Draw Play: A Sports Romance (3 page)

Jess leaned over my shoulder to skim the email. “Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry, Claire. I’m sure they’ll find you something else, right?”

“You don’t understand. I put in for that position
early
last semester. I even have my schedule for the week. How did the people at the financial aid office just now figure this out?” I sat with my head in my hands, despairing. “I
need
that job. It’s the only thing helping me make ends meet.”

“They have to give you something soon. It’s part of your financial aid package, right?” Jess patted me on the back.”

“Ugh, I don’t know,” I grunted. “I hate all this stress!”

“You know what? Come out with me. It’ll get your mind off things.”

Even in my despair, I had to smile at her kindness. “No, thanks. I’m not in the mood. I’ll hang out here. Maybe get a head start on some reading.”

“I still don’t know how you do it.” She smiled, shaking her head. “It’s okay to take a break once in a while.”

“I know, Jess. Have fun.”

My eyes found the laptop monitor again, and I wondered how I would continue doing it if the financial aid office didn’t come through soon.

“
W
hat the hell’s
your problem?” Preston turned down the volume on my car’s sound system. I had agreed to drive him to the store since my SUV held more liquor than his little two-door.

“What do you mean?”

“Busting my eardrums, for starters. What’s wrong with you tonight? You were in a good mood when I left the training center.”

I hadn’t told anyone on the team yet about my meeting with Coach. I didn’t know why I dreaded it so much. Maybe because of the stigma. Only idiots needed tutors.

“Listen, Coach pulled me into his office,” I started, and the whole story came out.

“Okay? So, what’s the big deal?” Preston asked when I was finished. “You need a tutor. Lots of students do.”

“Only the dumb jocks do. I never wanted to be one of them.”

My eyes were on the road, but I heard Preston sigh. “Nobody said you were dumb. You just need help. Coach is doing everything he can to make sure you stay on the team. What’s so bad about that?”

“You don’t get it. Now I have to report everything to this fucking tutor, and they’ll report everything to Coach, and I won’t get a single minute to myself.”

“Oh. Yeah, that sucks, man. But it’s for your own good, right?” He punched my arm, lightly—not a good idea to do to somebody while they’re driving.

I swerved a little. “Great idea. Make me crash the car with two kegs in the back, plus three boxes of liquor. The cops will love that.” I was tense, and even I could hear it in my voice. I clenched my jaw so tight it made my head throb.

“Chill, man. Maybe once he sees you’re taking it seriously, he’ll call off the tutor. I mean, once you’ve done well enough for half the semester, you can’t screw up that bad on your final grade, right?”

It was a good idea, but I didn’t want to give myself hope. I shrugged instead and let the subject drop. I was never going to see it in the positive light like Preston did.

The rest of the frat house poured out through the front door to help us unload the second I pulled up to the rambling old three-story Victorian monstrosity we called home. I had almost missed the peeling shutters, windows that required a book to prop them open, drafty halls, creaking pipes.

“Hey, calm down,” I warned as a few of my more eager buddies pulled a keg out a little too fast, bumping it along the inside of my car. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought they were dying of thirst. “This keg’s mine,” I said, slapping it with the palm of my hand. “You all can have the other one.”

I intended to get shitfaced. After two hours, I was there. Even as I drank, I knew I would have stopped one of my friends if I saw them pounding back beer the way I did. We were all big guys, and we all had a pretty high tolerance, but I wasn’t drinking for fun. I was drinking to forget how pissed off I was. I may be a jock, but I’m definitely not dumb.

How many times could I have studied harder last semester? How many fucking times did I blow off class because I was still hung over, or felt sore after that weekend’s game? What was I thinking?

Whenever a thought like that came up, I poured another cold beer—and I had a lot of thoughts like that. It stopped mattering after a while, once the girls started showing up. Not the girls who came at the beginning of a party—they were always too desperate. I waited for the girls who came a couple of hours after the party started. They were the cool girls, the ones who knew the real fun didn’t start until later. Or they’d already been to another party and came late because they knew our parties were the best. My frat was legendary since it was full of football players.

* * *

I
had
my back to the spacious main room between the sitting room up front and the kitchen in the back, pouring myself another beer when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, Jake,”

I smiled when I recognized Jenny. We’d hooked up a few times in the past, and after the last time, I told myself we wouldn’t again. She was the kind of girl who thought hooking up meant we had something together. Not that I didn’t like her—she was actually kind of cool. I wasn’t trying to make us a regular thing, though. Plus, it was hard to take her serious when she made it her mission to sleep with all my teammates and the rest of the UM sports players. She took pride in being a groupie.

“Are you ready for the season?” she asked. What else was she supposed to ask? Generally, girls at our parties told us how amazing I looked on the field, or what an incredible job the team did at the game. Whatever they said, it was always “amazing.” Without a game yet, what else was there to talk about?

I didn’t want to talk about that, though. “Fuck football,” I said. “Here. Have a beer.”

“I guess the answer is no, then,” she muttered over the voices around us.

I ignored the remark. “How was your break?”

She went on and on about what a great ski trip she took with her family, how her brother got engaged, whatever. All I paid attention to was the way the bra and white tank top with spaghetti straps she wore pushed her tits up and out. How could a man pay attention to the words coming out of a girl’s mouth when her chest was bulging out of her shirt?

I noticed Jenny swaying to the beat of the loud music that pulsated throughout the frat house. I got the feeling she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing—I was, though. I knew what her body felt like underneath my hands, the way it moved when she rode my dick. It didn’t take long for me to get closer to her, put a hand on her hip, and sway with her.
We’re just going to dance
, I told myself. As much as she was tempting, I had too much on my mind and wasn’t in the mood tonight.

“Hmm, a little horny tonight?” she giggled when I nuzzled her neck, and her hand slid between us to cup my balls. There was almost no light in the corner, and with her in front of me, nobody could see her unzip my fly and slip her fingers inside the opening of my khaki cargo shorts. I groaned when her fingers circled my growing cock.

“Whoa! Slow down, girl.”

“What?” she pouted. “I’m not wearing panties.”

“I’m good, Jenny.” I stepped back. “I just want to get shitfaced tonight is all. My mind is all over the place.”

“You’re not in the mood?”

“Not tonight.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Why do you say that?”

“All you guys want the same thing. Sex and football.” She sounded so confident, and I remembered she studied human relations or something like that.

“What are you talking about?” I leaned against the wall.

“Exactly what I said. All you guys want to do is sleep around, party, and play football.”

“No? You forgot about studying and eventually graduating,” I raised my eyebrow. Jenny didn’t hurt my feelings—I was actually interested in what she was rambling about.

“You sure about that?” She grinned. “It seems like every day there’s a party happening here or stories about one of the players hooking up with the girls on campus.”

“Whatever.” I scratched my head. “Have fun at the party. I’m going upstairs to my room.”

“What’s wrong with you? You seem out of it.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. First it seemed you were coming on to me it and then you back off.”

“I’m sorry, Jenny. Like I said I have a lot on my mind.”

“Your loss.” She rolled her eyes before making her way back into the crowd. Just like that. I watched the back of her blonde head as she disappeared and leaned against the wall in a daze.

I made my way upstairs to my room, my sanctuary. The room was pretty sparse—I didn’t need much, just a bed, dresser, and desk. Free weights on the floor, a pull-up bar in the closet doorway. Don’t forget, of course, posters of my football heroes all over the walls. Joe Montana, Walter Payton, Jerry Rice, Jim Brown. I looked up to them for inspiration.

I plopped myself on my bed. I still couldn’t believe I was getting a tutor and called it a night as I prepared for what was ahead of me.

M
onday morning brought
an early phone call. “Claire? It’s Sharon. Do you have time to meet me today? It should only take about five minutes.”

“Is it about my job?” I asked, shoving books into my bulky black backpack.

“It is.”

“I have time between two classes this morning. Both are Law, so both are in your building.”

“Great. I’ll see you around ten, then.” She hung up without giving me a chance to reply. Ten it was.

I’d been dying with worry since the email from the financial aid office. I hadn’t told my parents yet since I didn’t want to concern them. But things were looking bleaker by the moment until my advisor called, and until then I was wondering how I’d break it to the folks that I needed extra money to get through the semester.

I had a little more hope as I walked to class. The Law building was around a ten-minute hike, and I felt the morning humidity seeping into my pores as I made my way across campus. Detroit was so unpleasant, especially to people like me who carried more meat on their bones. I was flushed by the time I retreated to the cool of the Law lobby. At least campus was empty before nine o’clock, so only a few people saw me getting sweaty.

The first class of the day was Early American Law. I’d always loved history, so the course seemed like a sure win. I found a seat at the front of the room and settled in. This was it. The start of a new semester.

Growing up, I was one of the hopeless nerds who actually got excited about the start of a school. Fresh supplies, a new beginning and that tendency hadn’t worn off over time. I sat with rapt attention as the professor described what we would cover and did a scan of the room to see who I was taking the class with. There were a few familiar faces, which gave me hope that I’d be able to put together a decent study group.

No matter how excited I was about a new class, though, I couldn’t help but glance up at the clock above the professor’s head every few minutes. The meeting with Sharon loomed large in front of me. What would my new job be? I hoped it wasn’t anything disgusting, like working in the cafeteria. One of my old study partners did that once and told stories that years later nauseated me slightly. However, still eating in the cafeteria was a matter of necessity.

* * *

N
ine-fifty couldn’t have come
fast enough, and I bolted from the room to make a dash across the building to Sharon’s office. I only had ten minutes between classes, so this had to go fast. If I knew my advisor, she would spend the entire time trying to find a pen.

“Sharon?” I tapped on her open door with my knuckles. A quick glance around the cramped office told me she hadn’t learned much about organizing over the summer.

“Have a seat. I’m just pulling up the information now.” Her thick gray hair was pulled up on her head in a messy knot with three ball-point pens stuck through it. I wondered if she kept taking new ones and sticking them in there, then forgetting about them.

“I’m sorry about the mix-up with financial aid,” she said, shaking her head. “Some sort of glitch with the computer system. Around a dozen students had to find alternate means to make up the money.”

“Wow. That’s crazy,” I said.

“I know. It’s been a logistical nightmare. I made it a point to be proactive with you since you’ve been beneficial to the department.” The over-achiever in me glowed with pride, and I was glad my flustered advisor couldn’t see my geeky grin with her face buried in her laptop.

“Ah-ha!” she said. “Found you. Oh … this is an exciting opportunity.” She scanned the screen, her eyes going back and forth. A slow smile spread across her face.

“What is it?”

She glanced up at me. “How much were you supposed to make at the campus bookstore?” she asked.

“Around twelve-fifty an hour,” I said. “Fifteen hours per week.”

“That was what I thought. Pretty typical.” She pushed back from the computer, grinning crazily with her arms crossed over an enormous bosom. “How does twenty-five dollars an hour sound?”

I resisted the urge to wiggle my finger in my ear. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’ll make twice as much as you were supposed to make, and around as many hours a week. Maybe more, if you have the time.”

I tilted my head to the side, curious. “What in the world am I supposed to do for that kind of money?” I imagined all sorts of dirty work.

“You’ll be tutoring. Have you ever tutored before?”

A chill passed over me, one which I did my best to ignore. “Back in high school, yes. I haven’t had the time to do it in college. That’s it? Just tutoring?”

“That’s it. A student needs help keeping their GPA above a two-point-O.”

“That’s not difficult.” I scrunched my face.

“Well, maybe not for you.” She smiled kindly. “For others, it’s not so easy.” She went back to reading whatever was on her screen, while I tried to make sense of the bomb she’d dropped on me.

It didn’t add up. “How will I know which classes this person is taking, though? I mean, how will I know the materials to be sure they’re absorbing the information?”

“I don’t think it will be that involved,” my advisor replied. She seemed too distracted to pay much attention to my question.

“It’s just that, you know, when I tutored in high school, I was taking some of the same classes with the person I tutored. What major are they in?”

“Hmm? Let’s see. Oh! He’s an English major.”

I did my best to keep from rolling my eyes. Talk about taking the easy way out—just a bunch of reading and writing. And he couldn’t pass? That wasn’t my first concern, though. “He?”

“Yes. It’s Jake Jennings.” Her face gleamed with excitement, and she said his name like I was supposed to know what it meant.

“Okay? So ... who’s that?”

Her face fell slightly. “You don’t know who Jake Jennings is? He’s the center for our football team, Claire.”

I felt the air leave my body like she’d punched me in the stomach. All semester with a football player who had a brain the size of a mouse. Just my luck. No wonder they were willing to pay so much for me to do it—the football team was the closest thing to a cult I’d ever witnessed. There had never been a bigger bunch of self-centered assholes in existence. The administration treated them like celebrities. And they thought I would be part of it.

“Which classes is he taking this semester?”

She slid a paper across the desk so I could get an idea. One of them was Intro to Theatre. I could almost hear the universe laughing at me. I was impressed with the rest of the selection, though. Shakespeare, Nineteenth Century Literature, French Literature, Sociology. Not bad. I could actually have discussions with him on some of it.

“You’ll be more of an accountability partner,” Sharon replied. “The head of the football program wants to be sure he does his studying, writes his papers, prepares himself for exams, and stops screwing around. Think you can do that?”

“And this will pay double what I would make at the bookstore?”

She nodded. “Maybe more. And between you and me, you get to spend all those hours with one of UM’s top football players. A dream opportunity, isn’t it?”

“A dream? Uh, not really.” My heart sank. A football player? All semester with a football player? I could already imagine a lot of one-syllable communication and a chip on his shoulder.

Then again … I looked back over his course list. It wasn’t the sort of roster an idiot would carry. He took fifteen credits, too, instead of twelve.

“So, you’ll do it?” she asked with hope in her voice.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Probably not, I’m sorry to say.” She shrugged. “It was the only thing we could find for you, and you’re the perfect fit. None of the other floating work-study students come close to your academic record. I’ll call the team’s coach to let him know I found you. He’ll expect you to meet with Jake in his office later today.”

“Wait! Today?” It was all moving so fast. No sooner had I accepted, then I was being told where to go and when.

“Yes, around two o’clock. It looks like you’re both free at that time.” Sharon held up a finger while she spoke with the Coach on her office phone and let him know I’d be in his office with bells on. Those were her exact words. Yes, I’d be there with bells on, and they would be ringing out my doom.

I left Sharon’s office in a hurry since my first Ethics class started in mere minutes. I wanted to scream, cry, or even throw a fit of rage. A few black trashcans almost felt my wrath as I hurried down the hallway.

A football player. Of all the sports in the entire world, it had to be football.

* * *

I
chose
a seat near the front of the room and sank into the chair with a sigh. Good thing little work got done on the first day since my mind was years in the past.

I remembered watching Oprah with my mom when I was younger. I’d come home from school to do my homework, and at three o’clock sharp, Mom would tune in. I didn’t always pay attention, but one of the things that sank in was the insistence that every one of our experiences represents a lesson we need to learn. If we don’t learn the lesson, we’re doomed to repeat it again and again until it becomes clear. Then we can move on.

Why was I being forced to review my lesson again? I couldn’t stand it. It had nearly killed me before. I was a stronger person, years later, but when I thought back, the pain was still fresh. I didn’t want to go back to that deep, dark place.

I let the class wash over me, paying attention to absolutely nothing out of the professor’s mouth. I was so out of it, I hardly noticed when everybody else stood up to leave.

Football. Tutoring a football player. I disliked sports in general but hated football with a passion. One other person knew how much I did.

“Wow! So, you’re going to tutor a football player?” Marcie asked as we picked out lunch at the student union.

“I know, right?”

“Wow,” she repeated.

“I don’t even know why I took this turkey sandwich. I’m not even hungry.” I pushed it away as soon as we sat down.

“Eat it. You’ll need the strength to deal with the jock and his coach. Prepare for drawn out conversations about their latest parties, the hot girls they’re banging and—”

“Okay!” I interrupted, holding my head in my hands. “You make it sound like some sort of joke.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t joke. I know how much your past hurt you.”

I pushed the food around on my tray. “I can’t go through it again.”

“I know, Claire. But this is an entirely different person and situation. And you’re a different person now.”

“Am I? Do any of us really change?”

Marcie opened, and then closed her mouth. I nodded. My point, exactly.