Liam laughs once more and then sobers. “Seriously, though, does he treat you right? Make you happy?”
I smile, even though Liam can’t see me. “Yes and yes. He’s a good guy. I think you’d like him, but give me some time.”
He sighs but agrees. “You got it, Sis. But if you really do have to chop his dick off, don’t say a word and use your one phone call for me. I’ll get you a lawyer.”
I bark out a laugh, the thought absolutely preposterous, which makes Liam’s entertaining it even funnier. I always press his buttons and give him shit, but it’s a rare treat when he’s on fire and shoots back just as much as I do. “Got it. Hey, I gotta go hit the books. Talk to you later?”
“Sure thing, Norma Jean. Bye.” He hangs up and I disconnect on my end too.
It was fun to spar with Liam, but the thought of sitting around his table with Zach at my side for dinner is throwing me for a loop right now. There’s a pit in my stomach that says don’t ask for too much, but there’s another part of me that says it sounds like a good outing.
That night, I dream about introducing Zach Knight, Football God, to my business-dry brother and dad. I wake up in the middle of the night with my heart racing, not sure if it’s because the dream was going so well or so badly.
“So, how’s the tutoring coming?”
I look up from my story, a quick little no-brainer about an upcoming show the art department is doing, to see Erica sitting down next to me, keeping her voice low. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean, can he tell the difference between a comma and an apostrophe?” Erica sarcastically hisses, rolling her eyes. “Milton, dammit! How’s he doing on Milton?”
“Just fine. His grades have been better,” I reply, inwardly cringing. Tutoring Zach on Paradise Lost has me reading it myself, of course, and the parallels between Milton’s long-winded narrative on temptation and innocence lost and what I’m currently going through certainly haven’t escaped me. “He doesn’t like it, but I can’t fault him there.”
I grin for maximum effect, because I know almost nobody likes Milton. Still, it’s a staple. Hopefully, Erica buys it, but as she keeps studying me, I grow frightened. Here’s where she’s going to bust me, I just know it.
Still, I’m not lying. Zach’s grades have improved on the two papers he’s recently written. And no, I didn’t do the work for him. He’s more than capable, with plenty of brains to go with his sublime body. He’s just been trying to bullshit his way through a class without even taking the time to read the Cliff Notes.
Erica purses her lips, then nods. “Okay. Listen, keep up the good work. I know Zach’s hard, but you seem to be on top of him.”
More like underneath, in front of, and on my knees with . . . but I’ve been on top too, I think, trying not to choke on my own horrified laughter. Did I almost say that?
“Are you using the cover story or has no one caught on? I mean, surely, someone has noticed the two of you in the library every night, right?” Erica asks.
Before I can stop the words, they shoot out. “God, I hope not.” I think back to our study sessions and how careful we always are. We’ve never spotted anyone near us at all, but that doesn’t stop us from enjoying the ‘might get caught’ taboo factor.
Erica is taken aback by my answer for a split second and then her eyes narrow as she analyzes me. I’m reminded of why she’s the boss of the school paper. She’s shrewd, with great instincts, and great at reading people. A flush steals up from my chest to my face, but I keep my mouth shut.
“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” Erica asks, clucking her tongue. “Damn, I thought you’d be immune, but I guess no one really is.”
I still don’t deny or confirm her suspicions.
“Look, just be careful here, Norma. I really didn’t mean for you to get tangled up with Zach like that. Figured the cover story was a last-ditch effort if someone caught up to you. Honestly, I figured you were a bit stronger than his flirtations too.”
I shrug. “He’s nice, and we’ve been spending a lot of time together.” Even though I still haven’t said yes, that we’re seeing each other, she gets the drift.
“Do what you want, girl. But that guy is a manwhore, and I can’t imagine that you’re into that. Don’t let him play you with slick words and sweet nothings. You need to come out the other side of this unscathed.”
Nodding, I tell her, “I hear you. I swear, I’m good. Promise.”
She purses her lips like she doesn’t believe me, but she holds her tongue. But her words continue to ring in my mind just like she intended.
Erica leaves, and I quickly finish my article before rushing to the library. I’m early and do my own studying until Zach shows up. I’m immersed in my math assignment when I feel arms wrap around me from behind. My instinct is to elbow back, maybe bite at the hands trying to cover my mouth, but then I realize it’s Zach and settle, a giggle escaping my mouth.
“What are you doing? This is a library, you know!” I chastise him, though he knows I love it.
He grins, taking my hand and leading me up to the fourth floor where we drop our bags on our usual table.
Over the next few hours, we study, we flirt, and I come all over Zach’s fingers, bucking for every stroke. But Liam’s and Erica’s words echo in my ear like opposing drums. One . . . be happy. Two . . . he’s playing you.
And as we go over the argument between angel and fallen angel in book six, I wonder if I, too, will end up discarded when my usefulness is over.
Zach
“Come on, put some leg into it!” Coach Buckley says as I scramble through the cones, stopping and heaving a long bomb downfield. It’s a missile, sixty-five yards, that flies in a beautiful arc to drop into Lenny’s arms.
“That’s how you do it! Be ready to do it again, just like that, for this weekend’s game.” Coach yells, excited. “Jake, you’re up!”
I watch as Jake takes the snap, dropping back, dodging the orange cone, and chucking it downfield to Lenny.
“Fuckin’ A!” Jake says, pumping his fist as his ball hits Lenny in stride. “That’s a starter’s arm there!”
I say nothing as Jake continues his celebration. I really don’t care about his bragging as long as Coach isn’t considering that Jake might be right. But Coach Jefferson isn’t even watching Jake’s passes. Sixty-five yards on a two-step stop is great, but there’s more to the game than being able to throw it downfield. Practice continues, and afterward, Jake’s still riding high as we get changed in the locker room.
“So, Knight, you feeling the heat about losing your spot yet?” Jake asks as I come out of the shower. He’s got a big shit-eating grin on his face like his takeover is imminent. “Because it won’t be long before you feel me coming up on your ass.”
A few of the guys instantly stop to see if this gets out of hand, knowing there’s already animosity between us. “Snake, I’m naked and fresh out of the shower. Do you really want to talk about coming up on my ass? I already told you, if you want the starting job, show what you can do. Until then, keep holding that clipboard on the sidelines.”
Maybe that last part was a bit too harsh, but I don’t need him in my face, talking shit. It’d be different if he were just fucking around. But when he says it, it’s out of sheer jealousy and animosity. He really does think he’s the better player, the better leader for our team, and that he deserves the QB gig just because he’s played longer, as if it’s something you earn with seniority, not skill.
And while I may be a cocky asshole, I earned my spot as the QB with hard work, something my dad instilled in me from day one. I still remember his telling a Peewee football-sized me that ‘hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.’ It’d been a few years later, after putting forth the effort to really learn the game that I loved, that we realized I might have some real talent. But he never let me rest on my laurels, insisting that I had a responsibility to keep working hard to make the best of the gift given to me.
>
And I’ve worked my ass off, on and off the field, running myself to the ground to be physically better than I was yesterday and striving to gain the coaches’ and players’ respect. Something tantrum-throwing Jake will never have.
Jake’s face turns a deep brick red as he stomps out of the locker room. I look around and realize damn near the whole team was watching the exchange. “Show’s over, guys. Same damn rule stands today as it did yesterday and the day before that. We’re all here to do our fucking best and earn our way. There are no handouts and we could all lose our spots if we fuck off.”
There are murmurs of agreement, and Lenny gives me high-five, bro-ing out with a “Fucking A, man. That’s the truth.” Everyone is still pulling their shit together, the long practice wearing everyone down. But I’m ready to get out of here and get to Norma. I quickly toss on sweats and a T-shirt and run my fingers through my hair. It’s nothing fancy, but we’ve gotten more comfortable around each other and practicality dictates that my baggy grey sweats are way easier for her to slip her hand inside for a bit of hand action. In contrast, she’s taken to wearing little cotton skirts that twirl out when she spins, and more importantly, they flip up easily for me to get at her pussy.
I’m distracted by my dirty thoughts as I walk across the parking lot, taking a direct path toward the library instead of following the winding sidewalk path. But I’m broken out of my mindlessness by a revving engine.
At the last minute, I look to my right and see Jake gunning for me in some twisted version of chicken. I don’t think he’s actually going to hit me, but he seems intent on scaring the shit out of me. I jump out of the way, and as he flies by, I can see the evil grin on his face so I yell out at him. I doubt he heard me, though, because he doesn’t even slow as he peels out of the lot. In his fucking Mercedes. The one I’m sure his dad bought for him. I don’t begrudge him nice things, but it’s just another symbol of his being handed everything on a silver platter and not knowing how to handle it when he doesn’t get what he wants.
I’m tempted to chase after him, yank him out of that fancy-ass car, and set him straight on the proper way to behave with teammates. Knowing that’s probably the worst thing I could do right now in the mood I’m in, I hoof it straight to the library, hoping that seeing Norma will be the distraction I need.
But even as the fall evening air blows against my overheated skin, I can’t let the anger go. Seeing the way Jake looked at me as he gunned his engine has me more and more pissed with every step. I’m going to have to deal with him eventually, not just let Coach handle it. I’m going to have to challenge him face to face the way he keeps doing me. I’m definitely fucking willing to do that, but I have to be smart about it. A QB who flies off the handle on a teammate isn’t attractive to coaches or scouts, whether it’s him or me.
When I get to the library, Norma is waiting for me in the lobby of the library. She looks cute and sexy, wearing a frayed-hem denim skirt and a white blouse. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck and she has a folded red scarf wrapped around her head. And if I were more focused right now, my cock would already be at full staff from seeing her lips, which are satiny-smooth with bright red lipstick, an obvious sign that she plans on blowing me tonight. She turns to show off her shoes, a pair of polka-dot heels that might bring her up to five-seven when she stands tall, and I know she wore them just for me. She’s got a whole naughty modern 50s pinup vibe going on. To top it off, I know that underneath her skirt are some sexy silk panties. She’s worn them almost every study session we’ve had since she discovered how much I like them on her.
She’s saying so much with her clothes, and I get the message loud and clear and appreciate the effort she put into dressing up for me. If only I were in the mood . . . but after the locker room shit and then nearly getting run over by an asshole who’s trying to take my job, sex is actually, for once, the last thing on my mind.
We head upstairs to our spot on the fourth floor. “Whoa,” she says as I try and fail to avoid slamming my books onto the table. I drop into my seat, and the wood actually creaks dangerously under the strain. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just . . . a fucking asshole tried to run me over in the parking lot,” I growl, reaching for my dog-eared copy of Milton. “Don’t sweat it. It’s fine. I’ll get it figured out.”
Norma looks at me for a minute, then shakes her head. I’m not sure if she realizes I’m being literal about the near-miss with the car. She reaches over and puts her hand on mine. I’ve got big hands, the better to grip a football with, and hers looks almost like a kitten’s paw on top of mine. “I’m sure you can figure it out, but talk to me. What happened?”
I look into her eyes, and before I can let any self-doubt stop me, I nod. “I’d rather not do it here. Maybe we could go for a walk?”
Her lips lift in a small smile. “I’ve got one better. C’mon.” She grabs her stuff and I follow suit. Holding hands, I let her lead me out of the library and out to the parking lot.
She digs keys out of her bag and unlocks a new black Volkswagen Jetta that sparkles in the parking lot lights. I whistle. “Wow.”
“Gift from my dad,” she says, and I remember that her family is rich enough that my potential pro-ball money might not even qualify as pocket change to them. I’m struck by the fact that, in contrast to whiny, entitled Jake, Norma doesn’t seem effected by her family’s wealth. Sure, she’s had opportunities afforded by their funds, but she’s got good core values and is a good person underneath the privilege.
I get in as she starts up the engine and we pull out. I don’t ask where we’re going. I don’t really care. I just want to get away. But as she drives, I get the sense she’s taking us away from campus. “So, talk to me,” she says as we get on the highway. “What’s got you worked up today?”
“Jake Robertson,” I reply, sighing as I lean back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so pissed off about it all.”
“No, it’s okay,” Norma reassures me. “Who is he?”
“My backup on the team,” I admit, looking out the window as the lights go by, lulling me into a trance. It’s nice in her car, quiet except for the motor, and the soft scent of her perfume somehow calms me. “He’s got issues with me.”
“Why’s that?” Norma asks. When I shift around, she glances over, her voice serious. “Zach, this isn’t for the paper. This is just for you.”
I nod, even though that wasn’t even on my mind. “Jake’s a redshirt senior. You know what that means?”
“I’ve heard the term, so kind of. He’s actually been at school five years? Why’d he redshirt a year?”
“When he got here, the team had two guys ahead of him, good players. One went pro in Canada, and the other got some chatter from the League but ended up coaching high school ball instead. He’s at some uber-competitive 6A school in Texas. So Jake redshirted that first year to study, fill out, and get a solid year of college under him. He backed up the younger of the two guys for a year and actually started his sophomore year.”
“How’d he do?” Norma asks, and I shake my head, snorting derisively.
“Let’s just say when I showed up for freshman ball the next year, it was a serious fight between me and him for the starting job. That burned him hard, especially since I was just a freshman who, in his eyes, hadn’t paid his dues. But then when the team went out and lost the first five games, Coach Jefferson took a chance and put me in. I lit it up, and I’ve had the job since.”
“So, what made the difference?” Norma asks. “I mean, I’m pretty ignorant of football besides that you’re one hell of a player.” She smiles with the compliment, and I give her a half-hearted lift of my lips to show I appreciate it.
I shrug. “He’s not bad, and it wasn’t all on him. The team just didn’t have all the right pieces then, and it’s a team for a reason. But there’s got to be a leader on the field, and he gets rattled and off his game easily,” I tell her. “Then he starts making mistakes and can’t take the h
eat when it falls on his shoulders. He blames everyone else when it’s a shared final score, win or lose. He just made everyone play worse overall. Anyway, this is his last shot, so he’s getting frustrated and desperate. I’m not worried about his taking my spot—that’s not fucking happening—but if he keeps pushing my buttons, he’s gonna get decked. Shit, that might even be part of his plan, but I’m trying to keep my cool.”
I huff, shaking my head. “I can’t believe he actually tried to buzz me with his fucking car.” Norma gasps, and I think she realizes I wasn’t exaggerating. She looks me up and down, like she’s checking me for injuries, and I reassure her. “I’m fine. Really. Just pissed me off because that was fucking dangerous, and he was grinning like it was some big joke.”
“Shit,” she breathes. “Why does it matter to him that much? Does he actually think he has a shot at the pros?”
“No, it’s too late for that for him. Besides, Jake’s family is pretty well off, and from what I’ve heard in the locker room, he’s going to be working at his father’s company. I think he just wants to have that thing to hang his hat on that he did, something that’s his own and not his father’s.”
“Is that why you play? To have something of your own? What’s your family think about all this?” she asks.
I smile a big smile at that, years of my parents’ cheering in the stands coming back in an instant. “They love football too. Probably why they put me in it when I was barely bigger than a football. They’ve been supportive all along, but this year, especially, with all the interest from the pro scouts, they’ve been telling me to get my degree first and play pro later.” I mimic my dad’s voice because I can totally hear him saying that, so vivid it’s like he’s here, but it’s only because he’s said it dozens of times. “I’m the first in my family to go to college. I used the golden ticket football afforded me, and I plan to use it to get to the next phase too.”
The Virgin Diaries: The Complete Series Page 31
