by Harper James
“He probably wouldn’t remember me. I’m just some pizza pig he gave a jersey to,” I say quickly.
“Then you could remind him. In a state of undress,” Maddy says, laughing devilishly, and I join in, hoping it hides the fact that I want to do exactly that.
We’re playing Sanderson State, a small school that we’re expected to easily beat. This doesn’t make watching Sebastian play any less thrilling, though. Sebastian owns the field, but not like a dictator— like a general. The other guys respond to his gestures and shouts, and he’s unafraid to pass the ball, completely trusting his teammates to pull their weight rather than trying to be the single hero.
The star receiver is none other than the asshole door guy, I realize— Conor. Despite the fact that Conor is a total asshole, he and Sebastian make an amazing team. They seem linked, each knowing exactly where the other will be, when he’ll be there. Conor is fast, too, zipping to the ball to catch passes Sebastian throws that seem almost destined for an empty space on the field. By halftime, I’m leaping up and down, shouting with everyone else, like Berkfield winning this game is the most important thing to ever happen.
I’m out of breath from the celebrating when the game ends, and it’s clear from the way the students around us are filing out that the party isn’t going to stop simply because the clock has run out— we won the game, after all, so it’s time to move the gang to local bars, restaurants, and houses. My roommates and I link hands to avoid losing one another in the crowd, and we laugh as we weave through the chaos and out the stadium gates, where vendors are shoving unofficial FIRST GAME VICTORY! merchandise at us from all sides, and a few sign spinners nearly clobber us in their efforts to direct us to the kebab place, or the dive bar, or Papa Pig’s (thank god they didn’t ask me to spin a sign out in front of the stadium).
I hear someone call my name, but assume they’re talking to someone else until the voice persists. I stop the train of my roommates to turn and look— it’s Sarah, from the advocacy group. She’s grinning at me eagerly, winding her way to me.
“Oh man, thank god I caught up with you. I was looking for you on Facebook, but couldn’t find you anywhere—“
“I don’t have Facebook,” I say, shrugging. Truthfully, I deleted all my social media after Aunt Tessa died, when the mix of condolences and shitty messages from Dennis Slate fans got to be too much.
“Wow, okay,” Sarah says, looking shocked. “Anyway— I got you in!”
“Huh?”
“To the football players’ after party. Remember, one of the cheerleaders lives on my floor? I talked to her— I didn’t tell her about the advocacy group or anything, I just said you were cool and then I offered to help her with some physics homework if she’d hook you up. She said she can get you into the party!”
My eyes widen. “Oh! Right. Yeah,” I say, trying to sound both eager and grateful. The truth is, I only vaguely remember Sarah mentioning the cheerleader on her floor, and I definitely didn’t expect her to tutor someone to get me into a party. But of course she would— we’re in the same advocacy group, after all, and we’re supposed to be working toward the same goals. Not, you know, imagining having sex with the enemy, like I am. I’m relieved that my roommates are too preoccupied deciding on which bars to hit up to hear any of this, since I suspect they’d accidentally mention the jersey, or the fact that I spent the entire game staring at Sebastian.
“That’s awesome,” I say hurriedly. “What do I do? Where do I go?”
“They have a house over off Milledge— just go there and say you’re there with Juliet. Wear something super cute, she said. She’s nice, I promise, but she’s also really really extroverted,” Sarah says. If Sarah calls Juliet extroverted, she must practically be a one girl party planner. I nod appreciatively, and give Sarah a quick hug.
“Who was that?” Becca asks as we move along.
“A pre-law friend,” I say. “She invited me to a party this evening.” That isn’t entirely a lie…
“A pre-law party?” Maddy asks, looking unimpressed. “We were going to go to that nineties bar. I hear some of the players go there, mostly the freshmen. But hey, you never know— maybe Sebastian will be there,” she adds, elbowing me and winking.
I laugh, but beg off of the bar, hoping she doesn’t see the truth on my face: I’m going to see Sebastian tonight, but it’s not going to be at a bar. It’s going to be at the party. At his house. Where there’s plenty of room to be alone. Where, if history is any indicator, I’m going to be totally unable to resist him.
8
Unbelievably, I was less nervous walking to the same house in my Papa Pig’s gear than I am right now, wearing normal attire. When I was wearing that stupid pig nose, I had a single job, an easy mission to accomplish (or so I thought, anyway). Now, in a pair of Emily’s heels and my go-to/only little black dress, I’m something of a mess. Am I ready for Sebastian, if he does what he promised he would? What if he’s decided against me? What if he sees me naked, and changes his mind? I can’t figure out why, exactly, he’s been interested in me in the first place, and that confusion makes the whole situation feel very precarious, like it might all crumble away at any second.
Not to mention the guilt I feel about how wrong it is to even be thinking about Sebastian, let alone spending actual time in his presence as I’m hoping to do.
“Hi,” I say at the door in my smoothest voice. “I’m a friend of Juliet’s?” There’s a young guy at the door tonight— thank god it isn’t that Conor again. This other guy looks like he may be a freshman, which is to say, he looks like he’s been relegated to door duty rather than pleased about his job.
“Juliet?” he calls inside. “Is there a Juliet here? You have a friend at the door.” I look past him, into the house. It’s much the same as it was a few nights prior— full of people, but more beautiful than any other college student house on campus. I wonder if they have a housekeeper come in and clean. They must, right? My eyes scan the baseboards. Yeah, they have to— no college guy has ever wiped down a baseboard in his life—
“You must be Sarah’s friend,” a cheerful voice says. I look up at an absolutely stunning girl with highlighted hair and toothpaste commercial teeth. She smiles at me; the guy at the door steps aside and allows me in. “Ashlynn, right? She said she had a pre-law friend who would be way more excited to come here tonight than she was.”
“Oh, yeah. Super excited,” I say, trying to match her bright smile. I’m pretty sure I fail, but she moves along.
“You have to know someone for them to let you in the door, is all— they don’t want it full of football groupies or so packed the house gets trashed. They’re football players, but they’re all seniors. Drunken furniture smashing isn’t really their thing,” she says. “Anyway, I’m around if you need me, okay? But it’s usually pretty cool. Bar is that way.”
I nod appreciatively, and wonder if Juliet knows I’m a freshman— that I’m not even old enough to legally drink. Not that this matters in a college town, usually, but still. The bar consists of a handful of enormous coolers in the kitchen, stocked with ice and mid-range beers. I pretend to mull over them, then select one. Juliet disappears to the main room, where I see her talking to Conor and a few other players I recognize from the profiles flashed on the big screen at today’s game. I’ve got no interest in Conor spotting me, so I lurk near the coolers, pretending to furiously text someone on my phone, wondering when Sebastian will show up. Wondering what will happen when Sebastian shows up. The size of the party is a little frightening, and it occurs to me that Sebastian’s strange attraction to me has always been something done in secret, away from his friends. What if he pretends not to know me? I don’t look like the other girls here…
I disaster plan, thinking through all the things I can do to get out of the party with my dignity if Sebastian gives me the cold shoulder when he spots me. Of course, I haven’t seen him yet, so maybe I’m getting way ahead of myself. I collect my thoughts and decide to f
ocus on New Recruits Week instead— the reason I’m ostensibly here to start with. I take a deep breath, lower my phone, and decide to chat with the next person who meets my eye.
“Hey there, you look lost,” the person— a younger guy, clearly a football player, but probably around my age and likely an offensive player, given his size— says. He smiles at me and I get a creepy vibe but try to play it off.
“Not lost, I’m by the beer,” I point out, with a smile.
“I meant, you don’t look like the other girls here,” the guy says, and I have to fight to keep my face screwing up. He laughs. “That’s not a bad thing. You can only see so many cheerleaders before they blend together, you know?”
I take a breath and ignore the urge to tell this guy that his play isn’t working— I’ve seen it before. Casually insult a girl, and watch her try to clamber for your approval.
“I guess you’re on the team then?” I say.
“I’m a receiver. Do you know what position that is?”
“No,” I say, playing a little dumb and hoping he takes the hint that I’m not very interested.
Instead, he slides in closer and begins to explain. The way he tells it, the receiver is basically the hero of the entire game. “So,” I say when he slows down. “Did you play in today’s game?”
I see a flash of indignation in his eyes, and it’s immensely satisfying. He looks away, takes a long swig of beer, and says, “Not today— the coaches are keeping me in their back pocket, basically. I’m a sophomore, so they don’t want people to know about me right out of the gate.”
“So you’re like a secret weapon,” I say, rolling my eyes a little.
“Exactly,” he purrs to me, and slings an arm around my shoulder. It’s a testament to how big Sebastian is that this guy— who is sizable, by anyone’s standards, has arms that feel like toothpicks to me.
“Did you decide to come here because of New Recruits Week?” I ask him. After all, I am here to find out what I can about the football culture at the school.
“Oh, yeah— that’s what got me here. I had basically dozens of schools after me, but Berkfield really felt like a place that respected football, you know? The whole team really shows you a good time that week— shows you what you’ll get to be a part of if you come here.”
“What do they show you?”
“It’s wild,” he says with a spark in his eyes. “Non-stop parties, basically. Girls everywhere.” He looks around briefly, then back to me. “Why don’t we go downstairs for a minute? Get some privacy?”
My face flushes at his brashness. I don’t have a chance to tell him hell no because someone else breaks into our conversation first.
“Daniel, aren’t you supposed to be cleaning up empties?” a voice says. It’s dark, and cold, and furious in a way that makes my blood go icy. My eyes leap to the speaker, and my lips curve into a smile before I can stop myself.
It’s Sebastian.
The guy hitting on me— Daniel— is not smiling. His face, in fact, has gone pale. “There weren’t any, last I checked, Bass.”
“There might be now,” Sebastian says. “I think you ought to go take another look.”
“Yeah,” Daniel says, trying to act casual— trying to save face in front of me. I try to avoid laughing at him as he sidles away, sets his beer on the counter, and begins to trudge off like a kid headed to detention. He turns back to me at the last second, though, and says, “Hey, can I get your number—“
“You stay the fuck away from her,” Sebastian growls, and before I even understand what’s happening, he’s grabbed Daniel’s shoulder, hard. The kitchen goes silent, and the stillness transfers to the living room, the front hall, sweeping through the house like wind across a field. Sebastian dwarfs Daniel, whose presumption and gleam are totally gone; he looks like he’s genuinely scared, and I feel bad for him. A little.
“Hey, hey,” a new voice says, and Conor appears. He puts a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Man, relax. He’s not worth the argument with the coaches later. Let this little dickweed go.”
Sebastian breathes slowly, his eyes on Daniel. Finally, he nods, and releases Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel scampers away, and within a few moments, the chatter of the party resumes.
Conor glances at me, and his eyes widen.
“This girl again?” Conor asks. “How did you even get in here?”
“I—“ I swallow, a little whiplashed at going from Daniel to Sebastian to Conor so quickly. “Juliet invited me.”
“The cheerleader? She invited a Papa Pig’s girl? The fuck—“
“She’s my guest,” Sebastian says, turning his head to Conor. “This is Ashlynn, and she’s my guest.”
Conor looks stunned, then lifts an eyebrow at Sebastian. I can see the judgment there, the frustration. I can see the question— Why this girl? though it goes unasked. Finally, Conor shakes his head with a sort of piteous shrug. “Okay, man, sure,” he mutters, then gives me a dark glance before walking away, back to the rest of the party.
It’s just me and Sebastian, for the most part. Most everyone evacuated the kitchen during the argument between Daniel and Sebastian, and though I see a few curious heads looking our way from the other rooms, it feels like we’re in our own little world of tile and ice and the refrigerator’s humming. I look down, unable to meet his eyes without my knees going weak.
“Were you flirting with him?” Sebastian asks, confused. It’s not that he’s mad at the prospect, I can tell, it’s that he’s alarmed by the notion.
“No,” I say quickly, letting my eyes dash to his for a heartbeat. “He was hitting on me. That guy is…well. Like Conor said— he’s a dickweed.”
Sebastian seems pleased by my assessment. “Very true.” He takes a step toward me. “Though I don’t like him hitting on you any more than the idea of you hitting on him.”
“I’m not at all interested in him,” I say, shaking my head. My voice is a whisper, and Sebastian has caught my eyes with his. I can’t possibly look away. He takes another step forward, only a foot or so away now, and the scent of him hits me. I feel my stomach clench, and without meaning to, I bite my lip.
Sebastian nods. “Good. I didn’t know you were coming here, tonight.”
“I didn’t either until today. A friend got me in.”
“I could get you in anytime you like,” Sebastian says, then reaches forward and runs his fingers down my arm. I tremble, glad that his breadth blocks any of the other partygoers from seeing the fact that he’s slaying me, right now. “You look beautiful, Ashlynn.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He glances over his shoulder at the rest of the party, then back at me. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Somewhere private,” he answers, and takes my hand in his.
I’m shaking— my hands, my knees, I’m nervous beyond reason. It’s all happening so fast, is all— I was just talking to some douchebag about New Recruits Week a moment ago, and now Sebastian is here and he just overwhelms me so much, I—
He looks at my trembling fingers. “Do you trust me, Ashlynn?”
I choke on my words for a moment, before finally managing to nod and say, “Yes, I’m just— this is a lot to…I just—“
He leans in close, ducking his head down to whisper in my ear, his intoxicating scent a cloud around my senses. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll take good care of you.”
The words on their own nearly make me whimper in anticipation— something about hearing this, about hearing someone tell me that he’s in charge, that I can relax, that for once in my life I don’t need to collect myself…I look up at him, our cheeks brushing together, and nod again.
“Come with me,” he says again, and then takes my hand in his. Even though my knees are weak, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment, I follow him— past the rest of the party, up the stairs, down the hall, to his bedroom.
9
Sebastian steps aside so I
can walk in first, then shuts the door behind him. I clutch my purse nervously, standing in the center of the room, unsure what to do, where to go— but also waiting on Sebastian to tell me all of the above. He will— I know he will— and though part of me is irritated that I’d wait for a guy to order me around, I also love the ease that comes with knowing there won’t be any guesswork here. Sebastian will be in charge, and…I like that. I want that.
But I’m still terrified of it, especially when he turns slowly to me and walks forward in the dim light. He looks sly, and sure, and towers over me as he grows closer and closer. He stops a few feet from me, and lets his eyes run up and down my body without trying to hide what he’s doing.
“So petite,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve never had someone so small, Ashlynn.”
I lick my lips, because there’s no way to deny it now— he’s going to have me. He’s going to take me. My panties are wet, and I bite at my lip again, still shaky and unsure.
“You always freeze up around me,” he says, voice low. “Every time, you’ve gone all still like this. Until I started rubbing your pussy, at least.” He takes another step forward, only a foot away from me now, and runs his fingers along my jaw line, down my shoulder, down my side and around my back, where he cups my ass cheek lightly, then squeezes gently, like he knows to be careful with me. He makes a satisfied noise in his throat, then takes my purse from my hands and tosses it to a nearby chair. Unsure what to do with my hands, I wring them together. He smiles at this.
“You’re going to take my clothes off,” Sebastian says, meeting my eyes so he can be certain I understand.
I nod.
“Good. Start with my shirt, Ashlynn.”
He’s wearing a button down, and I have to reach up high to get to the top buttons. My fingertips are clumsy as I unhook it, then the next, moving down his chest. He doesn’t help in the slightest, but rather watches me, like the way I do this is mesmerizing. I have to move around him to tug the sleeves down his arms, then drop it onto the floor. When I’m back at his front again, I inhale at how good he looks, his ripped chest showing through the pale white undershirt he’s wearing.
