by Jessica Ashe
“Well, just keep the noise down,” Becky says. “I’m writing an important article.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re doing much writing to me.”
God, I’d love to smack this guy in the mouth.
“Charles is helping me with my article.”
“Sure he is,” Peter replies.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I say, “but it’s true.”
“Becky has already made her contempt for football quite clear. I fail to believe she’s writing an article about you and your teammates.”
I’m surprised to hear Peter talk back so strongly, but he’s also keeping his distance. This is a man who is used to getting what he wants and talking down to people, but he’s not used to getting his own hands dirty in the process. I eat guys like him for breakfast.
“Just because I don’t like football,” Becky says “doesn’t mean I can’t write about it. I happen to be writing a critique of college football.”
“You’re writing an article against college football with the aid of this college’s biggest football star?” Peter asks incredulously. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe what you want,” I say. “It’s true. Now, how about you trot along and go back where you came from? A lot of information in this article is highly confidential right now.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Peter replies. “I can see what’s going on here.”
“What do you mean?” Becky asks. Her cheeks have turned even redder, and her voice is uncertain. If he didn’t know before, then he does now.
“I think I’ll pop along and have a word with Professor Fenwick. I’m sure he’d like to know that a tutor is fooling around with her student.”
“Give it a rest,” I snap. “We’re not doing anything, and even if we were, she’s not my teacher. I’m older than her for Christ’s sake.”
“We’ll let Professor Fenwick be the judge of that.”
Peter turns and heads towards the exit. I look at Becky and can see she’s terrified of being embarrassed in front of a guy I presume is her boss. I still don’t think she has anything to worry about, but if it’s important to her, it’s important to me.
I quickly head over to the door and place my hand on it before Peter can open it. “Hang on a second. Let’s talk about this before you go and do something you’ll regret.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I was wondering how you’d managed to make it to the first team. From what I heard, you flunked the entrance exam and have little chance of getting a passing grade in any of your classes.”
“Why does everyone keep going on about that damn entrance exam?” I mutter, more to myself than to him.
“No doubt Becky helped you get good grades in class.”
“Of course she helped me. She’s my tutor.”
“I think she did more than that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did the work for you.”
“That’s bollocks, and you know it.”
Peter shrugs, a smarmy grin appearing across his face. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. I think Professor Fenwick should find out either way.”
He tries to pull on the door handle, but I still have the door held shut. I know of one sure-fire way to handle this, but my gut tells me Becky won’t like it.
“Get out of my way,” Peter snarls.
Screw it. I tried talking, and it didn’t work. Time for Plan B. I grab Peter around the throat and slam him up against the door. I hear Becky protest in the background, but I block her out. I’m not going to hurt him; I just want him to think I’m going to hurt him.
“Let go,” Peter says through short, panicked breaths. He has two hands around my wrist, but I’m not letting go. Not until he understands. He’s braver than I thought, but that’s just his arrogance. He’s probably never been hit before; he doesn’t know pain. If he did, he be terrified right now.
“You’re going to leave this office and go straight home,” I order. “If I find out you’ve spoken to Professor Fenwick about Becky and I, you and me going to have a little one-on-one time, and I don’t mean tutoring. Do you understand?”
I can’t understand the garbled noise that comes out of Peter’s mouth, so I loosen my grip slightly around his neck.
“Yes,” he splutters.
He still doesn’t look as scared as he should, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. I’ve warned him. If he goes back on his word, then he will find out that it doesn’t matter how much money your parents have. When someone punches you in the face it hurts. When I punch someone in the face you end up with broken bones.
Peter scurries out of the room as quickly as he can without actually breaking into a sprint. He’s not going to talk to Professor Fenwick—at least not today.
“You should leave, too,” Becky says timidly.
“He won’t come back.”
“I don’t care. You need to leave. We can’t do this here.”
“Will you at least meet me after the game?” I ask.
Becky nods, and I resist the urge to press any further. She looks shaken up by the whole thing, and I get the distinct impression that the more I say, the more likely we will end up arguing. I need my head to be in the right place for today’s game, so arguing with Becky is the last thing I want.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on Peter. Maybe I should’ve been harder? Sometimes people break, and then you never hear from them again. Other times the anger and embarrassment builds up inside and they do something stupid.
Journalism is Becky’s number one passion—or maybe number two after me, if I’m lucky—so if Peter ruins things for her she will be devastated.
I’m not going to let that happen.
I know nothing about our opponents. I literally haven’t even heard of the college they represent, but judging by the talk in the dressing room, they will put up a stern challenge. One that we can overcome with a little help from myself.
During training, Coach deemphasized my role in the team and made it clear that everyone’s contribution is equally important. Now that the big day has arrived, he wastes no time in making me sound like the savior the team has been waiting for. It’s more than a little embarrassing, but I don’t let the pressure get to me.
I’ve played in bigger games than this before. I’ve played in games where the future of the club was at stake. Maybe this game is important too, but I still have no idea how the league table works. There doesn’t appear to be any system of relegation or promotion, and apparently journalists decide where each team finishes in the rankings. That seems utterly absurd to me, and I still think the team might just be playing an elaborate practical joke on me. It doesn’t matter—however the final standings are decided, winning games always help.
Despite supposedly being the most important player on the team; even more so than the quarterback, I don’t get to make a run once in the entire first quarter. Coach thinks it’s a good idea to lull the other team into a false sense of security. They know who I am, but have no idea what I’m capable of. We want to make them think I’m having difficulty settling in so that they stop heaping so much coverage on me.
It works. In the second quarter we go for it all guns blazing. The ball ends up in my hands every other play, and ninety percent of the time I do the business with it. Only running ten yards seems pretty pathetic in my book, but that’s the magic number in this game.
By half time I’ve scored two touchdowns, but have also given away three penalties due to being a little eager to get off the mark. I can’t so much as breathe without being penalized for a false start. One of those penalties leads directly to a field goal, but I’ve clearly still done more good than harm.
The second half is a little more challenging, but we still win the game comfortably and I keep getting the ball. Presumably that means I’m doing something right.
“Thank God you’re getting decent grades in class,” Coach says loudly after the game, slamming his palm on my shoulder. “
I must admit, I was a little worried I wouldn’t be able to pick you after I saw your performance in the entrance exam.”
I’m never going to live that down. I probably should have studied more, but the test instructions were so vague it was almost impossible to properly prepare. I just showed up on the day and answered the questions as best I could. I hadn’t realized they were going to be quite so focused on American history and current events.
The whole team probably thinks I’m stupid, and no doubt people suspect that professors are just giving me passing grades to ensure I get to play on the team. The real credit lies with Becky. She’s the one who has me focused on studying for the first time in my life. She’s even instilled in me the tiniest bit of passion for the subject. Without her I probably would have watched this game from the stands.
Everyone gets showered and dressed quickly. Although no one tells the coach, I know most of them are heading to a party after the game. I used to do the same thing. There’s nothing like celebrating victory by getting laid with eager young women.
I plan to do a little celebrating of my own tonight.
“Hang back for a minute,” Coach says while the team piles out of the locker room. He waits until we have some privacy before speaking. “There was a scout out there tonight.”
“Already?”
“Seems word about you got around quickly. I guess you impressed him, because he’s waiting in my office to speak to you.”
“Shit. I hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly.”
“Don’t let him rush you into anything. If you get signed up by a team, it will be through the draft system. He’s just trying to gauge whether you might be interested in playing for his team. This is a good sign though. Getting interest from a scout this early almost certainly means you’ll have them queuing up come draft time.”
“That’s the plan.”
I realize I’ve barely given any thought to my future in these last couple of weeks. All my efforts have been focused on Becky. Playing football is almost an inconvenience—something that gets in the way of time spent with her.
I still want to play professional football, but there’s no burning desire deep inside me like there was when professional rugby teams started sniffing around me at sixteen. However, my money won’t last forever and I have a child and her greedy mother to look after.
Then there’s Becky. I know it’s sexist and old-fashioned, but I have an overwhelming desire to provide for her. If I can play professional football, I can earn enough money for the both of us. She can do whatever she wants. It’s stupid to be thinking like this already, but I know from experience that you can’t force your mind to focus on what sensible. Right now, I’m acting on an impulsive desire to do whatever is best for Becky, Gemma and myself.
“I guess I better go talk to this scout,” I say. “Let’s find out what he has to offer.”
Chapter 9
Rebecca
I’m so screwed.
Peter’s clever enough not to run straight to Professor Fenwick with some story about Charles and me getting it on in the office. He’s a journalist, and a good one. That means he’ll talk to other people and gather evidence. However, there is little doubt in my mind that at some point Professor Fenwick is going to find out that Charles and I are… something. A couple? Friends with benefits? Whatever. We are more than what we should be.
Charles embarrassed Peter, and if there’s one thing people like Peter don’t want to be, it’s embarrassed. He’ll sit and stew for a bit, but at some point he will come after me.
What happens then? I’m probably not breaking any rules by sleeping with Charles. He’s right that a tutor sleeping with the person she’s helping is hardly the same as a professor-student relationship. It’s a little immoral, given that the university pays me $15 an hour to be with Charles, but it’s not something that’s going to end up on my academic record.
Professor Fenwick will be disappointed, though. He holds me in ridiculously high regard, and I know he’ll be annoyed at me for conducting myself inappropriately. He probably won’t say anything, and I won’t lose my position on the newspaper, but the little twinkle in his eye when he sees me won’t be there anymore. Instead, there will just be disappointment. I’m sure he’ll still help me get a job, but he won’t go the extra mile for me.
Peter won’t stop at telling Professor Fenwick, either. Soon, everyone in the college will know that once again the nerdy girl who works for the college newspaper is dating one of the college’s top athletes. When news got out about my relationship with Brian, people had been incredulous and disbelieving. When people realized he was only with me for a dare, there was almost a sense of relief. Social order had been restored and everyone knew where they stood again.
When word gets out that Charles and I are dating, I will be ridiculed. I will actually be a laughingstock. How can anyone fall for the same trick twice?
I know Charles is genuine, and I know he’s not Brian, but my fellow students don’t know that. I shouldn’t be so paranoid about what others think, but when you’ve been laughed at and shamed like I have, you tend to worry about appearances.
I shouldn’t have kicked Charles out of the office. I do have work to do, but I can’t actually focus on any of it. I’m back to staring at my document, unable to type new sentences, or even edit the ones I’ve already written. Right now, my brain is incapable of doing anything other than worrying about the future.
This shit couldn’t be happening at a worse time. If my life gets messed up now, I won’t be able to focus on writing or interviews, and I can kiss goodbye to any chance of a good job. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up with a life of instant noodles and ignoring threatening letters from the federal government demanding loan repayments.
The college is usually half-deserted on Saturdays, but at around five o’clock crowds of people start walking through campus in the direction of the football stadium. I haven’t watched a game since I dated Brian, and the thought of sitting on those benches again makes me feel a little queasy.
Charles won’t mind if I skip out on watching the game, but I know I’ll feel guilty. I owe it to him. He’s missed nights out with his teammates to be with me, and he’s attended every study session I’ve set for him just so he can make the team. At the very least, I owe him a modest show of support.
I arrive only ten minutes before kickoff and the stadium is nearly full. I’ve never seen it like this before; there’s a positive, energetic atmosphere coursing through the crowd. Usually, people just come here to hang out with friends, but today they are here to cheer on their team. Can all this be because of one man?
In the case of Charles, yes, it can. He’s given the team something to strive towards, something to look forward to when they start training in the morning. A little bit of extra passion. He’s changed the team like he’s changed me.
By half time, I remember just how little I know about this sport. Charles hardly gets the ball at all in the first quarter, but in the second quarter he scores two touchdowns and makes quite a few first downs. I’m sure there’s a reason for those tactics, but they’re lost on me. I would just give the ball to Charles all the time and let him work his magic. The other team can’t touch him; he shoves players out of the way with ease, and his clothes must be covered in oil judging by the way no one can get a grip on him.
I’m not the only one to have noticed the new star man. A group of six girls in front of me cheer on Charles’ every move as if they were his own personal group of cheerleaders.
“I didn’t think the English played football,” says a girl wearing the college jersey.
“He used to play rugby,” a girl in a sweatshirt replies. “Didn’t you read that article? Rugby and football have a lot in common, so I guess it’s easy for him to adapt.”
“Let’s hope he has a preference for American women as well.”
“Do you think he’ll be at the party tonight?”
“Of course he will. The entir
e team will be there.”
“I can’t wait to hear him speak. Lois says he sounds like Benedict Cumberbatch.”
“I’ve heard he’s got more of a Daniel Craig thing going on. A little rough, but assertive.”
Daniel Craig? Not even close. I suppose the Benedict Cumberbatch comparison isn’t wholly off the mark, but I’ve always thought he sounded more like Damien Lewis.
“I don’t even care what he sounds like,” a third girl says. “I’ll be happy just to stand there and stare at him all night.”
“Yeah, well I plan to do a lot more than just stare at him,” the girl in the jersey replies.
“You’ll have to get in line.”
“I’ll wait my turn if I have to. Anything to get a piece of that.”
I tell myself that even if Charles were single he wouldn’t go near these women. Then I remember Dana. Like all men, Charles has a weakness for a pretty face, big chest, and nice ass, especially when those assets are barely covered.
I want to go down there and tell them all that Charles won’t be going to the party because he’ll be spending the evening with me. It might even be worth it just to see the expressions on their faces, but then they’d realize who I am, and would just assume Charles is stringing me along like Brian had done.
Besides, I like to think I’m a little bit too mature to get a kick out of making other people jealous. It would be sweet to get some revenge though. All those women who ridiculed me after Brian’s deceit came to light would finally look at me with envy, not disgust or pity. That’s if they believe Charles and I are a real couple. I’m still not sure I believe it.
We haven’t had that discussion yet, and technically all we’ve done is have a one night stand and a quickie in the office. That doesn’t look good on paper, but I’d been the one to bail in the morning, and I’d been the one to kick him out of my office. Nothing Charles has done so far indicates that he just wants to have his way with me and run. I need to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if I may end up getting hurt.
