Текст книги "Sacked"
Автор книги: Jen Frederick
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16 Ellie
Week 1: Warriors 0-0
I wake up thirty minutes late with grit in my eyes. At least I don’t need to look good this morning. I have Jack’s two classes today, and I need to appear as inconspicuous as possible. I pull on a light gray hoodie, jam a hat over my head, and pull on a pair of ragged jean shorts. After brushing my teeth, I’m out the door.
Riley is still sleeping when I run to class. She told me she was a night owl and tried to schedule her classes after lunch. Mine are scattershot, particularly after my schedule had to expand to include Jack’s classes. The sociology class takes place at eight in the morning, which is where I’m headed right now.
It’s still hot, but I have my hood up, because the last thing I need is for Jack to spot me in the room and subject me to a number of uncomfortable questions. I thought about telling him that I’m taking the classes, but he’d get suspicious. As he should be. I’m working on a good excuse such as “looked interesting” or “are you in this class, too?”
None of my reasons sound very good so I hope to avoid him. Unlike junior college, where most classes had under fifty students, nothing at Western is particularly small. Riley told me that unless it was an obscure major, most of the classes had at least a hundred people in them, sometimes more, which means I should easily hide in a back corner.
I’m right on time and breathe a sigh of relief when I spot Jack halfway down the auditorium style seating chatting with a pretty blonde.
The professor walks in, introduces her teacher’s assistant, and begins lecturing on whether movies reflect societal norms or challenge them. From the online course syllabus, I’ll be able to write the year end paper in my sleep. Frankly, I think Jack will be able to do it as well since one of the movies we’ll be discussing is The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Jack has seen it about twenty times.
I reach inside my backpack to pull out a notebook so it looks like I’m paying attention and my hand brushes against Masters’ book. I pull it out. The reason I’m so late this morning is because I stayed up all night reading. It was every bit as good as I’d anticipated and I couldn’t put it down. I told myself one more page and then the clock flashed three in the morning.
I finished, but the whole time I read, it occurred to me that Masters had made a big gesture. Had it been me first in the bookstore and Masters had shown up panting for it, I'd have told him to wait. I might have even demanded to see a book from his personal collection to see if he was even worthy of lending a book to. You never knew with people. Like Jack? I could never share books with him. He dog-ears pages, sticks shit inside his books. I once found a sock in one. It was clean, and he claimed it was the only thing available to use as a bookmark, but come on.
Masters blithely handed the book over. Granted, I had to give him my phone number, but he hadn’t used it. I waited all afternoon and into the evening, and the stupid phone stayed silent.
I run a finger over the raised lettering on the cover. I haven’t given him many reasons to text or call me despite the fact he’s been nothing but good to me from the start. Yes, he didn’t come forward and tell me his name the first time we’d met, but looking back I see where he came from. Guys like him have to get inundated with people wanting things and it would get worse for him. So he’s gun-shy, which is perfectly reasonable.
I haven’t been reasonable or completely honest. If I’m honest, I’ll admit that Knox Masters is exactly the type of guy I want to date. He dominates a sport I love. He’s confident but not arrogant. He’s funny, able to laugh at himself, and…shit, hot as the fires of Mordor. I mean, the One Ring could be forged in his hotness.
I want him.
Watching him in the bathroom with his hand wrapped around his dick—that was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. And when he said it was his best sexual experience, I nearly came on the spot.
Knowing that he hasn’t had anyone else is nearly impossible to ignore. I could be the first one to have his tongue between my legs. I could be the first to watch his eyes roll back in his head as I swallow him as deeply as possible. I could be the first one to take him inside my body. Being the first is more potent a drug than I’d realized.
My phone vibrates. I know who it is before I pick it up.
How’s my book?
My thumb hovers over the screen wanting to enter When can I see you. Jack’s given me the go ahead. And he’s right. I could use another person on my team. It’s not like I have dozens of friends here at Western. There’s Riley, of course, but I can’t plan every social activity around her. In the end, though, I chicken out and type out a different response.
Me: She’s good. I have her in my backpack.
Knox: You already done?!
Me: Couldn’t stop. Plus, I wanted to get it back to you before you left for the Missouri game.
Knox: Did you like it?
Me: Yes. I stayed up all night and will be a mess today but it’s totally worth it.
Knox: You in class?
Me: Haven’t you got a copy of my schedule yet? I’m so disappointed.
Knox: I figure you’ll give it to me eventually. Besides I do know your softball schedule. Did you pick your team based on the name?
Me: The Horny Toads? That’s a real animal. And no. I was randomly assigned because I didn’t have a team last year.
Knox: Google tells me there is no such animal named the horny toad. A horned toad, yes. Horny no.
Me: Are you a biologist? I could have sworn your SI profile said International Relations major.
Knox: I like that you have my bio memorized.
If I meant to deter him I’m not doing a good job of it. At this point, I don’t know what I should do. I know what I want. That’s to jump into Knox’s brawny arms and let him carry me away. I’m not convinced that’s what I should do.
Me: Maybe I’m hot for your brother.
Knox: Nah. You already told me he’s weak with weird eyes. I shared that with him and he’s upset so you’ve got no chance. You’re stuck with me.
Me: So you’re saying if I insult you, you’ll go away.
Knox: Nope. Now I know it’s your strange way of flirting with me. I think that’s called negging.
Me: You think I’m negging you?!
Knox: Negging—insulting someone to gain their attention. If the shoe fits…
Me: The shoe does not fit! I am not negging you.
Knox: Don’t worry, baby. I know I’m irresistible but you don’t want to appear overeager. I’ll see you at your softball game on Wednesday.
Me: What? No!
But he doesn’t respond.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur until I hit my last class of the day—the second of Jack’s classes I’m auditing. Politics and Games turns out nothing like I expect. It’s not really about games, but game theory, which I don’t understand. From the moment that the professor opens her mouth to the minute that the TA hands out the assignments at the end of class, I’m worried. Jack sits rigidly in his chair, his pen poised, but no notes hit paper. Three girls managed to position themselves around him, but their chairs could be empty for all the attention he gives them.
Five minutes before class is over, I start to pack up. I need to get out of there before Jack turns around. If the theoretical class is difficult for me to get, it’s a hundred times harder for Jack. He should drop it, but I don’t even know how I’d bring that up. Oh by the way, Jack, I passed by your political science class and it seems like a mind fuck. Maybe you should drop.
After the way he responded to my mere suggestion of visiting the learning center, I’m sure that this proposal would be met with the same disinterest.
•••
“Left field okay with you, Eliot?” Ryan Schneider asks. Ryan’s the team captain. About an inch under six feet, he’s trim, attractive almost to the point of prettiness, and a damn good pitcher.
“No, problem.” I slap my hand into my new glove. It feels stiff and weird. I’ve never played softball before, but Ryan assured me that The Horny Toads only care about having fun, unlike some of the other teams.
Megan Billings, a biology major who’s tamed her wild hair into two bushy ponytails, points to the bleachers behind home plate. “Wow, look who showed up to watch the game today!”
I don’t even have to look. I feel Masters’ eyes boring into my back. Ryan’s head pops up and his eyes widen. “Is that Knox Masters?”
“Yeah, and I think the other guys must be on the team too. Look at the guns on those guys.”
“You’re drooling, Megs.” Ryan points a finger at her face.
Her dark eyes sparkle. “I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t drooling a little. Right, Eliot?”
“Call me Ellie,” I respond automatically. As to whether she should be drooling over Masters? I have no comment on that.
“Good thing we’re fielding first,” Megan gloats as she grabs my wrist and leads me to the outfield. She’s playing center. “That way we can ogle the manflesh.”
I figure I better confess to her that I know the team, or at least part of them. “The guy with the brown hair sitting on the left side is my brother Jack. He’s a tight end for the Warriors.”
“Ohhh.” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “Is it okay that I’m objectifying your brother?”
“Sure, have at it.” I laugh.
“So they’re here to support a teammate’s sister. Cool. I wonder if we should try to win now.”
“Let’s not ruin a good thing because some football players have nothing better to do with their Wednesday night,” I reason, and then move away to left field.
As the night wears on, we wind up winning despite Ryan’s assertion that the Horny Toads aren’t interested in keeping score.
“Nice fielding tonight, Campbell,” Ryan gives me a high five and then slaps his glove against my butt in what I guess is a victory slap. He gives it to the rest of the eight players. “Any one up for The Gas Station?”
Half the team raises their hands. The other half shakes their head.
“How about you, Eliot?” Ryan asks.
“Think I could get that book back from you, Ellie?” Masters’ voice interrupts before I can answer Ryan’s invitation. “I’d like to read it on the plane ride to Missouri this weekend.”
Only an asshole would say no, I tell myself. Otherwise, I would turn Masters down in a heartbeat. “Sure.”
Masters turns to Ryan. “Nice team you have there.”
“I didn’t realize we added a gunner to the team,” he jokes and points to me. “She said she hasn’t ever played before.”
Masters gives me an appraising look. “She’s got good hand/eye coordination. I think it runs in her family.”
A faint smile dances around the edges of his mouth. I shake my head.
“Let’s go, Masters.” I grab him and half pull/half push him away from the dugout.
“Nice to meet you, Knox,” Ryan calls out. “Good luck this weekend!”
“Thanks, man,” Masters calls. He places a hand on the low of my back. “See how your friend called me Knox.”
“Because it’s your name,” I answer.
“Yet you call me Masters.”
“Also your name.” I quicken the pace to put some daylight between his tempting hand and my weak back.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs. He lets his hand drop between us and I allow myself two seconds to throw myself a pity party that he’s not touching me anymore before I march forward to the apartment.
Somewhere along the way, though, I find my gait synchs with his. Our arms move in unison and there’s a heavy tension that builds with each step. I can hear his even breaths, smell his spicy skin.
My skin prickles and I almost feel him touching me even though there’s at least a hand span between us. His field of magnetism is that large. I can’t stand this close to him without wanting to feel him against me.
I’m a basketful of nerves by the time we get to the apartment complex.
“It’s the third floor,” I inform him when we stop at the front door. “Do you want to wait here?”
He looks at me incredulously. “I think I can walk three floors, Ellie.”
I try to shrug nonchalantly as if it doesn’t matter at all to me if he’s inside my apartment, when in reality I’m wondering how long it takes before I attack him.
We climb the steps side by side, and this time, our arms brush. Even that slight sensation sends a tingle throughout my body. I’m practically dizzy with sensation. At the top of the third floor, he grabs me and pushes me into an alcove.
He bends forward and kisses me, sweetly and softly. Apparently my grungy attire or slightly sweaty skin don’t matter to him. He keeps his hands on either side of the doorframe of the alcove, holding himself slightly away. I don’t like that space between us so I twine my arms around his neck and tug him closer. He makes a noise—not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, but more of a sigh of happiness. It fills pockets in my heart I didn’t know were empty. As he draws back, I follow him because I’m not done with that kiss.
“What was that for?” I ask hoarsely. His fingers are the tiniest bit shaky as they smooth a few strands of hair away from my forehead.
“I hadn’t kissed you since the bookstore. That’s a long time.”
My lips part at the sincerity of his words. They aren’t a line—at least not to him.
He captures those parted lips between his again. This time his tongue delves deep into my mouth, finding places that have me moaning in longing. He lifts me with ease, using his football player strength, and pushes me against the wall. I wend my fingers into his short straw colored hair and wrap my legs around his waist.
All sense of preservation lies somewhere between the softball field and the apartment. He’s wrecking me, in long licks and tiny bites, one tender and scorching hot kiss at a time.
I want to suspend time and remain in this moment forever with his big frame blotting out the light and his mouth memorizing every curve and plane of my face. I feel weightless, protected and cherished.
Under my fingers, his shoulder muscles bunch as he reaches down to stroke a firm palm along the outside of my thigh. His kisses are making me wet and hungry. He makes low sounds of appreciation and I rock against him in growing desperation.
After what seems like both an eternity and not long enough, he allows my legs to slide to the ground. His head drops on my shoulder and I can feel his entire body heave as he tries to gain his breath and his control.
After three shuddering breaths, he pushes away from me.
“I need to wear longer T-shirts when you’re around.” He tugs out his shirt and tries to pull it down over the erection tenting his shorts. We exit the alcove and walk past four doors to stop at my apartment.
“Do you want to come in?”
He gives me a rueful smile. “I better not. I need to get home, get some beauty sleep, and prepare for the game.”
I try not to let my disappointment show. “You worried about the game this weekend?”
He shakes his head. “Not worried. Eager. I’ve waited since last December to get back on the field. I want to make grown-ass men cry. I want to imprint the paint from the yard markers and grind it into their skin. I want them to go home and have nightmares about meeting me on the turf.” He looks down at me. “But I’m not taking it for granted. They’re a weaker team but it’s their home field. Anything could happen.”
Right. The odds in Vegas are probably fifty to one that the Warriors lose.
“Do you really believe that?”
He pauses for a moment. “Yeah. Anything could happen. Ace could go down. He could throw a half dozen interceptions. We could fumble on every kickoff and punt return. We could forget how to tackle. Do I think those things will happen? No, but I can’t go into the game thinking it’s won before the last whistle blows.”
“When’s your charter bus leave for the airport?”
“Around eleven.” He leans an arm against the door and it takes real effort not to swoon at the sight of the bulging muscle in my periphery vision. “How’s Jack doing?”
“What do you mean?”
Masters cocks his head. “He’s on my list.”
“What list?” I straighten and push his arm away from my head.
“Ace and I watch over the newbies, make sure they don’t get into trouble, know the unspoken team rules.”
He looks at me curiously wondering why I’m making a big deal of this. I shouldn’t but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Why is Jack on your list?” I snap.
“Because his grades are on the border of eligibility. I’m checking in to make sure he’s got all the help he needs to pass his classes.” He narrows his eyes. “Is that a problem?”
I paste on a fake smile. “Of course not, but don’t tell him.”
“Why not?”
“He's sensitive about that.” I jut my chin out. Why can’t Masters do as I ask?
He rubs the back of his neck. “Jack’s a smart guy. I’m sure he knows that he’s on the bubble. He could be an important part of our team this year. Last year we struggled with scoring. With Ace, Jack, and Ahmed, we have decent scoring options.”
“So you’ll stalk him?” My voice starts to get high.
“Nooo,” Masters draws out slowly. “I try to save that for girls I like.”
“I think you should go.” I cross my arms over my chest. Dating Masters would be like holding my hand over a flame. At some point, I’ll get burned. I don’t need that in my life.
17 Ellie
Game Day: Warriors 0-0
“I haven’t seen Jack around,” Riley comments as we settle in for Saturday’s game.
“He’s getting ready for the game.”
“Is it like this all year? They disappear for the weekend?”
I hide a smile at Riley’s disgruntled tone. Jack has become a regular fixture at the apartment. Sometimes it’s just him but often times he brings a teammate with him. Riley and I would have dinner with him or hang out, but on Friday the team left for the game and it’s gotten eerily quiet.
I haven’t seen Masters since I gave him the book back. I wish I didn’t regret that I pushed him away. Telling yourself that you’re doing the right thing and feeling good about it are two totally separate things. Eating broccoli is good for you, but it tastes like shit, and that’s pretty much how I feel not getting one flirty text from Masters or seeing him pop up around campus.
“From September through November they’re pretty busy, but Jack says he has the most trouble in the spring when there’s no rigid schedule. They have a thirteen week schedule with twelve games,” I explain. “One week is a bye where they don’t have any game and then the thirteenth game is the conference championship. If they win, and they should, then they go into a four team playoff for a shot at the national title.”
“Student athlete seems so glamorous. Full tuition scholarship, free tutors, first pick of classes, but it does seem like they work hard.”
“Very.”
We’d last seen Jack on Thursday, and he’d been hurting. Riley made him put his foot up and I got ice for his knee. The nonstop pampering probably made up half the reason he enjoyed coming over.
“How come you aren’t at the student center?” Riley shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“I don’t like watching the games in public. If you go to a game, you have to sit with a bunch of people who don’t know the game, but think they know it. They’re yelling about the bad refs, or if your brother misses a catch, you have to listen to them talk about how terrible he is.” I shake my head. “It’s better at home.”
“I don’t know anything about the game,” she points out.
“Will you yell nonstop about how bad the refs are?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I’ll ask a lot of questions.”
“Fair enough. What do you know?”
“That there’s a quarterback, Tom Brady’s balls deflated, and there’s a Super Bowl.”
I stifle a laugh. “It’s a start.”
“Why do they hold hands when they walk to the middle of the field? Are they afraid they’ll lose each other? Do they play a game of Red Rover, Red Rover to send one of the Hawkeyes right over? And then if we win, we get the ball?” she jokes as Ace, the running back and three others walk toward the fifty yard line.
“It’s team unity. They’ll also slap each other on the butt all the time.”
We share a smirk.
“Where’s Jack?”
“Right there. Number 88.” I press pause and point to the screen. “He’ll be on the line of scrimmage where the center will hike the ball to the quarterback.”
“He looks big.”
“It’s the pads.”
“And I’m sorry to say this in front of you, but holy Christ, his ass is tight. They all have tight asses.” She shifts forward. “Why haven’t I watched this before?”
“You didn’t know.” I pat her back. “But now you do.”
“What does Jack do?”
“He’s a tight end. He’s responsible for blocking and catching the ball—usually he’ll run across the middle. The guys at the end are the wide receivers. They are usually the fastest on the field. The running back is the one behind the quarterback.”
“They named a position after his ass?”
I grin. “All sports are like that. Like MMA? It’s the most homoerotic sport on the planet. Half naked guys rolling around with their faces in each other’s crotch.”
“I’m becoming a fan already. And where’s your fiancé?”
I roll my eyes but scan the sidelines when the camera pans to number 55. “Right there.”
I freeze the screen. Masters has his helmet up, with the ear pads resting against his temple. His mouth piece is half inside of mouth, half out of it as he intently watches the action unfold. He looks…magnificent. The sleeves of his uniform are tucked up under his pads, and underneath the fabric, his muscles bulge.
The Warriors start off slow in the first quarter. The Missouri quarterback isn’t very good, but he manages to get lucky and run for about twenty yards. Three more plays and they’re in kicking distance. I curse when the forty-three yard try splits the uprights perfectly. On offense, the Warriors can’t seem to move the ball more than five yards. The team’s scoreless possessions before the first quarter ends.
During the commercial break, I rummage around our cupboards looking for something to drink with my Coke. I’ll need to anesthetize myself if the game continues like this.
“I’m guessing that was a bad period.”
“Quarter,” I correct her. “They play four quarters. And yeah, it was bad.”
Masters was right. They can’t take one game for granted. I watch as he walks up and down the sideline, taking the time to talk to his teammates. He slaps a couple of them on the helmet and squeezes the neck of another guy. The other players nod and smile at him. He’s not chastising them but encouraging them. Keep your heads up. We got this, I imagine him telling the guys.
“But it’s just one quarter, right?”
“This is college ball. Strength of schedule is really important, and if you play a weak opponent, you have to play really well. Dominate. And you can’t lose.”
“Not even one game?” She’s shocked.
“Pretty much. If you lose one game, there’s a real good chance you won’t make it to the playoffs, and that’s the only thing that matters in college ball.”
“Wow.” Her eyes go wide as she takes this new information in.
During the second quarter, the defense picks up. Masters opens with a sack, throwing the offensive lineman aside like he’s a piece of trash. Masters is on the quarterback before the guy can get his shoulders straight down field and just like that it’s second and twenty-three.
“What do the players say to each other out there?” Riley asks as we watch Knox jaw at the opposing side as he returns to the line of scrimmage.
“Probably something disgusting about their mothers.”
“Really?”
Maybe not Masters, though. He didn’t seem like the type of person to insult a player’s mom; insult the player yes, but not someone attached to the player. “Some guys do. Masters is probably telling the O-lineman that he’s soft and that he’ll spend a lot of time on his ass. Jack would tell the cornerback who covers him that he’s too slow and ask if he needs roller skates to keep up.”
Riley grins. “I wish we could hear them. That’d be fun.”
“Too much cursing.” I smile back. It’s fun watching with Riley. All last year, I sat in my dorm room and watched the games by myself. My roommate liked to sleep with the players but she sure as hell didn’t enjoy watching the game. I forgot what it felt like to have company, and how much nicer it is to share an experience with someone, even a bad one.
The first quarter field goal is the only score that Missouri manages to eke out. The Warriors defense, led by Masters, is stifling. If they aren’t sacking the quarterback, they attacked him as soon as the ball left his hands.
The team struggles on offense, but Jack makes a great catch in the third and runs it for another thirty yards before he’s stopped. They manage to punch the ball across the goal line three more times, and the game ends twenty-one to three.
Riley and I jump out of our seats and cheer as loudly as any of the fans at the game. It’s the most fun I’ve had watching one of Jack’s games in years.
We drew the short end of the stick when it comes to parents, but I’ve always had the team. You’ve only had me. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have another person on your side, Ellie. Besides, you could do a lot worse than Masters.
My eyes follow Masters around the field as he slaps helmets and gives one-armed hugs to his fellow teammates. He stops in front of Jack, whose face is lit up like a spotlight. He’s so happy. The two exchange a few words and something Jack says makes Masters laugh. Then the camera cuts away.
“Will they come home today?” Riley asks as we clean up the living room.
“They should.”
And maybe Jack will come over along with his teammates. Or maybe he’ll text me, say that there’s a party somewhere, and we should come. I’ll go and find Masters, we’ll get a little drunk, he’ll forgive me for my cold shoulder, and we can pick up where we left off.
My phone buzzes and my heart skips. It’s Masters.
Not getting out today. Apparently there’s bad weather coming in and we’re not flying.
No, just Jack. I try not to be disappointed at his words.
“I guess not.” I show Riley the text message.
Sweet catch in the third. And nice YAC stats. I type back.
“What’s YAC?” Riley asks peering over my shoulder.
“Yards after catch. The number of yards that a player gets after he catches the ball.”
Just in the third? I was killer all day! JK. Not gonna lie. It felt great. This will be a good year.
Jack and I exchange a few more texts and then I tuck the phone away. I can almost taste his happiness. Even if they did come home and had some raging party, I wouldn’t go, because I can’t trust myself around Masters.
“Hey, you okay? Is Jack okay?”
Riley touches my shoulder. I look down at her concerned face and the urge to confide in her nearly overwhelms me. I don’t tell her the whole truth but the burden of it is weighing me down. “Jack is on the bubble academically. He has problems with some of his classes and it brings his grades down. He’ll never win awards, but he’s not dumb.”
“And?
“And Masters apparently has to check up on him.”
She nibbles on her lip. “Why don’t you tell him that you’ll check up on Jack? That way Knox gets taken out of the loop.”
I stare at her.
“What?” She rubs her forehead. “Do I have ice cream on my face?”
“No. That’s a genius idea, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”
“See?” she nudges me with her shoulder. “This is why it’s okay to share things. Two are better than one.”
The tension that set in on Monday eases. Maybe this is the way for me to have it all—secure Jack’s eligibility and give Masters a chance. So I take a deep breath and text him.
Great game. You guys played fantastic.
There is no response.
I only have myself to blame.
