by Hannah Gray
Maybe I will lose my virginity this year. But it will be with a guy who is intelligent and will actually call me the next day. Not one who’ll give me an STD. Gross.
three
Lane
Iprop myself up on a familiar barstool at The Atlantic. Football practice was brutal today, and I need a drink.
Wasting no time, I flag the bartender down and order a few shots for myself. The glare Trent, our team captain, shoots me doesn’t go unnoticed. I just choose to ignore it. He’ll get over it. He always does. He knows I didn’t just choose to be this way. He might not know the full extent of what happened years ago, creating this monster, but he knows enough of it to know I’m just trying to get by.
Even with Coach’s words streaming through my brain, the liquid slides down with ease, though I do feel the guilt along with it. But the slight burn that I’ve come to love overtakes the guilt. And what I love even more is that fuzzy feeling that fills my brain not long after.
I’m far from a lush. But for being a hot-shot football player, I indulge in booze and weed more than I probably should. But it doesn’t affect my game. I make damn sure of that. My parents have been through enough because of me. I need to make it to the NFL, so I can repay them for everything they’ve done for me.
“Lane, it’s a fucking weekday,” Trent’s deep voice growls as he takes a seat next to me. His expression remaining stone cold.
He’s angry because he worries. Not that I can blame him.
I shrug and give him a grin. The bartender sets a few more shots in front of me. I call that service; I didn’t even have to ask. I don’t miss her leaning forward, exposing her cleavage while she gives me a wink.
Sliding one of the shots in front of him, I nod to the glass. “Here, Cap, take the edge off.”
He moves in closer. “You’ve got to keep it together this season. No fuckups, all right?” I hear the concern in his voice. Along with the annoyance.
Trent wants a perfect season more than his next breath. Well, guess what. So do I.
I slap his shoulder. “I’m not fucking anything up. I swear it, brother. I promise, this season is ours. I feel it,” I tell him honestly. It is our year.
He eyes me over. Finally, his expression softens slightly. “You good?”
Trent cares more about football than anything in the world. His father rides him so hard on his game. Criticizing him, even when he plays the perfect game. The NFL is his meal ticket to freedom from that asshole.
But Trent cares equally about his friends and teammates. He might claim it’s all for that undefeated season, but at the end of the day, he wants to make sure I’m not going down a bad path.
Giving him an okay sign with my hand, I grin. “Never better, Cappy.”
He nods. “Okay. But what did Coach want to talk to you about earlier?”
Ah, yes, there it is. I knew he or Mason, my other roommate and teammate, were going to ask.
Coach had emailed me to come in before practice this morning. I had an idea what it was about. Turned out, I had been right.
“He wanted to tell me what a great asset I am to the team and how the team couldn’t go on without me, big fella.” I throw back with a wink.
Trent looks unimpressed. He doesn’t speak. Just continues watching me as he waits for the actual answer.
“All right, all right. He heard that maybe I like to … overindulge in the good stuff, if you will.” I shrug my shoulders, turning the shot glass around on the counter. “He just wanted to make sure I’m straight for the season.”
“And?” Trent answers.
“And I am,” I answer honestly. “I’m not smoking weed anymore; I’m done with that. And I don’t plan to drink so much that I black out anymore either.” Glancing at him, I hit him lightly in the side and wink. “I’m good, man, really. You just focus on being the second-best player on the team. Deal?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Second best? My ass.”
“You’re right.” I look at him seriously. “Third. I forgot about Mason.”
He lightly punches me in the arm. But then his face grows serious. “I can’t play my best season and worry about my best friends turning up in a ditch. All right?”
A flashback of my best friend, Tyler, lying next to his truck on the ground hits me. But I shake it off and pull myself back to reality. “I know, man. You won’t have to. I’m not going that hard anymore,” I assure him.
He gives me the smallest nod and then takes a swig off the beer the bartender dropped off.
I’ve worried him and Mason over the years. I’m sure it sounds like an excuse, but a part of me can’t help it. I carry this pain around like a backpack filled with bricks. The weight sometimes feels unbearable. I constantly struggle between wishing I could change the past while knowing I can’t do a goddamn thing about it.
Everyone around campus knows me as Lane Rivers, the bad boy who likes to party and sleep around. Beast on the field, never taking anything besides football seriously. They all think I don’t have a care in the world.
I moved here to get the hell away from my hometown. A full-ride scholarship was my saving grace. Without it, my parents could have never afforded to send me to a school like New England University.
We shoot the shit for a while until he gets up and heads home. I’m sure he’s disappointed to find his friend and his team’s running back well on his way to getting drunk yet again. I know he just worries. He and Mase both do. How can I blame them? I’ve been known to go on an occasional bender, not coming home for a few days. I’ve also had times where I lost my phone. Leaving no way for anyone to reach me. Shit, I’ve even lost my wallet and shoes before.
I never start a day off, planning to worry everyone. That’s the last thing I want to do. But sometimes, the parties get going, and drinks get offered, and then I find myself waking up at random places.
“Is this seat taken?” I hear a female voice behind me.
I turn my head to see a leggy blonde in a pair of very short denim shorts and a top that is cut so low that her cleavage greets me. And boy, is it a welcoming sight.
Her rack strains against the tight scrap of white fabric, which certainly cannot be considered a shirt. Making my jeans grow instantly tighter.
I wink and signal to the stool. “I was saving it for you, gorgeous.”
She giggles and plays with her hair, sliding onto the barstool.
The hair-twirling is something I’ll never understand. Why do girls think it’s sexy? It makes them come off as desperate. But I’m in the mood for easy, so she looks like a pretty good option right now.
She’s hot, no denying that. But in a Playboy Bunny sort of way. With her face full of makeup, I guarantee she does not look like that when she wakes up in the morning. Actually, I probably wouldn’t even recognize her the next morning once all that crap on her face was washed away. That’s the great thing about jersey chasers though—they don’t expect to stay the night. They are happy with just about anything I give them. Happy to be seen with one of NEU’s football players. Pathetic, if you ask me. But who am I to judge? I’m no better. After all, I take full advantage of what they offer.
After a few more rounds and endless flirting—on her part, not mine—she’s looking better and better with every passing moment. And I’m feeling perfectly numb. Which is always a good feeling.
Running my hand up her thigh, stopping just as my fingers meet the short scrap of denim, I lean closer. “You ready to get out of here?”
She licks her lips and bobs her head up and down. No doubt ready for whatever the fuck I ask her to do.
Perfect.
Jerking my chin toward the door, I stand, pulling her up with me. “All right then, let’s go.”
four
Lane
The first month of senior year has flown by in a blink. We’re on a roll so far, winning every game and showing no signs of stopping.
In the weight room, I set the bar down and instruct Grady, one o
f my teammates, to add more weight to it.
Seeming unsure, he looks at me. “You sure?”
I nod. “Today, junior. I’d like to get this workout done before the sun comes out tomorrow.” My muscles are screaming, but I welcome it.
I actually don’t mind workouts. They keep my body busy, which, in turn, keeps my mind busy. I push myself until I can no longer take it. Until my arms feel so fucking weak that when I leave the gym, I feel like I was hit by a Mack truck. It’s what I need to do. Alcohol, fucking, and football—the things that save me on a regular basis. And my friends. Can’t forget those fuckers. They give me a hard time often. But they do it because they care.
I hear Trent and Mason talking about these two girls, Anna and Cameran, they’ve been chasing. Well, Trent is chasing. I’m not sure what the fuck Mason’s doing. It’s way out of character for both of them though. Trent won’t even let chicks stay and cuddle after he fucks ’em. He can’t get them out of the house soon enough actually. And Mason isn’t much better. Even I sometimes allow certain chicks to stay the night. It depends on how fucked up I am.
I finish my last rep and push the bar up over my head and onto the rack. Getting up, I grab a towel and wipe my face.
Nodding to Mason, I give him a grin. “Where’s the party tonight, man?”
He finishes up on the treadmill, steps down, and shrugs. “No idea,” he answers.
Trent’s deep voice comes behind us. “We have a fucking game tomorrow.”
I turn to him. “Dude, it’s not until five in the afternoon.”
His eyes narrow to slits as he walks closer to me, picking his shirt up and wiping the sweat from his face. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s at ten at night. We need to lay low,” his voice growls.
Holding my hands up, I shake my head. “All right, all right. No parties tonight. I got it, Daddy. Geesh!”
He clenches his jaw and leans closer to me, so only I can hear him. “What happened to what you said at the bar the other night? About being better?” His face softens the slightest bit. “Now is not the time to fuck off and lose focus.” Nodding his head at the rest of the team working out, he sighs. “They all want this, Lane. They deserve it. So do you. Start acting like it, would you?”
We both stand there, frozen, for a few moments.
I gather myself back up. “All right, boss man, I’ll smarten up.” Patting his stomach, I chuckle. “You hangry or what, big boy? Tell you what. I’ll take you to lunch.”
He holds my gaze before finally turning and stalking away. He calls over his shoulder, “Fine, but I want pizza. And wings.”
I laugh and walk behind him. Mason is hot on our tail at the mention of pizza.
The last thing I want to do is let my team down. I know I need to do better. But sometimes, it’s so fucking hard.
five
Memphis
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” I grumble as Ava and I make our way up the stadium bleachers. Hot chocolate in one hand, popcorn in the other, and candy shoved into our jacket pockets. If it wasn’t for the concession stands, I would have left twenty minutes ago.
Finding our seats, we both plop down, grateful to be sitting.
We usually aren’t ones to go to football games. But with it being our senior year, Ava wants to show school spirit, be one with the campus, be a normal college kid. You know, typical stuff.
I wouldn’t call myself an outcast. Okay, maybe a little bit. I just don’t care to pretend I share interests with others to fit in. We are all different. That’s what makes the world so fascinating.
“Oh, shut it. It’ll be good for you to be out in the world,” she lectures me while flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “And besides, I came to a few games last year, and I honestly found football pretty badass to watch.”
At her words, my head snaps toward her. How did I not know she was sneaking out last year, attending football games?
She holds her hands up in defense. “Hey, don’t look at me like that.” She tilts her head. “You were living with your mama, so you weren’t around a lot of the time. But I’m telling you, when the guys run out on the field, it’s …” She waves her hands around and then points toward the field. “Never mind. You just wait. Any minute, they will be running out on that field, and you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about. The energy is … insane.”
Unconvinced, I roll my eyes. I can’t see how a bunch of grown-ass men running around on a field, fighting over a damn ball, will be moving in any way. But whatever. I’ll entertain her.
That isn’t to say I won’t enjoy watching their butts move in their uniforms though. That part will surely be a treat. I’m just not buying that this will be some life-changing experience. But I guess you never know.
I’m playing on my phone, looking through social media, when music begins to pulse through the stadium. As I glance around, everyone is up on their feet, including Ava. I push myself to stand, not knowing what’s going on.
Suddenly, giants in uniforms charge out of the tunnel and onto the field. They jump in the air, pumping their arms to get the crowd amped up. It works, too, because the energy that now fills the air is uncanny. Eminem’s voice flows through the stadium as “Not Afraid” blares through the speakers.
And for whatever reason, all I can do is stand there in complete awe, taking it all in. I watch, completely entranced by how graceful these men are out on that green grass.
Turning, I see Ava grinning at me. I have been caught, fangirling it out.
She elbows me in my side. Turning her attention back to the field, she slowly shakes her head. “What did I tell you? You can’t deny it—for meatheads, they put on one hell of a show.”
She has a point.
My eyes skim the names on the back of their jerseys. I see Kade, King, Connor, Candage, yet my eyes stop on one in particular that reads Rivers.
Lane Rivers moves with such confidence and grace. I find it insanely difficult to pull my eyes away from this mythical creature of a man.
I glance around, making sure I didn’t speak my thoughts out loud. Ava would never let me live that down if she knew the thoughts that ran through my brain when I saw Lane.
It’s been that way since freshman year. We shared one class together, and even though we never spoke and he never noticed me, I couldn’t help but … observe him. Not in a creepy, lock you inside my basement way. I just found him not only easy on the eyes, but also incredibly intriguing. He’d always smirk, slapping hands with the guys, tossing a wink to the girls, but during the actual lecture, when he thought all eyes were off him, he was so … distant. It looked like he’d left his own body and gone somewhere completely different. Even if, physically, he was there.
Watching him also infuriated me though. Countless times, I’d see him walk over to some starstruck girl, who looked at him like he was Channing freaking Tatum. He’d whisper something in her ear, and away they’d go. Likely back to his place, where he would use her before mindlessly moving on to the next girl shortly after.
That’s where it began. This weird infatuation/irritation I have for Mr. Lane Rivers himself. Even though I put off a facade that things like muscular, broody football players don’t get to me and that I’m untouchable, I’m just like the other girls who are enamored by them. I’m just good at keeping it a secret.
Taking a sip of my hot chocolate, I try to push aside the images of him with his shirt off.
What would he look like? I wonder. Cut like a damn diamond, I bet. Probably with that damn V shape in his abdomen, leading down to his … manly area, I’m sure.
He grins at his teammate and pulls his head to his own—amping him up, I’d say. He’s known around campus as someone to call for a good time, but that’s it. He’s never been known to have a girlfriend or even a date. He’s no one I need to be fantasizing about. So, the question is, why can’t I stop? Why do I wonder what it would be like to be with someone like him? There’s something inside of me that is desperate
to find out. To explore the uncharted territory and be totally irresponsible.
One thing is certain—after watching him play a game he was clearly born for, my curiosity has only heightened. It’s unexpected—for me to be interested in a bad boy. I am a good girl, I am in the Honor Society, and I am a virgin, for Christ’s sake! A guy like Lane doesn’t even know I exist. But somehow, I wish he did.
Lane
“Blue, twenty-two! Blue, twenty-two!” Trent yells out the play.
Shortly after, the ball is in his hands, and I’m gone before the other team can even think about catching me. Well, at least, that’s what I think. See, not to sound cocky, but I am one fast motherfucker.
Just when I think I’m in the clear, out of the corner of my eye, I see a defenseman—correction: a huge-ass defenseman—coming from the right. I prepare myself for the pain he’s likely to inflict on my body. But because I’m not a quitter, I keep running anyway, hoping to make it to where Trent needs me to be.
Before I take the hit, Mason takes him out. Turning my body slightly, I get ready. Trent steps back and launches the ball into the air. For a moment, as always, it’s like time stands still while the crowd waits to see if I’m going to do my job and complete this play. With just a few seconds left on the clock and us being down by one, we need this touchdown, and the game will be ours.
The ball lands perfectly in my hands. Tucking it under safely, I run the short distance into the end zone.
Holding my arms out, I drop the ball and point at Mason. “For you, brother! For you!”
Running up, he lifts me in the air. “Let’s fucking go! Let’s fucking go, baby!”
The rest of the team runs around us, smashing into each other.
“N-E-U, N-E-U, N-E-U,” we chant, becoming one.
We all live off this—the high that comes with a win like that. A win we had to work for the entire game, yet in the last few seconds, we showed up. When it counted most.