Marvin slapped his hands together, nodding. “Okay. Got it. For what it’s worth, I think she’s gonna need a lot of time. And besides, don’t you have a new girl? Shouldn’t you be focusing on her?”
That was part of the problem. I was focusing on Mia.
I respected her desire for space, so I never texted her. Not until this morning.
It was a good morning text.
She read it and sent a smiley face.
I didn’t know what to do after that.
“Okay, I’m gonna do my thing now,” I told Marvin, stepping off from the bench, hugging my towel tight.
My main ritual before a big game was to meditate. Most people were surprised to hear I was into that, thinking that was some sort of hippie nonsense, but when Mom was trying out her new life as a single mother after the divorce, she started taking yoga lessons at home, and I remember watching them and thinking how serene they made me feel.
I wasn’t really into yoga, not unless it was part of a wider fitness routine to get me into shape for the season, but I did find myself loving meditation.
Sometimes I liked guided meditation, and I’d play them from an app on my phone.
But I needed to clear my head totally, so I had to face all my thoughts.
I could do this under a shower, at least.
The rain of cold water rushing over my head was the sound I tried to concentrate on. I tried everything I could to make it work: to try to visualize every single droplet of water bouncing off my head, my shoulders, my chest… to block my senses beyond the sound of the torrent of water from above… the tactile sensation of the wet tiled bath floor as my toes rubbed into it.
My head should have been clear right now.
But no, I kept flashing to a specific image.
It was Mia.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Mia.
“Fuck it,” I grunted, clenching my teeth. What, was I horny or something? Did I need to rub one out to clear my head?
Some of the guys did that, channel their sexual energy to gain pure athletic focus. Sounded like a waste to me, honestly.
My dick was rock hard because I was thinking about Mia, even though this was a cold shower with a temperature so low it might as well be icicles.
I slammed my fists against the bath wall in front of me. Leaning, forward, letting the water blast down my back and onto my ass, I sighed.
Tonight’s match was a big deal. I shouldn’t be letting these stray thoughts take me over.
Okay, so I was thinking about Mia. So what? She wasn’t into football. It wasn’t like she was a cheerleader or something, or someone I might see in the stands tonight…
“Enough,” I said, looking straight up to the shower head, letting the water rain all over my face. “Enough.”
If meditating just meant thinking about Mia, I was going to just have to stop trying to meditate.
I walked out of my shower feeling more frustrated than anything else. I had to keep that down. I knew that in a team like ours, that sort of frustration ran the risk of rippling from player to player, some sort of undercurrent that stops us from being our best selves on the field.
My phone was buzzing when I returned to my locker.
“Mom,” I said, surprised.
“I wanted to call you to wish you luck,” she quickly said. “Your sister was browsing through ESPN and saw your game on the schedule. We’re not watching it but I thought I might be able to get to you before it started.”
“Aw, thanks, Mom. Yeah, we’re about to start. I probably shouldn’t be on the phone too long.”
“Have you been okay, Bry? You seemed a little… unhappy, the last time we talked.”
I glanced at the coach. He was still looking at his whiteboard. I probably had a minute or so to talk. “Well… you know how it was. Dad got on my nerves. He does that.”
“You’re right, he does do that,” Mom told me. “But you’ve known that all your life. Just ignore what he was saying. He’s a selfish person, and he only cares about getting his way. Screwing with your head to make you feel bad about something you love so much like football is exactly what he wants.”
“I know,” I swallowed unhappily. I realized in that instant that focusing on Mia had not just been my inability to meditate due to being horny for the last girl I kissed — it was a way to dwell on a more positive thought, instead of the much more negative anxieties I had, like worrying about my performance, or my conversation with Dad. “Thanks, Mom.”
I didn’t know what else to say, after all. It’s different talking about my feelings to someone like my Mom compared to a bro like Marvin who lived with me and understood my life.
“You’re welcome, honey,” she said. “Sheryl sends her love. And wishes you luck, of course. She says that when Rob comes back from his trip he’ll be watching highlights from the game, so make sure you knock it out of the park.”
“Mom, that’s a baseball reference. You’re so clueless about football,” I made fun of her. But it was nice to hear from my older sister and her husband. I wondered what little Carl, their young son, was up to. Sheryl and I had been very close, growing up. “Thanks again.”
“I know you’ll do amazing. Love you, Bry.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
I needed that pick me up. The guys started to gather around Coach Frost for the pep talk, with just a few minutes to go before we had to play.
Mia. I kept seeing Mia.
It wasn’t a surprise to me that I couldn’t even pay attention to the pep talk, but I pretended damn well as if I did.
Plays. Strengths, weaknesses. Kentucky had a superior offense, but our defensive line was seen by everyone as being more disciplined. We had a reputation for snatching comebacks through quick plays when the other team lost their nerve in the last few minutes of the later quarters of every game.
So thankfully I didn’t miss out on much when Coach Frost gave his pep talk and I was busy mooning away thinking about Mia. I knew the drill.
So when he hyped us up by making us cheer ourselves on, and we ran onto the field, we were ready.
Things were still surreal to me, starting a game like this. I was used to sitting on the bench, watching every play, analyzing what I would have done better, where I needed the guys to improve. If it was something to do with positioning during offense, I would mentally tell myself to weave around the field and get in a better spot so I could be in line for a good pass, or try to spot how certain players on the other team betrayed certain physical reflexes that allowed me to rush past them when I had the football and plan my route all the way to the touch line.
This time it goes well.
Everything I had been doing just went right. I allowed myself to just follow the flow, no longer bossing around and getting in the way of my buds, just doing my thing as the quarterback. I led every play, calling out to my guys just as planned. Glancing every so often to Coach Frost as he followed everything from his position, I could tell that he was happy with our performance.
Two early touchdowns left us with a nice lead, and it was clear that the Kentucky coach was not expecting the game to turn out this way.
At the next timeout, he called his team together and essentially ordered them to just play more aggressively. The Kentucky wide receivers stopped focusing on making wide runs, instead spreading further along the field so we’d have to chase after them to block their plays, which left us vulnerable to being tackled and sacked too.
It was a good plan, but Coach Frost saw that coming. He told us to keep disciplined, not let ourselves get suckered into making any mistakes just because every single Kentucky player treated himself like a battering ram against us.
But the thing is, while it didn’t result in points for Kentucky, they were succeeding at tiring us out. Marvin was struggling, trying to stop the running plays our opponents were testing us with. I was getting in good positions, sending out pitch-perfect forward passes any time I got the ball to our receivers, but th
e Kentucky strategy was really disrupting our strategy.
“Timeout!” the referee called at the end of the next play. Everyone collectively sighed. We were getting battered here. We needed those thirty seconds.
I glanced around the stadium. Full crowd. Kentucky bussed in their students and fans and they were noisy as hell, beating even us in terms of atmosphere.
“Man,” I grunted, knocking helmets with Russel, who was standing closest to me. “They’re really giving us a serious workout here.”
“Did you see DeShawn? He’s barely broken a sweat,” Russel said, nudging his chin in the direction of the Kentucky quarterback. I followed his gaze and saw the quarterback shoot me a sarcastic salute.
“Well, we need to do something about this,” I said.
Coach Frost was giving individual instructions. Marvin was getting told off for making a couple of sloppy mistakes that led to a couple of field goals in the last quarter. I walked over to Marvin, patting him on the back, waiting my turn.
“Howard, you’re doing great. You’re nimble on your feet, that’s important today. I want you to start pulling back and help out when the Kentucky guys try to do this battering ram play of theirs. Risk that pretty face of yours and tackle like hell.”
“Okay, got it, Coach,” I said, rapping my knuckles against my helmet to make sure everything was in place.
Game restarted and this time I knew I had to support my team more. It was a balancing act, anticipating tackles and breaking down the Kentucky plays by disrupting them with my defensive presence — I also had to have the stamina to break out of these plays when I had to, so I could be in a good position to make a touchline run.
But Coach Frost was always right, and I was the star of the show tonight. I could feel it. The energy of the crowd was electric.
They oohed and ahhed when I got dove on at the touch line, holding the ball up. It didn’t even matter when the Kentucky defense stormed me with their tackles.
We won.
The whistle and the roar of the crowd as Florida fans finally outshouted Kentucky’s noisy support was all that mattered to me.
I opened my eyes and watched our fans jump in joy, celebrating our dominant win.
Mia. I kept seeing Mia. She was my lucky charm, the talisman that led to me being able to really follow the flow tonight.
To my great surprise, I saw her there. On the bleachers, first row, sitting alone.
I walked right up to her, eyes shining with awe. Was it real?
Someone was coming up to me, asking me questions, but I didn’t even hear what they were saying. It was some girl with a phone stuck out from an outstretched arm, recording me.
“Mia,” I murmured when I was close enough to her. She watched me with a proud smile the whole time. “Mia fucking Cowell.”
“Mia Cowell, that’s her name?” the wannabe journalist following me with a phone said. I recognized that voice immediately.
That was Fiona Davis, YouTube girl.
9
Mia
The winning quarterback, the hero of the night, singled me out. Of all the girls in all the bleachers and seats in the stadium, of all the fans, of all the students…
Bryant Howard was walking to me.
There was intent in his eyes. Like he meant it when he picked me, walking with purpose.
Everyone’s eyes were on me.
“Who’s that girl?” I could hear people whisper.
A goth girl, clearly Fiona with the YouTube gossip channel, was following Bryant, pointing a phone in his face… and now moving it to include me in the shot.
I blushed. This wasn’t what I was expecting.
He called my name, and I had to go to Bryant.
I was still blushing, keenly aware of everyone’s attention on me. There was the phone pointed in my face. “Hey, please, I don’t consent to you recording me.”
“You heard her, Fiona,” Bryant said, getting in the way of the shot. “Leave us alone.”
“Who’s this, Bryant? I thought you were dating Samantha Rogers. Are you two-timing on her? Or did you dump her and replace her with someone who looks just like her — except a little less hot?”
Bryant got mad at that last taunt. “Hey, why don’t you just leave us alone, like I said?”
He was the hero of the moment. Of course the crowd was with him. People started heckling Fiona, and she made the smart move of backing off.
Then it was just Bryant and me.
“Mia,” he murmured. “Wow.”
“Wow yourself,” I replied, shaking my head in surprise. “Um, what’s going on here? Are we having… a moment?”
“Call it whatever you want,” Bryant said. I realized he was still breathless from the game. Even a non-sports watcher like me could tell that he really bossed that game. Kentucky were playing rough, slamming tackle after tackle into the Florida boys, but any time Bryant had the ball, he was untouchable. He ran, he dodged, he weaved, he flung perfect forward passes.
I was really impressed, and the tough girl part of me that had always been opposed to Bryant was very much interested in not letting him notice that.
Preparing some witty retort for him, I inched forward…
And then we were interrupted by a scream of anger.
“You’re such a bitch, Mia!”
I blinked. That was Samantha. My best friend turned feuding roommate snuck up behind us. She slapped me on my shoulder. “Hey, watch it!”
“I can’t believe you would be such a bitch,” Sam said, full of viciousness. “I thought you were my friend.”
Turning around to face her, I thought I could at least comfort and console her the way I normally did, by holding her by her wrists, bringing her hands down, talking her down.
But she was too angry.
Sam really thought I was the bad guy here. “Sam… what are you talking about?”
“You kissed that other night, and now you’re doing this. What the hell, Mia? And you, Bryant, you’re sick. You’re honestly sick if you think you can just move on from me to… this bitch.”
She spat those last two words with so much venom. I had to really fight hard not to let the tears rush to my face.
“Sam…”
“I don’t even want to hear it. We’re over. I never want to see you again.”
Bryant stepped in. “You have a lot of problems you need to figure out, and this isn’t the right place, Sam.”
There was a crowd surrounding us. And Fiona may have backed off, but she didn’t leave.
She wasn’t the only one with a phone out.
Sam laughed bitterly. “So you broke up with me the night of the party just because you saw Mia? I knew you had some weird, twisted crush on her the whole time. Was that why you hooked up with me, huh, Bryant? Because I was your pretend-Mia?”
“What the hell?” Bryant said, shaking his head. “No. It’s not like that at all.”
“Just come clean, you’re such a fucking coward,” Sam shouted. She raised her voice to a pitch I had never heard. This wasn’t the Sam I had known all my life. I realized she had to be high right now as well.
We didn’t even go to the football game together. I didn’t see her in any of the seats on my side, so she had to have been getting high by herself and then coming to stage some sort of intervention… only to see me and Bryant.
“Sam, please. Not now. Not in front of all these people,” I begged my best friend.
“You don’t have the right to ask me to do anything, bitch,” Sam replied, her face contorted with anger. She clenched her fists and started to step up to me.
This was going to be bad. An argument was one thing, but an actual fight? Sam was crazy if that was what she wanted!
People were coming in to join the crowd. I realized they were Bryant’s teammates.
“Yo, Bryant, what’s up? Time to go, come on!” one dark-skinned, taller footballer said, hugging his helmet to his chest.
“Tyrone, give me a sec,” Bryant replied, tu
rning to him. “Can you do me a favor and like, tell everyone to just leave?”
Marvin was there too, frowning as he saw Sam. Sam acted like he wasn’t there. “Alright everyone, this isn’t the party, the team celebration’s out by the Washington Building, not here at the stadium. Got it, everyone? Time to leave!”
He raised his voice, guarding Bryant as he and some of the other football players guided the crowd out.
I could finally breathe again. But I couldn’t stop the flow of tears.
Bryant was being mobbed by his friends. I glanced over to him and realized I had to face this one alone.
“Sam…”
“You really did it this time, Mia,” she replied, shaking her head. She was still furious at me. “You broke the girl code. You’re no friend of mine. You’re honestly just the sneakiest, snakiest girl in this entire college.”
I wiped my tears. “Say whatever you need to say. Let it out. I don’t care. You’re my friend.”
“Doesn’t feel like it. Friends don’t go slobbering all over Bryant Howard after pretending to hate him for years.”
“I did hate him for years,” I protested.
“And you suddenly just gave that up because he picked you up for a date in a Mercedes?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “Or did you stop hating him after he fucked you?”
The crowd may have gone, but Fiona was still around, recording a video of this whole scene.
Bryant came back, managing to escape from the mob of teammates and fans. “Fiona! Get out of here.”
“Is it true?” she asked, stepping back, pointing the phone from Bryant to me to Sam. “You cheated on your girlfriend with her best friend who had just arrived here?”
“What? No!” Bryant said, waving his hands to block the phone camera. “We haven’t done anything like that.”
“Bullshit,” Sam cursed.
“Seriously, we haven’t,” I said, amid all my tears. “It was just one kiss. And it was a mistake. We agreed that it won’t happen again.”
Bryant nodded quietly, still shooing Fiona away. He turned to Sam. “It’s really not what you think.”
Hating Him Wanting Him : A Contemporary Romance Collection Page 22
