by CoraLee June
I was still puzzling over the egg when Oakley started waving. I looked over my shoulder to see who he was waving at. Oh great, Dale.
“Oh shit, now he’s coming over,” Oakley said, a little chunk of yolk escaping his mouth. Eew.
“If you didn’t want him coming over, why did you wave?” I asked with a smirk. Oakley looked mad to have our lunch date crashed, and I was thanking the sweet gods of mystery meat pizza that we had someone to distract from Oakley’s thoughtful lunch non-date.
“He saw me,” Oakley said, scrubbing his hand down his face. “I didn’t want to be rude... Our first date is ruined.”
“Good thing it’s not a date,” I replied with a wink, then turned to greet Dale.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “You look good, Ball. Get enough sleep after last night?” Dale pulled up a chair and sat down before grabbing a pita chip and loudly chomping on it.
If I was being honest, I didn’t sleep hardly at all, but I wasn’t going to answer truthfully. I evaded, instead. “I really hope this nickname doesn’t stick for the rest of the season, because I don’t like being called after something that shares a namesake with the two tiny marbles dangling between your thighs, Dale.”
It was sassier than I intended, but both guys started chuckling loudly. “Her name is totally Balls now,” Dale said loudly, slapping his knees. “I’m telling the group chat.”
Oakley laughed, and I cracked a smile good-naturedly. Nicknames were signs of endearment, right?
“So what are y’all up to?” Dale asked.
Oakley opened his mouth to answer, but he looked far too mischievous for my liking.
“We’re going over his schedule and press for the game this weekend,” I said confidently, making Oakley frown.
“I hope you penciled in the kegger we’re throwing after the game. You can’t bail on us again!” Dale said, slapping Oakley on the back.
“A keg party?” a soft voice said. I tilted my eyes up to see a brunette with long wavy hair and impossibly long eyelashes. She looked like a Kardashian. While I was busy wondering how anybody could have such perfect brows, Oakley was appreciating her other assets.
“Hey, Kels,” Oakley said with familiarity. “What do you think? Should we go to Dale’s party?” Two more blondes had joined us at the table before Oakley had even finished asking Kels out. They were both gorgeous and looked like they belonged on the cover of magazines, half-naked and selling perfume. They were also both standing on either side of Oakley. Blonde Number One had her hand casually resting on his shoulder. What. Was. Happening?!
Kelseigh—I was just assuming that’s what Kels was short for, while I was also being slightly petty and jealous—looked at Oakley through those damn beautiful lashes and purred, “Yes! I think we should go!”
In unison, the blondes pretended to pout. Knowing full well that they were invited, Blonde Number Two teased, “What about us? You know you would miss us.”
“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Dale said Matthew McConaughey style. “There’s plenty of Oakley, and me, to go around! You and all of your hot friends are invited. Spread the word! It’ll be at my house.”
I felt the jealousy raging through my veins and making my face hot. For someone who was adamantly declaring that she was not on a date less than five minutes ago, I was so uncomfortable I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
I should have expected this. Oakley was a player. Just because he wanted in my pants didn’t mean the rest of the world just magically stopped lusting after him. Not to mention, I had made it clear that we couldn’t be much of anything. Someone like Oakley didn’t play the long game, he was—as he so eloquently put it last night—always looking to score.
Oakley politely shrugged off one of the girls and scooted his seat over to me. “And what about you, Solver?” he purred in a low voice. The girls were leaning in close, trying to listen in to what he was saying. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Dale smirking. Smirk all you want, bro. I’m a stone cold fox.
“I guess I’ll have to go to keep your ass in line,” I whispered back. Why did I sound like a cat in heat? And how could he turn me to a puddle of mush so easily? I didn’t really do the whole party scene anymore. But this was part of my job. Was he inviting me for other reasons? Visions of us making out in a frat boy bathroom assaulted me. Not even nasty imaginary toilets filled with regurgitated Everclear could make the hope in my belly stop bubbling up. I’d kiss Oakley in a bathroom. I would kiss him in a spoon. I’d kiss Oakley Davis with green eggs and ham in the bottom of a lake, in a boat on a goat...
“I like how you keep my ass in line,” he whispered against my neck, drawing me out of my thoughts. I flushed. My pink canoe was ready for a ride on the river, if you know what I mean.
“I’m sure there are plenty of others ready to ride your ass,” I snarked. Yep. I sounded jealous. I might as well have lifted my leg and pissed on his patch of grass.
He smiled—the nerve of him. Smiling when I was here showing how pathetic I was. “I’d like you as close to my ass as possible for the duration of the evening, Solver.”
That was such an odd statement that I didn’t know which part to pick apart first. “Was that supposed to be sexy?” I asked.
Oakley burst out laughing. “I’m trying here, Amanda.”
“Maybe try a balls joke?” Dale interjected.
“I, like, totally love your ass,” Kelseigh piped in. “I’m an ass girl.” The other two groupies nodded. This was officially awkward. We had an audience, and we were talking about Oakley’s ass.
“I’ll go,” I said. “Not for your balls or ass,” I then quickly added. “I will go because I’m your publicist, and I’m hella good at what I do.”
I stared down Kelseigh and the blondes with a forced grin, then stood up quickly from the table and announced that I had somewhere to be. Really, I was fleeing before this could devolve into something worse than it already had.
“Aww, Amanda, don’t go,” Oakley pleaded. “You didn’t even eat yet.”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could stay. But I have a meeting that I, uh, really can’t miss. Thanks for lunch,” I said as I was gathering my things and getting ready to go. “Bye!” I called and ran out of there like my creepy Uncle Joe had just spotted me at the family reunion.
I was halfway back to the apartment when I realized that the kegger was after the game. This weekend. The same weekend my loving and adoring parents were coming to visit to see how much better I was doing here than in California. Fuck.
Now I had to figure out how to juggle my parents, the game, and keeping them from meeting Oakley. And to top it all off, a freaking kegger to consume my every waking thought instead of the way those girls were hanging all over Oakley. And how much Oakley was loving the attention. And how much I hated how much Oakley was loving it.
18
“This is so exciting!” Mom yelled. Their flight landed at seven this morning, and ever since they got off the plane and smothered me with hugs, she’d been saying that.
“You’re not really wearing that to the game, are you, Tilly?” my dad asked, scrunching his brow. Mom looked like an older version of me, with faker boobs and bigger hair. Her tan looked flawless under the Texas sun, and the crop top she wore showed off her incredible physique. She wasn’t necessarily dressing her age, but she was enjoying herself. That was all that mattered.
“It’s hotter than a meth pipe on payday, Crosby. I worked hard for these abs, and I want to take enough photos for the Facebook. Lacey McGuire can eat my farts. This will get her to stop trying to sell me diet pills. Don’t you ruin this for me.”
Dad chuckled. Unlike Mom, he wore a Proud University of Texas Dad shirt tucked into dark jeans with a brown belt and black tennis shoes. I was so happy to see them, and other than a few comments about my weight loss and the large brunch I had to endure, I was surprisingly happy having them here.
“I got us really good seats, but I’m going to have to disappear after the game to mak
e sure Oakley doesn’t go rogue during his interviews,” I said. The three of us were walking to the stadium. College students passed us by with beer cans in their fists and sloppy sways to their walks.
I had a very vague plan for keeping my parents busy tonight so I could keep an eye on Oakley. I had to find my old bangle flask in my closet and fill it with vodka—mom’s favorite. She wanted to relive the glory days, so I was going to get her very, very, very drunk.
“Are we going to get to meet the Oakley Davis? I sure do like his Instagram posts,” my mom said playfully as she gave me an overexaggerated wink. My dad chuckled and let out a dramatic sigh.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I straight up lied. “But Oakley is the star player, so after the game, he’s going to be very busy giving interviews,” I explained. It was better to let my mom think I was going to try than to tell her no. If I just told her no, she would never let it go. She’d already proven she couldn’t be trusted.
I had arranged to introduce my parents to Dr. Haynes earlier since his office was conveniently on the way to the stadium. We stayed and chatted long enough for Dr. Haynes to tell my parents how well I had been doing, but not long enough for my mom to embarrass the shit out of me. Just kidding. While Dad and Dr. Haynes talked about the industry, Mom looked my mentor up and down, biting her lip.
We had barely made it into the hallway when my mom turned and said a little too loudly, “Amanda! You didn’t tell me how cute he is, you’ve been holding out on me!” My mom had never really been aware of just how loud her voice was. I prayed to whoever was listening that Dr. Haynes hadn’t heard my mom. Or if he did, that he would never bring it up.
“Oh, look at the time, we’ve really got to hurry if we’re going to make it to the gift shop and get you guys all decked out before the kickoff!” I said while gesturing for my parents to walk faster.
“Look at you, Amanda! Using football lingo like it’s nothing!” my dad gushed. It was actually really cute seeing how proud of me they were.
We quickly went to the gift shop, where my parents bought tee shirts, hats, and foam fingers for the game and still made it to our fantastic seats on time. “Mom, do you want something to drink?” I asked innocently.
“You know, I could go for a cocktail. Do you think I could get a martini delivered to our seat?”
“I figured you’d want to have some fun,” I said. “Here.” I slid my bangle flask off my wrist and handed it to her. Security patted everyone down before entering the stadium, so it was nearly impossible to bring in outside alcohol. But this little buddy of mine looked like an inconspicuous, oversized bracelet. I used to bring it with me to quite a few places back in the day.
“Oh!” Mom exclaimed, twisting off the small top and knocking some of the burning liquid back. “How fun! It’s like 1994 all over again.”
My dad’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head, probably already mentally calculating how far my place was and if he’d need to order a car or carry her there.
The game started, and slowly Mom started to feel the buzz. I watched Oakley, this time with a bit more knowledge under my belt. He was so skilled. “SACK HIM!” Mom screamed. “Gosh, I love football,” she added when a player bent over to stretch in front of us.
Being right next to the field meant I got a front row seat to how seriously Oakley took the game. His steel eyes were trained on the field. And when he wasn’t watching the game...he was watching me.
“Is that Oakley?” Mom asked in a shout. “He’s handsome, honey. Y’all would make beautiful babies. Oh my God. Do you think I’ll be a hot grandmother? Like a GILF?”
I giggled, and Dad had to cover his mouth to keep the snort from escaping. “You’ll always be totally fuckable, Mom,” I assured her, deciding to graze over the conversation about Oakley and me making babies. Hell. No. I mean, I wouldn’t mind practicing though.
“I just love you so much. You’re doing really great out here. I’m glad you got away from it all. I just miss you all the time,” Mom said while wrapping her slender arm around me. Dad stared at the scoreboard. It wasn’t even half time and Mom was hella buzzed. I was beginning to wonder if my bangle flask held enough vodka to get us through the rest of the game, the way my mom was pounding it back.
“Crosby, look!” my mom said excitedly, pointing to a vendor carrying brightly colored frozen drinks in giant plastic cups shaped like footballs. “Look, look, looooook! They are just like the ones we had on our first date!” she said, booping my dad on the nose. Nobody could say that my parents weren’t madly in love.
My dad waved over the guy selling the drinks and forked over an ungodly twenty dollars each for my mom, himself, and me. He probably didn’t even realize what he’d done. I guess it was hard for them to understand that I couldn’t have just one sip. One taste. One drink. Both my parents could easily handle a glass of wine at dinner or a bender once a month. But not me. I thanked my dad, took the drink and immediately set it down by my feet. I didn’t even want to guess at how many calories were in it. I was also technically working, so I didn’t think getting buzzed was the best idea.
My mom started cheering wildly and yelled, “GO OAKLEY!!! WOOOOO!” and then broke down into a fit of giggles. I giggled along with her.
The players cleared the field, and the cheerleaders came bouncing onto the field, yelling and waving their pom poms. They got into formation and started their first routine. To my horror, my mom was doing it right along with them, yelling the words and swinging her hips like she owned the place. She was bumping into everybody on all sides, but she was having the time of her life. I thought it was pretty funny until the whole stadium started going wild, and I saw my drunk, cheering, dancing mother on the jumbotron.
Nope.
This was not happening.
“Look, Crosby! I’m on TV!!”
I gave my father a look of pure pleading. “Fix this,” I hissed in a low voice.
“Uh, babe. Sweet cake!” Dad yelled over the crowd, grabbing her arm. “You know what else happened on our first date?” Oh God. No. I needed to plug my ears, but my fingers weren’t fast enough as he propositioned her, “Why don’t I get us a hotel room so we can recreate it?”
“Oh, Crosby, you devil!!” Mom playfully patted him on the chest. “What about the game?”
I was trying not to vomit but managed to speak up. “I have to work the rest of the night anyway, Mom. We can catch up tomorrow.”
She giggled and pinched my father’s butt.
Yep. I saw that.
“Well, if you insist!” Both my parents gave me quick goodbyes and started fumbling up the stadium stairs and out the door.
I would have to scrub my mind with bleach after this. I loved that my parents were in love, but I hadn’t expected the bangle flask to work that well.
The rest of the game went by quickly. We won the game, scoring in the last thirty seconds. Everyone was going fucking wild. I loved the adrenaline of it, and even screamed. Maybe I liked sports after all.
It took me a while to get to the locker rooms. I struggled through the crowd of drunk, happy coeds, and by the time I made it there, I had booze in my hair and a sweat-soaked shirt. When I walked in, the players all started shouting, “Ball!” I didn’t even have to remind myself that it was a term of endearment. I was surprised by how happy it made me that they were all happy to see me.
Oakley ran up to me, practically giddy, and wrapped his thick arms around my waist. He easily lifted me and twirled me around. I briefly wondered if he could lift me over his head Dirty Dancing style, but he set me back down. I giggled at the look of pure happiness on Oakley’s face.
“Hey there, Stud. Word around town is that you just won a football game. How does that make you feel?” I joked and held my fist up to his face like a microphone. The entire locker room went nuts when I mentioned the win. I didn’t understand it before, but now it was easy to see why people celebrated for days.
Oakley leaned in close so that only I could h
ear him and asked in a low throaty voice, “So you think I’m a stud?” His hot breath on my neck sent an instant wave of heat up my entire body.
“Uh, no. I mean yes, on the field. You’re a stud on the field,” I said lamely. “Have you done your interviews yet? How about that party? We don’t want to leave Kelseigh hanging!”
“I like the way you think, Solver. Interviews went great. I answered a couple of questions, but since Hanley broke a school record, they’re more interested in him tonight.” I frowned. My PR brain was already working to think up ways to make the media interested in Oakley. “Let me grab a quick shower, and Coach wants to chat for a minute, then we can go!” he added.
I was already hot and bothered. Picturing Oakley and his vagina miner in the shower was not going to help. I needed a distraction. Most of the other guys were already in the showers, so I pulled out my phone to keep me occupied. I texted Dad to make sure they got to a hotel okay and then looked at my calendar for tomorrow. All I had was a late breakfast with my parents and then seeing them off to the airport. I opened YouTube and saw that there were a few new mantra videos in my favorite channels. Huh. I hadn’t watched one in days.
I had done such a good job of distracting myself that I didn’t even notice when Oakley walked over to me. He cleared his throat and bowed deeply, extending his hand to me. “M’lady, are you ready to go?” Weirdo.
I didn’t take his hand. I was too busy staring at him now. Oakley looked good. His hair was effortlessly styled. His shirt was way too tight. His jeans hugged his long legs. I felt tiny standing next to him. “I’m taking you to dinner first,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Huh?”
“I’m hungry,” Oakley explained with a smile. “I'm always starving after a game. And since our date that wasn’t really a date was interrupted by Dale, I figured we could grab a bite to eat.”