by Alley Ciz
“Truth.” There’s a glimmer of approval behind the black frames of CK’s glasses. “Looks like the whole team’s got your back.”
Those familiar warm and squishies I’ve come to associate with our crew, our family growing, bubble inside. I link my arms with CK and G, the first of my brothers after JT, and rest my head on the curve of G’s biceps—because, let’s be real, there’s no possible way for me to reach his shoulder.
The polite thing to do would be to retake our seats, but no one around us complains as we remain standing, watching Mase and the offense take the field.
Trav’s first completion is a fifteen-yard pass to Alex, who runs it for another twenty before finally getting tackled at the Penn State thirty-five.
Holy shit! What did they put in the Gatorade?
I snicker at my inner cheerleader’s colorful commentary on the full steam ahead approach to the game.
The next play is a handoff to Mase. He jukes, finding a hole in the line, and punches through to run the ball in for the Hawks’ first touchdown.
Cannons blast, the band plays the fight song, and the tens of thousands of Hawks fans inside a sea of one hundred thousand cheer ourselves hoarse.
My boyfriend stands in the end zone, arm raised perpendicular to the ground and pointing at the Penn State bench with the football before spiking it in a declaration of war.
7-0 Hawks.
It isn’t until the second quarter that the scoreboard changes again thanks to a broken tackle from a Penn State running back.
7-7. Tie game.
Every single down Liam plays, there’s a Hawks’ player on him, each tackle more punishing than the last. I ain’t mad about it.
The two-minute warning comes and goes with Penn State forced into another punt. With good field position thanks to a solid effort from our special teams unit, Trav gets to work putting more points on the board before the end of the first half.
His voice rings out loud and strong as he calls the play. The center snaps the ball, Trav spinning it in his large hands as he drops back, looking for a receiver. It’s a good thing I’m wearing gloves; otherwise G’s forearm would be sporting a line of crescent-shaped nail marks from the death grip I have on it.
I see the play a split second before Trav, Alex shaking off his defender to free himself for a lateral pass. Bending his elbow, upper arm flush to his side, ball parallel on his forearm, Alex tucks it in tight to his body. He looks downfield for a clear route, but there are none.
Alex pepper-steps, narrowly avoiding a tackle until Mase frees himself, stopping a defensive tackle, creating a hole big enough for Alex to spin through and score.
14-7 Hawks.
The second half is more of the same. Each hit on Liam by the defense—especially from Kev—is more and more bone-crushing. The intensity inside the stadium only increases with each second ticking off the game clock.
A quarterback sneak ties the game in the third.
I wring my hands together, thankful for the gloves keeping them warm. Without them, my manicure would be shot to shit from this nail-biter.
A set of field goals keeps the game tied, one of them a fifty-six-yard bomb from Noah.
17-17.
Fourth quarter.
Two-minute warning.
Penn State has the ball in the U of J red zone.
The quarterback calls an audible.
Our defense blitzes the quarterback. He dumps the ball off to eighty-five.
Kev, reading the play beautifully, goes in low on the tight end, taking Liam down to the turf at an angle, causing the ball to fumble from the douchebag’s arms.
I swear the stadium shakes as the crowd of over a hundred thousand jumps to their feet, screaming in reaction to the loose ball.
The players scramble on the field.
Dogpile on top of the ball.
Whistles blow.
Referees break up the play.
And one of our cornerbacks comes up with the ball.
Red—or in today’s case, black—ball.
The sound is deafening.
A minute and a half to play with two timeouts.
Ball on our own fifteen.
Time for Trav to lead our boys to victory.
Not one person retakes their seat.
Yard by yard, they march downfield.
Ten seconds left on the clock. Trav pump-fakes and hands the ball off to Mase, who runs it in for a nineteen-yard touchdown.
The extra point is good.
The game clock ticks down to zero, and the U of J Hawks are now the Big Ten East Division champions.
The goalposts come down as thousands of U of J fans rush the field, the green turf becoming a sea of black.
G and CK help me over the railing so we can join the melee, and I run for the Hawks’ bench, needing the extra height advantage it will lend me if I’m to have any hope of finding my man in the crush of people now on the field.
Of course he sees me first, his long legs already eating up the distance between us. He looks so fucking sexy, helmet in hand, mouthguard pinched between his teeth, hair in sweaty disarray from playing.
“Congra—” Arms band around me, lifting me from the bench so he can kiss me breathless.
Even through the fleece lining of my leggings, I feel the coolness of the helmet as it presses under the curve of my ass when my legs wrap around Mase’s waist. I cling to him like a monkey, not giving a damn about his sweat-soaked jersey, the cheering fans, his celebrating teammates, or the constant strobe of camera flashes. Nothing matters except for this kiss.
His tongue licks across the seam of my mouth and I open, the hint of orange left over from the Gatorade lingering as I stroke it with mine.
“NOVA!” Trav shouts. “We just finished a football game—stop playing tonsil hockey and get your ass over here.”
I unhook my ankles, expecting him to lower me to the ground, only to shriek when I’m hoisted over his shoulder. “Mase.” I smack his delicious-looking ass. Yes, I said delicious. Do I need to remind you? Football pants. “Put me down.”
“Hell no, Skittles.” It’s his turn to slap my ass, only he follows it up with a honka-honka of the cheek he abused. “You’re my trophy.”
From my upside-down vantage point, I make out four sets of cleats and the familiar pairs of Jordans and Chuck Taylors as Mase steps inside the circle of our friends.
I go from one set of arms to another, being passed between the guys like I really am their trophy. I’m too damn proud of them to mind.
Eventually the reporters find their way to our small cluster, each vying for the first postgame interviews with the stars. Mase wraps an arm around my shoulders, tucking me against his side, his helmet coming up to obscure my face as he starts to back away.
I fall for him a little bit more at how he instinctually shifts to keep me out of the public eye. Yes it’s true I’m doing my best to ignore the attention on us on the school’s Instagram, but being with him during a national television interview is next level.
“Mase.” I place a hand to the flat of his stomach. “Stop.” I jerk a chin toward Trav. “Go. This is your moment.”
His eyes narrow, displaying his displeasure. “No. I want to be with you. They can interview me in the locker room.”
As swoony as I think the statement is, I won’t allow it. He’s earned this moment in the spotlight—he needs to bask in it. Plus, this is exactly the type of press coverage that will help him come draft time in the spring.
The draft. *readjusts bow* Talk about something you don’t want to discuss.
“No.” I reach up to cup his scruffy jaw, my thumb running along the stubble. “You’ve earned this. Let your star shine bright.”
His hand covers mine on his face, palm warm and dirty. “Fine.” He strokes along the back of my knuckles. “I don’t like it, but fine.”
He swoops in for one last kiss before letting me go then whistles to grab G’s attention. It’s only once I’m safely flanked by him an
d CK that Mason allows himself to be pulled into the closest reporter’s interview.
I chance a peek as we walk away, and the smile on his face is as bright as the stadium lights above. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the first of many interviews he will be doing throughout his career.
“Come on, Smalls.” G plucks at the pom on the top of my hat, bringing my attention his way. “Let’s get you a coffee the size of your head to get you in the party mood.”
Right, victory party at the AK house. Oh, the joy—not!
#Chapter60
UofJ411: Someone’s fired up #LetMeAtEm #CasanovaWatch
*boomerang of Mason being held back during the coin toss*
@It.sgottabethebooks: Better look out @TightestEndParker85. Our @CasaNova87 will kick your ass today in more ways than one #PassThePopcorn
@JJennifermarie119: I put my money on @CasaNova87 any day of the week over @TightestEndParker85. #PlacingBets
UofJ411: That HAD to have hurt #Ouch
*boomerang of Kev tackling Liam*
@Hbietsch: I know @TightestEndParker85 isn’t the quarterback, but this right here is why we call #91 @SackMasterSanders91 #BaggedLunch #HowsTheTurfTaste?
@Heymom05: @TightestEndParker85 #DoYouNeedSomeIce?
@Hippychick782000: Awww…do you have a boo-boo @TightestEndParker85 #WhatABaby
UofJ411: Now THAT’S a kiss #InstaWorthy #Kaysonova
*picture of Mason kissing Kay on the field*
@JJUllom: All the heart eyes *heart eyes emoji* #KingAndQueen #Kaysonova
@Juliedreamsofbooks: Talk about a Kodak moment #PicturePerfect #FootballRoyalty #Kaysonova
UofJ411: Not your typical trophy #HoistMeUp #Kaysonova
*picture of Mason carrying Kay over his shoulder after the game*
@Kmford2317: @CasaNova87 could carry me away ANY day of the week #CasanovaWatch #ClaimingHisTrophy #Kaysonova
#Chapter61
The victory party is already well underway by the time we arrive to a hero’s welcome at the Alpha house. With showers and post-game interviews, the whole thing took much longer than I would have liked, and I’m itching to get to my girl.
The house is packed wall to wall with people, hawk cries ringing out from them and various teammates scattered throughout the rooms. I’m jostled, high-fived, and pulled in for selfies all before I even make it to the staircase across from the front door.
Inside my pocket, my phone vibrates for the billionth time, the steady stream of congratulatory text messages and phone calls as well as comments from Brantley about my on-field interview doing its best to drain the life out of my battery. My notifications are also blowing up thanks to the highlight reel UofJ411 has been posting, and even I can admit I’ve watched the boomerang of Kev tackling Liam at least a dozen times.
I push through the crush of partygoers, the first order of business to drop my bag in my room then find Kay. While I appreciate—both on a personal and career level—Kay forcing me to participate in the on-field interview, all it really meant was more time spent away from her.
Unlocking the door to my room, I grin at the pile of discarded clothes in the center of my bed. Sure, I would have rather found my girlfriend lying there naked instead, but at least this way I won’t have to fight through miles of fabric to get my hands on her silky skin.
For as much as I want to dive right in and spend the night buried between Kay’s thighs, it’s probably a good thing we need to put in some face time at this party before that can happen. With the amount of adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream from both the game itself and from dealing with Peckerhead Parker, I’m not sure I’d be able to hold back, which can be dangerous given how much larger I am than Kay. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt her by being too rough.
The sounds of the party are muffled two floors up, so I can make out the faint strains of laughter spilling from the open door to Grayson’s room.
Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, I cross my feet at the ankles and take in the scene before me. Kay, Em, and Quinn are a mass of limbs on the bed, bent over each other, laughing while Grayson regales them with some story about God knows what. Even CK, although shaking his head, looks amused from his perch against the dresser.
I don’t need to know the details of the story. All I care about is how Kay seems to have shed most of the tension from what happened before the game.
Her hair is a riot of blonde and U of J pride curls, her cheeks are flushed, and my name and number are stamped across her back. Fuck me! She’s so beautiful like this—happy.
“Caveman!” she cheers when she sees me, disentangling herself from her friends to jump from the bed and rush into my arms.
“Skittles.” I fit her body against mine and drop a kiss on top of her peppermint-scented head. “You might want to slow down on the partying if you want to last all night.” I tap the top of the to-go coffee cup in her hand.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” She pinches my chin between her fingertips, her nails painted school-spirit black. “Because your jokes need work.”
The day this girl stops giving me shit is the day I have to worry. I give her a squeeze and avail myself of a sip of her pumpkin-flavored coffee.
“Yo, lovebirds.” Trav pushes his face between us. “You can do each other later. I need a beer.”
“Jelly,” Kay teases, booping him on the nose.
“Damn straight,” Trav admits without any shame. “Now come on, Short Stack…” He hooks an arm around her shoulders and pulls her to his side instead of mine. “You can help me find the lucky lady who’ll get the privilege of sharing my bed for the night.”
“Ew.” Kay pops him on the chest. “I want no part in helping you play jersey chaser roulette.”
“I thought we were besties? Your taste in football players may be questionable…” Trav looks over Kay’s head at me, winking. He lives for getting under my skin. “But you have good taste in girlfriends. So, who better to help find QB2 a playmate?”
“Gross.” She shoves his arm off her as we enter the den. “Do you really call your dick QB2?” A mixture of disgust, humor, and genuine curiosity crosses her face.
“What?” Trav fills a cup with beer, handing it off to me before filling another for himself. “You have a better name? What do you call Casanova’s?”
Pink climbs up Kay’s neck, staining her cheeks with a pretty blush as she turns her back on my best friend, leaving him to come to me. She scrunches her nose and digs a finger into one of my dimples as I grin down at her. I know what she calls my dick, and now she knows I’m thinking about it.
As per usual, the den is sparsely populated, and it’s easy to claim one of the leather armchairs. I stretch the arm holding my beer along an armrest and hook the other around Kay’s waist to pull her onto my lap.
Home. That’s the thought I have every time she settles with me. She’s my home.
“Just remember, Travis…” Kay says, resting her head back on my chest. “No glove, no love.”
Howling laughter meets her advice, and she receives a knuckle bump any time one of my teammates passes where we’re seated.
Conversation cycles as different people filter in and out of the room. At some point, someone changes the channel to College GameDay on ESPN for the weekend’s highlights, but it mostly serves as background noise.
“I think this is my favorite out of any of the times you two have trended.” Noah, never understanding the concept of personal space, crowds Kay and me to show us a picture on his phone.
On the screen is a shot of the kiss Kay and I shared when I first found her on the field. I’m not sure who took the picture, but they captured every ounce of the animalistic passion I was feeling for my girl perfectly.
It’s taken from the side, so you’re able to clearly see how her legs are wrapped around me, feet hooked together, one hand cupping my face, the other clutching the hair at the back of my head. It also shows my hand gripping under her thigh and my helmet rest
ing against her ass while the other is hooked around her back. We look like something out of a movie. Oh look—there’s a hashtag that says just that.
“Oh my god!” Kay buries her face in my chest. She’s slowly been making an effort with her media presence, but I know it’s still not her favorite.
Me? I have no qualms. “I’m making this my new background.”
Kay’s head pops up, eyes wide. “Really?”
She’s adorable. “Fuck yeah, babe.” I place a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Look at us—we’re hot.”
The most breathtaking smile I have ever seen transforms her face. “Would it be corny if we had matching backgrounds?”
“Who the fuck cares? Give me your phone.” I switch my beer to the arm behind her and hold out my now free hand.
She smirks but does as I ask. Entering her passcode—now the date I asked her out—I take care of sending her the picture and setting it as her background. We’re so cute, kinda makes you sick, huh?
Alex and Grayson are over in the corner doing their best to create a reenactment of the picture with Em and Quinn acting as photographers.
Suddenly, like a record scratching, all conversation cuts off and it feels like all the air gets sucked out of the room.
Every muscle in my body locks up, causing Kay to peer up at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the questioning look she’s giving me, but my attention stays solely focused on the swinging door leading into the room from the hallway.
In my lap, she goes rigid, all the earlier ease evaporating in an instant, replaced by an under-five-foot ball of anxiety as she follows my line of sight…
To where Liam Parker stands in the doorway.
#Chapter62
One minute I’m luxuriating in the feel of Mase’s fingers tracing shapes on my skin, no longer restricted by my ColdGear top. The next I’m wondering if I fell asleep from those drugging touches because I’m staring at a literal nightmare—Liam Parker.
