Collins the Shots: A College Sports Romance

by McKinley May

  "Uh, yeah," I quickly answer. My voice is all scratchy, my throat dry as sandpaper. I grab my water bottle and take a much-needed swig. "Just friends."

  It's not a lie—we are just friends—but it's not the whole truth either.

  Because the thing is...

  I think I want to be more.

  17

  Fall semester always flies by too damn fast.

  September comes and goes in a whirlwind of soccer games, monotonous lectures, and as many wild nights as possible with the senior guys, all of us soaking in our last season together as teammates.

  Before I know it, it's the first of October. The walk to class this morning shows signs of the impending change of season: the air is crisp and cool, the leaves on the trees a rich, burnt-orange color. And when I pass by three sorority girls gushing over their pumpkin spice lattes, that leaves no question in my mind—Autumn's officially in swing.

  Time for the pumpkin-crazed junkies to get their annual fix.

  Personally, I'm not a big fan of the popular orange gourds. More of a caramel apple kind of dude myself, but I know a few of the jack-o-lantern die-hards, the craziest being one of the team's athletic trainers, Peter.

  The peculiar grad student is addicted to pumpkin-flavored everything. Food, drink, dryer sheets...yup, I said dryer sheets. Even worse is the circulating rumor that he wears a special brand of pumpkin-pie-scented deodorant.

  Always thought it was more of a chick thing to go full-blown pumpkin, but this strange fellow proved me wrong.

  And this very moment, as we ride the bus back from our Friday night game, Peter Pumpkin Eater's at it once again. He strolls down the center aisle, a large plate in hand as he dishes out injury advice alongside some fall-themed desserts.

  "Nice win, Warriors! What a game! Andre, don't forget to ice that ankle tonight, buddy. Elevate it, too, at least an hour. And while you're at it..." He peels back the aluminum from his platter, then holds it out like he's a damn cocktail waiter serving hors d'oeuvres. "Try one of my homemade pumpkin bars."

  "Er...okay." With a befuddled look, Andre picks up a square and inspects it from all angles. "This will help my ankle heal?"

  "Sure will." Peter nods as he reaches into his jacket pocket. "Here. Take my card. I sell loads of baked goods on my website. Pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread, pumpkin—"

  A booming clap interrupts his business-pimping spiel.

  "Hey! Mr. Pumpkin Spice!" Coach Hanson calls out from the front of the bus. He jerks a thumb at the seat across from him, a stern look on his face. "We're driving. Sit your ass down!"

  "Sorry 'bout that, Coach!"

  Peter obeys the order, but still manages to hand out a business card and a square to everyone on his way back up the aisle.

  Hungry and eager for food after our long game, all of us take a hearty bite.

  It's a bad decision.

  A really bad one.

  The bar is chalky and bitter, the texture a strange combination of tacky glue and dry cardboard. The longer I chew, the worse it gets. When the pungent flavor comes through, my eyes actually start to water.

  You ever smelled a rotting pumpkin? One that's been basking in the hot sun for weeks past Halloween?

  Yeah...this freaking tastes like that smells.

  I force myself to swallow the atrocity before it molds to the roof of my mouth, then chug my water bottle in a futile attempt to wash the putrid taste off my tongue.

  Sputters and groans bounce around the bus, everyone thoroughly disgusted by the treat.

  "What in the fresh hell is this?!"

  "Peter's trying to fucking kill us, man!"

  "Forget the business cards." Across the aisle, Parker shakes his head and makes a gagging sound. "These should come with complimentary barf bags instead."

  Diego nods in agreement, his face a sickly shade of green. "I'd rather friggin' starve than eat this shit."

  Harsh words from the human garbage disposal—that's how you know it's truly inedible.

  The second we get back to the Treehouse, I toss that bar of pumpkin sewage in the trash and brush the hell outta my teeth for ten entire minutes, making sure the taste is good and gone.

  After a long shower, I throw on some fresh clothes and head into my bedroom. The muffled sounds of laughter and the clink of shot glasses drift up the stairs, evidence of the Dublin Drive pre-game happening below. Someone turns on the stereo system, my floor vibrating as deafening music blasts through the speakers.

  Tonight's gonna be lit as fuck.

  Just as I'm about to join the post-win celebration, my phone lights up on my nightstand. I lean my head back, reading the texts that pop up on the screen.

  Sydney: Cameron! How was your game?!

  Sydney: Hope you didn't get scored on toooo many times :P

  I unplug my cell from the charger, a mile-wide smile on my face as I respond.

  I'm not sure what it is about her messages—the excessive amount of exclamation marks, the never-ending supply of smilies, or maybe just the fact that she manages to get her vibrant personality across in short, simple texts—but bantering back and forth with this girl is entertaining as hell.

  So entertaining it's become something of a daily habit.

  One that I probably shouldn't enjoy as much as I do.

  Me: Ha—you're funny, Baby Blue. We kicked ass. 3-0.

  Me: See that little round number on the end? Testament to my outstanding goalkeeping skills.

  Sydney: Nicely done (:

  Sydney: I'm assuming you were wearing the lucky gloves?

  I snort and take a seat on my bed, thumbs working overtime as I type out an answer.

  Me: Hell to the no.

  Sydney: :( :( that upsets me lol

  Me: Haha sorry to disappoint

  Sydney: I wanna see you in them!

  Me: I'll pull 'em out if we ever need a little help from Lady Luck. Right now? No cosmic forces necessary for us to get some W's.

  Sydney: Fineeee. Fair enough.

  A chorus of loud cheers from downstairs catches my attention, the "Chug! Chug! Chug!" chant an indicative preview of the crazy night to come.

  Weird how I was so eager to get downstairs mere minutes ago and now I'm just...not.

  Me: What are you up to tonight?

  Me: Y'all had a bye this weekend, yeah?

  Sydney: Yep, no soccer at all for the next three days and I don't know what to do with myself.

  Sydney: I have soo much pent-up energy!

  Me: Used to getting it all out on the field?

  Sydney: Exactly!!

  Sydney: Also, I scarfed down 20 sugar cookies for dinner. That could possibly be contributing to my restless legs.

  Me: Damn, 20? Yeah, that might have something to do with it ;)

  Sydney: lol no shame. they were delicious!

  Sydney: I think I'm gonna go to the track and run some laps. It's open, right?

  Me: Should be.

  I glance at the time—11:24 p.m.—and frown.

  Me: It's kinda late. You going by yourself?

  Sydney: That was the plan

  Sydney: Why? Is that a bad idea?

  Me: It's dark as shit out there. Could be dangerous.

  Sydney: Really?

  Me: Yup. Wild animals and creepers galore.

  Alright, so maybe my claims are unsubstantiated.

  Windhaven's crime rate is basically non-existent. Like zip. The campus police work hard to keep things safe and secure.

  And the only "wild animals" causing havoc around these parts are the fucking psychopathic squirrels.

  But still...you never know what could happen.

  The thought of Sydney hanging out at the track all alone has a strong wave of protectiveness crashing over me.

  Me: Bring pepper spray. A taser, too, if you have one.

  Sydney: lol omg

  Sydney: I have a better idea...

  Me: Yeah? Let's hear it

  Sydney: You should come w/ me.

  Sydney
: & if you already have plans, break them. Hanging out with me will be way more fun. Guaranteed :)

  The unwavering grin that's been plastered on my face since I picked up my phone grows even bigger.

  This girl is seriously something else.

  Sydney Steel might be young, but she's got confidence beyond her years. In the short amount of time I've known her, I've noticed she's never afraid to put herself out there, even in the face of rejection or failure. She wants something? She goes after it—full throttle.

  I respect the hell outta that.

  Me: Guaranteed? We'll see...

  Sydney: So you'll join?!

  Me: Sure.

  Me: I'm not fucking running, though. You're on your own with that.

  Sydney: lol that's fine. You can sit back and watch me do my thang ;)

  Me: haha sounds good.

  Sydney: okay, I'm about to leave. See you there in 10!

  It's gonna take me ten minutes just to get to Windhaven, then at least five more to get to the track, so I instantly rise from the bed. With quick movements, I grab my keys and wallet, shoving both in my back pocket as I jog down the stairs.

  I slow my roll when I hit the main floor, trying to evade wandering eyes as I walk past the crowded living room area.

  No such luck.

  "Collins!" Diego hollers out. His voice is loud as shit, drawing everyone's attention to my obvious escape attempt. "Where you sneakin' off to, bro?"

  "Dude, what the fuck?" Weston throws his arms in the air in confusion. "Thought you were coming downtown with us? You ditching?"

  "Yeah, I'm leaving," I confirm with a shrug. "Something else came up."

  "Something or someone?" Rayne wiggles her brows suggestively.

  "Oooooh!" Ellie claps her hands together gleefully. "A girl?!"

  I shrug again, trying like hell to come across casual. "Yeah."

  Vaughn—aka the fucking last person I want participating in this awkward convo—joins in on the interrogation. "Anyone we know?"

  "Uhh..."

  Just your baby sister.

  You know, the one who's completely and utterly off-limits?

  No biggie.

  "Nah," I lie as I take another step towards the foyer. "Y'all don't know her."

  "Have fun, man." My best friend grins and holds his shot glass my direction. "Cheers to you getting lucky tonight."

  Fuckin' hell.

  If he only knew he was encouraging me to bang his younger sibling...shit.

  Things would get ugly real damn fast.

  Guilt pricks at my spine as I tip my chin in acknowledgement, and then I get the fuck outta dodge.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, I make my way through the boisterous off-campus neighborhoods and onto the eerily calm university grounds. The designated location comes into view, the small stadium where Windhaven holds track and field practices gleaming under buzzing lights.

  I head inside and take a quick look around. There are a few guys tossing a football, an athletic girl running bleachers, and then there's Sydney, stretching out in the grassy field surrounded by rust-red track.

  She's drowning in an oversized heather-gray t-shirt—one that easily covers whatever shorts she's got on underneath—and her stark white sneakers emphasize just how tan her legs are.

  Her face lights up when she spots me.

  "Cam! Hey!" With the hand that's not currently pulling her leg back in a quad stretch, she eagerly waves me over. "You showed up!"

  I stroll up to her, shaking my head in amusement. "Of course I showed up. I said I was going to. What—you think I'm all talk and no action?"

  My teasing tone has her releasing a soft chuckle.

  "I guess I should trust you by now, huh?" She grins before her eyes light up and she points towards a small drawstring backpack on the ground. "Oh! I brought you something. A treat."

  "A treat?" I lift one brow in intrigue, curious what kind of weird gift she's got for me this time. "What is it?"

  "You'll see."

  Still standing on one leg in the muscle-loosening position, she starts hopping over to the bag. Her ridiculous jumps, the way her arm is flailing out by her side to help keep balance...the sight has me busting out laughing.

  "Jeez, Syd. I think it can wait until you finish your stretch. You're gonna break a damn bone."

  Ignoring my warnings, she leans over, somehow managing to grab the backpack without losing her footing.

  Next thing I know, she's shoving a giant ziploc bag into my grasp.

  "Cookies for you. Eat up!"

  I grin as I examine the Halloween sweets. "Thanks. You made these?"

  "God, no." A loud laugh escapes her as she starts stretching her opposite leg. "If I did, you'd be wondering why I just handed you a bag full of hockey pucks and told you to eat them, that's how freaking burnt they'd be. My R.A. is the cookie connoisseur. She whipped up about ten dozen batches last night in preparation for October and passed them out to all the girls in our hall. There were a ton of extra, and I, being the gracious and helpful gal that I am, offered to take them off her hands. And that's how I ended up with about thirty of those bad boys." She nudges her head at the bag. "Help yourself."

  "Will do."

  I'm lifting a frosted black cat to my mouth when I pause.

  "These aren't pumpkin-flavored, are they?" I ask cautiously.

  Sydney shoots me a funny look. "Nope. Plain sugar cookie. Simple royal icing."

  "Plain and simple. Just what I like to hear."

  I take a big bite, giving her a thumbs-up of approval at the delicious taste.

  "Okay, it's go-time." She tightens her short ponytail and cocks her head. "You sureeee you don't wanna join? It'll be fun!"

  "Fun?" I roll my eyes at the inaccurate word. "Our definitions of 'fun' must be from different dictionaries if yours includes running. I'm good right here." I take a seat on the soft grass, cookies by my side as I wave her off with a grin. "You run. I'll watch while I give my jaw a good workout."

  And that's exactly what I do for the next twenty minutes.

  Syd runs a lap, I chow down on a cookie...rinse and repeat.

  I observe the energized brunette: her lengthy stride, the cheetah-like speed she's moving at, the fact that these 400 meter sprints look completely effortless on her part...

  It's a damn good thing I didn't agree to run with her, 'cause I can promise you one thing.

  She woulda smoked my ass out on that track.

  On her 10th and final lap around, she takes the outer lane, one that must've been used for track practice earlier based on the white hurdles set up every 50 meters or so. She leaps over each obstacle with ease, even getting the form down pat.

  How the fuck she did that after sprinting two and a half miles, I have no freakin' clue.

  "Ahh." She releases a content sigh when she meets me back in the center of the field. The apples of her cheeks are flushed red, a few strands of dark hair stuck to her forehead. "I feel so much better now."

  My brow furrows. "Are you bionic?"

  "Shhh!" She puts a finger to her lips and jokingly looks side to side. "Don't reveal my secrets."

  I laugh before gazing up at her. "Seriously, though. Where do you get all this energy?"

  She sits next to me and gives a timid shrug. "I've always been this way. It's just natural, I suppose." Her eyes stray to the cookie bag and she snatches a broomstick-shaped one. "The excessive sugar intake doesn't help."

  "You're a junk food fiend."

  "Oh, no question. An unapologetic junk food fiend." She grins. "But hey, I'm gonna take advantage of this teenage metabolism while I can."

  I chuckle and grab one more cookie. We make a 'cheers' gesture with our treats, then eat in silence for a few minutes. It's past midnight now, the two of us the only ones left in the stadium. The night's quiet, the sky clear and star-filled. A cool breeze blows every so often, the long grass brushing against our ankles.

  "So what's the Wicked Witch of Windhaven up to tonigh
t?" I ask. "Y'all didn't have anything weird planned for the beginning of October? Gonna go out on a limb here and assume it's her favorite month."

  "And you would be correct. She's ecstatic about it. She's working tonight, but we held a tarot card reading in our dorm room earlier this afternoon as a way to 'ring in the season'. It was...interesting?"

  "You get yours read?"

  "Of course. Do you think she would've let me skip out on all the festivities? I was practically forced to participate." Rolling her eyes skyward, she lets out an amused laugh. "I don't remember all the mumbo jumbo she predicted. Um, let's see...there was something about a beach trip? And an important video that would 'reveal all', which made absolutely no sense. Oh yeah—she claimed I would encounter a handsome stranger this weekend. Riveting stuff."

  "Handsome stranger, huh?" I lean back, resting on my forearms as I give her a cocky smirk. "She was right about that one; here I am."

  "Sorry, you must've misheard. Crimson specified that the stranger was handsome," she quips. "That excludes you."

  "Damn, woman. That one stung." I bump her knee with mine. "You love to rib on me, don't you?"

  "Guilty." This time her shoulder finds mine in a playful nudge. "But only because I know you're a big boy and can handle it."

  "Dunno about that. I'm a sensitive guy, Baby Blue. Might go cry myself to sleep tonight, all thanks to you."

  "Oh please." She shakes her head and smiles. "So dramatic, dude."

  We're both laughing when a serious expression emerges on her face. Indigo eyes examine me for a moment or two, then cast downward.

  "Plus, you know you're attractive." She picks at a blade of grass, avoiding my gaze as she continues. "Handsome doesn't do you justice. You're gorgeous, Cameron."

  Awh, shit.

  Her mumbled words have my heart working double-time in my chest.

  And this is exactly how our interactions have been lately. A dose of innocent teasing, some flirtatious banter, and then one of us drops a bomb that isn't so light-hearted. A sincere confession, a genuine sentiment that completely changes the mood.