The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  A hopeful expression lights up her pretty face. “Maybe someone will steal it while we’re inside.”

  Hayden looks at my car, dubious. “Steal that?”

  “You’re right.” Leah laughs and karma blasts a wave of humid air in her face, whipping strands of brown hair in her open mouth. She tugs them out. “Though stranger things have happened.”

  “Okay, enough dissing on my new wheels,” I say and turn for the stadium entrance. “You promised me men in tight football pants, pounding each other into the ground with fiery enthusiasm. I’m here to collect.”

  After purchasing drinks from the concession stand, we clutch our plastic cups of coke and make our way inside where I promptly stutter to a stop, my mouth falling open. The brightly lit stadium is a screaming sea of Bulls fans wearing shirts in team colors. Energy radiates through the swarming crowd like electricity. It crackles in the air, raising goose bumps on my skin. Flags wave riotously, kids squeal, and grandmothers wear team caps with pride.

  Leah grins at my stunned expression. “Ready to pop your American football cherry?”

  “This isn’t college football,” I tell her as the charged atmosphere seeps through my skin and fizzes my blood. “This is mass hysteria.”

  I know football is a big hairy deal in the States, but hearing it and seeing it are two different things. I find myself getting swept away in the excitement as we make for the student section. When the crowds push in, Hayden shifts to the front, his weighty bulk leading the charge to our seats. I fall back a little as I squeeze my way through rabid supporters.

  “Keep up, Elliott!” Leah calls over her shoulder.

  “I’m right behind you,” I shout over the noise.

  Seconds later I’m shoved and stumble sideways, my drink tilting precariously. Holding it high to prevent further jostling, I turn, intending to apologize to the person I accidently elbowed by default.

  “Watch it, sister,” the girl snaps before I can speak. Her heavily made up eyes narrow threateningly, and she folds her arms over a blue tee shirt that boasts MADDEN IS MINE! in big orange letters across her ample chest.

  I raise my brows coolly at her bitchy tone, feeling the petty urge to douse her stupid shirt with my coke. Leah grabs my hand before I can take action.

  “Get over yourself,” Leah retorts to the girl and yanks me forward before the situation escalates. “Don’t mess with a female Madden fan,” she warns me. “They don’t just have claws in these parts, they have guns.”

  “Yeah, that’s not scary,” I mutter. I have no clue who Madden is, but if he belongs to that girl, she can have him.

  We reach some kind of blockage ahead, which means maneuvering through the alumni section to reach our row in the student section. With my eyes caught on the on-field entertainment, I miss seeing the outstretched foot and stumble over it.

  “Shit,” I gasp when I manage to tread on it as I try righting myself. A firm hand comes out to grip my bicep, steadying me before I do any more damage.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, lifting my head and the words trail off when I realize who I’ve just stomped all over.

  Fuck my life.

  Professor Draper is going to have my scholarship revoked and send me back to Australia.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, perhaps mistaking my wide-eyed look of horror for something more concerning, like a mild stroke maybe.

  I clear my throat. “I’m fine, just surprised to …” To see you here, considering the big stick up your ass. I shut my mouth.

  “To see me at football?” He arches a brow. “Even stuffy old professors like to get out and watch a game now and then.”

  This is so very awkward, and I suddenly feel like laying the blame at Leah’s door for dragging me out tonight. I shoot her a quick glare and find her gasping with laughter. Hayden is seated on her right, pretending he doesn’t know either of us.

  “Patrick,” comes the exasperated tone from the lady beside him. My professor’s lips twitch visibly. “Leave the girl alone.”

  I give her my attention, curious to see the woman who almost made him smile. Her hair is blond. Sweeping bangs frame intelligent brown eyes that study me with a friendly expression. “You must be Patrick’s new student transfer from Australia. Jordan, right?” He mentioned me? It can’t have been good. “I’m Olivia,” she continues with a kind smile, “but you can call me Livvy.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Livvy,” I say and shift my drink to my other hand when she holds hers out. I shake it, finding the gesture oddly formal inside a football stadium, but Livvy’s easy nature makes it less awkward.

  Leah begins waving madly, and I think it’s her sad attempt at a rescue. Either way, I’m taking it. “I should get to my seat before—”

  “Actually, Jordan, I have an extracurricular task for you,” Professor Draper interrupts. “Come see me early next week. Do you know where my office is?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, which is a lie, because even if his office is marked on the campus map with a giant bullseye, my sense of direction will ensure I never find it.

  “Good.” He waves me off dismissively. “We’ll talk next week.”

  I make my escape, and I know it’s overly dramatic of me, but it suddenly feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I have a huge course load and soccer commitments that tie up every spare minute. Now I’m supposed to fit menial tasks like photocopying or fetching dry cleaning in around it? I know I missed a class, but I have a horrible feeling the punishment is going to far exceed the crime.

  “Oh my gosh,” I burst out with, flopping down on my seat beside Leah. “Where are those rabid female Madden fans when you need them? I need someone to shoot me right now.”

  Leah clucks sympathetically while I take a big, soothing gulp of my coke. “Did you get chewed out some more?”

  “Are you kidding? After missing his class, I go and stomp all over his feet as an added insult. I’m totally screwed.”

  Leah’s lips slam together with excessive force, and a noise that sounds like the low-pitched whine of a dog rises from the back of her throat.

  “What?” I snap, irritated beyond all belief.

  A snort breaks free from her nose. “It’s really not funny,” she gasps and begins to laugh again. “I guess you won’t be late for his class again.”

  “Not with Professor Hardass on the case,” I mutter and train my eyes on the field because the announcer is introducing the team. His loud, booming voice echoes around the stadium dramatically, setting off loud squeals of excitement from around us. Four girls seated two rows from ours are the most ear splitting of all. They’re each wearing matching orange tee shirts, featuring daring cleavage and the words Madden Fever.

  Everyone stands up, Leah and Hayden too, and I’m dragged to my feet with them. The crowd begins to chant, “Colton Bulls! Colton Bulls!”

  “Who the hell is this Madden anyway?” I ask, my voice a shout to be heard over the thunderous crowd. “Some kind of rock star?”

  “Close enough!” Leah shouts back. “Brody Madden is a starting wide receiver this season for the Colton Bulls and a top draft prospect. He’s also a six foot three, two hundred and twenty pound football god!”

  “Amen!” preaches a female voice behind us.

  The chants morph into a bevy of female squeals when the team trots out, right near our seats. Their proximity affords us a good look at their assets. I can’t help but notice how amply they’re displayed in those snug orange and blue football jerseys and tight white football pants.

  Leah’s cheeks are flushed with groupie fever and she points. “There! That’s Madden! Number twenty-two!”

  I squint for his number. It’s dark out now, but the stadium lights are brighter than daylight. I find him easily. His back is facing us as he jogs out onto the rich green field. Madden is printed in white block letters across the broad width of his shoulders and beneath it his jersey number. My eyes fall lower and my pulse kicks into gear. His backside is round a
nd firm, and his impressive glutes hug his football pants like he was born to wear them.

  Brody makes a sudden turn and faces the crowd behind him. His helmet is already on and hides his face, but his intensity is palpable and raises goose bumps across my forearms. He lifts a sinewy arm high, biceps rippling as he acknowledges the crowd. It’s a brief gesture, but they lap it up, roaring their approval while he’s already turning back around, swallowed up with the rest of his team.

  They disappear further down the side of the field, becoming harder to see, but cameramen stalk the sidelines, ensuring they capture every moment for ESPN and the enormous jumbotron sitting up high at the far end of the stadium.

  Kick-off comes and goes as I try to make sense of the game. There’s enough stopping and starting to give me whiplash, and when they score they call it a touchdown, but after passing the goal line, they don’t actually have to touch the ball down. Halfway through the second quarter, I give up pretending I have a clue and choose to watch Brody Madden instead. Leah’s right. He’s golden. Untouchable. And I know it’s cliché, but it’s guys like this that make the term ‘poetry in motion’ ring true. Trying to follow the play doesn’t seem to matter when you can watch him run down the field with the ball instead, his powerful thighs eating up the yards like he’s flying.

  Midway through the third quarter, Hayden’s gone to get more drinks, and I’m slumped low in my seat, trying to stretch out my legs when a shout reverberates across rows and rows of seats.

  “Killer!”

  The crowd’s settled down from earlier, and they’re all intent on the game, so the sound rings clear across the student section. Dozens of heads turn, looking up in our direction.

  “Killer!”

  “Oh god,” I moan, spying Jaxon down in the very front row. He’s facing the crowd. One knee rests on his seat and both hands are cupped around his mouth to help direct his shout. He’s looking right at me. When he sees he has my attention, his grin spreads wide, and he waves at me to come down.

  Leah’s brows shoot up so fast I wouldn’t have been surprised to see them fly right off her face. “Is he shouting at you?” she asks, her tone incredulous.

  “Of course not,” I mumble, holding my giant coke up so I can hide behind it. The drink is empty but it’s still proving useful.

  “Jordan! It’s Jax!” he shouts again. I peek around my cup and catch his eyes light up with mischief. “You know, the condom guy!”

  This time a lot more than just a dozen heads turn my way. Hayden returns at that opportune moment and lets out a shout of laughter as he snatches the empty cup from my grasp. I protest at losing my cover, but he quickly replaces it with a full one before retaking his seat.

  “The condom guy?” Leah hisses, leaning in close, and the tone in her voice says we need to talk, girlfriend. “You know that’s Jax Draper, right?”

  My brows pull together as I look down at him, trying to see if there’s anything about the guy that jogs my memory. I get nothing apart from the brief moment where we met in the parking lot. “You say that like I should know who he is.”

  Leah’s lips press together, and she shakes her head. I don’t know whether she’s about to burst into laughter or pass out from distress. Either way, uneasiness makes my hands begin to sweat.

  “I don’t know if I should tell you now.”

  “You can’t do that! Is he Texan mafia? Do Texan’s even have mafia?”

  “Jax Draper is Brody Madden’s cousin.”

  I shrug and the uneasy feeling disappears. “Okay, so he’s related to football royalty. So what?”

  “He’s also Professor Draper’s son!”

  “Oh …” I look back down at Jaxon. He’s still facing our way but the guy I recognize as Damien, the driver of the SUV, has his attention while he says something to him. “Shit,” I mumble weakly and lower my head, covering my eyes with my hand.

  Leah jerks in her seat beside me. “Don’t look now,” she says, and of course I spread my fingers and take a peek, “but he’s coming this way.”

  There’s no hiding so I drop my hand. Jaxon’s striding up the stadium steps toward us, holding his drink in one hand and using the other to wave at his father as he pushes his way through our row.

  “Quick, get up,” he says urgently when he reaches me.

  I look up at him, confused. “What?”

  “Stand up, Jordan. Quick.”

  The people around us are watching so I stand quickly, wondering what on Earth is going on.

  “Thanks,” he replies and swoops in, sitting down with a deep, exaggerated sigh.

  “Hey! You can’t—” I’m yanked onto his lap before I can finish. My cheeks flush, and I squirm as I try to push up off him. “What are you doing? Let me up!”

  “Shush.” His arms slide around me like a steel band, pulling me back against his chest. “You’re causing a scene, and I’m missing the game.”

  “Shush?” I twist in his lap to glare at him, pretending not to enjoy the feeling of being held against a male body, even though I secretly do. He’s warm and firm and smells faintly of fresh sweat and deodorant. “Did you just tell me to shush?”

  “I did. Wow, Killer. It’s lucky you kick ass on the soccer field because your hearing sucks.” Jaxon turns his grin on my friend but doesn’t let go of me to extend a hand. “Hi,” he says to Leah. “I’m Jaxon.”

  “So very nice to meet you,” she replies.

  Jaxon then gives Hayden one of those male chin lifts, and Hayden responds in kind, saying, “Come to sit up here with the commoners?”

  Jaxon winks at me. “No, just Jordan.”

  “And now you can go,” I tell him. Peeling his arms from around my waist, I manage to stand.

  “But I like it here.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” I risk a glance in Professor Draper’s direction and find both he and Livvy are watching us. “I really can’t be seen with you.”

  Jaxon leans back in my seat like he’s not going anywhere and takes a lazy slurp from the straw of his drink. “You can’t?”

  “Your dad and I don’t get along,” I explain. “I missed most of his lecture on Thursday, and now I’ve earned a place in his bad book.”

  “You didn’t!” Jaxon holds a hand to his mouth, gasping in mock horror. Then he cocks head at me for moment. “Oh hey, yeah. I knew I’d seen you from somewhere before. We’re in the same class. Your face turned such a brilliant shade of red I thought it was going to catch fire.”

  “Well, thanks for that. I don’t remember you.”

  “Ouch,” he says with a wince, rubbing his chest as if he has indigestion.

  Leah and Hayden watch us avidly. Apparently our conversation is a lot more interesting than the football game playing out in front of them. I clear my throat. “Can I have my seat back now?”

  Jaxon shrugs and stands up. He leans in close, his chest rubbing lightly against mine and his lips brushing my ear. “Later, Killer,” he says, and I feel him slide something into the pocket of my shorts.

  Drawing back, he grins and jogs back down to the front row and his friends. Leah turns to me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Explain everything. Right now.”

  Jordan

  It’s not until we return to Hayden’s apartment after the game that I check my pocket. Leah and I are seated in the living room along with our soccer captain, Paige, who lives two floors above Hayden in the same building. Paige has silky jet-black hair, which is enviably straight. Cut in a bob, it rests neatly just beneath her jawline. She also has two vodka Red Bulls under her belt and brought the half-full bottle along to our impromptu gathering.

  With drinks dispensed and Hayden and his roommate, Becker, safely tucked away in the kitchen putting snacks together, I dig my hand in my pocket and come out with a banana-flavored condom. Wrapped around it is a scrawled note with Jaxon’s number and the comment, If you change your mind about washing your hair, Jax xo

  With a speed almost invisible to the naked eye, Leah sets her
vodka on the coffee table and snatches both the note and condom from my hand. Handing off the foil packet to Paige¸ she reads the note with a gleam so bright I fear it’ll take out an eye. Leah’s been making noises for weeks about me meeting someone and double-dating with her and Hayden. This note has given her the perfect opportunity to ramp up her efforts.

  She looks at me, frustration evident in her eyes. “You told him you were washing your hair?”

  “Told who?” Paige asks, stretching her legs out on the coffee table and crossing them at the ankle. She turns the wrapper over in her fingers before bringing it to her nose for a sniff.

  Having heard the full story already, Leah can’t contain her grin when she answers. “Jax Draper.” Her voice pitches low when she adds, “He asked her if she wanted to taste his banana.”

  Paige’s blue eyes pop wide and her feet fall away from the table when she sits upright with excitement. “He did not!” She faces me where I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite the both of them. “And you told him you were washing your hair?”

  “Newsflash, ladies. It’s not an invitation to go on a date. It’s an invitation to … to …”

  “To get acquainted with his banana?” Paige prompts.

  I jab a finger at Paige. “Exactly. So get your head out of the clouds, Leah.”

  “I don’t know.” Leah sits back on the sofa, pursing her lips. “Jax isn’t the kind of guy that chases girls. He doesn’t need to. They chase him.”

  “So?”

  “So it looked like he was doing a bit of heavy duty chasing for you.”

  I snort. “Rubbish. I barely know the guy.”

  “His name is Jaxon Draper. He’s twenty-one, and he’s not only gorgeous, he’s pre-med and smart. He shares an apartment on the floor above Paige with Brody Madden and Damien Reiner, and he’s got a thing for female soccer jocks with blondish-colored hair and blue eyes.”

  I snort again, and Paige’s head lolls back against the sofa as she gives a dreamy sigh. “I’d totally taste his banana if he asked me.”