by J. L. Beck
“He claims to love football,” I say.
An elbow comes out of nowhere, cutting through the air and jabbing into my side. I grit my teeth, wanting to elbow the patron back but instead keep my eyes trained on the field, not wanting to miss a single moment.
“Maybe he does, but today is just a bad day.”
I consider what she’s saying, and we watch the game for a little while longer. North Woods scores a touchdown, but Blackthorn is already ahead by three scores, and there isn’t enough time on the clock for them to make up the loss.
As the time on the clock ticks down, Zeke, who is standing beside Mia, leans into her side and whispers into her ear.
“Zeke wants to get going,” she says, turning to me.
I nod in agreement, knowing traffic out of this place is going to be a total and epic nightmare. Interlocking hands so we don’t lose each other, we move through the stands, descending the steps. Zeke leads us to a door that says personnel only.
Where the hell are we going?
We walk into a stairwell and down another flight of stairs. Zeke opens another door and ushers us out into a huge tunnel.
“We’re in the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms,” Mia exclaims. “Maybe we’ll see some goodies.”
The pounding of feet ahead echoes through the space, each step as heavy as the thump of my heart in my chest. Mia gives my hand a squeeze, and we’re walking again. Zeke is practically dragging us behind him.
Out of nowhere, I hear someone calling my name. I freeze mid-step, which causes Mia to stop as well. It takes a moment for Zeke to realize we’ve stopped, and I stumble over my feet another step.
“Blair?” Cage’s deep voice wraps around me like a vine cutting off oxygen to my lungs.
Slowly, I turn around and face him. He wasn’t supposed to know I was here. God, this was a bad idea. I never should’ve come.
“Oh hey,” I say like I’m surprised to see him here.
Idiot, you came here with him.
“I didn’t know you were coming to see me.” He smirks, sweat clinging to his forehead. He looks devilishly handsome like the kind of handsome that keeps you up at night, that makes you wish for happily ever afters and sweet nothings. Cage is none of those things, though.
His midnight-black hair appears wet, and he smells of sweat and man, and it makes me shiver. His firm, yet huge body looks even bigger in his football gear and like a bow pulled too tight, my entire body tightens at the sight before me. My ovaries are seconds from exploding. I’ve never reacted to a man like this before, and I don’t know what it is about Cage at this moment that makes me want to jump him. It terrifies me and excites me all at once. It’s completely unacceptable and morally wrong, and yet I want to lift a middle finger and say fuck you to my brain for five seconds.
“I wasn’t,” I lie, my face feels like it’s on fire. I look down at the concrete floor, but not before I catch his eyes roaming my body. There is a primal hunger in their depths like he wants to tear the dress from my body and devour me whole.
Would you let him? No! No, you would not. Maybe… maybe not.
“She just came with me,” Mia cuts in, “I wanted to see Blackthorn play and… there is a guy I kind of like, so I made her come with me.”
“Ah, gotcha.” He nods, but somehow, he doesn’t look convinced. That changes in zero point two seconds when Mia continues.
“We’re actually going to his house for a party now. I would invite you, but it’s for the Blackthorn team only. You understand, right?”
Cage’s whole body stiffens, and his hands curl up into tight fists at his sides, the veins in his arms bulge, and his eyes turn stormy, dark. He’s like a hurricane making landfall and gaining strength with each mile he destroys.
Why is he so furious all of a sudden? Why does he even care what I’m doing?
I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong, but Mia tugs on my arm. “Time to go, Blair.”
For one brief second, I stand there watching. I see the unhinged animal inside of him, and I want to lift the lock, to release him and see what it’s like to be the prey. I want to feel his lips on mine. For one single moment, I want to be free of the restraint that I put on myself.
Mia gives my hand another tug, her gaze saying hurry it up, and this time, I let her pull me away. I don’t look back as I’m dragged down and out of the tunnel, my lungs burning and my thighs rubbing together with every step I take.
By the time we reach the car, I’m sweating, and it’s not just because of the walk to get here. Cage lit a fire inside of me, fanned the flames of desire. He made me want him when I had absolutely no business wanting him. He was a player with a capital P, a manwhore, the last person I should consider going near, and yet somehow, I caught a glimpse of the real him tonight, and it made me want to dive deeper and look inside of him. Football wasn’t his dream. I wasn’t sure what was, but he didn’t love the sport, not even close. I wanted to know his story and find out why he pretended to be something he wasn’t.
As we climb into the SUV, Mia turns to me, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Blair, he is so into you. Did you see how he looked at you in this dress? More importantly, how jealous he got at the mention of going to a party and seeing another guy? Fuck, the primal look in his eyes. That was hot as hell.”
“Jealous? Livid is more like it.”
“Something. He is mad that you are going to some party with other guys. What do you want to bet he will be calling and texting you later?”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Now the only question is, do I want him to text, or do I want him to leave me alone so I can forget about him?
10
Cage
We lost the game, worse yet, I disappointed Coach, let my team down, and because of all of it, my father has been down my throat, calling me nonstop and screaming at me since the moment I walked off the field yesterday. It doesn’t help matters that I slept like shit last night, wondering what Blair was doing or better yet, who she was with. I was so pissed off, jealous even, and overall annoyed that I couldn’t even bring myself to hang out with Murphy or Evan, who ended up snagging a couple girls.
Jealousy. It wasn’t something I’d ever experienced in my life. Chicks couldn’t make me jealous, not when they were the ones who wanted me. Blair didn’t want me, though, and that made what I was feeling right now, something that I couldn’t quite digest.
I stare down at my phone and the message from Blair. She said she would be here in ten minutes, which left me with ten minutes to get my broody fucking attitude under control. I wasn’t going to get in her panties by being an asshole. I can still picture her in that dress, the way it hugged her curves, and her shapely legs. Stick a fork in me, ’cause I’m fucked.
As badly as I want to ask her what she did last night, or who she was with, I knew better. I can’t come off as jealous, can’t show her that I give a fuck, mainly because I shouldn’t even care. Exhaling, I push a breath past my lips and run a hand through my black hair. The bus left almost an hour ago for North Woods, so I’ve been sitting here by myself trying to cool off. It’s not really working.
The minutes tick by slowly until Blair’s arrival. When an SUV pulls into the parking lot and parks a few spots away, my eyes are drawn to it. The door is shoved open, and a moment later, Blair pops out. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and yoga pants with a pair of old sneakers.
Simple, dressed down and still looking better than half the chicks at North Woods.
She walks over to the truck, turning to wave at the SUV one last time. I unlock the door as she grabs the handle and tugs it open. She tosses her bag into the backseat, and the smell of soap and cherries fill the air. I smile, sucking in a sharp breath, letting her scent resonate through me. She smells so fucking good.
“Hey,” she greets as she tugs her belt on, clicking it into place.
“Hey,” I greet gruffly.
Her dark brows pinch together in confusio
n. Can she tell how pissed off I am? Or that something is wrong? Maybe I should try harder to hide it.
“Did you have a good time with your friend?” I curse myself after I say the words because I realize that I sound like her fucking dad, instead of a guy interested in getting her on her back, and between her legs.
“I did, actually. I loved seeing Mia, I’ve missed her so much. This was a much-needed trip.” She smiles, and the joy in her eyes almost overshadows the emotions flooding my veins. “Thank you for the ride. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime. How was your night?” I ask, looking straight ahead as I navigate the truck onto the highway.
“Last night was… well, it was good. I hung out with Mia, of course, and watched the game.” She shrugs and looks out the window. Easing my foot onto the gas, I get the truck up to speed before I turn the cruise control on.
“How was the party?” I grit my teeth as I speak. I don’t even want to know the answer, but curiosity has gotten the best of me.
“Oh, that…” Even though I can’t see her face, I’d bet anything that she is smiling. “We didn’t actually go. I was too tired.” When she turns in her seat, I glance over at her, and find a smile tugging at her lips.
Fucking trouble, that’s what she is.
Still, I can’t deny that I feel relief knowing she didn’t go. All night, I was thinking about her with someone else, kissing and touching some other fucking guy. I thought about texting and calling her a few times but chickened out, scared of what I would find out.
I knew she wouldn’t sleep with anyone, not of her own doing at least, that didn’t mean some fucker wouldn’t slip something into her drink to get her naked and make her think she wanted to though.
The thought made my blood boil. I literally had to shut my phone off to stop myself from messaging her.
Leaning back in the seat, I sag against the leather, feeling a little less tense. My mood is still shit, but I’m happy she is here, and her scent calms me, makes my thoughts less fuzzy.
“I’m sorry about the game.” She frowns. “That you guys didn’t win.”
I shrug, not really wanting to talk about the shitshow called football. “You have nothing to be sorry about. If anything, it’s my fault.”
“Your fault? You can’t actually think you’re responsible for the entire team’s actions. That’s ridiculous, Cage.” The pitch of her voice changes. Is she angry? Upset that I’m blaming myself for things that were actually my fault?
“I’m not taking blame for the entire team’s actions, just my own. I’m a lineman. My job on the team is to protect the quarterback. I failed to protect him. He was sacked numerous times, causing three fumbles.”
“You scored though,” Blair says, all matter of fact.
I squeeze the steering wheel. “We didn’t win, and that’s all that matters. Scoring doesn’t mean shit if you don’t win.”
Silence blankets the inside of the truck, and I feel a sniggle of remorse for my comment. It came out harsher than I intended.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I say on a sigh, “my father’s down my throat over losing, Coach is pissed, and I’m mad at myself for not being as focused on the game as I needed to be. We lost, and I take that loss personally.”
Tucking a few strands of mousy brown hair behind her ears, she peers at me through her glasses. “Everyone calls you a football god. While you’re good or at least seem good at what you do, it’s painfully obvious that you don’t love it.”
The first thing I feel is shock, the second thing is anger, and the third, shame.
I can’t believe she’s watched one game, a few minutes even, and came to that conclusion, and yet people who have been watching me play since high school haven’t been able to. She looked right through me and ripped back my layers like they were a bandage. Ripped me right the fuck open.
I couldn’t tell her that she was right. Instead, I would play along, see how she came to that conclusion. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t think, Cage. I know it. Out on that field, you seemed less like the guy you are here with me right now. You didn’t smile or cheer even when you were scoring.”
“Yeah, ’cause we were losing,” I interrupt defensively.
“And that matters, why? You could’ve been cheering your teammates on, but instead, when you went to the bench, you sat there with your head in your hands like you were defeated.”
“What is that supposed to mean? We were losing, of course, I felt defeated.”
“If you loved football, you would eat, sleep and breathe the sport. Winning or losing, you would be cheering your teammates on. Not moping around, looking like someone kicked your dog, and that there were a thousand other places you would rather be.”
Fuck, she got all of that from one game? She was intuitive, and I didn’t like it. This conversation was cutting too close to the truth, and I don’t know if I will ever be ready to tell her that football was never my dream. That I secretly despised it.
I refuse to let her know how right she is.
“I love football.” The lie rolls off my tongue with ease but leaves a bitterness in its wake. “The game was just shit, and I was stressed and pissed off. I understand you’re trying to help, but don’t psychoanalyze me, Blair. You don’t even know me.”
I glance over at her and find her frowning. She skews her features when she sees me looking at her, obviously not wanting me to see her true emotions.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know you.” The defeat in her voice tugs at my chest. I’d rather have her be annoyed with me than see her defeated because of something I said, but I can’t take back my words.
I don’t tell her I don’t even know me, nor do I tell her how spot on she is. I let the silence grow between us. Telling her the truth won’t change anything, and I don’t need or want her pity. So what, she saw something that others have yet to notice?
Feelings don’t matter. What I want doesn’t matter.
By the time we reach the dorm, neither of us has said anything, and I feel like a fucking asshole for saying what I did. Being a dick isn’t going to help me win this bet.
When Blair reaches into the backseat for her bag, I smile at her.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
“Sure, Thanks for taking me. I’ll see you for our session on Tuesday,” she murmurs and slips out of the truck closing the door before I can say anything else. I watch her walk into the dorm, wondering if she noticed how much I hate football what other things she’s noticed about me. Maybe I was wrong, maybe she does know me, and maybe it’s time I get to know me too.
11
Blair
I’ve had two days to thoroughly digest the way Cage made me feel the night of the football game, to analyze the look in his eyes and my body’s reaction to it.
I also thought about what I saw in him, how I had gotten a glimpse of the real him. He could deny it all he wanted, but I knew he didn’t like football. At least not like he should.
As the hours ticked away, I came to the conclusion that we had more in common than I thought. We both hide. I hide in my room, scared to let anyone close, afraid of getting my heart broken, of being hurt or worse being just like my mom.
Cage hides behind a mask, pretending to be this popular jock who is in love with a sport that he secretly hates. He hides behind football, behind jokes, and sexual innuendos. Like a ghost, he’s hiding in plain sight, but why? Is he also scared of letting people close, and if so, why?
I can’t imagine how exhausting it is to keep that kind of image up.
I tap my pencil against the heavy wooden table while I wait for Cage to come in for his session. Frankie canceled on me last minute, so I’ve been sitting here for an hour working on my own homework.
Looking up at the wall to the clock, I realize it’s two minutes until five. The thought of him coming in any minute has a kaleidoscope of butterflies loose in my stomach. I’m excited to see him, and that fact has my hea
rt clenching in my chest and nerves frazzled. I should not, under any circumstance, want to see Cage.
The inside of my cheek bleeds as I chew on it, filling my mouth with the copper tang of blood. I can’t let him get close, can’t get attached because I know the outcome. It’s always the same. Sadness replaces the excitement, and I know I’m already going down the path I swore never to go down.
My dreadful thoughts are interrupted when the door squeaks open, and Cage walks in one minute before five.
“Hey,” I greet him with a tight smile.
“Hey. Am I your only customer today?” He looks around the room, eyebrows raised as if he’s going to find someone else inside the small room with me.
“Yeah, I think you scared Frankie away. He canceled at the last minute.” I close my own books and push them aside. “I would be mad at you if you weren’t paying me enough to cover his session too.”
“You’re welcome.” He smirks, and I have to fight smiling back at him. That grin of his is infectious like a bad case of crabs.
“I’ve got a test coming up. I need you to make me smart for it.”
Make me smart. Snort. As if it’s that easy, buddy.
“You’re already smart, and if you weren’t, I certainly couldn’t just make you that way.”
“Sweet baby Jesus, did you just give me a compliment?” He clutches a hand to his chest.
“Simply stating a fact. You’re not dumb, Cage, you just need to study and pay attention and have a good teacher, of course.”
“Well, good thing I found you.” He winks at me. I try not to stare at him or notice how his muscles flex beneath his shirt as he moves. Rubbing my thighs together, I try to alleviate the ache forming there. I cannot fall for him, I will not.
“Let’s see how good I am after your test.”
We spend the next thirty minutes going over everything coming up on the test. Then I give him some practice problems to solve. He does surprisingly well, only needing a little bit of help. Cage is smart, he just doesn’t apply himself.
