“Can’t wait to see you play this weekend.” The attractive brunette with extraordinarily long, thick eyelashes clings to my arm as I try to walk.
Would it be rude to shake her off? Probably but damn, she’s making progress difficult.
“Thanks, babe.” I tug my arm away from her grip and she digs her nails into my skin, making me mutter, “ow.” Only when she hears me complain does she let me go. “Appreciate the support.”
I flee from her, my steps hurried as I hustle toward the student center, my stomach growling the closer I get to the quad. It’s like my body knows I’m about to feed it, and it doesn’t hurt that the scent of cooking food lingers in the air.
Lately I’m always hungry, but I blame our workout and practice schedule. It’s intense. Unrelenting. We’re out on the field when the sun is barely rising and we’re still out there when it sets. I don’t even want to think about how many hours I’m currently devoting to the gym, honing my body into the well-oiled machine it’s become, one of our trainers barking at us to do another rep. Just. One. More.
We work hard, we play hard and we’re ready for our first game this Saturday. And for the first time ever, our team is playing during week zero, which means an extra game has been added to our schedule.
Too bad it’s not at home, but we’re gonna make the best of it.
I can handle it. I’m the starting QB on the team and scouts have been frothing at the mouth discussing my potential lately, so I better be able to handle it. Though my number two is always nipping at my heels like an annoying little dog, constantly showing off for the coaches. Aaron Maloney is a giant pain in my ass and I finally understand why Camden Fields gave me constant shit.
God, I must’ve been so obnoxious and I didn’t even realize it. But I’m not gonna let anything get me down. I’m in the number one slot for a reason. Aaron is a freshman. He may have excellent passing skills and look damn good on the field, but he still lacks maturity. And while I would never describe myself as mature in the past, I act like a middle-aged man compared to that fool on the field. Aaron’s always goofing off, always here for a good time.
I love a good time. I am a good time, but I’m not an eighteen-year-old jackass with nothing to lose either. That’s how he acts every God damn day.
Again, I feel for Cam. I should text him an apology because this shit is hard.
“Yo, Townsend.” Derek calls from his usual spot at our usual table. He’s already got a tray in front of him piled high with food. “Come here.”
Derek is a defensive lineman and as solid as a brick wall. I’ve been tackled by him more than a few times in practice and it’s always rough, getting taken down by him. I swore he was a senior last year and would graduate with Knox and Cam, but turns out the joke’s on me and Derek is still here, tormenting me every chance he gets, but always good-naturedly with it.
Can’t complain. He’s a decent dude. An asset to the team.
I head for the table where he’s sitting and dump my backpack in an empty chair. “I’ll be back. Gotta get something before my stomach starts eating itself.”
Derek laughs. “I know the feeling, bro.”
I grab a cheeseburger and a giant basket of fries, plus a salad and a banana because I’m trying for a balanced meal, damn it. If any one of my coaches saw me right now, they’d be disappointed—the fries and packets of ketchup I grabbed would send them over the edge. They’ve been pushing us to eat a healthier diet and I try, man. I try hard.
But it’s difficult when all you crave is pizza at eleven o’clock at night. Plus, I work out like a crazed motherfucker. How much more balanced do I need to be?
Once I’ve made my purchase, I settle back in at our table, diving into my food with gusto. Derek keeps pace, both of us eating quietly, our focus on the plates in front of us versus the girls we can sense swarming on the periphery.
I can sense them at least. Not sure about Derek. He seems too focused on his lunch to worry about anything else, but I know those girls are there. Lingering. Waiting for a signal from me that will have them sitting at our table and begging for an ounce of our attention.
“Your groupies are growing,” Derek mutters out the side of his mouth after he polishes off his second cheeseburger.
Yep, he’s paying attention. “Don’t remind me.”
“You love it.”
Okay fine, I do love it, but sometimes I want a moment of peace and while I’m on campus? I never get it. These girls don’t understand that sometimes I just want to…be. Instead of dealing with the constant fangirling I can’t shake.
Here’s where I can admit I’m a bit of a celebrity on campus—I sound like an asshole, but it’s true. I’m kind of a big deal. Even though I haven’t really proven myself yet. This could all go to shit after Saturday’s game.
My palms start to sweat at the realization.
“They’re probably staring at you too, bud,” I remind Derek because he has quite a way with the ladies and this is his last year. Their last shot at nabbing the unattainable lineman with the goofy laugh and crass pickup lines.
Somehow it all works for him.
“They probably are.” Derek grins and lifts his head, casting his gaze around the cavernous room. I swear I hear a few of the girls giggle. Even a couple of squeals. Jesus. “Yep, some of them are definitely here for me.”
I let him revel in the attention, thankful they’re not all here for me.
Who am I kidding? I glance around, flashing a quick smile at anyone who’s looking, and I hear more giggling. One of them waves. Another one winks. One girl even tugs down on the neckline of her shirt, offering me a glimpse of the tops of her breasts.
A text notification hits both my and Derek’s phones, indicating that it’s our team group chat and I check mine first, frowning when I read what it says.
The social media team will be at practice tomorrow afternoon filming content. Be on your best behavior and give them what they want. We need to build buzz for this Saturday’s game!
Shaking my head, I deposit my phone on the table and continue eating.
“Content? Buzz?” Derek snort laughs. “You telling me one of our coaches wrote this text?”
“Hell no. Someone from the social media team did.” They’re ramping up our social media presence this year. They’ve always been there, but the program has grown and now they’re supposedly going to have a social media crew assigned to every team on campus. We haven’t met ours yet, but I can count on a few people being on the team.
That one chick, Gwyneth, who’s intimidating as shit. She’s always barking commands, her phone aimed at us, trying to get us to cooperate, but most of the time we ignored her.
We were shits last year and it was kind of fun, not gonna lie. I just rolled with the older guys and did what they wanted. Until the assistant coach came to me a few weeks ago and asked to speak to me privately. He requested that I convince everyone else on the team to be a little more cooperative with the social media people.
“I know you all just followed the seniors’ lead, but they’re gone. And it’ll go a long way, acting agreeable and working with the social media kids,” he’d said with an encouraging smile. “You’ll get more attention on the team’s accounts.”
At the time I loved the idea of more attention, but as it grows in its intensity, I’m starting to realize I don’t enjoy it.
Not nearly as much as I used to.
“Hopefully they’re hot,” Derek says, a slow smile spreading across his face as he stares across the room. I don’t even bother to see who he’s looking at.
I think of Gwyneth. She’s pretty, but she’s also a fucking bossy bulldog so no thanks. “Remember Gwen?”
“Oh yeah. She’s mean as a snake.” Derek drags a fry in ketchup before popping it into his mouth. “Tell me she’s not still around.”
“Pretty sure she’s still around.”
“Great. I’m guessing she’ll have us doing trending TikTok dances or some shit,” Derek mutters, looking disgusted.
I can’t help but laugh. “You really think she wants us to dance?”
“You can probably get away with it. You’re a graceful motherfucker compared to me.”
Anyone is a graceful motherfucker compared to Derek. He’s as big as a tank and bulldozes his way across the field, doesn’t matter who’s in front of him. He also bulldozes his way across campus. Into a classroom. A bar. A frat party. Just about anywhere.
“I’m not dancing,” I say firmly.
“You’ll just smile and look pretty like you do.” Derek laughs when I scowl at him. “What? You don’t like me calling you pretty? Or do you hate it because, deep down, you know it’s true.”
I ignore him, knowing he just wants to get under my skin. I’m trying not to react as easily or as much as I used to because guys like Derek? That’s all they’re looking for. A reaction. Back in the day, I gave him one all the time because I couldn’t control myself. Now, I’m considered a leader. I can’t keep fucking around and acting like a fool.
That’s been my plan since the summer—working on myself this semester. It started at the beginning of the year, after I got back to school and realized I needed to get serious about my future. What I want more than anything is to continue to play ball. It’s my love, my passion and I’m really fucking good at it.
But I could be better.
“Cam hated that pretty boy talk too.” Derek smirks.
“I don’t blame him.” I shove the rest of my cheeseburger in my mouth, regretting I didn’t get two.
My gaze snags on a woman in the distance, her back to me, long blonde hair spilling down her back. She moves in a way that feels familiar and I sit up straighter, hoping it might be—
The woman turns, her profile visible and I slunk back in my seat, disappointment filling me.
She’s not Ruby Maguire. Not even close.
Maybe that’s a good thing, that I haven’t run into her yet. I know she’s on campus. I remember Blair mentioning her sister was going to start here this fall and…this is where I admit something that feels almost shameful but…
I stalk her social media.
Yeah, I know. I’m cringe, but I was curious.
She’s already shared photos of her being here at school. Moving in with Natalie of all people. Joanna Sutton’s best friend and now former roommate. It makes sense that they know each other, that they’re all friends. I vaguely remember them hanging out at that New Year’s party. I’ve stalked Joanna’s social media too, and Blair’s. Natalie’s.
Shitty, right? Like who the hell am I? I don’t stalk any woman’s social media because, quite frankly, I don’t have to. Women make themselves readily available to me at all times. I don’t need to go in search of anyone.
Except for her.
Ruby feels like the one who got away. The one I blew it with. That tantalizing moment with her in the bathroom on New Year’s Eve still lives rent free in my head and I can’t shake it. I didn’t even kiss her.
It’s one of my biggest regrets—that I don’t know the taste of Ruby Maguire’s lips. I should’ve tried to explain myself better after she caught me at midnight with someone else. I should’ve never let that girl drag me into the bathroom in the first place.
Talk about a colossal mistake.
I’ve been with other women since then. Not a lot of women—my number is always exaggerated, I was warned of this a long time ago by my fellow football players, specifically Cam—but enough that normally, I should’ve forgotten all about her by now.
But it’s like I can’t.
“That blonde is hot,” Derek says, and I realize he’s looking in the same direction I am.
“She’s all right.” I shrug, hating that I got caught staring, too caught up in memories of another woman. Fleeting memories that were really nothing but a quick moment in time.
Yet somehow, I’m still hung up on her.
It makes no damn sense.
