Two weeks later
“They’ve arrived!” my roommate Aisling says excitedly, pink hearts shimmering in her eyes as she hip-bumps the front door to the condo closed, setting the inconspicuous brown box down on top of the coffee table in front of me.
I slide my eyes over from the screen of my laptop, allowing myself to soak in the sight of the little package, as if I didn’t specifically orchestrate this uncharacteristically early morning study session for this very precise purpose.
“They were arriving today? I didn’t know,” I say weakly, my tone as casual as I can manage.
“Should I open them now?” Aisling asks, her fingers brushing adoringly over the paper.
Them, I think, a small splinter cracking in my heart. As in, there’s more than one this year.
Holding back my sad little gulp I nod my head and hold my breath.
“You know what? I’ll model them for you,” Ash decides, much to my absolute horror. “You wait here, and I’ll be back in, like, ten seconds.”
“Ash,” I begin, in a voice that clearly translates to dear God no, but she’s already speed-sashaying into her bedroom, a vision of petite cheerleader perfection.
I drop my gaze back to the unfilled grant application on my screen and the ever-growing pinch between my brows burrows a little deeper. Did I really want to spend my senior year at college applying for the most hotly contested arts scholarship available at Carter Ridge University? No. But I also didn’t expect to get benched from the cheer team after three years of being their perfect, unbeaten top-of-the-pyramid flyer, meaning that the graduate sports scholarship I have been not-so-secretly praying for?
Yeah, not gonna happen.
Thoroughly distressed by the empty state of the document at my fingertips, I shut down my laptop and set it down on the glossy table, sighing inwardly at the fact that, without funding, this is one-million percent about to be my final year in the safely suspending arms of my academia haven. My final year of being enveloped in this condo, researching my latest Lit essay and obsessively plotting my secret just-for-fun dream manuscript, whilst thinking that this is what life could have been, if I had only worked hard enough. Not having to fear the prospect of heading indefinitely back to my parents’ house and disappointing them further because I don’t want to go pro with my sport.
As much as I love doing cheer, I don’t want to be ogled for the rest of my life on the field of every NFL game.
But it isn’t just about doing the work, my mind reminds me. It’s about having the money.
Which brings me back to my original point: not being on the cheer team means not getting another sport scholarship, and not getting another sport scholarship means not getting to stay on at Carter U for the Master’s degree that I’ve always wanted to do. And if I can’t stay on at Carter U to do my Master’s, then I’ll be sacrificing my studies – my only form of genuine validation in this world – not to mention my secret manuscript, for the kind of job that will pay my bills but will never leave me enough time to accomplish my real dreams.
Or even worse: it will result in me moving back home, without an end-date in sight.
The irony of this situation is that I purposely cleared my schedule of all non-academic working arrangements this year so that I could ensure that Carter U’s cheer team would excel at Elite. But now that I’m benched from the comp team I’m desperately seeking a last-minute extra-curricular job because I really need to amass as much money as possible if I’m to stay on for a graduate year without getting into debt.
The issue with this plan? There are zero jobs to be found in the campus radius.
Although, my brain reminds me, there is that one job…
I do a full-body shiver and quickly lock that thought away.
I’m going to hold off on that possibility for as long as is humanly possible.
With slightly shaking fingers I reach down to pick up my coffee, and I’m momentarily semi-balmed by the small illustration of Baby Yoda being picked up by the Mandalorian on the mug.
I take a sip and look up at the ceiling, picturing the intergalactic galaxies beyond.
The Mandalorian would never drop Grogu, I think to myself.
“Ta-da!” Aisling announces herself in her bedroom doorway, her hip cocked up and one hand behind her beautiful chocolate brown hair.
Then she turns around and I get the full force of it.
I let out a little gasp and clutch at my heart.
“Super cute, right?” she asks with a grin as she looks back at me over her shoulder.
There’s a brand new cheer ribbon affixed in her hair.
“They finally let us pick lilac,” I whisper. I take a shaky sip of my coffee.
“It gets better,” she says, before unfolding the hand that she’d hidden from view.
“Oh my God.” There are literal tears in my eyes.
“I know right!” She holds up the second ribbon, a big red one with tiny icy crystals embellishing its centre knot, and she twirls over to the mirror between the windows so that she can admire it for herself. “So the purple one is for nationals, although we still have last year’s red-and-blue one as back up if we choose to stick with the whole ‘rep the college colours’ thing, and this one is for” – she gives me a naughty conspiratorial look – “that thing that I can’t tell you about yet.”
As well as being one of the most important athletes on the squad, Aisling runs the executive committee, meaning that she has intel on the cheer calendar that no-one else but the Carter U board has access to.
“Technically,” I say quietly, dropping my eyes from the beautiful cheer ribbons of my dreams, “technically you could tell me what the event is, now that I got kicked off the team and all.”
I’m hyper-twiddling with the end of one of my blonde curls but I can still feel the moment that Aisling’s gaze zaps over to me, the sudden understanding dawning on her from across the room.
She sinks down onto the couch, legs crossed and facing me directly.
“You weren’t kicked off the team, Fallon,” she says, her eyes wide as she mentally face-palms herself. “It wasn’t even your fault that you were… that you were…”
Benched. That I was benched. Because the coach wanted to give a freshman girl a chance but when she started making blunders I was the one who took the fall. Literally.
One too many times.
I rub my head, remembering the seemingly never-ending series of falls that took place during our first two weeks this year of pre-season training.
So now I have not only no job and no money, but also no extracurricular.
This is going to look so good on my grant application.
Aisling pushes on, determined to drag me out of this rough patch. “You’re still the best flyer Carter U has ever seen and maybe this re-shuffle will only be temporary.”
I sustained two concussions in under two weeks so it’s not going to be temporary, but Ash already knows that. Carter U might value me as an athlete but there’s no way that they’re going to keep me on their public competition team when the repercussions of continued brain trauma could literally kill me, and without being officially on the squad I’m unable to apply for another full Carter U sport scholarship. Which I need. Desperately.
“Also,” she continues, this time giving me a sparkly hopeful look that piques my curiosity. “Close your eyes.”
I want to scowl at her but, at the end of the day, she’s my best friend. And there’s also the fact that Aisling’s family owns this entire block of stunning pool-topped condos and they let me live here rent-free, meaning that I am low-key the O’Malley family sugar baby.
So I close my eyes.
I hear the sound of Aisling springing free from the couch, the whack of her full-body-slamming into her bedroom doorframe, the small howl of pain followed by one-footed hobbling noises, and then she’s back in front of me, placing something in my hands.
“Open them,” she says, the smug lilt in her voice telling me that she is very pleased with herself.
I wait a beat and then I peek one eye open, squinting down to my lap so that I can see what she’s handed me.
When I see the two beautiful ribbons that she’s ordered for me despite my not being on the comp team anymore, I almost burst into tears.
I throw my hands up to my eyes and set my elbows on my knees as I try to rein in my overflowing emotions.
“Fallon,” she coos, a sad concerned wobble in her voice as she wraps her slim arms around my head. She pats my hair affectionately as I regulate my breathing. “We’ll find a way so you don’t have to go back home, okay? We’ll find a way to keep you at Carter U. And, you know, you have your secret manuscript…”
I shake my head because I don’t think that that will be possible – staying at Carter U, getting the arts funding, or doing anything with my manuscript, if I ever even finish it – but I keep my mouth shut because I hate being a burden, especially to someone like Ash who deserves a fun uncomplicated friend who she can study and party and cheer with.
I lift my head and she gives me a sad smile.
“It’s fine,” I say shakily. She offers me her lip-gloss and I accept the glittery doe-foot.
I roll my lips together as she sticks the applicator back in the tube and then I swipe my fingers over my cheeks as a knock sounds on the door.
Aisling immediately rolls her eyes, knowing exactly whose fist is pounding on the wood.
“Go away,” she calls out loudly just as it swings open.
“Hey, gorgeous. You ready?” Aisling’s two-hundred-pound, soon-to-be NFL star, hunk of a brother is leaning just inside the doorframe, a pleased-with-himself smirk on his face as he looks me up and down.
Connell is Aisling’s twin but they’re fraternal and total opposites.
Admittedly, Connell is another perk of being the O’Malley family sugar baby. Having slept with most of the female population that Carter U has to offer, Aisling has forbade him from going anywhere near me, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy accepting rides in his car to my lecture halls and his ridiculously hot outer-packaging. He’s a safe zone for someone like me who needs to put all of her concentration into her grant application but doesn’t mind some harmless flirting in the meantime.
“Ugh, no way,” Aisling says, giving her brother a palm-out be gone gesture before climbing up onto the back of the sofa so that she can affix one of the new cheer ribbons into my hair.
“Ash, it’s okay, you don’t need to…” I begin, but then she’s halfway through lacing my first top-plait so I cut myself off and send Connell a slightly guilty look. “This might take a minute,” I tell him as Aisling moves onto the second plait.
He gives me a cocky grin. “Take all the time you need.”
Aisling scoops up the two plaits with a little more vengeance than she usually would, making my head pull back. I release a tiny mewl and Connell’s eyes get a little darker.
“Connell, we live five fucking minutes away from Fallon’s department,” Aisling growls. “Have you seen her legs? They’re super long. That means that she can walk to class real fast.”
“I’ve seen her legs,” he grins.
Aisling’s lip-gloss goes flying across the room.
Connell catches it in his hand and gives me a self-satisfied smile.
I laugh and roll my eyes.
Aisling fluffs up the portion of my hair that she’s left down and un-plaited, and then she releases me to go and perfect it myself in the mirror. I’m wearing the pretty lilac bow and it’s so fun and girlish that it makes my heart hurt.
I give my roommate a sad look through the glass.
“I would’ve looked so good in the purple costume,” I tell her and she nods knowingly, looking as devastated as I feel.
“Don’t let a good costume go to waste,” Connell says casually, tossing the lip-gloss back into his sister’s lap and strolling up behind me so that he can envelop me in his thick arms.
Aisling throws a fuzzy cushion off of Connell’s bicep before stomping loudly over to the kitchen.
Nothing will ever happen between Connell and me but sometimes Connell likes to pretend that he doesn’t know that information.
“I’m serious, Connell. She doesn’t need all of these lifts that you keep giving her.”
When Aisling turns to grab a mug from the cupboard Connell smiles at me in the mirror and gives me a squeeze. Connell is obviously ten-out-of-ten attractive and he’s also horny twenty-four seven, so being around him helps to fulfil my guy-related oxytocin curiosity. I’m pretty sure that he thinks that I’m hormonally just a really, really, really late bloomer, but regardless of what his conceived notions about me are, he always looks out for me and I trust him when it comes to this sweet, teasing, friendly kind of affection.
He’s hot, he knows what he’s doing, and he doesn’t plan on settling down for the next five billion years, so there can be no miscommunication about his intentions.
When his sister turns to look at us again Connell turns us around and starts walking us towards the front door. I stoop to grab my laptop and my canvas tote, and we all pretend that we don’t hear him groan when my hip bumps against his groin.
“She isn’t going straight to class, she’s heading to the gym,” he says to Aisling, pulling up a rolled-up bundle of flyers from his pocket that he told us he’d get printed.
I thump my palm against my forehead and make an anguished sound. “I’d forgotten about that,” I grumble dejectedly, and Connell gives me another reassuring squeeze.
That’s right. I’ve gone from being Carter U’s cheer team’s star flyer to being the girl who literally delivers the flyers. I pluck one of them from Connell’s hand and glance at the text, an advertisement for the cheer team’s car wash on Frat Row next week. It’s a fundraiser for next year’s costumes, wherein any overspill cash gets donated to charity.
I still haven’t decided if I’m going to participate now that I’m not on the comp team.
Then my brain gives me a little nudge. Maybe it’ll be good practice for that job you were thinking about–
“Please tell me that you aren’t doing the wash,” Connell says to Aisling from behind me, to which she gives him a vicious smile. Aisling is undeniably one of the most beautiful girls at Carter U which means that she gets a lot of attention, regardless of her having a boyfriend at a different college and a brother who lives in her building. And that’s saying something, considering the fact that Connell is a six-two bulldozer with biceps that are bigger than the football he throws around.
Like, guys are willing to die in order to flirt with Aisling.
While Connell groans in misery above my head I point towards my mug on the coffee table and ask Ash, “Please can you rinse that for me? I’ll wash it when I get back, but I don’t want Baby Yoda staining.”
She gives me a cross-eyed look because she thinks that I have OCD but then she nods her head, so I blow her a lip-gloss kiss.
“Are you doing the wash?” Connell asks me quietly, a smile in his voice as he tucks the flyers back into his pocket. He ignores his sister as she evil-eyes him out of the door.
I shrug against him and he squishes me tighter. “I need to do a car wash for me. For my funds,” I tell him.
“We can give you cash, Fallon–”
I shake my head as I begin attempting to slip my laptop into my tote. Connell and Ash are the only people who I’ve confided in about my money troubles and, as lovely as he is, I know that he doesn’t get it. I’ve earned everything that I’ve ever gotten and I refuse to rely on anyone to get to where I need to be. “I’m not taking your parents’ money.”
“But–”
I glance at him over my shoulder and take in the sight of him. His strong jaw and golden hair, his eyes authoritative and commanding.
The face of a man who has all the money in the world.
“Connell, it’s okay. I trust you and Ash with my life but I don’t want to be in your debt, if I can help it. There’s no way that I’m going back to living with my parents but, even if I don’t get that grant, I’m going to claw my way to getting that money. I’m not taking your charity just because I’m, like, some sort of pet to you.”
Connell hums low and thoughtful above my head, pressing the elevator button in the dark ruby hallway.
“Okay,” he says, his voice quiet and deep. I know that he hates it when I talk about money but I don’t want to lie to him just so that he can think that everyone has his level of privilege. He scratches at the back of his head, probably trying to calculate how little I have in my bank account if I can’t afford one more year of college tuition. “If you wanna go forward with this grant thing then fine,” he finishes, walking us into the elevator and then settling into silence as we ride down to the luxury garage in the basement.
When the doors slide open we head over to his car and we both slip inside without saying anything.
Once I’m buckled up I wait for him to kick the engine to life but instead he rubs his fingers over the gear stick, obviously contemplating something. I roll my eyes at his can’t handle the truth about money rich boy confusion and I brush invisible lint off my skirt, crossing my legs just for something to do.
He looks briefly in the rear view mirror, checking that we’re alone, and then his eyes move to mine, burning with that look that he sometimes gets when it’s just the two of us. I raise my eyebrows at him, saying uh, can I help you?
Connell’s eyes catch on the bow in my hair and he reaches across to tweak it. Then he settles his arm around the back of my headrest, eyes on my lips, my little jumper, and then finally on the short hem of my skirt.
Then they’re back on mine.
He swipes his tongue over his lower lip and makes a low sound in the back of his throat.
“My football practice doesn’t start for another thirty minutes,” he says gruffly, splaying his thighs a little so that I can’t help but notice the size of them. “You wanna, uh… wanna make out?”
Okay, so maybe the whole this-is-a-platonic-friendship thing is a little one-sided. But I know that Connell doesn’t do it with bad intentions: he really is just that horny all of the time. I’m sure that he does this with all of the girls that he gives rides to, only they’re probably more hormonally sound than I am and they probably actually take him up on his very generous offer.
I lean over the stick shift and Connell’s eyes widen slightly, blinking quickly as I reach an arm around his abdomen. Knowing that I never do anything with anyone, Connell is suddenly breathing like he’s in the middle of doing cardio.
“Connell,” I whisper, smiling up at him.
“Yeah?” he grunts, his hands gripping into his seat.
I rip the flyers from his pocket and he groans in disappointment when I smack them hard across the expansive breadth of his chest.
I throw myself back against my headrest and I give him a wily grin of my own.
“Nice try, quarterback. Now shut up and drive.”
