Beauty and the Running Back (2 page)

Dean

By the time Coach Cahill releases us from practice, the
entire team is a sore, sweaty mess. It’s fucking
great
. This is the kind
of shit that binds a team together, and I for one am all for it. Some of my
other teammates, however, have other ideas about what male bonding should be
all about.

“Check it out,” Buck says as we head for the showers after
practice.

I follow his gaze and spot the varsity cheerleading squad in
the middle of their own pre-season practice.

“You’re a wide receiver, Buck,” I tell him, “Why are you
acting like you’ve never seen a cheerleader before?”

“Are you fucking stupid, dude?” Buck says, his eyes widening
incredulously, “We’re finally upperclassmen. That means the caliber of pussy
we’re gonna be able to get this year is on a whole new level.”

“I had no idea you were such a poet,” I say, rolling my
eyes.

“Like you haven’t thought about it too,” Buck scoffs, practically
salivating as he rakes his eyes across the scantily clad cheerleaders.

“See, that’s the difference between you and me,” I inform
him, “While you’re busy
thinking
about girls,
I’m
busy actually
hooking up with them.”

“Screw you, Crash,” Buck shoots back, “I score plenty of
tail.”

“You score plenty of touchdowns too,” I reply, “But again,
not quite as many as me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Buck challenges, “If you’re such a fucking pussy
magnet, why don’t you go pick up one of those cheerleaders?”

“Because they’re in the middle of practice, and I’m not a
creep like you,” I tell him.

“What’s that? I don’t speak Little Bitch,” he grins, giving
me a shove.

I can feel my blood starting to simmer the more Buck carries
on. I’ve never taken very well to being fucked with. A fact Buck knows full
well. I took enough shit from my older brother and dad while I was growing up,
until I got big enough to fight back, that is. I made it my business never to
take this kind of crap from anyone I don’t share a bloodline with. I may be
even-keeled much of the time, but damn if I don’t have a temper when pushed.

“Fine, asshole,” I growl, shoving Buck right back, “Why
don’t you toss me that pigskin and give me a reason to barrel in there and pick
some girl up along the way. If you can manage to throw it more than a few
yards, that is.”

Accepting my challenge, Buck snatches a football from the
passing equipment manager as I jog off toward the cheerleaders’ practice field.
He cocks back his arm and lets the ball fly… but I should have known it would
go off target. Instead of flying into the midst of the cheerleaders, it goes
rouge—spiraling off in the other direction entirely. I sprint to keep up with
the throw, barreling ahead toward the edge of campus. I’m hard wired complete
any pass, no matter how unlikely.

And this is no exception.

Jessa

I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, straightening
up with a handful of weeds clutched in my other hand. Taking care of this
garden is going to be hard work with just two volunteers on hand, but I don’t
mind. I’ve sort of missed hard work since I’ve gotten back to the states. This
will be a much-needed diversion during the first part of this semester, I’m
sure. Of course, the peaceful early morning was slightly marred by the sounds
of my dad’s football practice. But now that his pack of broad-shouldered boys
is stomping back toward the locker rooms, it looks like Blaire and I will have
some quiet once more.

“Thank god,” Blaire says, watching the football players
trudge away, “If I heard one more whistle or grunt, I think I might have lost
it.”

“Yeah. I feel you,” I reply.

“I don’t understand what the obsession with football is,”
she says, shaking out her mane of red curls, “What do people see in that
heinous sport?”

I shrug my shoulders, feigning ignorance. What with my dad’s
line of work, I was brought up consuming as much football as any red-blooded
American. When I was little, I loved the sport without question. Watching a
game was like watching the ancient knights in story books do battle. It wasn’t
until I got older that I started to question the violence, especially the risk
to the sometimes very young players. And don’t even get me started on some of
the sexist nonsense that comes into play with football culture.

My dad tried to get me to be a cheerleader more times than
you can possibly imagine, but I always turned him down. My big sister Allison
was the perfect, obedient cheerleader in our family. With her flowing chestnut
hair, big dimpled smile, and sunny demeanor, Allison was more than happy to
cheer on the boys as they crashed into each other on the football field. She
only hung up her pompoms when she decided to go to college for pre-med. She’s
in her senior year of undergrad now, up in Boston, and my parents couldn’t be
more thrilled to have a cheerleader-turned-doctor in the family. Now it’s just
their transient, writerly younger daughter they still have to worry about.

I go to turn my attention back to the garden, but Blaire’s
alarmed face gives me pause. Following her baffled look, I turn and see one of
the football players gunning it in our direction. A football sails in the air
toward us, spiraling unevenly as the player pursues it. I squint up at the
projectile, knowing at once that it’s headed right for the garden. I look back
and forth between the young man sprinting toward us and the ball overhead. He’s
paying no attention to what’s in front of him, and I realize with a jolt that
he’s going to tear right through our garden as he goes to catch this pass.

Hell no. Not on my watch.

“Hey. HEY!” I yell at the guy sprinting toward us, “Back
off, I’ve got it!”

That gets his attention, at last. Out of the corner of my
eye, I watch him dig his heels into the ground and come to a halt just before
he reaches the low garden wall. I plant my feet, train my eye on the descending
football, and catch it in the basket of my arms. Let it never be said that I
haven’t picked up a thing or two from my dad’s coaching along the way.

With the ball safely in hand and our vegetables un-stomped,
I finally turn to face the football player standing before me. He gazes back at
me through chocolate brown eyes, his sand-colored hair tousled after a long
practice. The number 23 stands out in white against the crimson of his jersey.
Even through the haze of my extreme annoyance, the power of his presence stops
me dead in my tracks. The guy is incredibly handsome, with smoothly tanned skin
and the defined muscles of a natural athlete. He’s about six feet tall, 170
pounds if I had to guess. By the toned look of him and the pace with which he
came flying at our garden, I’d guess that he’s a running back on the team. I do
my best not to ogle him as I step over the garden fence and thrust the ball in
his direction.

“I think this belongs to you,” I say shortly, holding out
the ball.

“That it does,” he says in a rich baritone, staring raptly
down at me.

“Well?” I prompt him, holding out the ball.

“Right,” he says, taking it from me. Our hands brush against
each other ever so lightly as I pass the ball to him. Sharp sparks of
electricity trace up all along my arm at this slightest touch. “Nice
interception, by the way.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I reply, tucking a lose
strand of blonde hair behind my ear, “You were about to run right through our
zucchini.”

“I’d make a joke about squashing the squash, but you already
look pissed off enough,” he observes, “I wouldn’t want to make things worse
with a terrible joke.”

I consider the man standing before me. Despite myself, I
feel a smile creep across my lips at his clever remark. I love self-aware bad
jokes almost as much as I like a good play on words.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” he goes on, rubbing his
sharp, scruffy jaw.

“I don’t think I gave it to you,” I shoot back, hooking my
thumbs through my belt loops, “But it’s Jessa, for the record.”

“Good to meet you, Jessa,” the guy says, “My name’s Dean.”

He stares down at me after he’s uttered his name, as if
waiting for something.

“OK,” I reply, unsure of what’s possessed him.

“Dean
Carter
,” he goes on, brow furrowing.

“That’s… nice?” I offer, confused by his behavior.

“Most people call me Crash,” he leads, almost seeming
annoyed by the fact that I don’t know who he is.

“Duly noted,” I nod, turned back toward the garden.

“Are you new here or something?” he laughs, watching as I
pick up a trowel and get back to work.

“I am, actually,” I say. I can feel his eyes charting the
length of my body as I kneel down beside a tomato plant. Heat rises in my
cheeks as I feel him watching me. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, I have to
say.

“That explains it,” he replies, “Why you don’t know me, I
mean.”

“What’re you, famous or something?” I laugh, teasing him.

“Around here I am,” he says without pause, “And around the
world too, someday.”

“Is that so?” I reply.

“You’re damn right it is,” he says.

And gazing up at him, his perfectly muscled form silhouetted
in the late morning sun, I have to say I may very well believe him.

“
Crash!
” another player with a mess of dark hair
calls from a distance, “Let’s go, man!”

“I’ve gotta run,” Dean says to me, lingering beside the
garden for a moment longer, “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” I reply. As much as I might like that, it’s
probably better not to get my hopes up. Even from here, I can see a dozen
cheerleaders’ eyes fixed on his chiseled back. Something tells me that Crash
here will have all the female companionship he needs without seeking it in the
school’s vegetable patch. And even if he did go out of this way to see me
again, there’s no chance I could ever get away with getting mixed up with one
of my dad’s football players. No way in hell.

Dean steals one more look at me before turning and loping
away. My eyes rake down along this body, soaking in the sight of his perfect
ass, his bulging calf muscles, the powerful grace of his body in motion.

“What was
that
about?” Blaire grumbles, scowling at
the retreating football player.

“Beats me,” I shrug.

“You didn’t notice how hard he was hitting on you?” she
presses, raising an eyebrow.

“I… I don’t know about that…” I demur, not wanting to get
into it.

“These fucking guys,” she says, shaking her head, “They
seriously think they can get any girl they want, just because they wear that
jersey. It’s insulting, is what it is.”

“Totally,” I offer absentmindedly, letting my eyes flick up
toward Dean’s retreating form once again. 

I’ve been hanging around football players my whole life,
thanks to my dad’s job. Honestly, I’ve never found them more attractive than
any other kind of guy. Maybe I’ve just become immune to them through
overexposure. But something about Dean Carter has snagged my interest in a
major way. It’s probably ridiculous to even entertain the notion of seeing him
again. As soon as school starts, he’ll be eating, drinking, and breathing
football. The only thing he’ll have time for outside of that is a bunch of one
night stands to blow off some steam—and you can count me out of that. Just
because I’ve started having sex now, doesn’t mean I’m interested in casual, emotionless
fucking. I don’t need true love to go to bed with someone, but I need
something
real.

But there’s no use thinking that far down the line now. For
now it’s enough to know that if, by some chance, Crash and I should nearly
crash into each other again… Well, I wouldn’t mind too terribly.

Chapter Two

Dean

During the two weeks of pre-season, my teammates and I are
all about practicing by day and partying by night. Every day, more people flow
back onto campus after their summers away. The dorms won’t fill up until
school’s officially back in session, but the frat and sorority houses are
already in full swing. Rayburn has a reputation for being something of a party
school, and most of those parties go down on Greek Row—the long road of
gigantic houses that have been taken over by frat boys and sorority girls.

Me, I never rushed a frat. I don’t have much use for one,
since my teammates have always been like my brothers. But the football players
are treated like royalty at this school, and no one more than the stars of the
team’s offensive line—namely myself, Buck, and Royce. That means that everyone
wants us to make an appearance at their parties, and are willing to do anything
to ensure our presence. They’ll provide anything from open bars to open legs—and
I’ve always been happy to take them up on those offers.

It’s Saturday night, the last weekend before classes start.
That means every single frat and sorority house is going all out to throw the
best house party of the summer. Tonight, Greek Row is going to be one gigantic
throw down—a boozed-up block party to last us through the coming year. Me and
the rest of the team will roll up and take the place by storm, just like we
always do. I could really stand to act out a little after this week of grueling
practices. I was right about Coach Cahill being a drill sergeant. I can’t say I
like the guy much, but the new plays he’s bringing to the table are pretty
inspired. With the powerhouse offensive line of me, Buck, and Parker executing
new and improved strategies, I have a feeling the Red Birds are gonna be
unstoppable this year. Rayburn’s a somewhat new addition to D1 college ball,
but we have every intention of holding onto our position in the best division
now that we’ve arrived. Our plan is to win ourselves a championship this year
come hell or high water.

At about 10 P.M., Buck and I are sitting in our shared
apartment knocking back a few pre-game beers. We found a place just off campus,
right across from the football field. Living in a dorm was never really our
style. There aren’t too many apartments around this neighborhood, but landlords
are always eager to rent to football players. This entire town is obsessed with
the college team, and with good reason. We may be newer to the Big 10 than
schools like Northwestern and Indiana, but we’ve already put away a few
national championships. The last time was the year before I came to school,
when my brother Tom was still the star running back of the team. He brought the
team to victory when he was a junior—just like I am now. I’m trying not to let
my own expectations get to me, but I don’t mind admitting that I want my own
fucking championship win this year. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it
happen.

“Which sorority house should we hit up first tonight?” Buck
asks, crushing his empty beer can against our scuffed kitchen table. “What kind
of
Pi
are you in the mood for?”

I toss my own empty can at Buck’s head, groaning at the
terrible pun.

“Let’s just go over and see what’s happening,” I say,
grabbing my phone and keys. I’m wearing my favorite jeans and an old Red Birds
Football tee shirt.

“God, I fucking love pre-season,” Buck sighs, “Greek Row is
gonna be an all-you-can-eat pussy buffet tonight.”

“You do know there’s something to be said for quality over
quantity, right?” I remark as we head out the door.

“I know Crash Carter isn’t knocking
quantity
right
now,” Buck says, eyes wide, “You’ve hooked up with more chicks than anyone else
on the team.”

“But I never sacrifice quality along the way,” I grin back
at him, stepping out into the September night.

I admit, my bedpost has so many notches in it by this point
it’s about to snap in half. I’ve had my fair share of fun since arriving at
Rayburn, that’s for sure. I guess I started having sex sort of young, back when
I was fifteen. So by now, at 21, I already have nearly six years of experience
behind me. I’m not some kind of deranged titty hound like some of the guys on
my team, though. I rarely have to work too hard for sex—or even at all. When
I’m in the mood, I can pretty much just turn around and find a line of girls
waiting for a ride. It’s a pretty sweet arrangement if I do say so myself.

The one thing I don’t really go in for is relationships. I
had one serious girlfriend for most of high school. Rebecca. I was so fucking
in love with her. Like, I wanna-marry-you in love. We probably would have
stayed together into college too… if she hadn’t gone and fucked some older guy
the summer after high school graduation. That really fucked me up. So much so that
I haven’t had a girlfriend since. I keep things causal now. I can’t afford to
be worrying about relationship drama when I have football games to win, you
know?

I can feel the bass vibrating through the air before Greek
Row even comes into view. A wave of music and laughter rolls over me and Buck
as we make our way toward the debauchery. Two dozen massive houses stand facing
each other across the wide street, representing the fraternities and sororities
of Rayburn University. Every lawn and porch is filled with people, each house
party spilling out into the street and combining to create one massive event.
It’s a block party meets Girls Gone Wild out here. I take in the raucous scene,
my blood pumping with excitement. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that
tonight will be one for the history books.

Jessa

As I sit in my bedroom, typing away at a new short story I’ve
been working on, I keep one ear peeled for the sounds of my parents getting
ready for bed. It’s a little after ten o’clock, what I like to call the “magic
hour” when my mom and dad hit the hay like clockwork. Ever since I started
conducting my social life on the sly back in high school, ten o’clock has come
to be the hour at which my daily dose of freedom begins. It’s not like my parents
can give me a curfew or stop me from coming and going as I please now that I’m
an adult, but they still have more sway over my life than I might like, since
I’m living in their house. Better to play it safe. The less they know about my
life, the better.

I sit up as I hear my parents’ bedroom door close for the
night. They’re both heavy sleepers, thank god. Never once have I been caught in
the act of leaving the house late at night. I’ve become something of an expert
in the art of keeping things from them out of necessity. A lot of my tricks I
inherited from Allison. She may have been the perfect daughter during the day,
but she had her fair share of fun after dark, too. She and I may be different
in many ways, but we’re fiercely bonded after weathering a childhood under our
father’s conservative thumb. Sisters have to stick together that way.

As I throw on some street clothes and apply some light
makeup, I realize that I’m about to experience my first college outing. It
shouldn’t feel like that big of a deal, since I spent the last year dancing in
Spanish bars and bumming cigarettes from my fellow WOOFing volunteers, but I
suppose it’s still a rite of passage. Blaire is taking me to a local bar to see
a friend’s band play, by way of some big frat party or something. She and I
have gotten pretty close these last couple of weeks, what with all the work
we’ve been doing in the university garden together. I was surprised that she’d
be interested in greek life at all, given her disdain for college football. But
it turns out Blaire likes a good party more than she dislikes the trappings of
college life. And besides, the frat party is just a pit stop before we see the
band play.

Swiping on my favorite red lipstick (that my parents would
most definitely disapprove of) I find myself wondering if I’ll run into Dean
Carter at this shindig. He and I haven’t crossed paths since that one day a
couple of weeks ago, when he nearly bulldozed our garden. I’ve seen the
football team practicing from afar, of course. And I’ve heard all about him
from my dad at the dinner table as he regales my mom and me with infinite
details about football practice.

“The quarterback, Parker Royce, he’s an upstanding kid,” Dad
informed us over dinner the other night. “Good family, good manners. I’m not
too fond of our wide receiver, Bryan Wallace. He’s a bit of an urchin, but I
suppose he gets the job done on the field. Then there’s our running back, Dean
Carter.”

I’d almost dropped my fork when I heard Dean’s name spoken
at our dinner table. Almost as if I felt guilty… but for what? Maybe, possibly,
having a dirty thought or two about him as I fall asleep at night? OK, a
very
dirty thought or two…

“What about him, hun?” Mom prompted, cutting her food into
tiny pieces.

“I can’t get much of a read on him,” Dad said, spearing a
hunk of pork chop, “He’s not deferential, like some of the other players.”

You mean he doesn’t take your shit,
I thought to
myself.
I like him even
more
now.

“The other players seem to respect him quite a bit,” Dad had
gone on, “I’d say he’s got more sway with them than Royce, the quarterback.
Hopefully that never becomes a problem.”

“God. Of course the classic All American Boy Quarterback is
your favorite,” I laughed, shaking my head.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain at my table,” Dad
snapped back. “And so what if I like a good, clean-cut boy on my team?”

“By clean-cut, do you actually mean super wealthy and super
white?” I replied, taking a bite of greens.

“Don’t pester your father, dear,” Mom warned, “He’s had a
long day.”

“Just making an observation,” I shrugged.

“Well, maybe you should learn to keep your observations to
yourself,” Dad said coolly, “You’re never gonna find a husband who can tolerate
you with that mouth of yours.”

“The great tragedy of my life,” I muttered, pushing away my
plate.

I probably just make matters worse for myself by
antagonizing my dad, but I can’t help it. Some of his ideas are so outdated and
backwards that I just can’t let them lie. I know he’s probably too stuck in his
ways to ever change the way he sees things, but his narrow views about other
people can be hurtful. Especially since he seems to think that a woman’s main
goal in life should be finding a man who can merely tolerate her.

I shake off all thoughts of my dad as I give my blonde hair
a tousle and grab my purse. This party couldn’t be better timed. Since I’ve
been back home, I’ve barely spent time with anyone but my parents. I need to
start meeting other people in this new environment before I lose my damn mind
in this house.

Quiet as a church mouse, I ease open my bedroom window and
step out onto the overhanging roof. I lower myself down onto the trellis that
stands against the front porch and drop, cat-like, onto the front lawn.
Brushing off my hands, I let a smile play across my lips as I take in a breath
that tastes like freedom. I set off though the campus, letting the far off
sound of blasting music lead me toward the party like a moth to the flame.

Let the first night of my college experience commence.

Dean

I plant my hands on the wooden table as a gorgeous Delta Phi
girl grins up at me. She’s flat on her back wearing nothing but a denim
mini-skirt and bikini top. A crowd jostles all around us, cheering me on as
another girl pours a shot down her friend’s toned torso. I lower my mouth to
her perfect skin, taking the body shot like a champ. She squeals delightedly as
my lips and tongue trace along her abs. God, I’ve missed this place.

The second the Red Birds arrived on the Greek Row scene, the
entire night shifted our way. This school takes its football, and its football
players, very seriously. Everyone wants to make sure we have everything we need
to kill it on the field. Whether that’s a good lay, the answers to a midterm
exam, or a six pack. The Rayburn community knows how to take care of its star
football players. And these days, there’s no bigger star on this campus than
me.

I lick a drop of tequila from the corner of my mouth and
accept a few high fives as I take my way to the next sorority house with Buck
at my side. No use lingering in one place too long. Tonight is all about seeing
and being seen. Up ahead at the next house, I see Parker Royce and a couple of
our other offensive linemen chatting up the girls of Sigma Nu, the sorority
that most of our cheerleaders belong to. Parker has his arm around Esther Lee,
the gorgeous Korean-American head cheerleader. I grin wryly at the scene. Of
course he’s staked out the captain of the cheerleading squad, being the captain
of the football team himself. He thinks they deserve each other. That he
deserves her, automatically. I guess it’s fine, since she seems to be enjoying
herself. But still, his fucking high and mighty attitude is hard to stomach.

“Here they are,” Parker roars, welcoming the rest of us as
if this were his house. Parker would never stoop to living in a dorm or a frat
house. His parents straight up bought him a house of his own off campus when he
started here. Because of course they did.

“Hey guys,” Esther says, coming up to give me and Buck
quick, friendly hugs as we approach—which Parker just
loves
seeing.

“Pretty good crowd,” I observe, looking around the packed
lawn.

“Yeah, well,” Esther laughs, flicking her raven hair over
her shoulder, “That’s what you get when your sorority is made up of just about
every cheerleader in the school. Speaking of which, Crash, I want you to meet
someone.”

Esther beckons another girl over to our group. She’s a tall,
slender girl with auburn hair hanging in perfect waves. She could easily be a
runway model. She’s got her fuck-me eyes turned up to eleven, and they’re
pointed in my direction.