by M. J. Fields
“Saturday, Flower.” At that, he turns and walks to my door without looking back.
After I catch my breath, I force myself up and look at the wet spot on the bed. Shaking my head I pull off the comforter, toss it onto the ground, and bend down to reach under my bed for the storage container that holds the laundered blanket and duvet I had changed the last time he came.
I shake my head and decide that tonight is not the night to do laundry, not when I know I can sleep soundly since the first night I was here.
The Moore effect. I laugh to myself as I pull off the pale pink sheets and drop them on the floor, before I grab my clean blanket and head out to the couch.
Once settled, Christy walks out of her room, and Lisa immediately follows. They look at me and try not to laugh.
“Please don’t.”
They snicker.
“I’m gonna pretend this is not happening.” I roll to my side and hide my face.
The three of us wake up when Elle walks in the door.
“Are you okay?” we all ask as we jump up.
She smiles and laughs. “I am. Oh my God, you guys, you didn’t have to sleep out here and wait for me. I messaged, telling you I was fine.”
“First squad night, and you think we’d bail?” Lisa asks.
“You’re lucky Mitch didn’t let Jamie rush the doors at University Hospital.” Christy laughs.
“We were worried.” I walk over and hug her. Stepping back, I smile. “But Logan Links, huh?”
She shrugs. “He’s a friend.”
“That boy is head up his ass about you,” I correct her.
“Most boys are head up their asses about something until they aren’t.” She shrugs. “He’ll get over it.”
“Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head. “Already ate. I really want to shower, though. Hospitals are gross, and so is wearing the same clothes I puked in.”
“You puked?”
She laughs. “Down his back.”
Jamie
Waking up Saturday morning, I am a mix of emotions after seeing Mitch at the cafeteria twice on Friday and him not even looking in my direction. He may be amazing with his mouth—with endorsing reviews—but his actions are a complete contradiction.
“But this is it, Flower. No more until you stop mind fucking me.”
And then there’s the “other man,” in a much different way, of course, but Lucas Links will be ripe for the picking for three hours … if I don’t get all awkward around him, and that’s a big if.
Lord help me, I think to myself as I walk into the bathroom to get ready for the day.
By the time we leave for the game, all dolled up in Orange, I’m a nervous wreck. However, when I walk across the street and look up at the Dome, my heart warms. I feel like maybe, just maybe, it does so because this is where I began.
“Jamie!” Christy runs at me like she’s playing defense and knocks me down on the sidewalk.
“Oh my God,” I gasp when a bright orange bus flies past us.
“Are you okay?” Lisa asks as she and Elle run toward us.
I look at Christy, who looks almost like she’s in shock and hug her. “You saved my freaking life!”
After we stand up, Elle points at me. “Keep it together until we get inside, or I will kick your ass.”
When Christy and Lisa start laughing, Elle crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at me. “I will, you know.”
I nod as I look down at her. She’s a good four inches shorter and possibly thirty pounds lighter than me. “Oh, I have no doubt. You’re a badass.”
She and I both start laughing and she takes my hand.
“I’m not letting go until we get inside.”
An hour early for the game, all of them humor me by walking around the entire circumference of the Dome, taking in the whole scene, allowing me to feel the excitement, the electricity, the energy in the sea of orange.
Half an hour later, Elle asks, “You ready to head to our seats?”
“I want the full experience of Lucas Links’ seats.”
The girls all laugh. So do I. I hadn’t meant it in a sexual way, but it came out as such.
I look up and see the orange sign. “Section A.”
We hurry to the stairway and make our way down.
“Holy cow!” I grin. “We’re so close.”
“How many players are there?” Christy gasps.
“Over a hundred orange asses, all staring us in the face.” I sigh.
Elle laughs and Christy giggles.
“What’s your boy’s number?”
“I don’t have a boy.” I shrug.
“Okay, your gentleman caller?”
I scan the backs of the navy and orange jerseys until I see his name.
Moore.
Oh, hell no. I laugh to myself.
“Sixty-nine!” Lisa laughs hysterically.
“No way.” Christy cracks up. “So, is that indicative of the position he plays?”
When I toss her a look, the three of them lose it, laughing out loud and falling over themselves.
“We have the first two rows, ladies, so pick your spots.”
I turn and see a beautiful blonde. She must be Lucas Links’ wife.
“You must be Jamie,” she says to Elle.
“Nope, that’s Elle. I’m Jamie.” I hold out my hand. “You must be Teresa.”
“Tessa,” she corrects.
I palm my face. “I am so sorry. I thought Logan said Teresa.”
She smiles. “That’s okay.”
As the other girls introduce themselves in a less embarrassing manner, I look around at the seats. And, by seats, I mean Moore’s ass.
When he looks over his shoulder and catches me, he smirks and slowly turns around.
“You know where you want to sit?” Tessa, not Teresa, asks.
Yep, but that would be totally inappropriate.
I blush at my own damn thoughts.
“I’m not sure.” I look around. “So many options.”
Tessa reaches in her big SU bag and pulls out a seat cushion. “We got you girls some fan gear, and I fully expect you to be as loud and proud as Lucas will be. In fact, I’d like it if you were louder.”
“You didn’t have to.” I try and fail to hide my excitement.
“Here’s this, too.” Tessa hands me a big orange foam finger.
When I hug it, Tessa laughs as she hands one to Elle.
“Thank you, Teresa.”
I elbow her and whisper, “Tessa. It’s Tessa.”
“I mean, Tessa.” She grins.
Tessa smiles. “It’s fine.”
When I look back at the field, Mitch waves. I smile and wave back.
“My boy,” I hear Lucas Links say and look behind me, belatedly realizing Mitch was waving at him.
Beside me, Christy gives me a sympathetic look, and I shrug.
Lucas hits Elle with his hip, and she falls backward. “Oh shit, my bad. You okay, Elle?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” She laughs.
“Hey.” He lifts his chin and blatantly ogles Tessa.
“Here we go,” she mumbles.
He takes her hand and kisses it. “I don’t know you, but I was down on the field and looked up, and I swear to God I thought I saw the most beautiful woman on the entire planet. I was right. My next thought …” He leans in and whispers the next part.
She smacks his chest. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“I was hoping bad.”
Once a player, always a player, I laugh to myself.
She shakes her head.
“Guess it doesn’t matter. That can be worked out. But I’m telling you, something happened to me down there, and I had to come and make you mine.”
She holds her finger up. “Already am.”
“Bet your ass you are.” He pulls her in for a hug. “Love you, baby.”
“You’re such a child, but I love you anyway.” She hugs him back and kisses his
cheek.
He steps back and leans against the railing, giving her a wink before looking at the four of us. “Tessa give you all the rules for this section yet?”
I nod. “Be loud and proud.”
He smiles. “The loudest and proudest.”
“Gotcha, Lucas Links. We can do that.” I look at Christy and Lisa. “Right?”
“Heck, yes!” Christy holds up her foam finger.
“Okay, bring it in for a huddle,” he says, beckoning us.
I am first in.
“Okay, team, we have one objective here today: to make you lifelong Orange fans. In order to do that, you need to know some history. I’m gonna pop off important information. Hold your questions for later.” He looks at me. “Jamie, you wanna add something, feel free.”
“Gotcha.” I give him a big, orange thumbs-up.
“The rest of you, make mental notes.”
They all nod.
“Let’s start with the program. Been around since 1898. That’s a long fucking time. We have sixteen Hall of Famers who bleed orange. First names gonna ring a bell, but I can assure you he’s not the rapper. Biggie ‘Smalls’ Munn, Frank O’Neil, Ben Schwartzwalder, Joe Alexander, Larry Csonka, Ernie Davis, Vic Hanson, Floyd Fucking Little, Jim Brown, Tim Green, Don McPherson, Tad Jones, Howard Jones, Lucas Links, Dick MacPherson, and Art Monk. All legends.”
“Some in their own minds,” Tessa interjects.
“Baby, you’ll pay for that shit.” Grinning he looks back at us. “We’ve won fifteen Bowls, lost nine, and tied one. Anyone know the tied game?”
None of us answer.
“1988 Sugar Bowl against Auburn Tigers. Fuckers wouldn’t play to win. Accepted a tie. Pissed the community off. 2000, ’Cuse fans sent Coach Pat Dye ugly ties in protest. Fucker signed them and auctioned them off, raising thirty K for Auburn’s general scholarship fund, basically pissing on our”—he holds up two fingers—“twice, 11-0 record, making it 11-01-01. Ain’t nobody like that shit. Especially not me.”
“Did you play in the game, Mr. Links?” Lisa asks.
“It’s Lucas, and I was supposed to. Instead—”
“He was signed by the Jets,” I tell her.
“Right, Jamie.” He winks at me. “Now, do you know why we have to fuck shit up today?”
“We’re playing Auburn?” Christy asks.
The look on his face is priceless.
Tessa, his wife, whispers a warning growl, “Lucas.”
He breaks the huddle, lets out a deep breath, turns, grips the railing, bends down, and bangs his head on it. Then he turns around and reaches out for her hand. She takes it.
“Gotta be smart to get into this school, right?”
Christy nods.
“Can you tell me what the scoreboard says?”
She looks around for it.
Lucas bites his fist and sputters before he takes a deep breath and points toward it.
“Oh.” Christy giggles with embarrassment. “Pittsburgh?”
“Yeah, Pittsburgh.” He turns and looks at Tessa.
“Don’t,” she warns again.
He looks back at Christy. “You need to attend every home game we play. You have three more seasons after this. Hopefully, you’ll graduate and love it here enough to come back, be part of ’Cuse nation for life.”
She nods, smiling.
He sighs. “That’s a good girl.” He pats her on the head.
We all laugh, including Christy, who is also blushing.
“Okay, a brief history about the Dome.” He looks at Christy and explains, “The big white marshmallow in the sky.”
She nods, giggling.
He talks to us animatedly and excitedly about all things ’Cuse. His love for the game makes me love it even more.
Elle steps away. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
“Um, okay. Do you want us?” I ask to be polite but really don’t want to leave.
“No, you stay.” Tessa stands up. “I’ll go with her.”
“Fifteen minutes to kick-off, baby. Hurry back.” Lucas stands up and gives her a kiss.
When they’re gone, he sits down and looks directly at me. “Okay, any questions?”
“So many questions,” I admit.
He grins. “Let’s have ’em.”
“When you played, who was your best friend?”
“That blonde with the nice rack, legs for miles, and a heart of gold,” he answers, serious as a heart attack.
Lisa giggles. “I think she was asking: who was your Mitch?”
“Only one guy could deal with my attitude and ego back then.”
I swallow hard and wait.
“José, my running back, who no matter how many times I fucked up off the field, steered me in the right direction.”
“Are you still friends?” Christy asks.
“Of course we are,” he answers.
“Do you wish you’d stayed and played college ball?” Lisa asks.
He looks around, nodding, “Yeah. But I wouldn’t go back in time if given the opportunity. Could change every part of who I am today, including being the father to my kids.”
He looks at us all, each individually. “Advice?”
I nod eagerly.
“Don’t look back, because there isn’t a damn thing you can do to change the past. Look beside you and make damn sure those next to you give a damn. If they don’t, walk away with your head held high, because those that matter will always be there … always.”
I feel like he’s speaking directly to me, like he senses I’m on a quest for information. But I can’t help myself. I want to know the answer to the age-old question: “Who’s your daddy?” Yet, I have a daddy, a good one. The best, actually.
I already know from “research” that Tessa isn’t Logan’s mom. His mother, Ashley, is remarried, just like Lucas, and now I know that his best friend was once Tessa, not Teresa.
When Logan walks out to center field and shakes hands with the Pitts’ captain, my knee starts bouncing.
Lucas Links looks at me and laughs. “Girl, I think it’s more nerve-wracking up here than it ever was on the field.”
“No way?” I gasp.
He nods. “Way.”
Tessa and Elle slide in beside.
“Made it just in time.” Lucas kisses Tessa’s cheek.
The coin is tossed, and Pitt wins.
“Okay.” Lucas nods as he stands and claps. “It’s okay.” He cups his hands around his mouth. “Let’s go, Orange!”
Logan looks from the field at Lucas and lifts his chin. Lucas hits his fist to his chest, and Logan does it in return. Then he runs across the field to his position.
I look at Mitch, who’s looking up, his hand to his chest.
Is he praying?
I close my eyes and send one up for him regardless.
As soon as the ball is snapped, Mitch runs, pushing, shoving, and bringing down the guy defending the quarterback while Logan tackles the QB.
Lucas jumps up and throws a fist in the air, yelling, “Fuck, yes!”
Logan stands up, looks to Lucas, and they do the chest hit thing again.
“Next time, strip the ball!” I yell to him, and Lucas looks at me. “Oh, I mean, fuck, yes!”
Lucas laughs, holds up a fist, and I bump it.
Tessa snorts. “Oh, Lord.”
Elle laughs. “You told her to be louder. She’s not one to disappoint.”
“This is gonna be one heck of a game.” Tessa sits back and takes a drink. “Probably should have gotten a beer.”
The game is intense, so incredibly intense that I’m sure I’ve had heart palpitations.
“My boy’s gonna break his record today.” Lucas smiles. “Better than I ever was, baby.” He hugs Tessa.
She grins at him. “You were the best, Lucas.”
“I could’ve been better.” He takes her face and presses his forehead against hers. “Had every fucking reason to be.”
She closes her eyes. �
�And we have five reasons why it had to be the way it was.”
“Plus four more.” He smiles, kissing her nose.
She nods. “Yeah.”
I suddenly wonder if she knew José, his other best friend.
Two big guys in opposing team hoodies plop down in front of us. They are in seats that belong to Lucas Links. Maybe he sold them on Stub Hub. But, by the look on Tessa’s face, I’m guessing not.
“Lucas.” Tessa looks up at him.
“I’ll be nice, baby.” He kisses her again.
“Those two should get a fucking room,” one says rather loudly to the other.
“Just ignore them,” Tessa tells Lucas.
“Yeah.” He forces a laugh. “That’s just what I’ll do.”
When he leans forward, she sits back. “And … here we go.”
“You two clowns need to keep your comments to yourselves.”
“Fuck that. We were raised to speak our minds,” one says from over his shoulder.
“You wanna sit in those seats, you keep your mouths shut and take off those fucking ridiculous colors.”
I watch Lucas and Tessa, really wishing instead of wanting to pee my pants that I have the courage to say something.
“You want the shirt off, how about you come and take it off me?” the other says.
“Lucas, don’t.” Tessa doesn’t whisper this time.
“You little punks keep running your mouths, and we can take this outside.”
“Little punks, huh? I got your little …” He stands and grabs his junk.
I drum up enough courage to speak up, “I got your back, Lucas.”
“Oh my God!” Tessa cries out.
“Do you know who this man is?” I ask them.
“He’s Lucas Links,” Christy starts. “And we got his back.”
One of them leans in and looks her dead in the eye. “Is that so?”
She scowls. “You bet your Pittsburgh-loving ass we do.”
He looks at Tessa. “You know this girl?”
Tessa laughs and nods. Now it’s clear that she knows them.
“Well, of course she does,” Christy says, not catching on.
Tessa begins to explain, “Christy, honey, it’s—”
“No, wait. I wanna know what five-foot-nothing of badass can do to a six-foot-two Pitt fan.” He laughs. “Whatcha got, little badass?”