Collins the Shots: A College Sports Romance

by McKinley May

  "Cut the bullshit." I shake my head and try to set him straight. "You're out of your mind. All Sydney and I are doing is—"

  "Nope! Shut the fuck up. I don't wanna hear any details." He covers his ears dramatically. "When this shit blows up in your face—and you bet your ass it will—I'm claiming innocence. Vaughn's gonna ask if I knew you were fucking his baby sister, and when I say I didn't know, it's gonna be the damn truth."

  "I'm not fucking her. Holy sh—"

  He jogs off before I can finish, but I'm glad the convo's cut short.

  His accusations are freaking ludicrous.

  Baby Blue and I are friends. Friends that have a mutually beneficial trade deal going on.

  Do I like hanging out with her?

  Well, yeah. She's fun, energetic, and hilarious.

  I'll admit I find her attractive—extremely attractive—but that doesn't mean shit because who the hell wouldn't?

  And that exhilarated feeling I'm currently experiencing as she and Carlos jog over to join me and Bev?

  Just straight-up friendship vibes.

  That's it.

  End of story.

  "Hey!" Sydney offers a bubbly greeting. "It's about time y'all showed up. I had to recruit one of Weston's boys to keep me entertained while I waited."

  She points to the skinny teen beside her. When he flashes a pearly white smile, I feel Bev take a step behind me.

  "Bro, what's up with Sydney dragging your ass around the field?" I ask with feigned disappointment. "You looked like a damn circus acrobat out there."

  Sydney laughs as he scratches the top of his head and shrugs. "Man, I'm not even gonna try to make up an excuse. The girl has skills. Mad skills."

  "That she does." I shoot her a quick grin before motioning towards his bag. "You brought the hockey stuff?"

  "I brought the hockey stuff. I had to dig through my sister's closet for a while, but finally found everything behind like twenty pairs of shoes." He drops the duffle to the grass and bends down. As he pulls at the zipper, he peers around my side at the girl using me as a human shield. "You're Bev, right?"

  She juts her head out. "Yeah!"

  "Nice. I'm Carlos." He plasters on a genuine smile and waves her closer. "Come over here and I can show you how to use this stuff."

  "Oh! Okay! Sure!"

  The girly, mouse-like squeaks that come from her mouth have me totally confused.

  "What's your deal?" I mutter as I give her a gentle push forward. "Get over there."

  She stumbles a bit, quickly regaining her footing as she approaches the soccer player. Kneeling down beside him, she helps open the bag.

  "Carlos seems really cool," Sydney says as we watch him pull out a plethora of hockey equipment. "He's charming and sweet—two words that don't typically come to mind when describing a fourteen-year-old boy."

  I laugh before confirming her impression. "He can be a class clown type, but he's a good kid. When I ran a few of Weston's sessions last May, he was one of the only ones who actually fucking listened to me. Him and West go way back; 'Los is like his little brother."

  "And Beverley's obviously a fan," she points out.

  "True. I've never seen her so interested in something before."

  Bev's wide-eyed and attentive, hanging on Carlos' every word as he describes how to use the hockey stick.

  I frown as I notice the pink tint of her fair skin. "Why are her cheeks all red? You think I should've made her put on sunscreen? It's like an hour 'til sunset, though."

  Sydney's burst of laughter rings in the air. "Oh my gosh, Dad-Mode. She's not sunburned—she's blushing. I think our little skater punk has a crush."

  "Seriously?" I tilt my head, studying the pair before I realize she's spot on. "Oh shit. She does. Never occurred to me there was an actual beating heart under that all-black attire."

  Syd nods knowingly. "Even the most apathetic of pre-teens can't escape it."

  I arch a brow. "'It'?"

  She tips her chin at Carlos and Bev, his hand cupped around hers as he shows her how to properly grip the stick. "Puppy love."

  "Puppy love?" I snort at the term. "I escaped it."

  "Oh please." She playfully jabs her elbow into my side. "You did not. I guarantee you had your fair share of awkward middle-school crushes. No way you avoided that."

  I drag my fingers through my hair, thinking back until an example comes to mind. "Fine. There was Janet Smith in 6th grade."

  "Aha! I knew it!" Sydney exclaims. "Go on. Tell me more about Janet."

  I make sure she gets a good view of my eyes rolling to the sky before indulging her request.

  "She always had her hair done in braided pigtails, and she wore these frilly, princess dresses every single day. Cutest girl in the grade. I swear nearly half the guys in school blew a gasket when I asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes." I grin as I take the trip down memory lane. "Lasted less than two weeks. She broke up with me when I made the grave error of getting her daisies instead of roses for her birthday. We never spoke again. The end."

  "Ouch. Not exactly a happily ever after," Sydney says with a shake of her head. "And for the record, daisies are way better than roses. The girl was out of her mind for dumping you because of that."

  "Agreed." I level her with an expectant look. "Your turn."

  "His name was Roger. It was 8th grade. I asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance and he accepted. I went balls to the wall for that stupid dance: fancy dress, spiffy up-do, a mani/pedi that cost me two weeks' allowance."

  "You all dressed up?" I grin as I try to imagine it. "I bet that was quite the sight."

  "I clean up nice," she says with a laugh. "Unfortunately, it was all for naught. He ditched me fifteen minutes in for the head cheerleader. I watched them make out on the dance floor the rest of the night while I washed my sorrows away with countless cans of Dr. Pepper."

  "Damn. That ending might be worse than mine. Dude sounds like an asshole."

  "Mega asshole. At least I dodged a bullet." She shrugs and picks at her thumbnail. "So yeah. That's my puppy love tale. It was also the first and last 'relationship' I ever had. Kinda pathetic, huh?"

  "Wait...what?"

  Her remark has me thinking something's wrong with my ears.

  There's no fucking way I heard that right.

  But she repeats herself, confirming the shocking confession.

  "I've never had a boyfriend."

  "No shit?"

  She nods, tip of her nose a bright shade of pink. "No shit."

  I'm just about to ask if she went to an all-girls high school or if every single guy in her grade swung the opposite way or something when Weston interrupts our conversation.

  "Yo, Steel Junior! I need your help." Once he has our attention, he motions her over. "Do me a favor and come show these guys how it's done."

  As Sydney jogs over, I throw my hands in the air. "What about me, dude?"

  "Nah, Collins. We need someone who's actually good."

  He grins and some of the teens start snickering.

  "Yeah, Cam." One of the boys, Jamie, joins the trash talk. "Why don't you just sit there and look pretty? Maybe cheerlead a little?"

  "Alright, screw y'all." I let out a good-natured laugh and jerk a thumb towards the hockey girls. "I'd rather watch them, anyway. I bet they could kick all your asses."

  The statement is made in jest, but as I observe them practice for the next hour and a half, I'm thinking it might be accurate. These chicks are ruthless, indestructible, and honestly really fucking scary. Example: I barely escape a damn puck to the forehead from a muscular girl they call "Killer". When I toss it back, she literally growls at me, then says next time she's aiming for my teeth.

  Wild guess, but I think Killer might have an anger management problem.

  The practice comes to an end just as the last bit of daylight fades away. The 8th graders pat Bev on the back and exchange goodbyes as I stroll up to her.

  "Nice job, kid," I say as she starts t
o skate my way. "And you didn't even fall—"

  Just as the word leaves my mouth, she stumbles on a patch of uneven concrete and hits the pavement with a splat.

  "Ouch!"

  "Never mind," I mumble under my breath.

  "You jinxed me!"

  "My bad. But nobody saw, so it's all good. Your reputation's still intact." I hoist her to an upright position and give her a quick once-over. "What's the damage?"

  She sticks her elbow out, showing off a red scrape.

  "Gnarly." I fish in my pocket for a sec before pulling out something that has Bev releasing a loud sigh.

  "You really brought bandaids?"

  "I told you I would. Here." I squat down and place the sticky paper on her cut. "Good as new."

  She twists her arm around, frowning when she sees the smiley pumpkins adorning the adhesive.

  "Don't make that face. It was either this or My Little Pony." I tilt my head to the side in challenge. "I made the right choice, didn't I?"

  "I guess so," she reluctantly agrees.

  "You really held your own out there," I say as I stand and brush the dust off my knees. "Have you played before?"

  "Just a few times. I watched a lot of hockey when I was little."

  "Yeah?"

  "My mom loves hockey. Ice hockey, mostly." A flash of uncharacteristic sadness passes through her eyes and she swallows. "Well, she did when she was..."

  Her sentence trails off, but I fill in the blank for her.

  "Sober."

  She nods once, vision glued to her skates.

  "Hey," I say softly. "My mom's an addict, too."

  She lifts her head, eyes wide in surprise. "She is?"

  "Yep," I confirm. "It sucks...It really sucks. I know what you're going through, Bev. I went through the same thing."

  Before she can respond, the shrill blast of a whistle cuts through the night air. We turn towards the sound to see Weston and Sydney heading our way. Behind them, I can make out the dark silhouettes of the boys getting into beat-up vehicles or ambling down the sidewalk.

  "It's humid as hell out here. I told some of the guys I'd buy them ice cream after practice, so that's where we're headed." Weston's stupid referee whistle drops from his lips as he reveals the plan for the rest of the night. "Those who agree, follow me. Those who object? Go ahead and walk your lame asses home."

  Bev peers behind Weston. "Um, is Carlos coming?"

  "Nah." Weston shakes his head. "He was begging to join us, but he has an Algebra test tomorrow. I told him to hightail it to the library and study instead."

  "Oh." Bev's response drips with disappointment.

  "Hey, it's cool. You're gonna practice with the girls again next week, right? You can give him back the gear then. His sis won't mind. Actually, you can probably just keep that shit forever and she won't even notice."

  Weston remains oblivious to the real reason she wanted Carlos to join, no one bothering to fill him in on the obvious. He tosses his car keys up and down before pointing them towards his vehicle. "Let's go. I want some damn mint chip."

  15

  Mr. Freezy's Custard and Cream is packed when we arrive ten minutes later. Rowdy children chase one another as they scream at the top of their lungs, exhausted parents seem to be second-guessing if sugar-loaded ice cream is really the best choice for their hyperactive kids, and workers are bustling behind the counter, handing out samples and scooping orders as fast as they can manage.

  Near the cash register are some of the soccer boys, cold desserts already in hand. A kid with dark, unruly curls, Mark, points at Weston as we get in line.

  "There! Him! He's paying for us!"

  Mark jogs over as Weston reaches into his back pocket.

  "How much?"

  He flips open his wallet, pulling out a few ten dollar bills.

  "$75."

  Weston's brows shoot up. "Seventy-five bucks? What the hell, man? There's only five of you up there."

  One look at Mark's quadruple scoop of ice cream covered with what must be at least ten different toppings explains the hefty price tag.

  "Wait." Mark glances over his shoulder, nods, and then faces W. "It's not $75."

  Relief crosses Weston's face, but it's short-lived.

  "It's $80," Mark corrects. "Jamie just got a cookie."

  "Dude. Didn't realize I needed to bring a hundred bucks cash for freaking ice cream." Weston shakes his head. He shoves the bills back in the wallet and hands Mark his credit card. "Don't add anything else to the order. I'm not your damn ATM machine."

  Mark mumbles out some sort of acknowledgement before sprinting off with the plastic.

  As we slowly inch forward in the long line, Weston messes around on his phone and Sydney turns to Bev.

  "What do you want, Short Stuff?"

  "Yeah, Short Stuff." I join the convo, utilizing Syd's cliché-but-accurate nickname. "What's it gonna be? You need a stool?"

  The girl's so dang tiny she has to balance on the very tip of her toes like a ballet dancer to survey the choices.

  "I can see, Giant." Bev rolls her eyes and stretches a little bit taller.

  "Are you sure?" Syd asks helpfully. "I can read the flavors for you if you want."

  "Oh my God. I can read, too, Giantess."

  "Giantess? Hey, I'm like 5'7'' and a half. I take offense to that," Sydney quips.

  Bev just shrugs. "You're a giantess to me—sorry not sorry."

  Sydney and I exchange an amused glance before I raise a brow at the kid. "Well?"

  "There's so many to choose from." She frowns and turns to me. "What are you getting?"

  "Rocky road," I answer. "Can't go wrong with marshmallows, chocolate, and almonds."

  "I want that, too," she says.

  "Cup or cone?"

  "Cup, I guess."

  "Alright. Two orders of rocky road. Got it." I turn my attention to Sydney. Her shoulder rests against the glass, her eyes trained on me instead of the colorful display. "You already know what you want?"

  "Mhmm." She nods. "Orange sorbet with Red Hots and Reese's Pieces. That's my go-to."

  "Orange sorbet with Red Hots and Reese's Pieces..." I repeat her order and my brow crinkles. "Really?"

  "Yes?" She cocks her head at my dubious tone. "What?"

  "Sounds, uh..." I try to think of a polite way to put it, but there's no beating around the bush here. "Honestly? Sounds fucking gross, Syd."

  I laugh as she immediately springs into action to defend her choice.

  "It's delicious!" and "Don't knock it 'til you try it!" fly past her lips, the extreme enthusiasm causing a few fellow line-dwellers to send intrigued glances our way.

  Her fiery passion for the shitty ice cream flavor is cute, but I'm not even close to convinced.

  "Yeah, no," I say with a grunt. "No freaking way that tastes good. Especially with the peanut butter Reese's. That doesn't mesh at all."

  "What?! The Reese's Pieces are what make it awesome," she insists. "They're a must!"

  But when we reach the front of the line and she tries to order the topping, the employee tells her they're all out.

  "Awh, really? Dang." Her disappointment is evident, but she quickly shakes it off. "It's fine. Chocolate chips will do."

  We make our way to the register. After I pay for the four of us, I hand everyone their order and stuff the receipt in my pocket.

  I'm just about to dig into my ice cream when Bev's jaw drops.

  "I didn't know the cones had sprinkles on them," she says as she eyes my waffle cone with envy. "I would've picked that instead of the cup."

  I pause, mouth mere centimeters from taking that first bite of rocky road. Pulling my head back, I hold out the treat in offering.

  "Switch me."

  "Really?!"

  "Sure, whatever. Doesn't matter to me."

  We trade ice creams, and for the first time since I've met the girl, she gives me a true and authentic smile.

  "Thanks. You know what, Giant? You're not the worst
person in the world."

  "Coming from you, kid? That's a serious compliment."

  Sydney drapes an arm over Bev's shoulder and nods. "I have to agree. He's not so bad after all."

  "Well, shit. If I'd known buying you guys some ice cream would win y'all over this easily, we would've hit up Mr. Freezy's weeks ago," I joke.

  "Don't worry, Cam." Syd puts on a mischievous grin. "You've got plenty more time in the semester to make up for it."

  Weston grunts. "Sorry, Collins, but I'm gonna break the chain and let you know you are the worst dude on the planet." He shovels a few bites of mint chip into his mouth and smirks. "Somebody had to give you the hard truth. These girls won't do it, but I definitely will. You suck."

  And because each and every swear word is apparently back on the menu, I give him a shove and let out a lighthearted, "Fuck you, too."

  We're interrupted by a bell jingling, the concordant sound signaling someone's entrance to the shop.

  "Carlos!" The boys hoot and holler as he walks in. "You showed!"

  Bev lets out a little yelp of excitement, her reaction countering the frustrated groan Weston emits.

  "I thought I told you to get your ass to the library, 'Los," he calls out. "What gives?"

  Carlos lifts a graphing calculator and a packet of papers in the air. "I brought the study guide. Jamie's gonna help me out."

  "Jamie?" Weston's forehead crinkles at the news. "Jamie failed Algebra, man. Twice."

  "It wasn't my fault!" Jamie jumps up on his chair in protest, the piece of furniture letting out a worrisome creaking noise. "Mrs. Vick flunked me on purpose because she's evil. I'm actually a numerical genius—I can help him!"

  Before W can argue, Mark lets out an ear-splitting belch that echoes off the walls. Another kid shoves an entire scoop of ice cream into his mouth, the boys wheezing with laughter as he endures the brain freeze that follows.

  "OwwWwWwww!"

  It's a fucking madhouse in here.

  "Holy shit. Why did I agree to this?" Weston takes a quick bite of his mint chip, rolls his hazel eyes, then heads over to supervise the gang of hooligans.

  Bev waves at Carlos before glancing up at me with eager eyes. "I'm gonna go sit over there, too. Okay?"

  "Cool with me."

  As she scampers off in the direction of Weston's scolds and whistle blows, I face Sydney. Her cheeks are still rosy from practice, the golden S necklace around her neck shimmering against bronzed skin.