by Alley Ciz
“That’s nothing,” Savvy says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat like she has a secret. “Wait until you see the Admirals. The stuff Kay has helped them come up with to take back their title is insane.”
My enthusiastic agreement on Kay’s talents when it comes to coaching earns me the first smidge of an expression of acceptance from Pops, and I mentally fist-pump. What I witnessed down in Kentucky was impressive, and I can only imagine what she is capable of coming up with for a whole team. I’m so damn proud of her. I hope one day I can shout it for the whole world to see.
#Chapter43
QB1McQueen7: We know we look good, but what we really wanna know is WHICH ONE was her favorite?? *laughing face emoji* *shirt emoji* #Don’tLieMineTotallyIs
*picture of Trav, Mase, Kev, Alex, Noah, G, and CK showing off their shirts*
@LacesOutMitchell5: Flag on the play. You didn’t give any of US a chance to pick a custom phrase! *angry face emoji* #YouCheated #WardrobeOverhaul
@CantCatchAnderson22: OMFG @LacesOutMitchell5 didn’t we tell you to stop bitching? #BeLikeElsa #LetItGo
@SackMasterSanders91: ^^What he said
@CasaNova87: Keep dreaming. #SheLikesMineBest
@TheGreatestGrayson37: All you idiots are wrong. MINE is her favorite. #MyTshirtGameIsStrong #Besties
CasaNova87: Cheering on cheerleaders *football emoji* *bow emoji* #MyFavoriteCheerleader #PutMeInCoach #NJAForTheWin
*picture of Mase hugging Kay into his chest so only the back of her COACH PF jacket shows*
#Chapter44
I rush around the dorm making sure I have everything I’ll need for the long weekend.
“You and the girls still coming down tonight?” Bette asks. I should feel bad that I’m not looking at her during our video chat, but when I glance at my open laptop, she’s just as busy prepping tomorrow’s Thanksgiving meal as I am packing.
“Yup. We’ll leave straight from the rally, swing by King’s to pick up T, then continue on down the turnpike to you guys.” That reminds me…
I spin around to make sure Em and Q left their bags and spot them on the floor by the door. Perfect.
“Are you excited for tonight?” Bette pauses to lick a streak of mashed potatoes from the side of her hand.
“Yeah.” In honor of rivalry week—aka when we play Penn State—the school puts on a big pep rally for the football team. Last year, I opted to skip it to spend more time with my family, but this year I’m going to support the guys.
For as hesitant as I was about letting the football set into my life, I have really grown fond of Mase’s teammates. They are ridiculous and genuine and treat me as if I’m just one of the guys. When the bomb dropped that Eric Dennings is my brother, I was afraid I would lose all that.
I shouldn’t have been. Not once have they brought up E to me.
“What I want to know is—” There’s a smack followed by a squeak from Bette, telling me E slapped her ass before pushing her out of the camera’s view. With a final zip of my duffle, I lean back against the bed and meet my brother’s smirking face. “Am I going to be seeing your boyfriend mugging it up for the camera with you on my newsfeed later?”
Ooooh, shit! Look at big brother making jokes. Can I ask you something though? Am I the only one shocked he didn’t freak that you allowed Mase to post a picture of you two on his Instagram? *holds up hands* Now before you start with the whole you weren’t facing the camera thing, your name was, and I would have put money on E losing his shit.
“I thought you approved of that?” I really hope he’s not changing his mind, because as much as saying yes to all the posts the guys made after the cheer competition—where NJA swept the small regional—was scary, I can’t find it in me to regret it. Even Pops cracked a smile as each of the guys read their comments out loud as they typed.
“Oh I do.” E nods so enthusiastically he looks like a bobblehead. “You keep taking those baby steps.”
My head joins his in its up and down motion. I may not be ready to be fully out for the public to see, but as I reach for the new black U of J football hoodie Mase gifted me, I think, Yes, baby steps.
My head pops free of the thick cotton when there’s a knock on the door to the dorm.
Who could that be? I’m meeting G at the AK house.
I say a quick goodbye to my family and jog down the hall to answer the door. When I do, I’m greeted by the sight of an attractive but unfamiliar brunette. “Hi?”
My greeting may have been awkward and sounded more like a question than anything else, but still, she doesn’t return it. Instead she scans me from the top of my head, pausing on the hawk stretching across most of my torso, and down to the tips of my black and white Chucks. I take it from the way her mouth is twisting to the side she’s not impressed. Actually…the face she’s making kind of reminds me of Bailey’s the first time I met all of my roomies.
“Can I help you?” I ask when she continues to stay silent.
Her head swivels left then right before coming back around to face me. “Do you mind if I come in?”
I blink then blink again. I don’t know this girl. The only reason I step to the side to allow her in is that more than one resident is sending questioning looks in our direction as they walk past.
There’s a gasp when I shut the door, and when I turn to face her again, I can tell her eyes were locked on the bold NOVA #87 printed on my back.
Keeping close to the door, the knob within easy touching distance, I ask, “Who are you?”
She squares her shoulders, determination gleaming in her eyes. “I came to offer a little friendly advice.”
Oh-kay…not what I asked.
“That’s all well and good, but seeing as I have no idea who the hell you are, I’d say we’re far from friends.” I make a rolling motion with my hand. “Let’s try this again.”
“I came to warn you.”
Oh my god. Again with this? What is with this chick trying to be all ominous?
“Okay, well that’s great.” I clap my hands in front of me. “But you see, I have somewhere I need to be”—I jerk a thumb over my shoulder—“so I’m gonna have to cut this short.”
“You’re going to see Mase?”
My hackles rise at her saying my boyfriend’s name. Sure, I’m not the only one to call him by the shorthand, but it’s the familiar way it rolls off her tongue that rubs me the wrong way.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business. So again…” This time I’m grabbing the doorknob when her next words freeze me on the spot.
“I’d be careful.” Her tone takes on an almost syrupy sweet quality. “He doesn’t always take no for an answer. I should know.”
My blood boils and my muscles seize, a haze of red forming at the edges of my vision. Her identity becomes as clear as the football field under the stadium lights.
“Chrissy? Or do you prefer Tina?” Her body jolts like she was electrocuted upon hearing I know about her duel identities. “I need to know which name to curse if you’re really insinuating what I think you are trying to insinuate.”
“Why are you so quick to assume I’m lying?” She folds her arms over her chest defensively.
“Because”—I mirror her stance—“I find it hard to believe a guy who asked permission to sleep beside me in only his boxer briefs is a rapist. Especially of his own…girlfriend.” I spit out the last word, her duplicity making her not worthy of the title.
“Wow.” Her mouth holds an O shape a few seconds longer than necessary. “Going right for the R-word.”
I roll my eyes, annoyed.
“You know…” I take the two steps needed to eliminate the distance between us, the cloying scent of her perfume invading my senses with each breath I take. “A person accusing another of the crime should really be able to say the word.”
This time I’m the one scanning her in disgust. Sexual assault and rape are serious issues. So many—too many—victims never get justice. There’s a stigma associ
ated with reporting the crime, too much victim shaming and blame placed on the wrong party. So when people make false accusations—and my gut screams at me that Chrissy/Tina is one of them—it only hurts those who truly deserve justice.
“Why now?” I ask. “Why come to me instead of saying anything back then?”
She visibly swallows, her eyes darting to the left before answering. “Brantley paid me off to protect Mase.”
I bob my head, humming a soft mmhmm like we’re on the same page. Sure, the money Brantley obviously comes from given the mansion Mase’s family lives in would be more than enough to pay off a teenage girl and not even feel it. It wouldn’t even be the first time a coverup happened to protect a promising athlete. But what I have a hard time believing…
“And, what?” I release my arms, holding them up in an I’m clueless gesture. “He laid out the terms for it to be possible for you to come forward the first year his stepson is eligible for the draft?”
Something smells fishy, and it’s not the leftover tacos we gorged ourselves on last night.
Chrissy/Tina shifts on her feet, her earlier resolve returning, her jaw tensing.
“Fine.” She blows out a breath. “Liam said there was a chance you wouldn’t believe me”—ice fills my veins at the mention of my ex—“so he wanted me to ask you what you think the press will think.”
Sonofabitch. Is this his next step? His texts and internet trolling aren’t getting the results he wants so he’s trying this? I just wish there wasn’t a part of me rioting at the possibilities.
“The press would crucify you when the truth came out,” I counter.
She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “What’s a little bad publicity when your bank account is flush?”
“Liam paid you?” I shouldn’t be surprised. His family is loaded too. I never understood why he went to Blackwell Public instead of Blackwell Academy.
“Yup. He DMed me on Insta and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She does her best—and by best, I mean terrible—impression of a mobster. “He even said he would throw in a bonus if I could time it right with the draft.”
I spring back and hurl the door open, grabbing this bitch’s arm and throwing her out of my dorm.
Fuck me! This was why I tried to stay away, tried to use the breakup as a clean break. It’s too late now. My heart will never be whole without Mase.
My head bangs against the wood of the door, my eyes closing as I take a deep, deep breath.
The stories about Mase might not be true, but the ones Liam could tell about me are. We just gotta get through this weekend, and then we can regroup.
#Chapter45
CasaNova87: Hawks are gonna win! *football emoji* *trophy emoji* #WeWillShowYouWhoTheRealKingOfTheJungleIs #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState
*picture of Mason, Trav, Kev, Alex, and Noah in their football jerseys*
QB1McQueen7: Golden arm! *football emoji* #WelcomeToTheGunShow #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState
*picture of Trav, Mason, Kev, Alex, and Noah pulling up the sleeves of their jerseys and flexing*
CantCatchAnderson22: I suggest you eat an extra serving of turkey tomorrow if you plan on catching me before I make it to the end zone this weekend *football emoji* #RunForrestRun #PeepTheUsername #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState
*picture of Noah holding out a football and Alex pretending to eat it*
LacesOutMitchell5: They cheer for us. How can we lose? #TheLadiesLoveUs #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState
*picture of Noah with his arms around Em, Quinn, and Bailey*
SackMasterSanders91: Don’t worry. The turkey will only stretch my stomach tomorrow. I’ll have plenty of room to collect those sacks this weekend *football emoji* *turkey emoji* #GoHawks #PennStateIsGoingDown #BeatPennState
*picture of Kev smoldering for the camera*
#Chapter46
Growing up in a football family, Thanksgiving has never been a fancy affair. For years, the holiday was spent at one of E’s games, followed by a feast at the firehouse. The standard dress code for the day would typically be a pair of jeans or leggings and a jersey. Easy peasy, pass the potatoes.
In the years since Dad died, there have been some changes.
E no longer wears a jersey since it’s now a part of his work uniform. Instead, I hook him up with funny shirts, like today’s: Official Turkey Taster.
The location now depends on if the Crabs have to play or not. E’s first season with the team had myself and the Taylors hopping a flight to Dallas. B—Ben Turner, the Crabs’ quarterback and E’s best friend—has been a staple at our table since then, but luckily they don’t play until Sunday this year, so we get to enjoy Turkey Day at home in Baltimore.
Another shift is our ever-changing guest list: I only get one Taylor at the dinner table now. Pops is still at the firehouse since it’s their busiest day of the year, and JT doesn’t have the time to fly home due to all the responsibilities of the Blue Squad.
But what I lack in Taylors, I make up for in Graysons. Now that D is down in Kentucky, Mama and Papa G decided they would join us this year. To say G is stoked would be a massive understatement.
Shuffling down the hall in my turkey print leggings and Turkey and pumpkin pie and football—oh my! t-shirt, I stop to breathe in the delicious aroma wafting up from the kitchen. Wanna know what I’m thankful for this year? Mama G. That woman is a godsend. She insisted that she and Papa G come down last night to help Bette with the cooking, which earned her a Gobble till you wobble shirt and me the chance to sleep in.
“Coffee,” Em moans when we run into each other in the hall. Yes, we got to sleep in, but we were up late and it’s still the morning.
I nod and link my arm with hers. “Nice.” I pluck at her This is my food coma shirt tee in approval. Sounds like a solid plan for later.
“Thanks. Q and I ordered one for CK too.” Of course they did.
Herkie is curled at T’s feet on the couch, keeping her company while she does homework on her laptop. Em snaps the band of her leggings at T’s Get your fat pants ready shirt, stating again how happy she is that she was able to skip the trip home for this holiday. I don’t blame her. Dressing up in a prim-and-proper dress to help “press the flesh” is not how today should be spent. No. Thanksgiving is supposed to be all about stuffing your face, watching football, and passing out on the couch.
“Morning, sugah.” Mama G greets us, the end of sugar softening into the sound of an H with her southern twang.
“Morning, Mama.” Em and I return the salutation, each going in for one of her famous hugs before continuing on our hunt for coffee.
“Have you heard anything from my boy?” Em snorts at the reference to G being called a boy; it’s too funny not to.
“No…” I peer at the clock on the stove. “But Mase texted and said their ETA was around one o’clock.”
Oh? Did I leave that part out? Sorry about that…but, yes…Mase—and the guys—are also on the list of attendees for this year and are driving down with G and CK. This is the first holiday I’ve ever spent with a boyfriend, and I can’t stop the flutter of excitement that sparks to life in my belly thinking about what it means. Even when I dated the douchewaffle, we didn’t do the holiday thing—guess that should have been a sign.
Inviting them all this weekend was a risk, but with the way they came to support me at the cheer competition, donning comical shirts inspired by my own wardrobe, the last of the defensive line I had around my heart crumbled.
The memory of how they cheered and hollered, making such complete fools of themselves I heard about the boisterous group in the stands before I knew it was my friends…my family—it hits me in the feels.
“Is it wrong that I’m hoping they’re delayed?” Bette asks as she dances around a stuffing mix while Quinn bastes the turkey.
“No,” Mama G answers, laying a comforting hand on Bette’s shoulder. “I already had to banish my husband, and it’
s only going to get worse when the menfolk show up.”
Now I understand why Papa G is sitting opposite T watching the parade.
Herkie ambles on over, nails clicking on the floor, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, brown eyes begging for scraps from the food prep. “Not gonna work, Herk,” I say with a scratch behind his ears.
“What did I say?” There’s a snort from over by the couch, and if the deep baritone of it wasn’t enough of a clue, the twitch to Mama G’s lips confirms it came from her husband, already anticipating another dig at his expense. “These men have no patience today.”
#Chapter47
Borrowing the Navigator from Brantley’s fleet for our trip to Baltimore was both the smartest and the dumbest decision I have ever made—smart because it allows all seven of us to fit in one vehicle, dumb because it has given the guys four hours to razz on me. I should have gone snowboarding with my family. Who cares that technically I’m not supposed to participate in any activity that might result in an injury that could make me ineligible to play?
“Okay…” Trav claps his hands, bringing the attention of the car onto him. “I think it’s time we ask what’s really important about today.”
I groan. We’re ten minutes away from E’s place; haven’t they given me enough shit for one day? It’s a holiday, dammit.
Reluctantly, I ask, “What’s that, Trav?”
“How’s Bette’s cooking?” He rubs a hand over his belly.
Fucking Travis, forever driven by his stomach.
“Bette’s a killer cook.” Grayson is the one to answer. “But the turkey will not be the highlight of your day.”
