One Good Play

by Meredith St. James

  "Nah."

  I stared at him, waiting for some sort of explanation. Surely even he could understand my confusion. There was something odd about a non-athlete studying a career field that revolved around athletics. No dice. His eyes simply drifted back down to my bra line. I truly pitied the woman he someday ended up with. There would be no boomboxes outside her window or conversations that kept them up all night talking. Shame.

  The feeling that I was being watched sent goosebumps over my arms.

  I turned, scanning the room. Almost immediately, Carter caught my eye from the other side of the room. I felt myself wilt under his intense stare. He was watching me.

  I cursed my light complexion as my cheeks flooded with heat. I couldn't help but wonder if he always seemed so serious about everything. The sudden urge to see him having fun distracted me so much that I hadn't realized Frat Bro had started gyrating against my leg.

  "Okay..." What the hell was his name? "...you. Just a suggestion, but maybe you could stop humping my leg like a dog that hasn't been neutered? I'm not a bitch in heat, in case that was somehow unclear."

  Frat Bro stopped cold.

  I could hear him saying something about me being, "a bitch alright," as he stepped around me. It released me from the most painful attempt at conversation that I'd ever experienced. I was glad to see him go.

  The party hadn't been my idea in the first place. Getting a feel for a place's social scene was a good way to acclimate, but a fraternity party hadn't been what I'd had in mind. I was chalking it up to the quintessential college experience, but I had no intention of going to any more of them.

  I was starting to think my dad had grossly overestimated how much Kelley U would appeal to me. Maybe a west coast college would have been better.

  "Uh 'scuse me." Someone brushed past me to get to a seat on the sofa I'd been partially blocking. It effectively broke me out of my introspection.

  I could feel Carter's eyes still on me as I turned and fled in the opposite direction. There were a whole slew of reasons I needed to avoid Carter Scott—not the least of which was that it didn't seem like a great idea to be wondering what my roommate's brother looked like naked. Regardless of how insanely good looking the guy was clothed.

  The attention I got as I moved through the party wasn't lost on me. My copper colored hair always made me stand out in a crowd. As I worked my way towards the kitchen, I also overheard people talking about my juggling display. It was a party trick I'd picked up years ago from a Russian circus member.

  It didn't matter where you went, people were always impressed by someone who knew how to juggle. It was one of life's great mysteries.

  Years of traveling had taught me all sorts of ways to make friends. Damian's juggling trick, though, was by far the most useful. I hadn't actually talked to him in years, but I was certain I would never forget him because of it.

  "There you are!"

  Rose let out some sort of animalistic shriek as she launched herself at me. Luckily, she was a relatively small person. Otherwise, she might have knocked me over completely in her enthusiasm.

  "Here I am!" I answered.

  And I only felt slightly guilty about how drunk Rose had ended up after we'd done shots at the beginning of the party. I'd tried to warn her that I would outdrink her. Especially considering I'd eaten beforehand and I was pretty sure she had not.

  "I hope you don't mind, I called and invited my brother out." Rose's head bobbled around on her shoulders. "Or actually I called and told him he needed to come make sure we got home safe." She narrowed her eyes at me. "I was expecting you to seem way drunker."

  "Like you?" I teased.

  "Like me," she repeated, though in a much whinier voice.

  To be fair, Rose was only eighteen. I knew she'd had alcohol before. She'd been pretty overt about that when she'd told me stories about the wild high school graduation parties she'd been invited to. It seemed safe to say that none of those had been quite the caliber of a first-weekend frat party.

  "Actually, since your brother is gonna make sure you get home, would you mind if I maybe wandered off for the night?"

  Rose's laughter drew even more eyes to our already raucous exchange. "Is that code for having sex?"

  Her mind had greatly exaggerated my sexual activities. I had a collection of scrapbooks that I traveled with, and they'd made the trip to school with me. One of them had fallen out of a box while I'd been moving in. It was just a collection of photos with friends I'd met briefly when I'd been traveling. Somehow, Rose had decided my vast social experience translated to vast sexual experience as well.

  No matter how I tried to explain, she was convinced that I'd slept with all the men from the photos—and maybe some of the women, too. She swore they all looked like they were in love with me. I told her at best I'd been a passing fancy for those friends.

  Rose was unconvinced, but we'd had fun laughing together as I told her the stories of how I'd met some of them. To her, everything I'd done was so exotic and adventurous.

  Obviously, people didn't want to hear the boring stories. The days I'd spent alone in secluded train cars. Or the times I'd choked down barely edible meals so as not to offend whoever had offered it to me. Those sorts of thing didn't make for very good stories.

  "I don't intend to have sex with anyone I met here tonight." My voice was firm, but my eyes surveyed the crowd around us. I'd thought I might catch sight of Carter again. I discreetly pinched myself as a reminder to not do that.

  "I'm not slut-shaming you or anything." Her voice was getting progressively louder. "I'm just hoping you'll stay my roommate long enough to teach me your ways!" She bounced on her toes excitedly. "You can be like my Mr. Miyagi, but for sex!"

  I slapped my hand over her mouth and offered a nervous smile to the people closest to us. All the people who'd heard her loud comment looked on in a mix of horror, amusement, and interest.

  "Maybe let's not announce that to a room full of horny frat boys, okay?"

  "Fine, fine, fine. More drink?" She raised her empty hands to show me she didn't currently have one.

  "Sure," I told her, though I fully intended to give her a cup of plain juice. No way was I spending my first college weekend with a roommate in the hospital for alcohol poisoning.

  I'd barely taken a few steps when I realized Rose had disappeared on me again. The girl seemed to have some serious attention span issues, and being drunk had only amplified it. I'd have to remember to figure out where we'd put the aspirin when we got home. She'd definitely be needing them in the morning.

  I went by myself to get another lukewarm beer from the kitchen. It wasn't all that great tasting, but it gave me something to do with my hands. Opening weekend was supposed to be about getting to know each other, but it seemed like everyone knew someone except me.

  Normally I was so good at talking my way into friendships, but I'd been thrown off my game after the unexpected run-in with Carter.

  "Hey!"

  Startled, I turned towards the voice too fast. I watched in horror as my full beer cup went sailing. I tried to grab for it but it was too late. It bounced off his handsome face, right between those perfect blue eyes.

  Carter sputtered as the amber liquid drenched him all the way down to the midsection of his white t-shirt. I could practically hear the collective sigh from the female population of the house as well-formed pecks came into view from beneath the wet fabric.

  "Holy shit." I stared in horror at what I'd inadvertently done. "I'm so sorry."

  Carter just stood there staring down at himself. It looked like maybe he was in shock. Someone appeared with paper towels. Without thinking, I grabbed a handful of them and started trying to wipe away some of the liquid from his chest. Carter's big hands closed around my wrists, stopping me.

  He cleared his throat. "Maybe I should do that."

  Once again, my cheeks started burning red. I'd basically been rubbing him. I thrust the soggy paper towels at him, too embarrassed to
say anything.

  "Normally I'm the speechless one," he chuckled to himself as he did his best to clean himself up.

  Rose had mentioned her brother had been a reserved kid. Most of her childhood stories were of her being wild while he did his best to protect her.

  "I'm sorry," I felt compelled to say again.

  Carter gave up trying to dry himself. "Don't be sorry. I'd say I deserved it, sneaking up on you like that."

  The idea of him sneaking up on anyone was laughable. He was huge all over, definitely not the kind of guy who got away with sneaking anywhere. Even at that very second, just the sheer size of him was enough to draw attention. The funny thing was that the attention seemed to make him uncomfortable. His leg was bouncing with nervous energy.

  It seemed almost too natural for me to reach out and touch his thigh. The shaking stopped. My hand froze against the worn material of his jeans. A few inches to the left and I'd be grazing his...

  My wide eyes found Carter's. "I'm gonna stop touching you now."

  He nodded patiently, even as I stayed frozen for a few seconds longer. Realizing that, I jerked my hand back as if I'd been burned.

  The last time I'd felt so frazzled around a guy I'd been at my first girl/boy party for Abby Carmichael's eleventh birthday. Abby had kissed my middle school crush during spin the bottle, and I'd never spoken another word to her. She moved away a year later, anyway.

  Carter reached up to tousle his hair. A nervous habit, I guessed. His eyes roamed over my face. "It's fine. You don't have to stay."

  "What?"

  "You're making that face." I waited for clarification. He looked away from me before finishing, "That face people make when they're trying to think of an excuse to get away."

  That wasn't what I'd been doing at all, but he'd given me an easy out. I wasn't quite sure what to do. Fate turned out to be on my side for once and made the decision easy for me. A small group of giggling girls stepped between the two of us. Once we were separated, the concept of bailing didn't seem so bad. I waited until I'd made it to the very edge of the room before glancing back.

  Carter was still standing where I'd left him, dripping wet. Instead of looking mad, like I'd expected, he just looked sad. As I slipped away, I tried to convince myself I hadn't really cared.

  3

  Carter

  The last thing I wanted the morning after chasing my sister around a frat party was to be summoned to a Saturday morning breakfast meeting with the university president. Sure enough, though, his secretary had called me at the crack of dawn to arrange it. Lucky me.

  Despite the fact that Dr. Wallace was a regular at university events—including the major athletic ones—I'd only ever exchanged a handful of words with the man. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he might be requesting a meeting. I certainly hadn't done anything discipline worthy. Or at least I was pretty sure I hadn't.

  "I was starting to think you were gonna be late," the head football coach greeted me gruffly outside the restaurant.

  "Coach Mack?"

  The comically oversized head coach gave me a skeptical once-over, probably checking to see that I was presentable. I'd called him to give him a head's up about my meeting with the president, but I hadn't expected him to show up for it. He looked uncomfortable and out-of-place in his button-up shirt. It was like seeing someone dress up a bulldog—which Coach Mack happened to resemble.

  "Carter." He offered me his hand to shake. "Figured I'd come make sure this meeting was on the up-and-up."

  "You think it might not be?"

  One of his shoulders hitched. "Just want to be cautious. It's not every day one of my athletes gets invited to an off-campus meeting like this."

  I was radiating tension as I followed Coach into the restaurant. If it wasn't for the fact that I had an athletic scholarship then I might have tucked tail and run. As uncomfortable as I was, there was no way in hell I'd jeopardize a free education.

  Dr. Wallace stood as the hostess led us to him. He eyed Coach Mack wearily but extended his hand to him.

  "Marty Mack, I wasn't expecting you." He glanced to the hostess. "Could you get us an extra chair?"

  I stood uncomfortably to the side as the two men seemed to have some sort of silent standoff between them. It was quickly broken up as the hostess stepped between them to place a third chair for Coach Mack. I could only imagine how comical it must have looked to the people around us as the three of us—all decent sized men—squeezed around the little round table meant for two average sized people.

  "Carter Scott, I don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of officially meeting. Thank you for joining me this morning."

  "Of course, sir."

  Dr. Wallace looked at me with a shrewd expression, like he was sizing me up. "I asked to meet with you this morning so that we could discuss your academics."

  "Carter has well above the required GPA for athletic eligibility," Coach jumped in defensively.

  Having someone else defend me was a relief. I'd lost count of the number of times someone had assumed that my quietness was because I was too stupid to think of anything to say.

  Wallace looked at Coach the way I imagined he'd look at a pesky insect.

  "Carter's athletic eligibility isn't in question. Otherwise, I'd have set him up to meet with an academic counselor. Now, if you'd like to stop interrupting me with your senseless panic I could get to my point."

  Wallace was a total badass.

  No one talked to Coach Mack like that. I'd seen grown men cower under his watchful eyes, and yet there was Dr. Wallace putting him easily in his place. Coach leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. I knew that was about as humbled as the man would get.

  A waitress interrupted with her pen poised over an order pad. Coach and I exchanged skeptical glances as Wallace ordered for the table. In football, food was sacred. We were constantly checking calories and macros, which meant personal accountability was king when it came to what food we were putting in our mouths. Having someone else place your order was football blasphemy.

  Neither of us spoke up about it, even as the waitress left.

  "So, Carter, I had a look at the classes you signed up for this semester."

  He slid a piece of paper I hadn't noticed before over to me. It was a copy of the class registration I'd filled out weeks earlier. I didn't bother asking why he had it. Surely as university president he had easy access to that kind of paperwork. Besides, it wasn't like I'd expected my class schedule to be kept in some sort of confidential vault.

  "Some of your previous professors have expressed concerns about the caliber of classes you've been using to fulfill your requirements."

  Coach Mack shot up out of his seat. "This is hardly appropriate."

  "Marty, either sit down or leave. As you'll recall, you weren't actually invited to this meeting, so your input won't be necessary," Wallace snapped back.

  My heart knocked around erratically in my chest. I'd always thought I'd gotten along well with my professors. Needless to say, I never spent class time chit-chatting with my classmates. I did all my work and always showed up to class on time. That was far more than could be said for many of my classmates.

  Wallace continued, "Several of your professors feel that you haven't kept up an appropriately rigorous schedule. My concern is that you're not getting the most out of your education if you're not being academically challenged."

  "He's met all his benchmarks," Coach Mack intercepted again.

  "And for an average student that would be acceptable. But from what I've heard, Carter is an exceptionally intelligent young man."

  I shifted in my seat at the high praise. "Thank you, sir."

  Wallace shifted gears. "What are your plans after next year? Do you anticipate playing professionally?"

  It was a conversation I purposely avoided having at all costs. Even my coaches hadn't been able to pin down a definitive answer from me. I glanced quickly at Coach, which he took to mean I wanted him to a
nswer.

  "Of course he does." Coach Mack sounded offended by the idea that I'd be considering anything else.

  Wallace wasn't an idiot though. He'd seen my panicked expression. His quick half-nod told me he'd caught exactly what I was thinking, whether I'd meant for him to or not.

  "What about alternative plans? I'm sure I don't have to remind either of you that most student athletes do not end up getting professional contracts."

  "I'm interested in teaching," I admitted in a low voice.

  Wallace's brow dipped down. "Your major isn't in education."

  "No, sir."

  "What do you think you'd like to teach?"

  My voice dropped another level so that I was practically whispering when I said, "History."

  "You're a Journalism major," Wallace stated unnecessarily.

  I could feel Coach Mack's eyes drilling into the side of my head, but I refused to turn and meet his stare. It wasn't something anyone blatantly talked about, but it was hardly a secret that the academic counselors assigned to the athletes steered the most promising prospects towards the journalism program. Kelley's journalism program was notorious for being a joke, and the counselors rationalized that former athletes made great sports reporters.

  It wasn't hard to figure out that the actual appeal was that athletes got bunny courses to ensure they stayed eligible to play.

  "I declared as a freshman," I explained, figuring the least I could do was not throw the whole athletic department under the bus. "It's not like I really knew anything about the world at eighteen."

  Wallace's jaw tightened, and I wondered if I'd somehow hit a nerve. "Of course. I think that's a more than fair point."

  The waitress came with our food and I took the opportunity for a deep breath. I hadn't been prepared to get grilled about my career plans. It might have been easier if I hadn't felt like Coach was breathing down my neck as I answered Wallace's questions.

  "I looked over your transcript. You've finished most of your general education requirements, but only a select few of the journalism requirements. Those could substitute as free electives once we get you switched."