by Natalie Rios
“Yeah, well, I’m anemic. I’m always cold.”
“I’m always hot. We should snuggle in bed together. I’ll make sure to keep you warm.” I say this in my seductive voice, that low and deep timbre women seem to love.
Not Allie though. She rolls her eyes. “Pass. That’s what fleece blankets are for.”
“What about snuggling? Blankets can’t snuggle,” I point out.
“My bed is like Superman’s Secret Citadel, a private sanctuary known to few and visited by even fewer.”
Secret Citadel, huh? Most people would have said Fortress of Solitude. Could Allie Perez be a comic book fan? “Batman or Superman?”
“Batman,” she answers immediately. “Superman isn’t human. Unfair advantage.”
“Agreed. Batman or Spiderman?”
“Batman,” she says again and I howl in protest.
“What! No fucking way! Peter Parker is the man. He created his own webbing. He’s a fucking genius!”
“Yeah, and he’s boring. Being bitten by a radioactive spider is the most exciting thing to ever happen to the guy. Without his mask, Peter Parker’s just a nerd. A little anti-social, neurotic and suffering from an inferiority complex. Now, Batman, he’s dark and twisty. A vigilante without super powers.”
“He’s also a playboy billionaire. Which is exactly what you claim to hate about me.”
“No, he only plays the part of the superficial playboy. To avert suspicion. You, on the other hand, just like getting pussy.”
I choke on a laugh. “Excuse me? Did you just say pussy?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me I managed to scandalize you with the P word? I’m sure it gets said in the locker room a lot.”
“It does. I just didn’t expect a prude like you to use it.”
“I’m not a prude.”
“You’ve had sex before?”
“I have sex, just not casual sex.”
Confused, I arch a brow. “What other kind of sex is there?”
“Relationship sex.”
“That takes work. And time. Pass and no, thank you.”
"Help me understand the psyche of a twenty-two year old male. Why are they so anti-relationship? Is it a fear of commitment? An inability to settle down until every wild oat has been sown?"
I shrug. "I can't speak for all college men, of course. But dating’s…well, kind of boring. I mean, the end game is marriage, right? The ultimate goal of entering any relationship is finding someone you can settle down and have kids with, which I'm not interested in right now. And the short-term goal is sex, which I can easily get without all the wining and dining. Why put in work when you don't have to?”
“Maybe you just haven't met a girl who is worth the effort."
"Maybe. Never really gave it much thought." But now that I am, I can see she has a point.
A lot of girls see me as a status symbol, someone they want to be with so they can brag to their friends about bagging the star quarterback. Jersey chasers, my mother likes to call them. Girls who can tell you my pass completion percentage, how many touchdowns I scored last season and my net yards per passing attempts all in one breath but can't tell you my dog's name. Or my favorite color.
Hell, they probably can't even tell you my major and that's presented right underneath my name during televised games.
I'm not saying all girls are groupies and gold diggers, but I hate playing the guessing game. Much easier to just keep things on a surface level.
"You look like you're thinking so hard it hurts," Allie says, reminding me we're still on FaceTime.
"Sex is sex. It's natural, something our bodies were made to do. Plus it feels good. Casual sex is easy and plentiful. I don't see why I should complicate things by being in a relationship in order to have it."
"Because having an emotional connection with someone makes it better,” she argues. “When you actually know each other, what you like and don’t like. No fumbling around, just lots of trust and intimacy. Quality over quantity.”
“Riddle me this, Batman. When was the last time you had high quality sex?”
There’s a pause and I wonder if I crossed a line. We’re not exactly friends. I open my mouth, ready to tell her she doesn’t have to answer, when she surprises me. “Three years. But no sex is better than lousy sex. Unless you’re a nymphomaniac.”
“I’m not a nymphomaniac.”
“Says the guy who hooked up with some girl in the library when he was supposed to be doing his homework.”
“Jesus,” I groan, feeling that twinge of disgust again. This is exactly why I needed to take this bet. To prove to both of us I’m not the disgusting pig she thinks I am. “I didn’t hook up with her. And I really am sorry I left you.”
“I know.”
This surprises me. “You do?”
“Yeah and I already accepted your apology. I was just messing with you.”
“Didn’t know you have a sense of humor.”
She lets out a small pfft sound. “Fact: ballbusting is one of my favorite past times. Everyone says so.”
Oh, I believe it. Have witnessed it firsthand several times now. This girl gives me more shit than the rest of the world combined. But I don’t mind. It’s refreshing. It’s different. It’s –
Crazy. Masochistic. Shit, maybe Levi’s right and I am whacked in the head.
“What are you doing in your flannel pajamas on a Friday night?” I ask, changing the subject. “You’re supposed to be acting like a college student, not a grandmother.”
“I’m heading out soon. I have to be at work in half an hour. But I spent the day studying for my chem test on Monday and then I had to work on my thesis. Anyway, I should get going. My shift starts at nine.”
“Why are your shifts so late? Where do you work? Don’t tell me you were dealing drugs right alongside Ed Sheeran?”
She scrunches her nose. “Ed Sheeran?”
“Yeah. You know, the redhead in sociology who got busted for crack?”
“It was coke but oh my God! He does look like Ed Sheeran!” she giggles. “And Ed Sheeran has a song about a prostitute who is addicted to crack.”
“Are you messing with me again?” She shakes her head. “Damn, I thought he only sang love songs.”
“Don’t let his carrot top fool you. Mr. Sheeran has layers. I’m talking twenty deep.”
“Will you call me Mr. Montgomery when we snuggle after our first kiss?”
“First kiss. You say it like there will be a second. Or even a first, for that matter. A month is a long time for a guy like you.”
“For you, Allie, I’ll hold out for an eternity.”
She rolls her eyes. “Goodnight, Theodore.”
For the first time in my life, I’m nervous before a game.
I don’t doubt my skill and I don’t doubt my team. I know we can beat Virginia Tech. But instead of being pumped up on adrenaline and anticipation, I’m nervous. A huge ball of lead weighs heavily in my stomach.
This is the first official game of my last college season. If I’m not picked up by a professional team in the draft, this is it. The beginning of the end of my football career.
I can’t feel this melancholy. As captain, it’s my job to motivate my teammates. Which means I need to snap out of this funk.
I don’t even think about it. Retrieving my cell phone from the locker assigned to me, I text Allie.
Me: You watching the game?
Allie: There’s a game today????
Me: Your feigned ignorance might be believable if you hadn’t already admitted knowing I’m in Virginia.
Allie: Fine. I’m washing my hair then.
Me: Can you at least be a little more creative with your brush offs? The hair-washing thing’s been way over done.
Allie: My apologies. I assumed a Casanova such as you never gets the brush off therefore I didn’t have to bring my A-game.
Me: I always want your A-game, Perez.
Allie: I g2g, the cock waiting for me in the other
room isn’t going to suck itself.
Um, what? I read that last text back and yup, Allie did insinuate she’s in the middle of blowing some guy. Which pisses me the fuck off.
Me: Um, WTF? TMI.
Allie: You asked for my A-game ;-)
Holy shit. This girl’s a total fucking smartass.
“Why do you have that goofy grin on your face?” Levi peers over my shoulder and I quickly shove the phone in the locker and slam it closed.
“Listen up team!” I make a loud clapping noise to get everyone’s attention. “Today’s the first game of the season and we’re going to make sure everyone knows the Carlton Tigers are the team to beat this year. Show no mercy and hold nothing back. Make them fight for every inch on the field. Winning is a habit and let them know, leave no doubt, it’s a habit we don’t intend to break.”
“Tigers!” Levi roars and the rest of the team picks up the chant. “Tigers! Tigers!”
Our voices are echoing off the walls as we march through the tunnel out onto the field. Yeah, this might be the beginning of the end, but I’m not going down without a fight.
Game on.
7
Allie
“FANCY SEEING YOU HERE.”
I look up from laptop screen, surprised to find Theo grinning at me from across the table. “You know this is a library, right? Not a gym or bar or Juicy Lucy’s.”
“Yeah, smartass. I was here with you just the other day.” A stack of books land on the table, followed immediately by Theo pulling up a chair.
“Um, I didn’t invite you to sit down.” He ignores my comment, retrieving a notebook and pencil from his backpack. Settling back in his seat, he cracks open one of his books. “What are you doing?”
“Studying,” he mumbles, not bothering to look up at me.
“And you can’t do that at another table because...”
“I like this table.”
“Remember how I didn’t invite you?”
“Remember how we have a bet going on?” At my perplexed expression, he continues, “How are we supposed to know what the other’s up to without the occasional check in?”
“No, no,” I immediately shake my head. “Hanging out was not a part of the deal. We’re operating on an honor system here.”
Crossing his arms, he smirks at me. “We’re not hanging out, we’re studying at the same table. Plus, you’ve already violated the honor system. Twice.”
I frown. “How so?”
“You stayed in this entire weekend and now you’re spending the night at the library.”
“It’s Monday! And I need to turn in this outline by Wednesday.”
“Be that as it may...” He returns his attention to his book.
“Fine. Stay. Just keep quiet so I don’t lose my focus.”
“Don’t be afraid to suggest a gag. Can’t say I’ve done it before, but I’m always open to trying new things.” He arches a brow, lips parting into that cocky grin.
“Tempting, but pass.” I resume my reading, cursing my faculty advisor and this damn thesis. Dr. Weber may be a world-renowned researcher, but he’s kind of a slave driver. It’s like he doesn’t understand the concept of sleep. Or a social life. Or giving advanced notice.
He has two research assistants, myself and Nick Archer. Nick’s a graduate student from England, super smart, and an all-around chill dude. But we’re still just two people, one of us an undergrad at that. Last minute projects with ultra-tight deadlines are rough, even rougher when you’re already juggling a part-time job and a full course load. This is the second major project he’s dropped on my lap at the last second. I was so furious earlier, I briefly debated dropping this crazy thesis idea altogether.
But completing a thesis means I get to graduate with honors research distinction. It’s also a great way to obtain experience in doing original research, which will make my med school application shine that much brighter.
Sacrifice now for the future. It’s what I’ve been doing since birth.
So here I am, spending a Monday night at the library, reading up on cytochrome c’s role in apoptosis. With Theo Montgomery sitting directly across from me.
Without lifting my head, I watch him from underneath my eyelashes. Huh. He actually seems to be...working. Highlighter in hand, he drags it across his book once, then twice.
“I can feel you watching me.” Fuck.
I give a jerky shrug. “Just shocked you’re actually doing homework.”
Tilting his head back, he cocks a brow at me. “That’s kind of what a student does, Perez. Reading, homework, writing papers. Rinse, wash, repeat.”
“Yeah, but...”
“But, what? You thought I had someone else doing my homework for me?” He sounds offended.
“I didn’t mean it that way, I just-” I pause, not really sure what I meant. Luckily, one of his groupies chooses that moment to interrupt.
“Hey, Theo. Great game on Saturday,” she purrs in his ear. “You’re getting the Heisman this year for sure.” Did she just squeeze his bicep? “Want to celebrate later?”
It’s too much, it really is. Her tight bodycon dress, the way-too-sweet-smelling perfume, and the way she’s pressing against him...Trying way too hard.
But what does this idiot do? He curves his lips into a tempting smile and allows her to take his phone. “Yeah, I do enjoy being rewarded.”
Dear God, this entire conversation. Gag me with a spoon. Literally.
I retrieve my headphones from my backpack and plug them in, letting Freddie Mercury’s powerful voice drown out all the bullshit.
What feels like hours later, I come up for air. Reaching for my water bottle, I find Theo studying me quizzically. “What?”
“Don’t you ever take a break?”
“Taking one right now.” Rolling my shoulders, I check the time. I’ve got another hour before I need to catch the bus home. Perfect. This sucker is getting done tonight, damn it.
“No, I mean a real break. Do something fun.”
“Are you offering to ravish me in the back of the stacks?”
“No one under the age of fifty uses that word, Perez.”
“They should. It sounds a hell of a lot better than fucking or cock-sucking.”
He grins. “Good point. So...what do you do for fun?”
I widen my eyes. “Watch out there, now. Asking personal questions…People might think we’re friends.”
“Our bet,” he reminds me. “I’m going to plan a night out for us.”
“What did I say about hanging out?”
“You agreed to go to a few parties with me.”
“I did no such-” My words grind to a halt. Ah, hell, I did, didn’t I? “Just pick something. I’m sure I can handle whatever you have in mind.”
A smile I don’t trust spreads across his face. “Oh, really?”
“Hmm. I mean, I’ve already seen your dick. Can’t get much worse than that.”
“Witnessing a real life dick in action must have been quite the shock for your near-virgin eyes. Sadly, I’m here to tell you the next one’s only going to be a letdown. The Mona Lisa, once seen, cannot be unseen.”
The corners of my lips twitch. “Did you just call yourself the Leonardo da Vinci of dicks?”
Leaning back in his seat, he winks at me. “It’s a masterpiece.”
Cocky bastard. And yet...I’m enjoying myself. A little too much, actually.
Hands over my keyboard, I return to my research. “Just do your homework, Theodore.”
Theo
“Boo!” I whisper at her ear. Her body jolts upright in shock, but she quickly recovers, groaning as I slide into the empty seat across from her.
“Still haven’t issued an invitation,” she mumbles, not looking up from her textbook.
I empty out my backpack. “Still don’t care.”
“What are you doing here?”
I gesture to the books laid out on the table in front of me. “Studying.”
“No, I
mean here. At my table.”
“Maybe I need help with…” I lift the cover of the textbook she’s reading. “Chemistry.”
She crosses her arms, hiking up her breasts and momentarily distracting me with a hint of cleavage. “Sure. You’re taking chemistry to meet your science elective. Uh huh.”
“So, chemistry. Are you taking that because you’re pre-med?”
“Actually, it’s inorganic chemistry and I’m taking it because I’m a chemistry major.”
My eyes widen, in both admiration and horror. “Jesus Christ. You really are a masochist.”
Shrugging, she flips her book back open. “You’re the one who willingly keeps coming back for more, no matter how hostile I am.”
I have no response to that, because, shit. I do keep coming back for more. I like it when she gives me shit. Maybe I’m a masochist, too.
“What are you studying?” she asks.
“Are you asking me a personal question?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know my major. It’s only fair I ask for yours, right?”
“Broadcast journalism.” She looks up at that, titling her head and studying me with a curious expression on her face. “If this football thing doesn’t pan out, I figure I can be a sportscaster. Maybe not a play-by-play announcer, but a post-game analyst or a newscaster on a local TV station. Need to have a backup plan in case I blow a knee or something.”
“That’s…practical.” I might have taken the description as an insult, except Allie sounds impressed.
To recap: throwing more touchdowns than any other quarterback in Carlton’s history, not impressive. Planning for a backup career, super impressive.
I don’t understand this girl. At. All.
“I wear gloves and a scarf during winter.”
She snorts. “What do you want, a cookie? That’s just common sense.”
“Only if it’s your cookie.”
“Unsurprisingly, hearing you refer to my vagina as a sugary sweet dessert does not make me want to drop my panties and give you a taste.”
What will then? Seriously, this girl is a puzzle I can’t seem to solve.
“I think I like the word pussy better than vagina,” I say instead.
