Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance

by Lily Cahill

  “I’m giving you a warning,” I shoot back at the ref, who’s standing close with his eyes on the play. “If you keep ignoring penalties, someone is going to get seriously hurt and it’s going to be your fault.” I’m screaming and my face is bright red with rage.

  Reggie has stood up completely, and he’s wiping grass off his uniform and looking over at the spectacle I’m making, smiling with a glint in his eyes. That glint that says the whole world is for his amusement.

  The ref blows his whistle at me.

  “You just got yourself ejected from the game.”

  Two security guards approach me. One grabs my upper arm, but I shrug him away.

  “Fine,” I say, deflating. “Fine.” I walk, flanked by guards like a criminal, out of the stadium.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Reggie

  I THINK I MIGHT HAVE a concussion, because I must be seeing things.

  Megan is on the field screaming her head off at the referee. Her face is bright red and she’s all puffed up, like she’s trying to grow six more inches to be as imposing as a football player. I’m thinking about how cute she looks when she’s mad, when the words she’s screaming start to register.

  “Face mask!” she yells at the referee one more time, and then the security guards appear and she gets escorted off the field. It happens so fast, like brushing away a fly, but as she’s getting carted off I realize she’s out here defending me.

  A smile creeps up to my face, she really cares about me. I don’t even care why, I’m just happy that it’s true.

  This girl, this incredibly sexy woman, who weeks ago had been an object of my sexual fantasies, surprises me more every day that goes by. Just when I think I know what she’s going to do, she completely blows my mind. Who knew she had that kind of temper in her? And for me, defending me. I genuinely have to blink my eyes and make sure she’s not actually on the sidelines and that I didn’t just imagine the whole thing.

  Nope. She just got thrown out of the game for me. It could cost her, too—her grade, and her grad school recommendation. My hands ball into fists and my jaw sets in a line. These Wildcats are going down.

  Every year, I psych myself up for this game. There’s no way we’re going to lose to our rivals. It’s an important game, no matter what else is happening. But they’ve come out here, on our home field, and been disrespectful. They think they can win for the first time in five years. They think we’re weak and this is the time to strike. They’re more like vultures than wildcats, but they have another thing coming.

  I won’t let Megan’s sacrifice be in vain. We have to win this game.

  I join West and the rest of the line in a huddle on the field.

  “Flapjack 86,” West calls. His voice cracks on the word. It’s a long throw with Ben having to cut in and back out, the timing will have to be perfect. He might be able to do it, but I have a better plan.

  “Gorilla 5,” I say. I look at West, unblinking. Ultimately it’s his call, but I want him to trust me on this. He nods his head, repeats the call I’ve suggested, and we break, lining up on the field.

  My fingers are twitching around the ball. I want to hike it back to West and lose myself in the play, but I have to be patient. Wait for the formation to set.

  “Hut, hut, hike!”

  It’s an effort not to speed up the words and hike the ball too hard and too fast to West. I want it out of my hands and into his. I snap the ball and pop up immediately, rushing forward, keeping my body low. West is right on my tail. I hit a defender hard and throw him off to the right. I run left, watching another defender come at me. I lower my shoulder, brace, and heave forward, knocking him off. I keep running, protecting West as he carries the ball behind me. I’m a bulldozer running down the opposition.

  The next guy is coming right at me. He’s snarling at me, like a big, mean animal, but I see him as nothing but a pup. I duck down before hitting him right in the gut and then heave upward as his balance shifts over me, his body falling behind me. West dodges him, jutting right, and we keep running down the field. There are two more red shirts to my right, and then nothing but open field.

  I look back at West and nod. He takes off, cutting up the field behind me as I throw myself at the two defenders, trying to get enough of my body in their way to give West a head start. I take one down fully, but the second defender only gets tripped up on me. He doesn’t fall, and runs off after West, but it’s too late. West is two strides ahead, and then four, and then completely and totally uncatchable.

  He’s runs the ball the rest of the way to the end zone. It’s a touchdown and an easy extra point by our kicker.

  We’re up seven to nothing, and we’re just getting started.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Megan

  I MAY HAVE BEEN ESCORTED from the stadium, but nothing is keeping me from sitting down on the curb right outside. I can still hear the roar of the fans from inside, even if I can’t see anything. There are a few straggling tailgates, and one of them even has a television. I think about walking over, but then I see a guy with half a hot wing hanging out of his mouth point at me, and I divert back to the curb.

  I’m going to be the crazy chick who lost it on the field, but I don’t care. All I care about is that Reggie got off the ground. And he was wearing my shoes. With the heart laces tying them up.

  My heart dances in my chest. It does the cha-cha, the foxtrot, and the merengue all at once.

  As I sit with the cold cement on my butt, I search for the game and start streaming it on my phone.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Reggie play so well. You would never, in a million years, know that it’s his first game back from an injury. At halftime, the team has run up the score to twenty one, and it looks like the Arizona Wildcats are feeling less cocky about coming in and beating up on a vulnerable team. Reggie’s made sure that we aren’t vulnerable. Not even close.

  I pace back and forth on the sidewalk as halftime ticks by. No word from Reggie. I know they’re not allowed on their phones, but I keep checking my text messages every three seconds anyway. Not talking to him is killing me.

  Energy and anxiety are bubbling up inside of me. I’m starting to second guess myself. Maybe he just didn’t have time to change the laces. What if he’s mad about the spectacle I made of myself on the field? I didn’t even think about the fact that it might have been embarrassing to him. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  I start going over the speech I’ve written out in my mind, the one I’ve been practicing since I realized what an idiot I’ve been, but haven’t been able to give.

  All I can do is sit and wait. I watch the second half of the game, and our boys are fighting just as hard as they did in the first half. They’re not letting the score get to their heads, and they’re playing like every play could make or break the game.

  The fans are going crazy; it’s the first time all season that we’ve looked like the team we used to be.

  “If the Mustangs can keep this level of play up, they might actually have a chance at a winning record this season,” Yogi Roth, the announcer, says through my earbuds.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. This is not a team with a no-flinch mentality,” Glenn Parker retorts. What does he know, he’s a former Arizona Wildcat and he can’t be trusted. He’s been biased this whole game, barely saying anything positive about the Mustangs even though they’re wiping the floor with Arizona.

  “After this game, they’ll be four and one. It was a shaky start to the season, but it looks like the Mustangs are starting to get into the groove of things.”

  Glenn Parker retorts, “They’re going to have to stay in that groove if they’re going to have a chance against some of the more difficult opponents they’re up against in the weeks to come.”

  I turn off the sound, not wanting to hear any more doubt. I have enough of that without the announcers chiming in.

  With five minutes left in the fourth quarter, we�
�re up forty-one to seven, and fans are streaming out of the stadium, not bothering to stick around for the end of the game, which by now is a foregone conclusion. With fans now on their phones trying to connect as they stream out of the stadium, I lose the signal and can’t see the game anymore.

  I can tell when the game has ended because the stream of fans turns into a flood as everyone flees in a mass exodus. There’s no way that Reggie could find me, if he’s even trying. I send him a text, but after five minutes of “sending” it doesn’t go through.

  I drop my head back and look up at the trees. I’m debating if I should go back to Reggie’s dorm and wait for him there, or stay stuck on this sidewalk fading into the stream of blue and silver. Will he want to go out and celebrate with his teammates after the game? I desperately want to see him, but I still don’t know if he feels the same way about me.

  I feel stuck to the curb, unable to make a decision, my stomach roiling faster than the river of people surrounding me. They keep bumping into me as they make their way to the bars and after-parties. Then I feel a tug on my arm, and before I know it, I’m pressed against Reggie’s hard chest, and he’s kissing me.

  I can smell the sweat and grass on him, feel his pads pressing into me beneath his jersey. I’m up on my toes, pressing every part of me into every part of him. His arms are around me, so strong and firm.

  “Get a room,” someone yells, but we ignore them.

  I melt into him, forgetting everything but this kiss. It feels so safe and warm. It feels like forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Reggie

  THERE ARE PEOPLE WHISTLING AND cheering around us, but Megan doesn’t even notice them. Her eyes are closed and her head is tipped up to me, and when she blinks open those lovely eyes, I think I can see a sheen of tears in them. She has my jersey balled in her hands, as if I’m going to try to escape her grip. Her lips are so soft and her body yields to mine, begging for more. I want to scoop her up in my arms, carry her back to my room, lock the door, and never leave.

  I pull my head away from hers and look at her perfect face. Strands of her auburn hair have escaped from her ponytail, and her brown eyes are clear and sparkling. She’s grinning, smiling with the same abandon that I noticed in the pictures in her room, on the top of the tallest mountains in Colorado. This girl who I thought was a sexy librarian is so, so much more, and I can’t believe she wants to be with me.

  “The shoes worked,” I tell her. “I think they’re even luckier than the old ones.”

  Her smile gets wider, brighter, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode with happiness.

  Then her brow crinkles. That single line crinkle, but I don’t want her to be serious right now. I kiss the line away, and she wriggles her nose at me and puts a hand on my chest.

  “Wait,” she says as I’m leaning down to kiss her again. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

  “I know,” I say, because it doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is the note. Can we be more than friends?

  The answer is yes.

  “But I want to say it anyway. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’d been telling myself we were just friends for so long that I didn’t realize that we’d become more. I was trying not to get my heart broken, but it didn’t work. I don’t care where you are next year. I don’t care if you’re in Texas and I’m in Maryland, we can figure it out when it comes. All that matters is that I want to be with you.”

  I pull her in again and start kissing her like crazy. Her forehead, her cheek, her ear, her mouth. I’m literally too happy to contain myself. When I’m finally satisfied, more of her hair has fallen from her ponytail; it makes her look wild and free.

  “I’ll be right here,” I say, watching her face for the realization to dawn.

  She looks at me, her head cocked to the side.

  “Prescott offered me a job as an assistant coach here next year, and I’m going to take it. If you get into grad school here, we’ll be in the same place.”

  Her eyes go wide, then she hits me so hard in the chest it throws me back a step.

  “I knew it! I knew you could do it.” She grabs the front of my jersey and pulls me in, kissing me again. We can’t seem to get through the conversation without kissing.

  Megan pulls back and smiles up into my face. “You’re going to be amazing.”

  She’s so sincere, it makes me think that she might be right.

  “Garrett told me he was going to give me the letter of recommendation,” she says, smiling wide. “That was before I got kicked out of the game, but still.”

  “I always knew there was something wild hiding behind those cardigans.”

  She grabs my hand and interlaces her fingers with mine as we begin winding our way through the crowds.

  “Megan, you make me feel …,” I trail off, searching for words. I’m not usually the type of guy who talks about my feelings, but I want her to know what she’s done for me.

  “You make me feel like I’m more than a big guy who can play football and make people laugh by being stupid. I always thought that college was going to be a four-year blip of happiness … a hiatus from the reality of my life. But when I’m with you, I think maybe I could be happy forever.”

  Those big, brilliant brown eyes glaze over with tears. Megan squeezes my hand, and I notice the way her shoulders hitch when she sucks in a breath.

  “Forever,” she says back to me, almost in a whisper, and I nod.

  “Now,” I say, my heart so full it’s threatening to explode. “Let’s go back to your place. We have some celebrating to do.”

  Chapter One

  Nara

  THE NEON LIGHTS OF LA spread out beneath me, warming me from below like an electric blanket. I lean against the balcony railing and grin. Not because others are watching or because it’s expected, but because I want to.

  Damn, that feels good. So much of my life has become smiling because I have to: reassuring Coach Higgins that I’m a team player even as all the white girls get the best stunts; appeasing my sorority sisters, who expect me to be the best sort of diversity pick; comforting my parents that I’m not becoming Yaya.

  When had it happened? When had I stopped being happy and started faking it? Probably around the time my older sister overdosed, when I’d suddenly become the only person keeping my parents from succumbing to their grief. They’d essentially lost Yaya to darkness and addiction. They sure as hell weren’t going to lose me. But somewhere along the way, it’d all become a front. A perfect, photoshopped, always-smiling picture of what I’m expected to be.

  Lord, I’ve come to hate that word. What’s expected of me: from my parents, my cheer squad, my sorority, my university. I—the only black girl on my squad, one of only two black girls in my sorority—am playing a part. It’s left a scuzzy film over my desires, over my hopes. Something slimy that makes me itchy and uncomfortable in my own skin. And the more I try to be what everyone else considers perfect, the more it feels like something in me is clawing its way out, demanding that I stop holding back, stop playing nice. That voice inside me scares me nearly as much as this veneer of happiness. Is that the voice Yaya finally succumbed to?

  So often any more, it feels like there are two sides to me warring for dominance. But damn it, not right now. My smile is wide, and the fading warmth of the California sun makes my brown skin glow. Maybe everything isn’t so bad. After all, how many college juniors get all-expenses-paid weekend trips around the country and a front row seat to high-stakes football? Yeah, this smile is earned tonight.

  “Nara?” At the balcony door, Madison Allgoode peers toward me through the gathering darkness. Her eyes flash aqua blue against the glowing neon and her bouncy blond hair is perfectly soft. Both her eye color and her hair color are fake, so maybe I’m not the only one putting on the “perfect” front.

  “You coming, girl?” Madison twirls hair around her finger.

  I smooth my straightened, caramel-colored hair
over one shoulder and readjust the hem of sparkly gold minidress. I’m shorter than Madison by a head, and compact from years as a competitive gymnast instead of lithe, but this dress makes me feel like a goddess. It’s covered in tiny gold sequins, with skinny golden straps that criss-cross over my muscular back and a deep enough vee to make it seem like I actually have some cleavage. But my round ass more than makes up for the lack of assets on top. The sky-high strappy gold heels don’t hurt either—I borrowed them from Lilah, Riley’s girlfriend, who I basically have a confidence crush on.

  With one last look at the LA skyline, I turn toward Madison and shimmy my hips. “You think I’d miss a chance to be fabulous in LA? Not a chance.”

  I hook my bronzed arm through Madison’s pale one, and we strut through the hotel and out onto the street, where most of the women on the cheer squad—and a few of the men—are waiting.

  Jess McNair, captain of the squad and a sorority sister in Kappa Kappa Nu, quirks one eyebrow. “We certainly won’t lose you, Nara,” she says, eyeing my dress. She’s in a skintight black bandage dress, her blond hair sleek down her back and her lips so slick red they appear plastic.

  I make sure my smile stays tacked onto my face and twirl around in my heels like she’s complimented me. The lights shimmer off my dress, and dammit, I feel pretty. I’m not going to let Jess ruin my good mood. “Maybe I want to stick out.”

  Jess blinks slowly and curls one edge of her red lips in a smirk, letting the truth of just how much I stick out compared to the rest of my teammates wriggle under my skin. Nearly all the girls on the squad are blond. Every single one except for me is white.

  Before I can respond, rowdy men pile out of the hotel’s steakhouse just next door. Around me, the girls straighten up, flash megawatt smiles. Our guys, the Mountain State Mustangs. They’d barely won their game against UCLA earlier in the day, and it looks like Coach Prescott took his first-string guys out to dinner. From the look of it, it’d been a tense affair.