Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance

by Lily Cahill

“I do say so. And so would Reggie.”

  But would he? He’s the one who asked me out on that date a few days ago. He’s the one who looked so heartbreakingly disappointed when I said no.

  Chloe smirks. “He’ll be here any minute. Why don’t I just ask him?”

  “No!”

  Just then, Reggie knocks at the door. I stuff my feet back in the shoes and dash to answer, not wanting Chloe to get any time with him. I guess I’m stuck with this stupid fancy dress and stupid trying-too-hard shoes.

  I yank open the door. Reggie’s normal smile widens as he looks down my body. Nervously, I wrap my arms around my middle, but Reggie threads his finger into my palm and pulls my hand away from my body, intertwining his fingers into mine. I forget all about what Chloe and I were arguing about and smile like an idiot, staring into Reggie’s golden eyes that are lit up just for me.

  “Hey, Reggie, can you settle a dispute Megan and I were having?” Chloe calls from her perch on the couch.

  I put my hand flat on Reggie’s chest. It’s rock hard under my hand as I push him out the door. He manages to yell a quick bye to Chloe before I slam the door behind us.

  “Whoa, whoa. I’m still injured,” he says as I tug him away from the door.

  I whirl back, my gaze scanning over him. “Where does it hurt?”

  “Come here and I’ll show you,” he growls, pulling me in for a lingering kiss. It feels so good, I all but melt into his arms. Which doesn’t mean anything, I remind myself. It’s just because I enjoy him physically so much. It has nothing to do with what Chloe said.

  I pull away and start pushing him down the hall. Despite his protestations, Reggie is down to just using one crutch, and he maneuvers around like he’s had it his whole life. His natural athleticism makes his injury look like nothing.

  “What’s with the stiff-arm?” he asks, grabbing my hand for the second time tonight. His touch sends a shiver through my body. That calloused hand has roamed every part of me, and the feel of it ignites my nerves with the memory of it. Then he threads his fingers with mine, and I feel something deeper, stronger—like we’re stronger knitted together than we are apart.

  I swallow down my rising panic. Compartmentalize, I remind myself.

  “Nothing,” I finally choke out. “I’m just hungry.”

  Reggie gives me a long look, then shrugs. “Was Chloe going to ask how big my dick is or something? I could have told her that you weren’t lying, that it’s impossibly large and deserves a spot in the hall of fame.”

  I laugh a little at this, relieved as Reggie puts any ideas of long-term romance out of my mind. He’s just a goofball. He doesn’t take anything seriously, least of all me.

  “That’s exactly what I told her. But for some reason, she just wouldn’t believe me.”

  Salt is located on the Diamond Street pedestrian mall, a funky string of local restaurants, bookstores, and boutiques. As we walk hand-in-hand down the street, people point him out and whisper. I hear snippets, things like, “He must be on the football team,” or “Isn’t that Reggie Davis?”

  One particularly bold kid, no taller than Reggie’s knee and wearing a Mustangs jersey, comes up to him and asks if he can have a picture. The kid’s parents are right behind him.

  “We’re so sorry to interrupt your date,” the wife says.

  “It’s not a date,” I blurt out, and Reggie looks at me sideways. In this low light, I can’t quite interpret the shine in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that I hurt him.

  “It’s no problem,” Reggie says, handing me his crutch and balancing on his good ankle.

  The dad has his phone out and is ready to take the picture. Instead of leaning in with a polite smile, Reggie swoops the kid up. He squeals in terror and joy as Reggie tucks him into the crook of his arm like a football. His arm bulges as he holds the kid, and the fabric of his button down shirt stretches, threatening to burst at the seams. Holding his other arm out straight, he strikes a football pose, and the kid smiles so wide it takes up his whole face.

  Dad snaps the photo and Reggie lets the kid down, who runs back to his mom.

  “Did you see that?” the kid squeaks, his voice high with excitement. I can already tell that this is a story he’s going to be telling anyone who will listen at school tomorrow.

  “Tell Mr. Davis thank you,” the mother says, smiling at Reggie like he’s Santa Claus.

  “Thank you,” says the small boy, suddenly shy.

  I’m still watching the scene when I feel Reggie’s crutch pull away. His fingers thread back into mine, pulling me gently back down the street.

  “So this isn’t a date?” he asks when we’re out of earshot of the family.

  “We’re just friends, celebrating a good test score. Right?”

  Reggie’s mouth turns down, and he nods. “Okay. Just friends?”

  I blush and look down at my shoes. My shoes that are sending the wrong damn impression.

  “With benefits,” I murmur.

  “I eat so well when I’m with you,” I say, savoring the roasted chicken that is literally melting in my mouth.

  “I was going to say the same thing.” Reggie takes a big bite of steak and smiles a toothy grin at me.

  I point my fork at him, another piece of chicken speared at the end of it. “I wouldn’t count on that. I’ve never cooked for you. If I had stayed home tonight I would have probably eaten toast with avocado smeared on top. That’s as culinary as it’s gets in my kitchen. Two ingredients and one appliance—a toaster.”

  Reggie grins. “You made me microwave popcorn. That’s two appliances.”

  “That’s true. But it doesn’t make me any better at cooking. I tried to recreate that egg sandwich you made me, but it didn’t even come close.”

  “Actually, I have a confession to make.” Reggie pauses to take a sip of his drink—some fancy local beer that glistens an amber color that matches his eyes. “I can’t really cook either.”

  I look at him sideways.

  “That night I made you dinner? I used all of Ben’s groceries. It was shit from all over town that probably cost him a fortune. He was so pissed, he didn’t talk to me for like an entire day. I think it might have made him angrier than when I wrote his phone number on his fancy British underwear and handed them out around campus.”

  “That was you?” I ask, aghast. That little stunt at the beginning of the school year had made it into the school newspaper.

  “It was for his own good. The guy needs to chill out, and I was just trying to help out. I thought getting him laid would be helpful, but if anything he’s just clenched up even more.”

  “How are things going with Ben? Are he and West jiving any better?”

  Reggie shrugs, but the corner of his mouth is curling up in a shy smile. “Ben’s still a selfish dick, but he can’t catch balls that West doesn’t throw to him.”

  “So what’s that smile about? Do you know something about Arizona?” The rivalry game is only a few days away, and with the progress Reggie’s making it’s completely possible that he’ll play. I lean closer to him, wanting gossip.

  “No, actually. It’s about us. I’ve been working with West. My ankle is still too weak to be much use on the field. I know it’s getting better. I feel like I can play, but Prescott’s being cautious about it and is still keeping me off the field. So I’ve been running tape with West, and I think he’s making some real improvements.”

  “Don’t they have, like, a bajillion coaches for that?” I ask, smiling because Reggie is smiling, and it’s obvious this is making him happy.

  “Yeah. And they’ve been working with West, too, but I think Prescott just got desperate. I’m his Hail Mary.” His smile is small, but the joy is radiating across his face.

  “That’s amazing, Reg!”

  “Yeah, it’s been really cool figuring out ways to explain certain concepts. West is a smart guy, but it just wasn’t clicking until now.”

  I’ve never seen Reggie this exc
ited about anything other than playing football. He’s certainly more animated than when he talks about going back to live in the trailer park with his mom and brothers. So maybe I jump a little too quickly. “You should become a coach after college.”

  Reggie ducks his head. “Nah. I’m not smart enough for that.”

  I shake my head with frustration. “If it’s something you like, Reggie, this could be a real future.” I’m probably getting ahead of myself, but this just seems too good to be true. An answer to all of our problems. I mean, an answer to all of his problems—of what to do after college.

  “I don’t know about all that, but it’s been a fun way to pass the time while I’m laid up.”

  “Come on, Reggie, think about it. You’ve said you don’t know what you’re going to do when the year’s up, except for maybe take a job that you don’t really want. If you like coaching, it could be a real career. You won’t be stuck picking up whatever dead end job comes your way.”

  “I don’t have any experience,” he says, poking at his plate. “I’m just fooling around with West.”

  “But you said it’s working. And you do have experience. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’re the starting center for a top NCAA football program.”

  “We’re barely ranked.”

  “This year. But last year, the Mustangs were the best team in the nation.” Reggie starts to interrupt me, but I don’t let him. “We both know that if Jeremy Hudson and the rest of the guys hadn’t gotten themselves kicked off of the team, that we would have won the national title.”

  His rosemary potatoes scatter around the plate as he nudges them with his fork, not responding, because he knows I’m right.

  “Any team would be lucky to have you.” I reach across the table and take his hand in mine. It’s an intimate gesture, but fuck it, I want Reggie to acknowledge this potential future. He could coach from anywhere, my mind wanders, thinking the exact thing I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. What will happen if we end up more than friends?

  I have no interest in a broken heart. But I also have no interest in following him back to Texas, and he has no interest in going to grad school. So where does that leave us? As friends.

  He pulls his hand away.

  “Reg, this could be your way out.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Megan, so just let it go.”

  It’s so rare to hear him get serious. There’s no hint of the playful lilt that’s usually in his voice; my name doesn’t sound sweet. It sounds like an annoyance coming out of his mouth. He’s tired of my nagging and now I’ve pushed him too far, but how can he not see how big this could be?

  I huff out and blow my bangs up, suddenly not very hungry anymore. “So that’s it?”

  Reggie won’t look at me. “That’s it. It’s just good news for the team. I think we might actually play well this week. There’s no subtext here. No deeper meaning to study for. I’m injured. I helped out.”

  After Reggie polishes off his steak and potatoes, he eyes my half-eaten chicken. “Are you going to finish that?”

  “Help yourself.” I push the plate over to him, and he devours it.

  Save for that moment of seriousness, he hasn’t let our little tiff affect his good mood. Why should I? It’s not like we’re in a relationship. If Reggie wants to waste his life away at a Grease Monkey, why should I care?

  The waiter clears our plates and Reggie holds his glass up to me.

  “To Megan, the smartest, sexiest, therapy girl I know.”

  I hold my glass up to him. “To Reggie, a great study partner.”

  We clink glasses, and I down the rest of my wine, trying to make myself forget about Reggie’s wasted future.

  The air outside is cool and crisp, the snap of winter just starting to bite into the fall night. I rub my arms, trying to keep warm—my cardigan’s not quite enough against the chill.

  Reggie ducks onto a side street and pulls me into him. He wraps himself around me, and the warmth of his chest pours into mine. Our bodies are pressed together and a completely different kind of chill shivers up my spine. His hands are on my hips and his head ducks down to me. My eyes fall to his lips: soft and pouty, and slightly open. I tilt my head up so I can pepper his mouth with small, sweet kisses.

  “Megan,” he says, his voice low. “What if this was a date?” He must feel the shock jerk through me, because he backs off a fraction of an inch. But he doesn’t let go, his eyes gazing into mine. “What if this was how it could really be between us?”

  I shake my head, confused. We’ve already been through this.

  He leans back from me and pulls something from his inside jacket pocket. The light from a street lamp sparkles on the small metal band in his hand. It’s his Pac 12 Championship ring.

  “Be my girl,” he says, slipping the ring onto my middle finger. It’s massive and slides around, nowhere close to fitting. He tries again, this time putting the ring on my thumb.

  I feel its weight there, as heavy as the weight within me. Something in me longs to say yes, to open myself up to all these soft emotions. I remember Chloe’s crack earlier about Reggie wanting to give me his letter jacket, and this isn’t that much different. I can see what would happen if I said yes. I can see the way his smile would break on his face, the way he would pull me close and kiss me, the way all those feelings I’ve been struggling to compartmentalize will flood up and out and soak into every part of my life, drenching my days with happiness.

  But I can see past that, too.

  The best case scenario is we spend the year together, liking each other more with each passing day and getting too attached to break up. We’ll tell ourselves we can make it work when the year ends, and I’ll go to grad school and Reggie will do … whatever he ends up doing. Eventually, I’ll get annoyed with his lack of ambition, or he’ll get annoyed when I put school or work first. It’ll break my heart when it ends, and I can’t have that. My entire life, school has been my focus, and I’m not going to give up now, not when I’m so close to the finish line.

  There is no good ending for us. Unless we end it now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reggie

  MEGAN SLIPS THE RING OFF her finger and hands it back to me. My heart crumples inside my chest as she curls her hands around mine, making sure the ring stays in my hand.

  “I can’t,” she says. I’m waiting for more of an explanation than that, but she looks down at the ground instead, avoiding eye contact.

  “Why not? You know you like me.” I say it like a joke, hoping to get a smile out of her.

  “I do. Of course I do. It’s just ….” She presses her lips together, like she’s trying to keep the truth behind them.

  “Just what?” She doesn’t respond, and I feel panic start to set in. “We’ve been hanging out. Spending lots of time together. I thought we were having fun.”

  “We are. But we talked about this, Reggie. That’s all I’m looking for right now. Fun.”

  She’s still holding my hands closed over the ring, and I try to turn my hand so my fingers can interlace with hers. But she takes a step back, and that tiny step hits me as hard as I’ve ever been hit on the field.

  “It would still be fun,” I say, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice. “I just want to make it official. I want us to be a couple.”

  She shakes her head. “It wouldn’t work,” she says, wrapping her arms around her waist. I want to do that—I want to be holding her, keeping her warm. But her words stop me. “We’re very different people, Reggie. We knew that going into this. We want different things.”

  “I want you. And you want me.”

  Her face folds in on itself. “I do. But we agreed that this was just casual, friends with benefits, right? I can’t—I have plans, and right now, I just don’t have room in my life for a relationship.”

  “I’m not asking you to change anything,” I say, frustrated now. I’ve never put myself on the line like this for a girl, and Megan is
acting like it’s the worst thing I could possibly have done. It hurts more than my ankle ever could. “I love that you have big dreams. I’m not trying to get in your way, Megan. I just want to stand beside you.”

  She looks up at me, and for a moment her eyes are so hopeful I think I may have gotten through to her. Then she presses her lips together and looks away. “My answer is no.”

  The shock and pain of it blows through me like a hurricane. And the worst part is that I still don’t understand why. In the absence of an explanation, my insecurities rise. She’s way smarter than me, I know that. I’ve only ever been good at football, and that’s about to end. I think back to how excited she was at dinner, encouraging me to pursue coaching, but I know the truth—I’m not cut out for that. I’m a fun guy at parties, and I’m good at chasing a ball, but neither of those things is ever going to be enough for her. And I’m an idiot for fooling myself into believing different.

  “I’m sorry,” she tells the ground. She bites her lip as she looks up at me.

  The past ten days should have been the worst of my life. I got injured, and the only thing I care about was gone in an instant. I thought my life would be over. But this injury brought Megan into my life, and that’s been better than I could have imagined. Laughing with her, studying with her, cuddling with her—I never cared about any of that before, but now it’s all I want.

  I thought she felt the same way … but as I’ve established, I’m an idiot. I don’t deserve her, and she knows it.

  The look on my face must be pretty bad, because she’s fidgeting and looks like she might cry.

  “Friends?” she asks. It’s barely a squeak coming out of her mouth.

  I swallow hard and tuck the ring back in my coat. “Friends,” I say, though it hurts my throat to say it aloud. It hurts my heart to think of spending time with her, knowing that I can’t give her what she needs. I’ve never cared much about my future, but now it seems bleaker than I’ve ever imagined it.

  We walk back to her car in silence. She’s right there, right beside me, but in my heart I know she’s already gone.