The last bit of summer flew by in a heated haze.
Between shuffling our house around, Blake moving in, fall camp starting and Pee Wee wrapping up, I barely had a spare minute in the day to shit, let alone anything else. As exhausted as I was, being busy had been a good thing.
It kept my mind off obsessing over my roommate.
Mary officially moved into my bedroom just a few nights after we presented the option, and while sleeping on the couch had been a pain in the ass — and back — it wasn’t nearly as difficult as pulling on a t-shirt and smelling her all over it.
She’d invaded every inch of my room and bathroom.
Mary was everywhere. Her hair, her scent, jewelry and lotion and nail polish, too. While she’d done her level best to steer clear of me, it was impossible to make it through even one day without her on my mind.
We’d at least found some sort of peace treaty in it all. While we were both busy and hadn’t spent more than a moment or two together since that night on the roof, she was back to cracking jokes rather than throwing daggers at me with her eyes. She might not have been my best friend, but she at least seemed grateful for me sacrificing my space for her.
I tried not to get jealous when I saw her doing yoga with Braden or fucking around in the kitchen with Kyle. I did my best not to stare too hard when Blake got curious about what she was drawing one day, leaning over her with a curious smile while she looked up at him like she loved that he asked.
It was clear she didn’t want anything to do with me.
But leaving her alone was possibly the hardest play route I’d ever had to run.
That’s why I was thankful for the five AM wakeup calls, for padded practices, film meetings, strength training, and conditioning that left me just awake enough to shower before I’d collapse only to do it all again the next day. This was what I lived for — that feeling of fall, of football consuming every inch of my life. Some athletes crashed under this pressure, but I thrived. Pack my schedule with more than a normal human being can handle and I’ll show you the impossible.
Still, even I was thankful for the little break coach gave us halfway through camp.
It was Saturday, and he’d not only let us out of the stadium early, but given us the next morning off, too. The reason?
The North Carolina Panthers were playing their first preseason game, and there was a high chance we’d get to see Holden on the field.
The Pit was packed by kickoff, half the team and some of their girlfriends littering our couch, chairs, bean bags and every inch of the floor they could find around the television. Even Mary had rearranged her schedule at the tattoo shop so she could be home for the game, and she sat right in the center of the floor on a massive bean bag with Riley and Giana on either side of her.
They’d been pounding seltzers since about noon, so while I was surprised they were all still awake, I wasn’t surprised they were giggling and making jokes about how football pants should be illegal.
It felt like a Super Bowl party rather than a preseason game that didn’t mean shit, but for us, this game was more significant than any we’d seen before.
This was our quarterback, an NBU alum who actually made it.
It was proof that, maybe, we had a chance in hell of going pro, too.
I tried not to watch Mary from where I was in the kitchen as the second quarter got underway. It had been practically impossible while sitting in the same room as her, especially seeing her so relaxed and happy and buzzed, if not already drunk. I remembered how she used to be at our parties last year, sour and closed off and usually looking for the first excuse to bolt.
Now, she looked like she really felt at home, like we were family.
“Man, I’m fucking beat,” Zeke said, groaning a bit as he joined me in the kitchen and hopped up to sit on the counter. He squinted, massaging his neck with one hand while the other held his beer. “Am I getting old, or is Coach riding us hard this camp?”
“We’re a championship team now,” I reminded him. “More to prove.”
Clay sauntered in to join us, and I tossed him a beer out of the fridge when I saw he was empty-handed. Zeke lifted his beer once our cans were cracked open, and the three of us tapped them together before taking a long pull.
“Feels weird without Holden,” Clay said.
Zeke and I nodded, and I felt that mixture between nostalgia and nausea sweeping through me again. I wondered if it would be with me all season, if I’d constantly be caught between soaking up our last year together at NBU and reminiscing on all we’d done together the last three years.
“Hard to believe we’ll all be going our own ways soon,” I said.
“Eh, different teams, maybe, but we’ll all be pro,” Clay offered with a confident shrug of one shoulder.
I cocked a brow. “You realize the odds of that are pretty slim, right?”
“And you realize you’re in the company of the best college football players in the nation, right?”
I chuckled, lifting my beer in a salute. I loved that he was confident, and with his talent, he should be. His confidence was different from mine — it wasn’t cocky and half a joke. It was calm and sure, as if it’d already happened.
Still, I couldn’t quiet that realistic voice inside me whispering that only one-point-six percent of college football players make it to the NFL.
“I, uh… I actually don’t know if that’s what I want.”
Clay and I both whipped around when the words left Zeke’s mouth.
“What?” Clay asked. “The fuck are you talking about, man? That’s been your only goal ever since I’ve known you.”
“Long before that,” I chimed in.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” he said, grabbing the back of his neck. “I still want a career in football, of course, but… I was leaning toward coaching, maybe.”
Clay and I were both too shocked to speak.
Zeke checked behind him before looking at us again and lowering his voice. “I just… I don’t know what’s next for Riley.”
That sucked the air out of the room.
“She wants to go pro as bad as the rest of us,” he continued, shaking his head. “But, I mean, we all know there’s never been a female drafted to the NFL.”
“Fuck, man,” Clay said, running a hand through his hair. “My stupid ass never even thought about that. I’ve been running my mouth about going pro all camp like a fucking asshole.”
“It’s fine, she’s used to it,” Zeke said. “When she first came on the team, I don’t think she wanted anything past college, you know? She’s got a career in art curation waiting for her easily. And she’d be damn good at it, too. But something has shifted over the last two seasons.” He paused. “She got an agent, and let’s just say the agent is not-so-gently suggesting she consider sports broadcasting if she wants a career anywhere near the sport she loves.”
“He doesn’t think she has a chance at all?” I asked.
Zeke scoffed, meeting my gaze with an incredulous look. “Come on, man.”
I nodded, falling silent. Riley only started playing football because of a promise she made to her brother, but fuck if she wasn’t the best kicker I’d ever played with. She loved the game, she was a great teammate, and any team would be lucky to have her.
It pissed me off that she might not even be considered.
“I’m sorry, man,” Clay said, squeezing Zeke’s shoulder. “But I don’t think she’d want you to hold yourself back just because the NFL hasn’t opened their eyes yet. She will make a way for herself and you know it. If anything, it’d piss her off to hear you talking like this.”
Palico strolled into the kitchen then with a croaky meow, which made us all chuckle. Clay bent down to scratch the little thing under the chin.
“He’s right,” I said. “You were born to play ball, Z, not coach on the sideline.”
Zeke nodded, but didn’t have anything more to say. I could see it in his eyes that he felt one thing above all else.
He didn’t want to leave her behind.
But I also knew that no matter what came next for them, they’d be together. Something about that made my chest sting, and I rubbed the spot absentmindedly as I changed the subject. “My biggest question is are you two going to take the route Holden did and put a ring on it before the draft? Because I need to know now how many suits I need to be saving up for.”
They laughed me off, but I didn’t miss how they both fell into a quiet contemplation. They were head over heels for their girls. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised when they made it official and claimed them for life.
“Speaking of which…” Clay arched a brow at me. “What the hell is going on with you and your new roommate?”
I surprised even myself with the casual coolness with which I took a sip of my beer. “Well, she hasn’t tried to kill me this week, so that’s nice.”
“You two look like you’re sixty seconds or less from fucking in the nearest closet,” Zeke said.
“Yeah, right. She’d sooner be a nun,” I combatted.
Clay leaned toward Zeke. “Notice how he didn’t say he’d sooner do anything else.”
“You’re blind if you don’t see that she wants you, too,” Zeke added. “The tension is tight enough to snap, man.”
“That’s just because she despises me,” I said with a heavy gut.
I couldn’t help the way my eyes drifted to Mary through the kitchen window then, and one look at her buzzed, sleepy, overjoyed smile made me ache with the desire to pull her upstairs and hold her down until we settled whatever the storm between us was.
Before the guys could razz me further, someone shouted from the living room.
“Holden’s going in!”
“Oh, shit!” we said in unison, and then we were scrambling out of the kitchen and fighting to be the first back in front of the TV. When we got to the living room, we stood frozen, slow smiles spreading on our face.
There he was, Holden Moore, jogging out for his first play as an NFL quarterback.
“I’ll be fucking damned,” Clay said in soft admiration.
I had to clear my throat to swallow down the emotion that overwhelmed me in that moment. I was so fucking proud of my friend, I felt like I could burst.
Of course, I’d never admit that, and to everyone around me, I looked calm.
“Bro’s been skipping leg day,” I said loudly, which earned me the chorus of laughter from my teammates that I wanted.
Mary’s head dropped back against the bean bag, her lazy eyes zeroing in on me. I could see then how drunk she was, and she hiccupped before offering me a goofy grin and a look that told me she saw right through me.
It was as confusing as it was hope-inducing.
“Look, there’s Julep!” Giana cried out, pointing at the TV where they’d panned to Julep in the stands. Mary dragged her head back up, the moment gone, and we all watched to see Julep wearing Holden’s jersey, her hair pulled into a ponytail, the brightest smile I’d ever seen on her face, and that impressive rock glistening on her finger.
For the rest of the quarter, we were all transfixed by the screen, watching as Holden moved the Panthers down the field. I could tell he was still adjusting to the league, which we all knew would be night and day different from playing here at NBU. But he looked like he belonged there, like he wouldn’t be on that bench for long.
In his second drive, he took them all the way down for a touchdown, and we all went fucking insane.
The energy really was like a Super Bowl by the time halftime rolled around, and everyone jumped up, running off to either use the bathroom, grab snacks, or refill their drinks. I had to take a leak so bad I was bouncing, and I cursed when I saw the guest bath downstairs had a line. I skipped upstairs to Kyle’s room, but he was using his and told me to fuck off, which told me it would be a while.
Hesitantly, I knocked on my own bedroom door.
It was quiet inside, and after a bit without response, I slowly cracked the door open to find the room dark and vacant. I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me and making a beeline for the bathroom.
I groaned with relief when I finally started pissing, and then I looked around, a smile curling on my lips as I took in the disaster my bathroom had become. There was makeup on the counter and in the sink, hair products still plugged in with the cords strewn everywhere, about a million hair and face products that I couldn’t begin to guess the purpose of, body spray, jewelry, and more.
A little Mary Bomb had gone off, and I couldn’t even pretend like I didn’t enjoy sitting in the rubble.
I washed my hands and pulled out a fresh hand towel to dry them, and then slipped back into my room, ready to head downstairs.
I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of Mary with her shirt half-yanked over her head.
The fabric trapped her arms and head as she struggled against it, little grunts of frustration popping out of her. When she finally got it off, she threw it to the ground like it had greatly offended her, letting out a horse-neigh of an exhale.
In just a thin bra and her lacey, layered skirts, she looked up to find me staring at her.
She didn’t scream, didn’t jump in surprise, didn’t throw things at me in an effort to banish me from the room. It was almost like she expected me, like she hoped to see me there. I held her gaze in an effort to not devour her body, to not treat myself to the sight of the metal piercing her nipples or the freckles on her abdomen or the ink across her chest and shoulders and arms.
With a lazy tilt of her lips, she shrugged. “Don’t tell anyone I pulled an Irish goodbye.”
The words were a slur of consonants and vowels I could barely make out, and a laugh bubbled out of me, softening the tension. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Mary pouted then, her impossibly plump lip poking out as she reached behind her for what I presumed was for the zipper of her skirt.
“Can you help me? I gotta get outta this,” she said, and then she spun around with the skirts flaring and backed up until she hit me.
I caught her and my balance before we both tumbled back onto the bed, my hands finding her now-bare waist.
I swallowed, running my knuckles down the smooth skin of her back on a groan I hoped she didn’t hear.
“Uh, maybe I should go get Giana.” The words burned my throat as I said them.
“Noooo,” she whined, letting her head fall back against my chest. “She’ll make me stay down there and I just wanna go to sleep. You do it,” she insisted, and then she reached around in an effort to show me the zipper of her skirt, but ended up just dragging her hand over my cock, instead.
Jesus fucking hell.
I stifled a moan at the feel of her palming me, and she was so oblivious that she just let her hand fall back to her thigh with a slap, one of those horse-like exhales leaving her again.
I couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“Thought you didn’t drink much,” I said as I unfastened her skirt and tried to think of road kill and politics and anything else but the fact that I was undressing Mary, that she asked me to do it.
“Welp, you are a bad influence.”
“Me?”
When the skirts loosened around her hips and fell to a puddle at her feet, she sighed with relief, and I dragged my eyes up to the back of her head so I wouldn’t stare at her ass in the little thong she was wearing.
She spun around and nearly fell into me again, her hands pressing against my chest. “Yes, you.”
I sipped a fiery breath with her half-naked and in my arms, and then she slowly slipped away, flopping down onto her bed.
No.
My bed.
She struggled with the covers for a moment before she was buried underneath them, and I watched her thrash around for a minute until suddenly her bra went flying over my shoulder.
Fuck. Me.
Now, Mary was topless, in nothing but a lacy scrap of underwear, wrapped up in my sheets with her emerald, glazed eyes and lazy smile peeking over the covers.
I forced a slow inhale, an equally slow exhale, and shoved my hands into my pockets to keep from doing anything stupid.
“C’mere,” she said, reaching a hand out long enough to pat the bed.
I swallowed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Mary kept her eyes on me as she maneuvered under the covers again, and then she peeled her thong out from under them, letting them dangle off a finger for one second before they dropped to the floor.
She all but purred as she cozied into the sheets even more. “So much better.”
Each breath was more ragged than the last from my aching chest. I needed to leave. I needed to turn out the light and close the door and take my ass downstairs right fucking now.
But I was rooted in place.
Mary pulled the covers up to her face, inhaling a deep, dramatic breath before she flopped around and sighed just as deeply. “Ugh,” she groaned. “Why do you have to smell so good?”
I arched a brow.
“Your sheets,” she said when I didn’t answer, tugging them up farther and wrapping herself up like a burrito. “God, they smell so good. And your sweaters, too.”
“You’ve been wearing my sweaters?”
She shot a hand out from under the covers with her index finger pointed up. “Technically, you gave me one to wear first, so it’s in the rules that it’s okay to wear them whenever I want to now.”
“Is it now?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded up and then down sharply, matter-of-factly, her eyes closing like she was going to pass out right then and there.
“I didn’t realize we had a rulebook.”
She peered at me over the covers. “We do, but you keep breaking all the rules.”
“How so?”
“Buying me candles, giving me your jacket.” She thrust her hand toward me. “And why do you have to look at me like that?”
“I’m just listening.”
“No, you’re standing there all stoic, but I see it.”
I swallowed. “What do you see?”
Mary watched me for a long moment before she sat up, weight on the palms of her hands, the covers just barely catching on the swells of her breasts and keeping her nipples hidden from view. Her long hair spilled over those swells, over the sheets, her eyes heavy and dazed.
“I see that you’d devour me,” she whispered. “If I said the word.”
My cock jolted in my sweatpants, every muscle in my body straining with the effort to restrain myself from doing what she’d just assessed. She was naked in my fucking bed. Even God Himself would give in.
“You should get some sleep,” I managed to croak out, turning before I said fuck it and went against the rational voice in my head reminding me she was drunk and had no idea what she was doing.
I heard her flop back into the mattress, and I flicked out the light, turning back just in time to watch her roll onto her side. I opened the door and Palico bounced in, skipping past me and bounding onto the bed. Mary smiled, eyes closed as she ran her fingernails over the cat’s neck while it kneaded the covers before curling in next to her.
I let myself watch her only a second longer before I turned out the lights.
“I wish you remembered.”
I froze at the words, frowning in confusion as something sharp and hot zapped through my spine.
I turned slowly. “What?”
But Mary was already asleep.
Her mouth had fallen open in a little o, soft snores coming from her chest, hair fanning over her face.
After quietly shutting the door, I took a few steps before standing still in the hallway, one hand finding the wall as if I’d teeter off-balance and spiral down the stairs without holding myself steady.
My heart pounded. My thoughts raced. My breath was shallow and short.
Sleep wouldn’t find me that night.
I’d toss and turn and sweat overthinking every single second of what happened in that bedroom.
But the next morning, when Mary dragged herself into the kitchen in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, her hair a mess and last night’s makeup on her face, she’d smile at me. She’d smile, and groan about needing greasy food and a bottle of Advil, and sketch in her notebook while the rest of our roommates ambled into the kitchen, too.
She’d laugh when they commented on how drunk she was last night, and they’d take her jokes about how weak their game was with the few girls they’d invited over and failed to land at the end of the night.
They’d tell her she was a blast, that they were glad she stayed, that she was part of the family now.
And she’d blush and laugh and tell them she didn’t remember a thing after the first quarter.
