by Alley Ciz
@Fununderthecovers: Can’t wait for Saturday. It’s like a modern-day duel #ThemBeFightingWords #BattleOnTheGridiron #CasanovaDontPlay #Kaysonova
#Chapter54
Unlike the football team, the cheerleaders don’t stay in a hotel the night before a game, so the girls and I got to spend a few extra hours in Baltimore after the guys left before we had to return to campus.
Em and Q do have a short practice with the Red Squad, but then the rest of the night is ours.
After dropping them off at the practice gym, I drive to our dorm and open a bottle of Moscato as soon as I put my bags in my room. I’m not typically the type of person to drink by myself, but I am still mildly ticked off from earlier, and it’s best for all parties involved if I take the edge off.
Glass filled close to the top—no restaurant pour for this girl—I take it and my laptop into the living area, set both on the coffee table, and take a seat right on the floor. I click the television on for background noise and open up a video chat to JT.
Instead of saying hello once our call connects, he asks, “Why do I get the feeling I should gird my loins?”
“Because you’re too smart not to know I’m annoyed with you at the moment.” I rest an elbow on the table and prop my chin in my hand.
We sit in silence, the face time through the screen enough to clear the air between us. Yes I’m annoyed, but it’s more from my independent nature than anything else stirring up those feelings.
A full minute goes by before JT asks, “You ready to admit this is a good plan?”
No.
“I don’t like feeling like I need a babysitter.” It’s one of the reasons I chose to lie low and keep mostly to myself after everything went down four years ago.
“Can you please”—he makes prayer hands—“have me on the phone when you call him that?”
I roll my eyes.
“In all seriousness, Kay—”
“I hate when you call me Kay,” I grumble.
“—Carter is a good guy. He agreed to go with you tomorrow as a favor for me, so at least try to keep those two things in mind and not give him too hard of a time.”
Where I went with the put my head down and hope the world will eventually get bored with me strategy, JT took on a more proactive approach. He sought out, not necessarily the most popular, but definitely the most powerful person in our school to put an end to the in-person bullying.
“Doesn’t he have a race to run?” I try again to brush it away, to minimize. Maybe if I downplay the circumstances enough, they’ll go away on their own.
Do I need to drug test you or something? Because that logic has me convinced you are smoking the hippie lettuce.
“He does.” JT nods, lifting a beer bottle and chugging some down.
Looks like I’m not the only one who needs a drink.
“Carter will go with you so you can mack down on your football player…” He makes highly exaggerated kissy faces, his mouth opening and closing as if in slow motion, a noise almost like dripping water sounding every time his lips form an O.
“I hate you.” The pull I feel in my cheeks tells me there’s no way he’s going to take me seriously. “I also feel sorry for any girls you kiss if that’s”—I circle a finger around his face—“your technique.”
“Don’t you worry about my technique, PF.” He gives me two shakes of a backhand. “Anyway…once you’re done in the tunnels and safely in your seat, Carter will head out.”
I run a hand through my hair, leaving the ends pinched between my fingers and focusing on how the brightened red and pink look in contrast with the added black streaks. Bette really did go above and beyond with the school spirit.
I’m two glasses of wine deep by the time my roommates arrive home happy, loud, and full of an energy only this weekend tends to breed.
Quinn dances into the room, twirling around and picking my goblet up off the table to gulp down the last ounce left inside. “You started without us,” she says with a pout.
“What can I say?” I pop a shoulder. “My brothers drive me to drink.”
“I take it you talked to JT?” Em takes the open cushion next to Q.
“Yeah.” I reach for the glasses Bailey sets before me and start to fill them while she works to open another bottle of wine. “I promised to play nice with King tomorrow,” I say to Em before changing the subject by asking Bailey, “How was your break?”
She spent the holiday with one of their other teammates on Red Squad, and I was relieved when I learned of her Thanksgiving Eve plans because it gave me a legitimate reason not to extend an invitation to E’s. My brother’s identity may be out there for all the world to see, but knowing about my connection to him and being invited to meet him are two very different things.
I’m doing my best to come out of hiding, to embrace the “PF” full-time. Don’t let how I invited Mase’s teammates to dinner fool you; I am very selective on who gets to enter the inner sanctum of my life.
“It was good. The bars were packed, the food was yummy, and I got a killer dress for the AK party tomorrow night.” Bailey retrieves a gold shopping bag from her room and pulls out a cold-shoulder red bodycon dress that will certainly have heads turning her way at the Alpha house. “Are you wearing the shirt from the picture Casanova posted earlier?” she asks after hanging her dress on her bedroom door.
I do my best not to frown at hearing his old nickname.
Guess Mason’s Instagram post is making the rounds. Sure, I can admit the thought of my face—unhidden—out there for all the world to see on an account with thousands of followers makes me nauseous, makes me feel like I’ll be mainlining Pepto Bismol for the foreseeable future.
But…
I was pushed too far. I tried to walk away to protect Mase, but he loves me enough to not let me. I’m not sure if I deserve a love like that, but if I’m ever going to feel worthy of it, I need to not be scared of it.
You seriously need to tell him about that bitch showing up and her lies. Yes, I do, but that can wait until after the game. He’s going to go postal.
“No.” I jump up and skip to my room to get my own show and tell. “I had this”—I spin to show the custom shirt—“made special for the Black Out.” It’s not one of the new ones from Mase, but I have a feeling he’ll approve.
“Black to go with your new hoodie?” Em teases with an eyebrow waggle.
One home game a season, the U of J does a Black Out game. With Penn State’s tradition of having a White Out game, the Hawks love to save their version for when we play the Nittany Lions.
The Black Out is my favorite game to attend. The football team, cheerleaders, dance team, band, and even the mascot get a refresh to a black uniform. Fans are instructed to wear head-to-toe black—hence my new team hoodie—and it all combines to make the atmosphere inside the stadium almost eerie to experience.
Wine flows, chick flicks are watched, and laughter to the point of bellyaches is had. Internet trolls and psycho exes aside, this weekend has been one hell of a good time, and there are still two days to go. Gotta love a holiday weekend.
#Chapter55
TheQueenB: Everyone thinks the @AlphaKappaUofJ house is the place to be. Yes that’s true for our @UofJFootball victory party after we beat those Nittany Lions…but this right here is where it really begins @UofJ411. This is where our @CasaNova87 gets his pregame kiss from his queen. #PuckerUp #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl #FootballRoyalty #Kaysonova
*picture of the tunnel outside the U of J’s locker room*
#Chapter56
There’s an energy inside the locker room, different from any other game this season. It’s like a buzz that sounds at a frequency only the team can hear.
Rivalry.
Do or die.
The spot in the Big Ten conference game up for grabs.
The culmination of our season at stake.
That’s the situation for the team.
But this game? It’s personal.
; I want to be able to look into Liam Parker’s eyes after it’s over and make sure he knows I beat him. I want him to know no amount of shit-talking, taunting, or threats was enough to get under my skin.
My only regret? That I’m not on defense—that I can’t be the one tackling his ass to the ground.
Good thing the captain of the defense loves our girl too, huh?
Most of the time I want to tell my inner coach to stick it where the sun don’t shine, but look at him coming up with something good on fourth down.
We have a few hours to kill until kickoff, most of the team is spread around the clubhouse relaxing and trying to get in the right head space for the game. One of the perks of being such a successful football program is our boosters are super generous, as evidenced by our state-of-the-art facilities. Sure, we have your typical gym and physio rooms, but we also have two pool tables and a media room filled with leather couches and recliners, large flat-screens, and multiple gaming systems.
I make my way over to the media room, choosing an open seat as close to Kevin as I can get.
“You ready for this?” he asks, gaze flitting to mine before returning to his game of Madden.
“You know it. These fuckers don’t stand a chance against us.”
All around, hawk cries echo my words, bringing a smile to my face. This, this right here is one of my favorite parts of the game; the camaraderie, knowing these are my people. We win and lose together—though none us of plan on losing today.
“Kev.” I shift forward in my seat, resting my elbows on my knees. “There’s something I need you to do for me.” The others in the room, sensing my shift from playful to serious, stop what they’re doing and give me their undivided attention.
Kev’s dark gaze bores into me. He sets the controller off to the side and clasps his hands to hang between his knees. “Name it.”
“I need Parker to still be feeling today’s game a week from now.” I lift my hat from my head, fidgeting against the tantrum begging to be set free.
“Because of Kay?” He narrows his eyes, trying to read me the same way he does a quarterback on the field.
I nod. They knew some of the drama surrounding Kay and her ex—hard to avoid when it’s splashed all over social media—but they didn’t fully understand it until they got to witness firsthand E’s reaction to Liam’s taunt yesterday. For E to ask Kay—a lover of all things football and a genuine fan—to skip attending today to avoid any additional Liam drama spoke volumes.
Kev pushes himself up from his chair, steps smooth and confident as he strolls through the open doors to the media room and into the main locker area. His feet land on one of the benches as he jumps onto it and draws the eyes of those closest to him. “Yo, defense!” The hard boom of his voice resonates with a captain’s authority. “Bring it in.”
His tone brooks no room for argument, though it’s the aura of pissed off radiating from a player known for being one of the most level-headed that has the rest of the team closing in.
“I’m sure this request won’t come as too much of a hardship for you…” He pauses to make eye contact with each of his guys. “You can think of it”—his mouth twists to the side, his head tilting left then right in thought—“as extra motivation.”
Over the crowd gathered in front of him, Kev meets my eye, and the dangerous smirk on his lips has me grateful we play for the same team. I jerk my chin in brotherhood.
“Tonight we bring the pain to number eighty-five.” Kev folds his arms over his refrigerator-sized chest. “He’s messed with one of our own and needs to be taught a lesson.” This time when he flicks his gaze to me, a few heads turn in my direction. “Tonight…if he’s tackled under you, make sure you toss out a nice ‘That’s for Kay.’”
“Nova’s girl?” one of our D-backs asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
“It’s time we remind this motherfucker,” Kev declares, “no one fucks with a Hawk without facing the rest of the flock.”
At some point after Kev’s little inspirational speech, Coach Knight emerged from his office to tell us to “calm the fuck down” and to “save that energy for the field”.
Shortly after that, Trav showed me the most recent repost on UofJ411, this one a shot of where I collect my pregame kiss from my girl.
My annoyance over the invasion of privacy is overridden by my worry that maybe E’s concerns weren’t an overreaction. I need more information.
ME: I need to know how much of a risk Liam Parker really is.
My fingers drum on the back of my phone as I wait for JT to respond to my text.
CHEER BOY: Oooo, you said his name.
Not the response I was hoping for.
ME: So???
CHEER BOY: *GIF of Lord Voldemort*
ME: You two and your whole He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named stuff.
CHEER BOY: Don’t you dare judge us *waggles finger* You, sir, are a Potterhead as well.
Smartasses. I’m surrounded by smartasses.
ME: Fine. I concede. Now can we talk about the asshat?
CHEER BOY: Sure. The douche-canoe is a pussy.
I bark out a laugh, which draws Trav’s attention, and Mr. Nosey Nelson leans to the side to read over my shoulder.
ME: I know you asked your boy to escort Kay to the tunnels.
CHEER BOY: You’re talking about King playing chaperone for when PF meets you to shove her tongue down your throat for “luck”?
CHEER BOY *GIF of Bugs Bunny kissing Michael Jordan*
“I’m coming with you next time you go to Kentucky—this guy seems like my kind of people,” Trav says, pointing at my phone.
Just what I need, these two teaming up.
ME: James Taylor!
The use of his full name has my phone buzzing with a FaceTime call instead of a text. I swipe to answer but hold up a finger to tell him I need a minute to find somewhere quieter, more private.
I slip into one of the unused physio rooms and wait until I hear the door click behind me before saying, “Okay, talk to me.”
JT eyes me from the six-inch screen. He’s in his UK cheerleading uniform, and behind him I recognize the practice gym. “I would have been more impressed if you dropped my middle name in there, but I’m not quite sure I’m grasping what you’re asking?”
Honestly…I’m not either. Maybe I’m letting my feelings breed paranoia.
“Why did you ask King specifically? Why not Grayson? He’ll be at the game.” This is the part I can’t make sense of.
“Ugh.” JT groans and runs a hand through his dark red hair. “Look…” He blows out a breath. “Neither one of us has enough time to get into the nitty-gritty of it, but the CliffsNotes version is King has a lot of…shall we say…power in our town.”
“Why?” I jump in to ask.
“That’s not important.” He waves off my concern. “What is, is that I believe if for some reason you guys do run into Liam, the sight of Carter might be a strong enough message to keep him in line.”
I don’t know what bothers me more, the thought of having a run-in with Liam or that he might be more of a threat than I realize. Why else would someone “powerful” be needed?
#Chapter57
U of J vs Penn State.
Rivalry game.
Black Out.
Winner takes the East Division of the Big Ten.
All week, the sportscasters have speculated, deeming it the game of the season.
If only they knew how this is so much more than a simple rivalry game.
From the things Mase has told me, there was bad blood between him and Liam before I entered his life. Now though? Learning about my own history with the twatwaffle combined with the recent taunts to drum up drama—using me—it makes this personal for Mase.
“I feel like I’m attending a funeral with all this black,” King comments over the brim of his Espresso Patronum to-go cup.
I side-eye him as we weave our way through the underbelly of the football stadium, not appr
eciating the parallels he’s drawing at the moment.
“Listen, Your Majesty”—his lips twitch at the nickname—“I love this game, so don’t hate.”
We flash our badges at the last security guard before the locker rooms and I shoot off a text to let Mase know.
“I would have thought you of all people would like it, King.” Matte black is the signature color of the Royals.
He chuckles then I think he gestures that he’s going to hang back, but I can’t be too sure because the doors to the locker room swing open and out walks my hot-as-fuck boyfriend. Holy shit! Seeing him in his football uniform never fails to turn me on, but the Black Out gear ups the wetness factor in my panties to uncomfortable levels.
The jersey is black with thin red stripes down the shoulders and red and gray lettering. His ColdGear Under Armour shirt is also black and has a delicate gray weave to it, giving it the illusion of chain mail armor.
Then there’s the greatest fashion invention ever: football pants. This particular pair is black with a single skinny red stripe down the sides.
Do you think it’s inappropriate to request that he turn around so we can ogle his butt? Asking for a friend.
I let my inner cheerleader’s question marinate—it has hella merit—as I continue my downward inspection to the black socks and cleats. The only thing he’s missing is the revamped black helmet that has a badass outline of a hawk in gray.
“Eyes up here, babe.”
My head snaps up, a blush heating my cheeks as I meet sparking seafoam green eyes. The matching set of dimples on display tells me Mase is enjoying my lustful attention.
