“YOU’RE SURE ABOUT THIS?” Laura asks.
She’s on my bed, watching as I pack the suitcase. Jeans, a pretty dress, James’ jersey. Fancy lingerie I splurged on during a trip to the mall with Laura earlier today. That’s where I got the little suitcase, too. I’ve never owned one because I never had anywhere to go. Even though it’s only Pennsylvania, I can’t help but be excited.
Anything to take my mind off the shitstorm at the diner. That’s how James pitched it to me when he invited me to tag along with him for the away game at Penn State. I’ve been busy arguing with the insurance company, trying to line up rehab work for the apartment, and keeping the diner running amid a period where my mother has disappeared into her grief, not to mention keeping up with my job and schoolwork. Aunt Nicole calls every day to update me. Mom hasn’t been this bad since the last time my father sniffed around.
I wish I could bring myself to feel worse about it, but I don’t. Her accusations of abandonment stung, but even worse was realizing that the fire ruined my camera and tons of photography. I keep some of it in my dorm room, and a couple of pieces were framed in the diner, but all the work from middle and high school had been in my room. The fire and resulting smoke damaged everything. The fancy camera that Aunt Nicole bought me as a sixteenth birthday present was ruined beyond use.
I’d never abandon my mother or the diner, but a small, selfish part of me wishes that the fire had ruined the diner too.
I add pajamas to the top of the suitcase and zip it shut. “It’s just one weekend.”
“Alone with him in a hotel room.” Laura frowns. “It’s not something you do when it’s casual. Or when you’re pretending.”
“I don’t think we’re pretending anymore,” I admit. The confession makes Laura’s jaw drop. I try to laugh, to make light of the confession, but it’s scary to say aloud. If I’m being totally serious, James Callahan has worked his way into my life and is refusing to let go.
When he introduced himself as my boyfriend, it felt right. True, not part of the lie. Maybe somewhere between study sessions and texting, the fake dates and kisses, something changed. When I look at him, I instantly feel a little safer. Not just around Darryl. All the time, even if we’re just at his dining room table, doing schoolwork while Seb cooks dinner and Cooper reads.
He had my back at the diner. Now he wants me to have his at this game.
“You have been spending a ton of time with him. Which you totally deserve,” Laura says. She pulls me into a hug, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Have fun banging him after the win. You still haven’t given me the deets about his dick, you know.”
“Laura!” I hit her shoulder, laughing, as I pull away.
She arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You can’t tell me a guy like him doesn’t have a huge package. I’ve seen how tight his football pants are.”
She’s not wrong, of course. But I’m not about to give her the satisfaction of confirming it.
“I always wondered what girls talk about alone,” I hear James say. “Now I know you’re just as dirty as the guys.”
I spin around. He’s in the doorway of my bedroom, wearing a leather jacket and a McKee football t-shirt. A grin breaks out on my face; before I can register what’s happening, I’m in his arms, planting a kiss on his lips. I feel his hand come up to stroke through my hair.
“How did you get in here?” I demand.
“You left the door open.” He makes a chiding noise. “You’re lucky it was me who walked in, you know. You could have been murdered by the next Ted Bundy.”
“You can murder me any time,” says Laura with a grin.
I roll my eyes. “You’re still cool with me coming?”
“Of course. Real question is if you’re cool with my off-key car singing.”
“As long as it’s the classics.”
He grabs my suitcase before I can and wheels it into the main area. “Which are?”
“Brittany Spears, mostly. Vintage Beyoncé. Spice Girls,” Laura says. I glare at her, but she just holds up her hands. “What! Babe, you know I’m with you on this.”
James groans. “I change my mind. I’ll meet you there.”
I smile at him innocently. “No, you don’t.”
“Have fun and make good choices!” Laura calls as we head downstairs.
When we get on the road, I settle back in the stupid-comfy passenger seat of James’ car and scroll through my Spotify playlists. I’m still not over the fact he drives a Range Rover. It’s only going to take us a couple hours to reach Penn State, but I want to make the most of my time in his fancy car. There are butt warmers and everything, a fact I appreciate in the chilly weather.
“Are you actually going to flip when I put on this playlist?”
James glances over for half a second before settling his gaze back on the road. “Put on whatever you want, baby.”
“It won’t mess up your pre-game routine or whatever?”
“My routine doesn’t start until game day.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, giving me another look. There’s a light pink flush on his cheeks. “And I’m hoping to add new routines, anyway.”
My heart does a somersault; I can’t help smiling. “Oh yeah?”
“Waking up next to my girl can’t hurt.”
My girl. The words fill the air, the car. Part of me wants to ask about it, but I don’t want to ruin the magic, not now. It’s good enough to know I’m his girl.
I pick out the pop playlist I use when I work out, and Rihanna’s voice starts to play from the fancy speakers.
And almost immediately, James starts to sing along.
I turn to him with delight. Apparently, he knows every word to “Umbrella,” and doesn’t seem at all bothered by that. His voice is awful, but he sings with such conviction I can’t help but join in, wiggling my body to the beat. When the song ends, we’re both breathless with laughter, and his hand is on my thigh, squeezing lightly. Possessively. I look over at him, but he’s busy checking the mirrors before merging into the next lane.
I never gave much thought before to whether driving is sexy, but you know what? I’m loving this.
BEFORE JAMES, I liked football, but honestly, I didn’t care enough to learn all the intricacies. I watch football on Thanksgiving at Aunt Nicole’s like the rest of the country, and thanks to Darryl, I came into this knowing the basics. But watching James play has gotten me into it on a whole different level. He’s faster than you’d expect him to be, and his passes are like bullets arcing through the air. I wince whenever he hits the ground, cheer whenever he escapes a tackle, and screech like a banshee during each touchdown.
Still, McKee barely makes it out with the win.
“My heart’s still racing!” Debra Sanders says as we head down the stairs after both teams leave the field. James got me a seat next to Bo’s mom, and we hit it off over the course of the game. I know way more about Bo now than he probably wants the girlfriend of his teammate to know, like how his nickname throughout middle and high school was “Stinky.”
“Bo made an awesome block right at the end,” I say. “He saved the game.”
“Don’t you know it. My baby’s going to fit right in with the big guys in the league.”
She gives me a hug before we part ways, patting my cheek fondly. She’s about my height, with this awesome pink streak in her braids that I complimented her on the moment I saw her. “It was nice to meet you, Bex. I don’t know James too well, but he seems like a good boy. Darryl wasn’t good enough for you.”
That makes me tear up unexpectedly. “Thank you.”
“Now, if only Bo would find himself a nice girl. I told him to bring someone home for the holidays, but something tells me he’s been ignoring that.”
I laugh as she heads off. “Bye, Mrs. Sanders!”
Instead of hanging around waiting for James postgame, I call a cab to take me back to the cute little inn he booked for us this weekend. He had to get permission from Coach Gomez to stay somewhere other than with the team. He’ll be all pumped up from the close win. Hungry. This morning, I asked if he wanted to go out somewhere with the team, but he said he didn’t want to have to make nice with the guys when all he’d be thinking about was getting me alone. When I get back to the room, I’ll order in from a restaurant we picked out that does delivery.
I head outside to wait, watching as the Penn State fans head back to campus or their cars.
“Going to all his games now like some kind of cleat chaser?”
I stiffen, trying to keep a neutral expression as I look at Darryl. He’s still in half his gear, his Under Armor shirt plastered to his skin, hair damp on his forehead.
He’s standing too close, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of backing up. “Is that what you called me when we were dating? A cleat chaser?”
His expression tightens. “You made your point with him, Bexy. Give up the act.”
“It’s not an act.”
He scoffs. “Come on. The guy’s a douche.”
“Oh yeah? What brought you to that earth-shattering conclusion? Is it the way he’s been leading your team to wins all season? His nomination for the Heisman? How he told you off when you hurt me?”
He works his jaw. “I never meant—”
“Stop. Just stop.” I lower my voice since we’re in public. At least he didn’t try to get me alone. “Go back to the locker room, Darryl.”
He hustles me against the wall, underneath a memorial plaque. I’m caught by surprise, so I don’t fight it, but my heart hammers wildly as I look up at him. He settles a hand on the side of my head, flat on the wall, like he’s just trying to chat me up. Casual. No one glances at us as they pass by.
“Stop.”
“You might think he cares about you, but he’s just as selfish as you think I am,” he says. “Did he tell you the real reason he left LSU?”
I stay silent. He takes my lack of an answer as confirmation, chuckling softly. “I didn’t think so.”
“Shut the hell up, Darryl.”
“Ask him about Sara Wittman, babe. His ex-girlfriend.”
“Don’t call me that.” I try to wriggle away, but he uses his height and weight to his advantage to pin me in place. “And get the fuck off me, or I’ll call him.”
“You won’t.” Darryl’s eyes pierce mine. “If he fights me, he’ll get kicked off the team. That already happened once.”
His words catch me off guard, and I can’t help replying. “What do you mean?”
“Of course, his daddy cleaned up the problem. Tried to make it disappear. But that doesn’t change the fact that Sara nearly killed herself.”
I dig my teeth into my lower lip, wiping my sweaty palms on my jacket. “You’re lying.”
“And when he realizes you’re just another slut, he’ll dump your ass like he did her. You think he’s going to save you? Babe, the second you get in the way, you’re gone. And I’ll be waiting.”
“Fuck off,” I say, unable to keep the tremble out of my voice. I shove at him.
He goes this time, laughing. It takes me a minute for my mind to stop spinning. By the time I think to check my phone, I see that my cab has come and left, so I need to call for another.
But when the panic quiets, I’m left with one thought: Who is Sara Wittman, and what happened when she dated James?
