by Love Belvin
“Com’ere, girl.” He motioned with a curled index finger.
I followed him to the back of the apartment and into his room. It was dark. Dark wood floor and furniture, navy blue curtains and comforter with a silver bed skirt. BSU colors. There was a body mirror in the corner, a bench topped with brand new clothes with visible tags. But the bed…it was huge, bigger than my mother’s.
I turned to him. “How is it that you have this gigantic bed, but everyone else is stuck with tiny ass ones?”
He shot me a wink. “One of these days, you’ll understand I’m that BSU muthafucka, girl.” I sucked my teeth, rolling my eyes to the other side of the room. His bedroom was almost as big as the dorm room I shared with Samantha. “Anyway,” he uttered on his way to the closet. “what I was getting at is we can both fit in the bed if you’re not a wild sleeper.” The winds sounded against the windows, taking my attention. Ashton pulled out a blanket, unraveling it until it was just folded in half, and placed it on one side of the bed. “One person can sleep under the comforter and the other the blanket. Make sense?”
I took a mental deep breath, accepting my fate of the night. Hate it or despise it, I was sleeping in Ashton Spencer’s bed.
With him…
A wave of nausea washed over me.
“I’ll sleep over the comforter.” My throat was so tight, my words came out squeaky. “You’re too damn heavy for me to be trapped underneath a blanket you’re sleeping on top of.”
“Wait,” his gruff cords demanded. “If you’re feeling uncomfortable, unsure, uneasy, pressured, or anything other than sleepy as hell, please let me know. Speak before I turn off this light.”
“Why you gotta say all that?” He was being extra.
“Because I have to protect myself. I mean, I understand you’re in a precarious situation right now, but trust me: this is even more awkward and risky for me.”
“And why is it?”
“Because I’m Ashton and you’re just…Tori.”
“And?”
“I’m cool, and you’re not.”
My head swung back, defenses shooting in the air. “Yeah, but I can beat your ass.”
Ashton killed the light and pealed a high-pitched chortle, “Conjecture.”
The urge to turn over was beyond severe. But I couldn’t because if I did, Ashton would probably know I was still awake, and if he knew I was still awake, he would think I was still being weird about this. I had been weird about this—the whole thirty-eight minutes that had passed since we’d climbed into his big bed. And that’s what was strange to me. The bed was large enough for us to not have to touch each other. But still, I was restless.
My brain ran laps in my skull, thinking. This had never happened to me. I’d never shared a bed with a guy. I never wanted to share a bed with anyone, not even my cousins. So I didn’t understand what I was feeling. The smell of his sheet, pillowcase, and comforter was so…Ashton, even more than his apartment. I counted sheep trying to describe the scent. Wood, spice…nutsy, orangey? All those things, though it sounded crazy to even me.
More than cologne, I smelled him. There was something natural about his body odor I couldn’t define, even to myself. And that part of it frustrated me. My nipples tingled and warm liquid soaked the seat of the boxer briefs I wore. That made me wonder if my period had come. Couldn’t have. It had just gone off. I was too embarrassed to go to the bathroom to check. If it was my period, that would be an embarrassing inconvenience of epic proportions.
But it couldn’t be my period. My period didn’t make me throb down there the way the scent had been doing since I lay on his comforter.
The rocking of my body had my eyes swing open. It was daylight; that was clear in the darkly decorated room. Ashton was sitting on the bed next to me, smelling more Ashton-y. He was topless with sweats clinging low on his waist, tattoos I’d never seen this up close glistening on his chestnut skin. Then my mind caught up and pulse beat wildly.
“What time is it?”
“Early, but I’ve got to head out.” His voice was thick, coarse, and masculine. Ashton was a…man-human. “Coach wants us at eight.” I moved to leave the bed. Ashton touched my arm gently. “Why are you rushing?”
“You said you have to go. I know you need to lock up.” I was disoriented, not recalling when I’d fallen asleep last night.
“I have to go, not you,” he explained in his bossy Ashton way. “It’s not even seven o’clock.”
“I have work.”
“What time do you have to be there?”
I thought for a minute. “Nine.”
“You’re good. Relax.” He stood and opened a drawer, pulling out a long-sleeve shirt. I watched too attentively as he slid it over his head and thick body. “I had breakfast dropped off from the cafe and ordered enough for you.”
Great. Another prince of Blakewood privilege.
I lay back, rubbing my eyes. When I felt the crust in them, my whole body ran cold. My face…my breath! I hid my face behind my hands.
Ughhhhh!
“You don’t strike me as the makeup type, so if you wanna chill here until you leave for work, you’re good. You have your washcloths and towel from last night and there’s a new toothbrush in the linen closet. You could probably find some off-brand deodorant my roommate uses in there, too. It’s some organic shit he stockpiles. And the front door locks behind you.” He started for the door. “I got pancakes and French toast. Didn’t know which one you preferred. You should find something decent out there.” I didn’t answer, doing him a favor of not knocking him out with my hot breath. But Ashton got to the door and turned to me. “Are you coming today? To homecoming—the game?”
My mouth opened then shut behind my hands. Then I uttered, “It’s mandatory.”
Ashton’s eyes bounced left, right, then down, his lips pouting. He nodded before leaving me alone in his gigantic, Ashton-smelling bed. I could hear his footsteps throughout the quieted apartment. With wide eyes, I listened with tight fists clenching the comforter. I could even hear Ashton talk to the fish and change their music. When the door closed, I was able to let go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
My eyes bounced around the room; I didn’t get a chance to take in the apartment last night. It was clean and manly, dark and neutral colors. There was a framed picture on his nightstand. It was old, had to be taken in the nineties, of a woman with four little bad ass looking boys. They couldn’t be more than nine or ten, standing on a city corner, in front of a bodega. The woman’s smile felt familiar. Ashton. One of the boys was a young Ashton, shirtless, cheesing with old school Jordans on his feet. The other boys were half dressed too, making it clear it was summertime. The boys stood in front of the woman with their arms hanging over each other’s tiny shoulders. His beam was big, unguarded, not cool guy or Mr. I’m The Shit. He was a…regular, happy boy.
That was the only picture I could see from the bed. No more of himself or his family in sight, but there was a poster of a football player. Connecticut Kings. Tariq Evans. His face was familiar and his name definitely rang a bell for a non-football fan like me. Evans was everywhere…on the radio, making cameos on television sitcoms. I’d even seen him on MTV’s TRL a few months ago. Why was he the only football player with a poster in Ashton Spencer’s room?
His room!
My back shot up from the bed. Why was I lazing around in his bed like he didn’t have a girlfriend? How could I have slept with him last night knowing he had a girlfriend? This was Aivery’s boyfriend’s bed. The scent created from the swiftness of my sitting up had that “Ashton odor” wafting through my nose, causing that stir in my belly I felt all night until I fell asleep.
My hands shot beneath the blanket and boxers then between my legs. I swiped myself, leaping at the weird sensitivity down there. When I brought my hand up, I was relieved to see it wasn’t red, and weirded out at the thick goo I brought back. Holding my hand in the air, I jumped out of his bed and powered into the hall
and in the bathroom.
Not liking the wet feeling, I showered again and brushed my teeth with a quickness I didn’t know I was capable of. I trekked to the front of the apartment to find Ashton laid all my clothes out, including underwear, on the back of the La-Z-Boy chair. I snatched them up, ran back into the bathroom to change, and finger comb my hair into a ponytail. When I ventured back out to the front of the apartment, I saw the food covered and spread out over the table. Ashton was right. There were pancakes, home fries, French toast, waffles, eggs, bacon, and sausage there untouched. Standing, I scarfed down a little bit of everything before throwing it all out, cleaning behind myself.
Then I thought about the bed. My Margaret wouldn’t take too kindly to me leaving here without cleaning behind myself. I revisited the room and made quick work at folding the extra blanket I’d used, then made the bed. Before leaving the apartment, I checked every room I visited since arriving last night to remove any traces of my existence. I would die if Aivery found out I stayed over and took my time leaving her boyfriend’s apartment. When I was satisfied, it wasn’t quite eight-fifteen and I finally left.
“Oh, you’re early!”
I glanced up from my sitting position on the ground to see my boss, Kelly, approaching the back door of the building with a newspaper, coffee, and a bunch of folders in his hands and arms. I wouldn’t respond to that stupid remark. Of course, I was here—physically, at least. It was the last place I wanted to be, but I needed the money. My mother hadn’t sent much, and definitely not all that was due to me from child support.
The sun was brighter than it had been all week, drying the ground. I’d seen damages from the winds on the bus ride into town. Store owners picked up overturned garbage cans, trash, and debris from trees and loose furniture. I stood to my feet and wiped the back of my pants down, ready to get this short shift over with.
“Start in the kitchen, making sure the ovens are warming. When Isaiah gets in, he’ll need to get right to warming that food.” Kelly started the moment he opened the door. “Then make sure Marsha cleaned the bathroom good. Some kid shitted all over the place last night. Ate something that didn’t agree with him.”
Walking toward the small kitchen in the place, I rolled my eyes, pretty much ignoring the rest of the noise coming from that lazy human. Only two and half hours and I would be out of here and switching masks and uniforms to be a Panther.
“What’s going on here?” I was glad Samantha was asking the questions I shared. I didn’t want to let on to my team that I had shit knowledge of football.
With his eyes glued to the field across from us, Collin explained, “The Panthers have staged an incredible comeback. They’ve driven the ball down to the five-yard line.” He pointed.
“But they’re behind.” The panic in Samantha’s reminder made my stomach flip.
The ability to breathe was stifled by the thousands of people filling up the stadium. This place was packed! And I couldn’t believe I was rooting for a stupid football team. Is this what going to college did to you? My nerves were more frazzled in the past twenty minutes when the North Carolina AT&T Aggies took the scoring lead. This suspense was worse than waiting to hear which couple won Blakewood State University’s king and queen only because Ashton was a contender.
During the halftime event, a twisted part of me rooted for Aivery, too, because she belonged to him, and suddenly I was team Everything Ashton Spencer. My eyes were glued to them when they were announced and made their entrance onto the field. My pulse raced as the crowd issued them the loudest shouts and rounds of applause. Ashton was still in his uniform and sported his classic glare while escorting his girlfriend. I heard Trisha say his head was still in the game and not on the contest. Maybe she was right. Either way, Aivery looked the part: gorgeous and graceful in her long gown. When their names were announced as BSU’s 2006 homecoming king and queen, folks all around jumped on the bleachers, clapping and hooting. My elation was in the form of my body tensing all over. The crown belonged to Ashton. He was certainly Mr. Blakewood in my head. And when she reached up to kiss him, I couldn’t tear my eyes away while feeling a deep throbbing between my thighs. It was too weird and intense.
The only highly entertaining part of the event was watching the band. Holy hell! They were popping! We came in on their performance, something Samantha said she didn’t want to miss when I ran into our dorm room after my shift to shower then change into leggings and a Panthers hoodie. She said she wanted to come with me because I had better seats than she could get as a non-athlete. When we got to the seats Trisha had saved for me, we didn’t sit until the Panthers’ band performance had ended. It felt like being at a party where no one present was a stranger. We danced, rolled in the bleachers—a BSU tradition I knew nothing about—and sang at the top of our lungs. Blakewood was more than a vibe, I witnessed today. It was a whole ass culture.
“They are trailing by four points and need a touchdown, a field goal doesn’t help,” Trisha added to Samantha’s observation.
The entire stadium went crazy as Ashton jogged back onto the field, straight to his teammates.
Collin sat up, revealing how edgy he was, too, and muttered without looking at Samantha, “He’s used the team’s final timeout with only seven seconds remaining in the game to talk things over with his coaches. Now he’s relaying the play to his teammates.”
“He’s broken the huddle!” Trisha announced with nervous excitement as she stood to her feet.
Ashton, number seven in the navy blue, silver, and white jersey, paced up to the line, studying something deeply with each step.
“What’s he observing so closely?” Samantha asked boldly.
Thank you, god!
I was wondering the same thing.
“Defense,” Trisha shot down as she stood.
“He’s surveying the defense. Everyone in the stadium knows that a pass play is coming because running the ball is too much of a risk,” Collin explained in more detail. “It looks like the defense is going to play man-to-man, which means the outside linebacker has the running back in coverage, so the end of the line should be vulnerable.” He pointed to the field. “You see Spencer looking over at his halfback? See he just nodded his head as if signifying a change in the play because of the defense they’re playing?”
“Yeah,” Samantha answered warily.
The game started up again and the center hiked Ashton the ball. The Panthers were moving in all directions as Ashton appeared to be giving the ball to someone on his team, but instead shot up the field. The Aggie guys pummeled the guy Ashton handed the ball to and the crowd went crazy. At first it floored me, then Collin and other people around jumped to their feet as Ashton continued to run.
“Holy shit, Spence!” he yelled more manly than I’d ever seen of him. “Yeah, baby!”
Ashton kept running and the crowd got louder and rowdier until the horn activated. His teammates ran to him, jumping around, slapping his shoulders, grabbing poor Ashton from every angle. My attention went to the clock and I observed the time had run out and the game was over. At this point, it was clear to me we had won the game.
But how?
Finally, I asked, yelling over the victory cries happening all around me, “What just happened?”
Collin turned to me. “He took the snap and to everyone in the stadium’s surprise, especially the defense, the Panthers’ incomparable quarterback ran an RPO—” He shook his head, to correct himself. He was beyond elated at this point. “I mean a Run Pass Option. Spence put the ball in the halfback’s stomach, but pulled it back just as the Aggie linebacker delivered a crushing hit to the halfback. That’s when Spencer turned the ball up the field using his sneaky 4.5 speed, covering the needed yardage to cross the goal line untouched!”
“We won!” Trisha yelled at the top of her lungs, something I’d heard when I was in the ring. “We beat those Aggie fools!”
Even Samantha expressed excitement. Never meeting Trisha or Collin until today,
she jumped from her seat and hugged Collin, then reached over him to hi-five Trisha. I, on the hand, watched absorbedly as Aivery charged the field, cutting between the big bodies of his teammates until she jumped into his arms. Ashton was caught off guard, but received her, lifting her small bouncy frame into the air. She grabbed his face again and they kissed. Her cheerleading friends were now in the mix, along with his coaches and others I didn’t know. It was…cute, I guessed. It was how they celebrated, was what I figured while watching.
“I heard Spence’s family didn’t come,” Collin shared with Trisha.
I noticed how people called Ashton both Spence and Spencer, his full last name.
“No, they didn’t,” Trisha answered, snapping away at the field on her camera. The smile on her face couldn’t be measured. “And it’s strange because his family usually comes out for homecoming.”
“That’s what I’d heard from one of their trainers this morning,” Collin added.
“Well, as long as NormaJean isn’t here, I don’t care who is.” Trisha laughed.
Collin snickered, “Don’t be mean.”
I had no idea who or what they were referring to, but could spot shade from a mile away no matter how light-hearted it was.
Samantha elbowed me to get my attention. “Look. Whose attention is he trying to get?”
My eyes bounced around below where she was looking. “Who?”
“Dre.” She pointed. “You don’t see him?”
“He’s calling you, Tori,” Collin announced.
Finally, I located Dre. He was decked out in fresh black jeans, a Panthers letter jacket, matching sneakers, and a navy blue hat. He waved me on, then pointed to the crowd on the field.
“He’s telling you to come down, Tori.” Trisha’s serious tone, unlike when she was joking with Collin a few seconds ago, felt authoritative and I jumped into action. I dropped down the six levels, threading through celebratory bodies to get to the field. It took a few stops and rounding of folks, but I eventually made it to him.
