Collins the Shots: A College Sports Romance

by McKinley May

"Because—"

  Her tongue pokes out, slowly dragging just under my jawline, and what was I saying again?

  She sucks on my neck for a minute or two more, my dick getting harder by the second. My brain's foggy, my heart's racing, and I'm more than ready to flip her to my front, cage her against the cinderblock wall, fuck her senseless...

  Uncontrollable laughter interrupts my fantasy.

  "You have stubble," she slurs as she rubs her cheek to mine. "Blonde stubble. It's scratchy. I loveeee that."

  Oh right.

  She's blasted out of her mind.

  I clear my throat, shake my head a time or two to get my thoughts straight, then walk over to her bed. I turn so she's positioned directly above the mattress.

  "Off," I command. "C'mon. Get down."

  When she doesn't move, I reach behind me and tickle her ribs until she's squealing and laughing so much she can barely catch her breath. It doesn't take long until she lets go and lands softly on the bedspread.

  "The room's spinning." She stretches her arms above her head and yawns. "I'm tired."

  Time for a little game I call Put the Drunk to Sleep.

  First things first: pajamas.

  I open the dresser on her side of the dorm. After shuffling through her clothes, I find a giant t-shirt and a pair of PJ shorts.

  "Change into these," I say as I toss them her way. "I'm gonna find you some water."

  I walk into the hallway and find the vending machine we passed earlier. It's got the usual assortment of chips and sodas, but also has a large section filled with water, sports drinks, and medications.

  After fishing out a few bills from my wallet, I buy a giant Fiji water, a purple Gatorade, and a tiny pack of Advil.

  Yeah—this thing is legit.

  Whoever pitched the "Hangover Helper" vending machine to college dormitories is a fucking genius.

  When I slip back into the room, I'm surprised Sydney's managed to get into her pajamas in her inebriated state. Sure, the shirt's inside out and backwards, but it's over her head, so I'm impressed.

  "Hope you like grape flavor," I say as I hold up the Gatorade.

  She gives me a sleepy thumbs up.

  I grab her polka dot trash can and situate it strategically beside her bed. As I place the sports drink and Advil on the night stand, I flash her a grin.

  "You're gonna be freakin' ecstatic to see these tomorrow morning. But for right now..." I pull her desk chair next to the mattress, sit down, and shake the water bottle. "We need to get you hydrated."

  I unscrew the cap and hold the H2O to her mouth. She downs half the liquid in one long sip.

  "I didn't want to." Sydney wipes her lips and sighs. "I really didn't."

  "Didn't want to what?"

  "Dance with him. That carrot." She groans. "I don't even like carrots. They're disgusting."

  She sounds so damn distraught, I can't help but bust out laughing.

  "It's okay, Sydney."

  "It's not okay." Her head flops back on the pillow, hands coming up to cover her eyes. "I wanted to dance with you."

  And suddenly I'm not laughing anymore.

  "I know you did, baby," I murmur. Leaning forward, I rub a hand gently down her arm. "I did, too. Watching you with him...I was jealous. Jealous as fuck."

  She spreads her fingers, peeking through at me. "You were?"

  "Hell yeah I was." I force a smile and softly squeeze her wrist. "The only hands that should be on you are mine. Because you are mine, Sydney."

  She lets both hands fall to the mattress and sadness flashes across her face.

  "It doesn't feel like it. I hate this. Hate hiding our—" A yawn breaks her sentence. "Our...whatever this is."

  So do I.

  She blinks a few times, fighting hard to keep her eyes open, but her heavy eyelids win the battle.

  "Lay down," I say. "Get some rest."

  I help her get settled on her side, knees tucked into her middle and fists curled under her chin. After pulling the duvet cover over her body, I turn off the light.

  Darkness drowns the room, the only light source the silver moonlight pouring through the blinds and striping the floors. Muffled sounds from students out and about float up to the dorm every so often, mixing with the steady click of the ceiling fan.

  I run a hand through Sydney's thick hair and down her back, slow and soothing motions that relax her. She's so quiet, so still, I'm surprised to hear her voice a few minutes later.

  "Cameron?"

  My name sounds sweet as fucking sugar on her lips.

  "Sydney."

  Her eyes slowly flutter open, revealing those gorgeous indigo irises that render me speechless.

  "Thanks for taking care of me," she whispers.

  "I wouldn't wanna be doing anything else."

  My words are soft. Sincere. With a small smile, she reaches a hand out and interlocks her fingers with mine.

  "Stay until I fall asleep?"

  "I'm not going anywhere," I promise her.

  I've barely finished my sentence before she's out like a light.

  I brush a few errant strands of dark hair from her forehead, fingertips dragging across her flushed skin. She breathes slow and steady, looking like a goddamn angel, and my chest swells.

  It's in this moment that I realize I can't fucking do this anymore.

  This 'behind closed doors' bullshit.

  I can't pretend this is something casual or fleeting. Can't deny my true feelings, the ones that have been growing astronomically over the past few months.

  There's no doubt in my mind that I'm falling in love with this girl.

  And I want the whole damn world to know.

  24

  It's early Saturday morning and freaking cold, my fingers and toes numb from the frigid air. I bounce up and down a bit, trying to get warm and keep my muscles loose.

  Did I remember to pack my Under Armour?

  As my teammates and I huddle together in the parking lot, waiting to load onto the bus for our away game, I dig around in my soccer bag for the long-sleeved shirt to wear underneath my jersey.

  Takes a minute or two of shuffling through all my crap, but I finally retrieve the white thermal and heave a sigh of relief.

  No frostbite today!

  Our team manager, Penny, claps her hands together, the sound muffled by her thick gloves.

  "Time to leave, ladies. Line up!"

  She stands by the bus door, checking off names on her clipboard as the girls climb onto the vehicle one by one.

  When I get to the front of the line, I give her a cheery smile. "Hey, Pen."

  "Morning, Syd. Go right ahe—oh." Her face falls as she reads something on her clipboard. When I place a foot on the first step, she holds out an arm to block me. "Um, actually you're not coming with us today."

  "Good one." I laugh off the obvious wisecrack. "Now let me on this bus before I freeze my ass off!"

  I playfully push on her outstretched arm, but she stands firm.

  "Sydney..." Her mouth twists into an uneasy grimace and she slowly shakes her head. "I'm serious."

  The blood drains from my face.

  "What are you talking about? Why?"

  Penny looks beyond uncomfortable, but before she can explain, a hand clamps down on my shoulder. I turn around, Coach Addy's severe expression greeting me.

  "It's not a joke, Steel. You're not playing today."

  Wtf is going on?!

  She leads me away from the line, my teammates sending curious glances our way.

  "I don't get it, Coach. Is this about my ankle?"

  During Thursday night's practice, I tweaked my right ankle a smidge. It wasn't a sprain or anything like that, but I spent the rest of practice icing it just to be on the safe side.

  "It's barely sore," I insist. "It's really not an issue at all. I can get it wrapped by one of the athletic trainers and I'll be good to go!"

  "This has nothing to do with your injury." Disappointment creases her brow. "Yo
u failed your drug test this week, Sydney."

  "I what?"

  If I wasn't completely confused before, I sure as hell am now.

  "We got the lab results back last night," she confirms. "You failed."

  "No, there's no...I don't do...that's literally impossible." My frazzled words reflect the state of shock I'm in. "It's got to be a faulty test, Coach. There's no other explanation."

  "That was my first thought as well, which is why we had you come in and take another one Friday morning. Same exact results."

  I didn't even think twice about having to provide another urine sample this week. I figured it was a problem on their end, not mine. In high school, student athletes had to pee in a cup every month. I had to re-do a test more than a few times due to the testing facility messing things up.

  Never in a million years did I think I'd legitimately fail a test, because guess what?

  I don't do drugs!

  Never have and never will.

  I repeat this exact statement to Coach, but she just shakes her head.

  "It's your word against the test, and unfortunately the results don't lie. It wasn't just one substance, either. You tested positive for multiple things."

  "That makes zero sense," I mumble before blowing out a frustrated breath. "So I seriously can't play today?"

  "You can't play today, and you can't play next weekend, either," she reveals. "In fact, you're suspended for the remainder of the season—playoffs included."

  "The rest of the season?" My jaw goes completely slack at the news. "Are you kidding me?!"

  "University rules, Steel. This isn't up to me."

  "But I—"

  "Coach Addy?" Penny's voice interrupts my dissent. "We're ready to head out."

  "I'm sorry, Sydney." Coach frowns. "And, as much as it pains me to say, I'm going to have to reconsider your scholarship. You're a fantastic player, but I can't take a risk on someone who may not be able to participate in the games. Rule violations don't sit well with me."

  And with that additional bombshell, she gives me a solemn pat on the back and walks off.

  I stand there, motionless and shell-shocked, until the bus engine roars to life. I glance up, watching as my team heads off to the match without me.

  The wheels slowly start to roll and I spot Mariana near the back of the bus, her hands and face squished against the dirty glass. 'What's going on?' she mouths, but all I can muster up is a defeated shrug.

  I'm at a total loss for words right now.

  My soccer bag hits the pavement with a thump, my body collapsing onto it a moment later. I stare at the rusty yellow vehicle as it pulls out of the parking lot, leaving me behind in a puff of exhaust.

  A disheartened groan leaves my lips, my face falling into my hands as I try to process what just went down.

  Goodbye soccer.

  Goodbye scholarship.

  Goodbye to this university.

  Everything I've been working so hard for...poof. Gone.

  Just like that.

  A harsh wind whips through the parking lot, the bitter gust of air taking my future at Windhaven along with it.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  25

  I've been on a serious running kick the past week.

  Jogging up and down the streets of Windhaven for hours on end, blasting '90s country in my headphones, come rain or shine. My heels are blistered, my legs are sore, but I can't stop.

  No, I don't particularly enjoy the activity.

  And no, I'm not training for one of those gimmicky 5K's, the kind where they attack you with colored powder the entire 3.1 miles for "fun". That rainbow shit goes up your nose and doesn't wash out of your hair for weeks.

  Been there, done that.

  Never again.

  So why exactly am I following the routines of a collegiate cross-country runner?

  Because of the constant restlessness I've been experiencing since Halloween. Torturing myself with long-distance mileage seems to be the only antidote to the antsy feeling.

  All I can think about is Sydney. Morning, day, night...she's on my brain 24/7, our midnight conversation playing through my mind on repeat.

  "Because you are mine, Sydney."

  "It doesn't feel like it."

  Damn.

  It cut deep when she whispered that to me five nights ago. Still hurts when I hear her voice in my head saying it now.

  Another thought that continues to haunt my sleep—the one telling me I'm a fucking idiot for not asking her to be my girlfriend from the start.

  Yeah, the whole thing with Vaughn makes it complicated.

  And then there's the fact that I'm about to graduate and she's still got three and a half years to go, but those are moot points.

  I don't give a flying fuck what obstacles present themselves. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make this work.

  I've been itching to tell her all of the above for the past week, but timing has been shit and we haven't had a chance to see one another. Waxing poetic to her over the phone is too impersonal, and hell no am I gonna send her a 'will u b my gf' text like we're socially awkward 5th graders.

  I wanna do it in person, and I've been waiting, somewhat impatiently, for the perfect moment to lay it all out on the line.

  Apparently, that moment is right now.

  It's Saturday afternoon and the wind is killer, so I decided to run 5 miles instead of the usual 8+. My watch vibrated just a second ago, alerting me the run was over, and I happen to be directly across the street from Sydney's dormitory.

  Crazy coincidence or divine intervention?

  I'm gonna go with the latter.

  I shove my earbuds in my pocket and head towards the freshman dorm. I've got tunnel vision as I jog straight past a "Ban Banana Bread!" protest and blatantly ignore the R.A. in the lobby asking to see my student I.D.

  I'm not even sure if Sydney's here. She had a game this morning and I haven't heard from her since last night. There's a decent chance she's out with her team, chugging margaritas and feasting on chips and salsa at Mas Mantequilla.

  Doesn't matter. I'm still gonna check and see. If her roommate's around, I may just chill with her until Syd comes back. She can analyze my birth chart or read my palm or some shit while we wait.

  Endorphins are buzzing as I sprint up the stairwell, chest squeezing in anticipation.

  When I hit Floor 5, I push through the door and jog down the hall. I knock on the wooden door, a small dry erase board reading Crimson and Sydney's Room shaking with the impact.

  "Sydney." I lean close to the doorframe and call out her name, unbothered by the pair of freshmen giving me perplexed looks as they saunter by. "Baby Blue? We need to talk."

  The door slowly squeaks open, revealing a familiar head of dark hair, striking blue eyes, and sharp bone structure.

  But it's not the face I'm expecting to see.

  "No, dude," Vaughn spits out. "I think we need to have a little chat."

  Fuck.

  Wrong Steel.

  His eyes are narrowed, his jaw clenched so tight his back teeth could probably grind diamonds into dust. In all the years we've been buds, through every twist and turn and wild ride we've been through with this team, I've never seen him look so pissed.

  He knows.

  Double fuck.

  "What's up?" I ask, tone slightly cautious. "What are you doing here?"

  A sharp, unamused laugh flies past his lips.

  "What the hell are you doing here is a better question. Wait, no. Don't tell me." His nostrils flare. "You're here for a hook-up. With my freaking sister."

  "Vaughn," I begin, trying to reason with him. "It's not like that. Before you go all Hulk on me, hear me ou—"

  "Oh, I'm way past Hulk, Collins," he interrupts, his boiling blood evident in both voice and body language. "You have no fucking idea."

  "Let's talk about it, man," I say calmly. "Let me in."

  He tightens his grip on the doorframe.

>   "Nah. I don't think I will."

  I lower my shoulder, taking him by surprise as I shove my way inside. He grabs the collar of my shirt, jerking me backwards. I hear the harsh sound of fabric ripping, and that does it.

  Now I'm pissed.

  "Don't touch me."

  "You need to get the fuck out," he threatens.

  "And you need to chill the fuck out," I retort.

  We're standing chest-to-chest, air thick with aggression.

  We've never gotten violent before. Shit, we've only had one or two verbal arguments in all these years at Windhaven, but things are getting heated. I don't want to throw down with him, but if he thinks I'm just gonna sit back and take his bullshit, he's got another thing coming.

  His fists ball up, mine do the same, and just as things start to escalate further, a voice calls out to us.

  "Stop! Don't fight. Please don't fight."

  I follow the voice to Sydney. She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, wearing gray sweats and a baggy white t-shirt. Her face is red, eyes glassy and puffy, cheeks tear-stained.

  She's been crying—all day by the looks of it—and I get a strong inkling there's more going on than I realize.

  Anger at Vaughn gives way to concern for the girl I'm crazy about.

  "What's wrong?"

  She worries her bottom lip. "At the game...Coach told me..." Her voice cracks, face crumpling as she fails to get the words out.

  She's so upset she can't even speak, and it breaks my fucking heart to see.

  "Sydney." I take a step forward, eager to comfort her, but those sad, tear-filled eyes plead with me to stay put. "What's going on? Tell me."

  She gives her brother an expectant look and I follow her gaze. Vaughn expels a heavy breath.

  "She got kicked off the team."

  "She what?" My pupils bounce between the two of them as I stand there in shock. "When?"

  "This morning."

  "For what?"

  "Failing a drug test."

  "Two tests," Sydney amends in a small voice.

  My brow furrows, complete confusion taking over. I'm about to ask for more explanation when Vaughn huffs.

  "And this is exactly why I didn't want her getting involved with any of you guys. Nothing but trouble."