The Freshman

by Monica Murphy

  “I did all right,” I say modestly with a little shrug. Jocelyn’s praise means something. She’s watched me play pretty much throughout my entire football career. Her opinion matters.

  “You did great. Diego said you’re going to start for the rest of the season,” she says.

  “Crazy, right?” I shake my head, trying to pretend that shit doesn’t scare the crap out of me, but it does. It’s a lot of pressure, something I didn’t think I’d have to deal with as a freshman. “Coaches don’t have a choice, though.”

  “Don’t let them down. Prove to them how good you are,” she says. “Take your opportunity and use it to your advantage.”

  “You sound like a mom,” I say with a grin.

  “That’s because I am one.” She swats my upper arm, laughing.

  We both glance over at the same time to see the girls rising from the floor and leaving. The moment they’re gone, Jocelyn sends me a knowing look. “Groupies?”

  “I guess. They just sat down and started talking to me.”

  “Tony has a fan club.”

  “I leave that shit up to Caleb.”

  “Caleb is already pissing off his fan club base. He shouldn’t move on from girl to girl so quickly.”

  “I guess he can’t help himself.” Caleb comes from a loving family with parents who’ve been married for over twenty years. I don’t get why he acts the way he does.

  “He could, he just chooses not to.” She settles on the armrest of my chair. “Have you met anyone yet?”

  “No.”

  “You sure about that?” She raises a brow.

  Damn it. I’m sure Diego mentioned Hayden to her.

  “It’s nothing. Just a hot blonde I met at the Range Rover dealership.” I try to play it off, but Hayden is so much more than that.

  “In San Francisco. Yet she just so happens to go to school here. Talk about a coincidence.” Her eyes dance with mischief. “Some people call that fate.”

  “I don’t believe in that bullshit.” Though if I remember correctly, Hayden actually does.

  Which is surprising to me, considering how straightforward she is.

  “That’s too bad. I think it’s sort of sweet. Diego says she gave you a lot of shit. And that she was pretty.”

  If we were still in high school and Diego said something like that to Jocelyn? They would’ve gotten into a huge fight and Jos would’ve been jealous. They’ve come a long way. They’re a lot more pleasant to be around. I think baby Gigi gets some of the credit for that.

  “All accurate observations,” I say with a nod.

  Jocelyn’s expression turns pensive. “It was nice, seeing you chatting with the girls. You know at every social event, you’re almost always alone, watching everyone else have fun?”

  I send her a look, but say nothing.

  “It’s true. You’re an observer of life, Tony. And you make great observations, don’t get me wrong, but it’s always struck me as kind of sad, how you don’t put yourself out there more,” she explains.

  I feel seen. And it also makes me feel uncomfortable.

  “You always were the one to have everyone over, hosting the parties. It didn’t matter how messed up your house was. You just wanted everyone there. I always figured it was because you didn’t want to be alone. That’s why I was so glad to see you with Sophie. She brought you out of your shell. You were actually participating in your life, versus sitting back and watching it happen.”

  “Jos—” I start, but she cuts me off with a look.

  “Hear me out.” She rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You’re an amazing guy, Anthony Sorrento. But you can’t keep letting things just happen to you. You need to grab life by the balls and make it happen.”

  “Are we talking about balls now?” I lift a brow, trying to lighten the mood, but Jos won’t have it.

  “Just—instead of being the one who always offers advice, you need to be the one who takes it.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “And you need to open yourself up more. Have an adventure. You should text that pretty blonde and invite her over here. Flirt with her. See where it takes you.”

  “Not everyone is going to find their greatest love at this young of an age, Jos. Hayden is probably just some girl I met one time, you know?”

  “I know. But you don’t truly know unless you give it—her—a try. Put yourself out there, bro.” Now she sounds like Diego. She’s smiling, so I assume she knows this. “Have fun. Live a little.”

  Another squeeze of my shoulder and then she leaps to her feet, waving at me before she goes in search of Diego.

  Her words linger with me. Pound in my head. Throb in my heart. Maybe Jocelyn’s right. I’m not really living my life. I’m just letting shit happen to me. I’m an observer, she definitely got that right, but I’m more than that.

  Right?

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I look up Hayden’s number and start typing. Before I can overthink it or erase everything I just said, I hit send.

  And then I wait.

  Twelve

  Hayden

  You should come hang out with me.

  The text comes from Tony at almost midnight. I turn my phone screen in Gracie’s direction, showing the text to her.

  “Feels like a booty call,” I say.

  Her expression is smug. She loves a booty-call text on the weekend. Or any day of the week. She calls them opportunities we shouldn’t pass up. “Ooh. Take him up on it. When was the last time you got laid?”

  “A long time.” I roll my eyes. Stare at my phone. Contemplate sending him a response.

  But what should I say? If I was in bed already, I’d hit him with a big nope.

  I’m not in bed though. I’m still dressed with the day’s makeup fading on my face. We’re currently sitting in the living room, watching Euphoria for what feels like the fiftieth time and talking about hot guys on campus. And what do you know, a hot guy from campus sends me a booty-call text.

  Fitting.

  “You going to answer him?” Gracie asks.

  I glance up to find her watching me expectantly. I haven’t told her all the details about Tony yet. Specifically, that he’s only eighteen. I kind of don’t want to witness her reaction to this news.

  And then again, I kind of do.

  “Should I?” I ask her.

  Gracie’s response is an enthusiastic nod. “Hell yes! Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, thinking of my father and how he wants me to have zero contact with Tony. He’d be so pissed if he knew how much time we’ve spent together already. “It’ll go nowhere.”

  “Isn’t that the beauty of it all?” When I send her a questioning look, Gracie continues. “You keep saying you don’t want a relationship. You also told me this guy doesn’t want one either. I say you grab this unicorn and ride him like a bucking bronco until you get sick of his shit.”

  She makes it sound so easy. Like I can just fuck him and dump him. I tell myself I can do that. I’ve done that with other guys before. But…

  Will it be so easy with Tony? I like him. I like talking to him. I like looking at him too. Oh, and I like kissing him, that’s for sure.

  “Here’s where I admit something to you.” I grab a pillow and cradle it in front of me, my gaze never leaving Gracie’s. “He’s only…eighteen.”

  I wait for her reaction, bracing myself. The only thing she does is clap her hands together, the crack of her palms meeting so loud I visibly jump. “Is he a virgin?”

  Say what? “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. And wouldn’t you think most eighteen-year-old guys aren’t virgins?”

  “You never know. I encountered a few our freshman year.” She grins. “And I rocked their world.”

  “You’re not reacting like I thought you would,” I mutter.

  “What? Did you expect me to give you shit about robbing the cradle? If we were in high school and you were a senior dating a sophomore, I’d probably give you shit.” Her expression turn
s pensive. “Though there were senior guys dating sophomore girls when I was in high school, and no one gave a shit. There were seniors dating freshman girls and it didn’t matter. But if a girl dated a younger guy in high school? You got called out for it. Which is ridiculous.”

  So ridiculous. I totally agree.

  A sigh of relief leaves me and I sag against the couch. “I definitely thought you’d accuse me of robbing the cradle.”

  “No way. Look, even if he’s had sex before, he’s like an unexplored gold mine. You’ve chipped off the gold, see if it has potential for more. So you keep working for it and eventually, you’ll be rich,” Gracie says, like this is a perfectly logical analogy.

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I’m saying that he has a lot of potential. You can teach him your ways,” she says.

  “It’s not like I’ve had a ton of sex.” I’ve had five partners. I lost my virginity at seventeen to the guy I dated briefly my senior year. Very cliché. I’ve messed around more than I’ve actually had intercourse, which I think is typical. It’s not like I have a ton of experience.

  But I might have more experience than him, which I think is Gracie’s point.

  “You’ve got two years on him. You’ve probably had more sex than he has,” Gracie says. “And you can teach him what you like. Make him an expert on your body. Girls will thank you later.”

  The idea of me teaching Tony moves so he can use them on other women in the future leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “I don’t know about that.”

  My phone buzzes, causing it to slide toward me from where I left it on the couch. I pick it up to find another text from Tony. All it says is:

  ????

  “Is that your young man?” Gracie cackles the moment the words leave her mouth.

  I glare at her. “Yes.”

  “Answer him!”

  I send a response.

  Where are you?

  Tony: Frat party. It’s boring.

  Me: You want me to come over and spice it up? Is that what you’re asking for?

  Tony: Definitely.

  Me: What frat?

  He sends me his location.

  “He’s at a frat party,” I tell Gracie.

  “Is he in a frat?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” But honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t know much about this guy. At all.

  “Come on. Let’s get you dolled up for your booty call.” Gracie leaps to her feet and heads for the bathroom.

  I follow her, and let her curl my hair, though nothing too elaborate. I remove my old mascara with a makeup wipe and add a fresh coat to my lashes. I change into my favorite jeans and a cute cropped top.

  “What do you think?” I ask Gracie once I’m back in the living room and ready to go.

  She whistles low. “Hottie.”

  “Really?” I go to the mirror near the front door. We use it to make sure we look decent before we leave for the day—or night, like I’m about to. Maybe. “I look like I’m trying too hard.”

  “No, you don’t. You look pretty, Hay. And since when do you care so much about looking like you’re trying so hard? Usually you just go for it. You’re just you.” I glance over my shoulder to find her smiling at me. “Is this boy special?”

  She draws out the last word.

  “He’s just a boy.” I stare at my reflection as I keep repeating that mantra in my head.

  He’s just a boy. He’s just a boy. He’s just a boy.

  So why does this feel like something that could be more?

  “My expectations are too high,” I say to Gracie. And to myself.

  “Stop dawdling and go to this party. It’s midnight.”

  “It’ll still be in full swing.” I grab my purse and send her one last look. “You want to go with?”

  “Hell, no. I’m tired.” She yawns, and I can tell it’s real. “I’m going to bed. But I’ll keep my phone right beside me. Text me if things go haywire and you need a rescue.”

  “It won’t,” I reassure her.

  “You never know. I’m here for you, babe.” She blows me a kiss.

  In minutes, I’m in my car and driving to the frat, which is located in a neighborhood on the other side of campus. Traffic is light because it’s late, and I have a mental conversation with myself the entire drive.

  This is no big deal.

  You’re just going to hang out with him.

  Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll kiss him.

  But that’s it! That’s all he’ll get from you tonight. Leave them wanting. That’s what my mother used to tell me and Palmer when she talked about boys with us.

  I frown. Mom was giving us advice about boys when we were really young. Advice that was probably mildly inappropriate. But what else is new? My mom and dad have never been in the running for parents of the year awards.

  When I finally find the frat, I see that it’s busy. Lots of people are still hanging around, and the streets are lined with cars. I park a few blocks away from the house, grateful I didn’t wear shoes with heels. Though if I had, I would’ve berated myself because, oh yes, that looks like I’m trying too hard.

  Instead, I slipped Birks on my socked covered feet. Gives me enough of a dressed down look to balance out the curled hair and crop top.

  I arrive at the house and see I’m not the only one who adopted that look. Girls in jeans and socked feet with Birks are everywhere. Maybe we all look one and the same. There’s nothing distinct about me, and I’m worried that maybe he’ll find me uninteresting. Though that shouldn’t bother me since there are plenty of other guys on this campus. Lots of cute guys. I don’t know why I’m so hung up on this one.

  I stop in the middle of a crowded living room and tell myself to quit the pity party. I am not an insecure whiner. So why am I thinking like one?

  Strong fingers suddenly wrap around my upper arm and I stop, turning to find the very boy I’m stressed about standing in front of me, as pretty as I remember him.

  Okay, it’s not fair to call him pretty, but he is truly just so flat-out gorgeous that I find myself staring at him for a moment like a starstruck fan.

  “You made it,” he says, his deep voice curling around me and making me warm.

  “I did.” I smile, secretly hoping he doesn’t let me go.

  “You want something to drink?”

  I nod. Smile. Stare at him like a dope.

  He smiles too, releasing his grip on my arm. “Come on. Let’s find you something.”

  Tony rests his hand lightly on my lower back as he guides me through the crowd. I walk beside him, the smile still fixed on my face, and I notice more than a few girls glare at me as we pass. Like they don’t like seeing me with Tony?

  I don’t get it.

  We go into the back yard and Tony pours me a beer from the keg. I take the cup from him with a murmured thank you and sip, making a face.

  It’s warm. Mostly foam.

  “Not good?” He asks.

  “You try it.” I hand him the cup.

  He takes a drink and winces, then turns away from me and pours it out onto the grass. “Awful.”

  I laugh. “It’s the thought that counts?”

  He tosses the cup in a nearby trashcan. How thoughtful of these frat boys. Usually they’re not so conscientious. It’s red Solo cups and empty beer cans everywhere. “They’re running out of everything. Maybe we could get a shot of something in the kitchen?”

  His hand is on my elbow like he’s ready to take me back inside, but I dig in my heels and slowly shake my head. “I don’t need any alcohol. Unless you do,” I add.

  “I’ve had enough.” He glances around, his hand still on my elbow, before he returns his gaze back to me. “Let’s go sit over there.”

  “Over there” is an empty bench on the far side of the yard, underneath a giant tree. We go to it and settle in, snug next to each other since the bench is small. He slings his arm across the back of it, stretching out his legs, a
nd I feel surrounded by him.

  It’s not unpleasant. Not at all.

  “What did you think of tonight’s game?” he asks.

  “I think you played amazing.” I mean, he looked amazing to me. My dad is more of a basketball fan. We didn’t watch a lot of football in my house growing up.

  “I was all right,” he says with a modest shrug, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. “I’ll be starting for the rest of the season.”

  “That’s a big deal, right?”

  “Yeah. I’m kind of freaked out, if you want the truth.” His laugh is self-conscious, and he still won’t really look at me.

  He is unlike any other guy I’ve ever been with. They’re usually full of bravado and brag nonstop. Overly cocky and downright flippant about anything. Everything. The world is their oyster and they’ll do whatever it takes to make it theirs, no hesitation.

  Tony is much more…subtle. Calm. Real.

  So real.

  “Why are you freaked out?” I ask.

  “What if I fuck up?” He turns his head toward me and I realize we are sitting really close. Kissing close. My gaze drops to his lips. His lower lip is extra full. Bitable. “The coaching staff already watches me extra close because I fucked-up so bad early in the season.”

  He doesn’t seem like the type to fuck-up. He seems rather methodical in everything he does. “How did you fuck-up?”

  “I bailed on practice a couple of times. Wasn’t feeling it. Didn’t care. Had a new friend who felt the same, so we always took off together.” He looks away again, his jaw tight. “When you go from being on top of the world to the very bottom rung, it’s kind of difficult.”

  “Big fish in little pond to small fish in giant pond,” I murmur.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why did your coaches say you’ll play the rest of the season if they supposedly have no faith in you?” I ask.

  “They don’t really have a choice. I’m third string. First and second are hurt. Both season-ending injuries. I’m all they’ve got left,” he explains.

  “I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” His gaze returns to mine once more. “I don’t want to talk about football anymore.”