come here,” Jacob said.

  I felt my stomach twist, a strange combination of bitterness and arousal streaking through me at his order. When I didn’t stand, he lifted an eyebrow at me.

  “You didn’t call or come by. You just disappeared,” I said.

  Jacob considered this. “I know. But it’s the season, and Adams is just breathing down my fucking neck.”

  “That’s not a very good excuse,” I said.

  Jacob looked like he wanted to argue— like he intended to argue, but then he relented. “Alright, yeah.”

  “Ok,” I said. There was a part of me that wanted to push him, wanted to go into more detail about how he’d hurt me, wanted to make him apologize outright— but right now, Jacob Everett looked a little broken. Breaking him more wasn’t something I wanted to do. I wanted to help. As often as I’d found Jacob’s arrogance annoying, I wanted to see him stand tall, to remember that he wasn’t just some injured football player. He was the Harton hero.

  I stood up and walked to his end of the couch, then stood in front of him. He looked up at me, and when I stood still, I saw his eyes wander down my body. The act visibly relaxed the muscles in his shoulders, and I smiled, then reached down to pull my shirt over my head.