Exception (Cambria University Series Book 1)

by Sadie T. Williams

  “Jesus, are we gonna chit-chat or do this?” Watts says, and I can hear the annoyance in her voice. She gets testy when the guys continually say things like that to me. Sometimes I can’t tell if she’s sticking up for me or if she wished they gave her that much attention. She thrives on being the center of attention, whereas I hate it. I am pretty sure they know that, which is why they keep doing it to me. That, and because I never give in to their continuous offers of mind-blowing sex romps.

  Watts fills the funnel with a Bud Light for me. “One…two…tjree!” she shouts as she lifts the funnel higher and I put the tube in my mouth. The beer is ice cold and flows down my throat. Oh man, that tastes good. But I will stick to my one beer bong rule. I finish an entire beer and stand back up.

  “You sure know how to suck, Kelly,” Stoner says and smiles at me. “I wouldn’t last much longer than that bong with your lips around me either.” Blaire punches him in the arm.

  “Gross,” she murmurs.

  These boys are all about sexual innuendos. I raise my middle finger to him and grab my food from Blaire. The other girls at the tent aren’t eating and I plan to have a second round before the game. Most of them are wearing clothes similar to my roommates and mine. However, the jersey chasers are here in full force. They don’t just chase football jerseys, they throw themselves at baseball, basketball, and soccer players. Hell, if golf had jerseys some of them would chase those too. Black mini-skirts, gold tube tops with braless tits flopping in the breeze, teased hair and lots of glitter. I didn’t know you could get a little knight charm for your belly button ring. Awesome.

  Watts, Duncan and Blaire began taking turns on the beer bong. I have no idea how many they each take, but by the time I get back with my second cheeseburger they are wet, covered in spilled beer, and giggling at absolutely nothing. They may need a nap after all.

  After a few more drinks and some dancing, we head over to say hi to the basketball team. Their setup is similar to the baseball team’s tent. Their tent isn’t personalized, but they have a grill and a few coolers of beer. They have a long white table set up, but instead of more food it hosts a game of flip cup.

  Eric Tucker, Alvin Gardner, Derek Mackey, Danny Braxton, and Dre Lock are good dudes. They’re fun to be around, but they’re all so tall it hurts my neck to talk to them sometimes. I think Tucker is like six-foot-eleven or some crazy shit. I enjoy their sense of humor most of the time, and I can dish it right back at them.

  “Kelly, you gonna win a title this season?” Tuck asks me.

  “That’s plan. I’m done being second place.”

  Tuck wraps his arm around my shoulders, “You’d never come second with me, babe,” he says. Ew. Why? He’s decent looking, but there is no chance of that ever happening.

  “Jesus, Tuck, do better.” I laugh and he winks at me in the wake of my rejection, playing it off as a joke.

  “Well it would help if you didn’t have to carry your team,” Braxton chimes in.

  “You know that’s not true, Danny. Don’t be fucking stupid,” I chirp at him.

  “Fuck you, Braxton, we all contribute! Just cuz you can’t reach your dick with your t-rex arms, don’t take it out on us,” Duncan says defensively. It’s true. For being so tall, Braxton’s arms are remarkably short.

  “Well this was fun, boys. Let’s go ladies. It’s close to game time,” Blaire chimes in. She always tries to defuse awkward situations. Another reason she is my favorite human.

  “Kiss my ass, Braxton,” Watts says as she kisses her hand and then slaps it on her ass.

  “Any time, sweet cheeks,” he smiles wickedly at her. Watts has clearly found her target for the night, although I think she hooked up with him a few times already.

  Chapter 3: Brooks

  For some reason, the hours that pass between bio psych on Friday and the game today are excruciating long. Why can’t I get Kiernan out of my mind? I wasn’t even supposed to be on the second floor of the library that day, and now some random chick is invading my mind every second of the day.

  Here I am, 7 a.m., wide awake in my bed, and staring at my white ceiling. Maybe I should rub one out to relieve some stress. I haven’t fucked anyone since I met Kiernan. That has to be some kind of record.

  I don’t need to be to the field until 11. We start our warm up at one, but I need to hit the training room first, and we’ll eat brunch as a team. Usually, Bateman is pounding on my door to get my ass up because I’m late, but today I’m up before he is. I need to get my mind right. We have a big game today. Although William & Mary should be an easy W, if we don’t play our game we can still lose. Anyone can beat anyone on any given day. That’s the beauty of sports.

  I jump in my shower and jack off just for something to do to kill time. My bathroom is gray, like my room, with a dark wood vanity, a single sink and a mirror above it. The hot water and release help me relax a little. I dry off and rub the towel over my hair. I don’t need to do my hair, since it will be plastered under a helmet most of the day, and full of sweat.

  I put on my travel suit, which is what all players wear to brunch and the field on game day: a pair of black joggers with our knight logo on the left thigh, a gold dri-fit CU Football t-shirt, and a black quarter-zip with the same knight logo on the left chest and the word “football” underneath. I put on a pair of socks and my running shoes. There’s a knock on my door. Finally.

  “Mac, you ready?” Bateman shouts. It’s finally time to leave.

  “Be right there!”

  “Seriously?” Bateman opens my door in surprise. “We don’t need to leave for twenty more minutes. I thought you’d be asleep.”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” I reply coolly.

  Bateman walks further into my room and stares at me quizzically. “What’s going on, bro?”

  “Nothing. I just didn’t sleep well.”

  “You nervous?”

  I stare blankly at him. “You know I don’t get nervous. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

  Then a huge Grinch-like smile creeps over Bateman’s face and I don’t think I’m going to like where this conversation is heading.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” he asks.

  “Who?” I know who he’s talking about, but I’m trying not to let on that I can’t stop thinking about her.

  “Queen Elizabeth. Who the fuck do you think I’m talking about?” he asks sarcastically.

  “You better not say shit to Rhodes or Blake about this. They’ll never let me live it down that I got shot down. She literally did not bat an eye at my shameless flirting. There were girls in the room who were sticking to their seats listening to me talk to her, but she was not phased in the least.”

  “She didn’t shoot just you down, bro. You don’t think Rhodes and Blake have tried to get into her pants?” he replies.

  “Dude, it’s not like that. I mean it is, she’s hot, but she’s different.”

  “Exactly, no one gets in her pants, bro. She just isn’t like the rest of them. She’s super chill, funny, and smoking hot, but like I told you, it’s not just you. It’s everyone,” he says in hopes of making me feel better. He doesn’t, for the record. “She’s not going to fuck you for sure. B hasn’t officially confirmed it, but from what she’s told me about Kiernan, I assume she’s likely still holding her V-card pretty tight.” Still not helping.

  “How is that even possible?” I groan and shake my head. This puts a whole new level of difficulty into this situation.

  “No idea. It’s not like any chump on this campus wouldn’t die for the chance to punch it,” he says. “Several have tried and she just isn’t having it. Not even the BMOC.”

  “BMOC?”

  “Big man on campus. Come on, man,” he says.

  “I hate your stupid acronyms. Let’s just go.” I’m salty now. I don’t want to punch Bateman in the face before a game. For some reason, the way he’s talking about Kiernan losing her virginity, like it’s no big deal, doesn’t sit well with me. I sud
denly feel very protective of her.

  “Get your shit together, bro. It's game day and we need you.” He’s right. I don’t know what these feelings are, but I need to dismiss them – for now.

  All four of us climb into Blake’s truck. He has a pimped-out Chevrolet Silverado. Black with gold trim and jacked up on huge wheels with black rims, of course. He’s a spoiled ass, but I love the dude. We go old school Varsity Blues style on game days. It’s tradition. Blake and I sit up front, Bateman and Rhodes ride in the truck bed. Just like Billy Bob, Lance, Mox, and Tweeder. All we’re missing is Bacon the pig. Blake has his game day mix blaring, Drake busting through our eardrums. We pull through the stone arch and wrought-iron gates that lead into campus. There are people everywhere already. As they see us they start lining the street and cheering. The girls are screaming my name and the guys are chanting “GOLD-EN KNIGHTS! GOLD-EN KNIGHTS!” We’re the closest things to celebrities on this campus.

  Brunch is set up for us in Jester’s, the higher-end dining option on campus. It’s delicious as always – eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, and pancakes. We overindulge, but that’s okay because we’ll work it off over the next five hours.

  I walk down to our training room and it’s crawling with my teammates. Everyone needs some kind of treatment on game days. Luckily, our training room is state-of-the-art and gigantic. I hop up on one of the trainer’s tables and one of our newest trainers walks over. I believe she has been my trainer at every game so far.

  “Hey, Brooks,” she says softly and smiles. I glance around for Greg, our head trainer, but he’s working out a lineman with a bad knee. She will have to do again I guess.

  “Hey,” I reply casually. I don’t remember her name. She’s pretty – small, with soft brown hair and big brown eyes. She isn’t unattractive. Rhodes would fuck her. So would Blake. Hell, I probably would if I met her at a party and could get Kiernan out of my head.

  “Jessica,” she says as if she can read my mind. “What do you want from me today?” she asks as she bats her eyelashes and flashes me a coy smile. At this point, I don’t think she’s talking about tape and ice.

  “I need some work on my throwing shoulder, my left hammy, and I need my wrists and ankles taped.”

  She frowns for a second but gets to work. I am pretty sure she blushes when I take my shirt off so she can get at my shoulder.

  “That’s a sick tattoo,” she says as she works on my right arm. My left shoulder and upper arm have the McCarthy family crest tattooed on it. It’s a work in progress, but I love it. When she’s done working out my right shoulder I roll over on my stomach so she can massage my hamstring. It’s been tight this week and I don’t want to pull it. She begins to rub.

  “How does that feel?” she asks in almost a purr as she leans in by my ear. I can feel her hot breath on my neck.

  “Fine, thanks.” Last week that would have made my dick at least semi-hard. This week, nothing. Kiernan fucking broke me without even trying. She huffs a bit and returns to work on my leg.

  After Jessica finishes taping up my ankles and wrists, I walk from the training room to our locker room through a long, winding hallway that cuts underneath a road from the athletic complex to our stadium. The walls are brick and painted black. There are inspirational quotes painted in gold written along each wall. There are also several framed photos of current athletes. I’ve never really looked at them before, but sure as shit, around the corner I see her. One of the framed photos is of Kiernan. She’s wearing an all-white softball uniform with black lettering that says Cambria across her amazing chest. Those must be their away uniforms. She has on black socks and a black cold gear long-sleeve shirt under her jersey. Her right arm is cocked back in a throwing position and her tongue is sticking out between her teeth. Her black eyes, which match the stripes of eye black under them, are full of determination. This must have been taken last year. I stare at the photo and into her eyes far too long.

  “Mac!” I hear Rhodes’ voice echo down the tunnel. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Just finished getting taped. Heading to the locker room. You?”

  “Same. Oh, they hung new pictures up finally,” Rhodes says as he notices me staring at the photo. “She’s fucking badass, bro. I’d tap that.” I hold my breath. Don’t punch your star running back in the face on game day, I repeat to myself.

  And as we leave together I glance back one more time at Kiernan’s face. I’ve walked down this hallway hundreds of times. Today her picture is hanging right in front of my path. Signs are everywhere. I’m fucked.

  We push through the double doors that have a larger than life-sized knight painted on them. Our locker room is legit. On the ceiling there is a large light that spells “Golden Knights” in gold letters. Our lockers are black and we each have our seat in front of our space. Our names and our numbers are written in gold above the uniform hooks, and our game day uniforms are hung in there, waiting for us. The pads are placed above the locker, on the shelf, and helmets hang next to our uniforms. There are a dozen flat-screen TVs hung above the lockers that have College Gameday playing on them while we get dressed. The room is carpeted and has our Golden Knight mascot in the center of the room. We have 84 guys on our roster this season, but not all of them suit up every game.

  After I get dressed, I head up to the field to start my warm-up. I do some light jogging and stretching. Once I am feeling pretty loose I’ll do some cardio, then follow that up with some dynamic stretches like walking lunges until I’m good and warm. Finally, I’Il do eight to ten 40-yard sprints to finish my pregame routine.

  Once we’re all stretched and warm, the team will break up into position-specific work and I’ll start to throw. I begin by lightly playing catch with the other quarterbacks. Brennan Zuccarello, my backup, and I warm up together. I will toss to the third string quarterback, Martin. He will hand it to Zucc to throw it back to our four stringer, Robbie, who stands next to me. He’ll hand me the ball so I can throw it back. Zucc and I don’t catch the ball because if we miss we could sprain or, worse, break a finger. We stand in this rectangle formation until we’re sure our arms are ready.

  As I’m on the field going through my warm up progressions, I check on Bateman, who’s running routes with the other wide receivers. He’s looking good. Fast. Rhodes is cutting and spinning with the running backs, and Blake is hitting the tackle dummies hard with his defense. The stadium is starting to fill up. The music is blaring some game day mix that features old school rap and rock mixed with new school. We go from Def Leopard, to Drake, to Dr. Dre, and then Twenty-One Pilots. It’s awesome.

  I’m about to jog onto the field to take some dry snaps with my offense when I see her. Fuck, I am not going to be able to focus on this game at all. I knew she would be here. She knew way too much about football to not come to the games. She’s sitting with Blaire and two other girls. Must be their other roommates. They’re all matching, in black and gold pinstripe overalls. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s laughing. The sunshine makes her bronze skin glow. She is beautiful.

  As we are going through our practice runs, I keep glancing over at her. They’re sitting in the front row of the student section, right above our tunnel, surrounded by a mix of students, but mostly male athletes. Shocking. Some I know, like Finn, Sims, and Logan. They have big dips in their bottom lips, and she doesn’t look terribly impressed as I see her mimic spitting into her cup. It makes me chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” Zuccarello asks me.

  “Nothing, just thinking of beating the piss out of W&M today,” I lie. He nods and doesn’t question my moment of insanity further.

  On the other side of them are more baseball boys. Jesus H. Christ. Does Bateman care that these dudes are constantly around his girlfriend, or does he know they’re just into Kiernan? The best-looking one, Logan, wraps his arm around her shoulders and she elbows him in the gut. HA! Guys are incapable of leaving her alone, but she’s holding her own I guess. She’s still chatting with Finn, Sto
ner, Logan, and Sims when it’s time for us to head to the locker room for Coach Hayes’ pregame speech. At this point, I don’t remember running a single play. I’m standing there in a daze when Rhodes practically tackles me as he’s running in.

  “Come on, bro! Game time is almost here! WOO!” he shouts and jumps on my back. His green mohawk is bright in the light.

  I knock him off my back and start to jog toward the tunnel. I take one more glance up in the stands and my eyes lock on Kiernan’s. Her black eyes stare right through me. My insides flutter and my heart starts pounding. Fuck me.

  Chapter 4: Kiernan

  Pregame was fun, but it’s almost game time. I can feel the bass of the stadium speakers beating in my chest. The team is starting to head into the locker room for Coach Hayes’ final speech before they run out of the tunnel. The marching band is starting to fill in their seats in the bleachers near the south end zone. They’re wearing white uniforms adorned with black and gold sashes that make them look like they like they should be guarding Buckingham Palace. Their hats are white with gold trim and a large black plume on the top.

  As the team jogs in, my eyes lock on Brooks. He’s jersey number 13, but I don’t need to know that. I can tell by his mannerisms and the way he moves. I had been trying to casually glance over and watch him warm-up without seeming too obvious.

  My skin feels clammy. The smooth way he moves around the field is such a turn-on. My dad has watched Brooks play since he was getting buzz in high school. He’s analyzed his game and agrees that he may be the next Tom Brady. He has great field vision, a cannon for an arm, and can take off when the pocket collapses on him. He may be better than Brady actually, because Brady can’t run. Watching his body move in that tight uniform makes my stomach turn and nether region tingle. That’s a first. I don’t need more shit from my roommates about him, so I look away as Sims makes some rude remarks about the marching band chicks who play the trombone.