Dirty Saint: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (9 page)

I squint at him. “No. And even if we did, it’s Saint’s word and mine against yours. I’ve heard you’re barely passing your classes as it is. I’d hate to see you end up being a fourth year senior.”

And on that note, I turn around and march back to my dorm room, feeling pleased with myself.

Romy is half-naked on her bed in our room. “Hey,” she says, staring at the small television she always brings from home. I never watch it.

“Hi,” I reply.

“You look sunburned,” she says. I’m suddenly more interesting than whatever show she’s watching.

“I was reading outside,” I reply, smacking my lips together to keep the truth from spilling out of me. I’m not sure Romy would believe me even if I told her. I have a thought fall into my head. “Do you mind if we turn it to FNCA?”

She looks at me suspiciously. “You want to watch television?
You
want to watch television?”

“Yeah. It’s for practice. Coach wants all of us tuning in.” I’m a little worried by how these lies spill from my mouth so easily.

Romy still doesn’t look convinced, but she turns the channel anyway.

“…here with Saint Williams, star quarterback of the Fullerton Sharks, coming up in a few minutes.”

Romy mutes the television. “Just for practice, huh?”

I walk over to my bed and tidy it up. Earlier I was in such a hurry to get downstairs I left it unmade. “That’s right.”

“Where were you today? You didn’t even make your bed. I thought you might have been kidnapped.” Romy reaches over to her dresser drawer and pulls out a bag of red licorice. She snacks on it loudly, still staring at me.

“I was in the library catching up on some studying.”

“And you left without making your bed. To study. At the library. You skipped all your classes to study at the library.” Romy’s skepticism is bleeding into the air.

“Mmhmm,” I reply, smoothing my bedcovers before sitting down.

Romy bites off a licorice end and chews it, a perceptive look in her eyes. “So why was Saint Williams throwing rocks up at our window earlier today? Was he helping you study at the library?”

My face burns fire engine red. “How do you know that?”

“The whole dorm knows. Hell, I think the whole campus probably knows at this point. He did it in broad daylight, Esther. What did you expect people to think?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “So. Is Saint Williams good at ‘studying’ in the ‘library’?” She curls her fingers in air quotes to indicate her skepticism.

“We didn’t
do
anything. Just got some ice cream and drove up into the mountains. Tossed a football around a while.” I grab a random textbook off the floor and crack it open.

“I didn’t realize ‘tossing the football’ was a code word for anal in the back of a quarterback’s Jeep.” Romy laughs uproariously at her own joke. I resist the urge to throw the heavy textbook at her head.

“Stop it,” I say. My face is on fire now. “We really, really didn’t do anything.”

Romy stops laughing. “Of course you didn’t. You’re Esther. You’re ridiculously old-fashioned. You’re an angel. That’s what I love about you.”

I chew over that description. It niggles at me for some reason.
Old-fashioned
.

Romy unmutes the television. “Your boyfriend’s on national TV, Esther. You better watch.” She leans back and sighs. “He really is sexy.”

I peer up from my textbook. There’s a split screen with the female anchor (a gorgeous, pale blonde) on the left and Saint on the right. Saint’s face glows under the bright lights. I think he’s in the Dean’s office. His hair is perfect. His smile is perfect. His lips…I feel a warm sensation between my legs.

Too bad I’m not Catholic. I could use about two dozen confessions to clear me of today’s sinful thoughts alone.

“…you are the head of the winningest team in the college league right now. How does that feel?”

Saint beams at the camera and then switches to a modest expression. I’ve seen that one a lot; it’s the one he trots out for prayers. I hate it. It’s so fake. “You know, Jenny, I don’t think about it. I have a great team behind me and it’s all of us working together. We just take it one day at a time.”

“Modest words from a superstar. Not that we’d expect anything else from Saint Williams.” The anchor touches her forehead and giggles a little. She’s attracted to Saint.

I feel a nibble of jealousy.

“Well, Jenny, I try to live my life in a way that’s as reflective of my faith as possible.”

Jenny nods like this is the most interesting thing in the entire world. “It’s rare in college sports to see someone so publically devoted to his faith.”

“I just try to live my life as authentically as possible,” Saint replies.

Jenny shuffles her notes. “Saint, you’re famous for writing Bible verses on your face on game day. It always sends social media into a tizzy. It’s not unusual to see your chosen verse as a trending topic all across the Internet.”

“I like to spread the good word,” Saint replies with an amiable chuckle. “I’m glad people are paying attention. I hope they’re inspired by it.”

“This last week, everyone was trying to decipher the meaning behind the verse. It wasn’t like your usual references. A lot of people came to the conclusion that you’ve found a special woman in your life. Care to discuss that?”

Saint looks down at his hands sheepishly. I wonder how much of that is an act, too. “I don’t like to discuss my personal relationships, Jenny. I think you and the rest of the press know that by now.”

Jenny pauses; her producers are clearly talking in her earpiece. “Well, maybe one day you’ll come around and introduce all of us to Delilah the mystery woman.”

Saint laughs. “I don’t think she’d like that very much.”

“So there
is
a woman?”

I groan inwardly. Saint walked right into that trap.

“I’ll say there is a woman. I’ll tell you that much.”

“Are you saving yourself for marriage?”

My cheeks burn and I look down at my textbook. I know that Romy is staring at me. I can feel her eyes on the side of my head.

Saint clears his throat and looks dead into the camera. “Of course I am. What kind of Christian life would I be leading if I didn’t follow the Word of God?”

The interview ends and Romy shuts off the television entirely. “Well, Esther. If that’s actually true, it looks like you’ll get your wish.”

“What wish?” I ask defensively.

“That a man doesn’t touch you until your wedding night.” She shakes her head.

I’m angry again, and some of it bubbles out. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Romy holds up her hands. “No, no. I wasn’t shaking my head at you. I was just shaking my head at the thought of Saint Williams being a virgin. I was under the impression that…uh. Wasn’t the case.”

I press my lips together. “How do you know that?”

“People talk, you know. He comes to all the parties that I go to, and I usually see him disappearing with one woman or another.”

Jealousy roars its ugly cry in the pit of my stomach.

Saint Williams just lied on national television.

I shouldn’t be surprised by that. I’ve known he fakes piety.

But somehow, this seems like a bigger lie than usual, and I just can’t let it go.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SAINT

I adjust my tie and tap my dress shoes on the pavement. Happy families rush by me so they can aimlessly mill around campus until dinner starts.

I made sure to shine my shoes. My dad won’t be happy unless I do that.

“Saint!”

It’s my mother. I paste on a smile and give her a hug. She smells like powdery perfume and hairspray, as usual. “Oh, it’s just so good to see you,” she says, rubbing my arms. “Let me get a good look at you.” She steps back. “Handsome as ever, and it looks like you’re eating enough. I’m glad to hear that.”

“Hello, son.” My father walks up and shakes my hand. “Your tie is crooked.”

I bite back the four-letter reply I want to give him and straighten my tie. “Thanks, Dad.”

He’s the exact same. Military haircut, ramrod posture, and a perfectly pressed suit. I’m sure my mother prepared it. Some days in my childhood it seemed like all she did was iron my dad’s clothes. “Dinner will be ready soon, I hope?”

I nod. “Yep.”

“Excuse me?” he shoots back.

“Yes.
Sir
,” I say.

“I hope Coach didn’t give you the afternoon off from your second practice just for this event,” he says sternly.

“We have two-a-days come rain, sleet, or snow,” I reply, staring off into the distance. “We had a mid-afternoon practice today.” I cannot wait for this evening to end and it has barely even begun.

The dinner bell rings and I’m saved from more awkward silence between me and both of my parents. We wander toward the dining hall. I see Esther in a long, khaki skirt and a white cardigan walking with two people I assume to be her parents. Her father looks much like I expected him to: a brown suit, neat shoes, and a Bible tucked under his arm. Esther is the spitting image of her blonde mother, a small woman who walks with her head down.

Inside, my parents take their seat at the specially-set dining tables; there are placards in place.

“We’ll be eating with the Dean and Coach tonight,” I say to my parents.

My mother sits down and places her napkin on her lap. “What is this I hear about you having a special woman in your life?”

I splutter and cough as the water I was sipping meets my lungs instead of my esophagus. “What?”

“Your mother and I saw your interview, son. Interesting choice of topic by that news anchor. But what can you expect when they stick a woman in a man’s job?”

I clench my fist under the table but keep my expression neutral. “There is a woman. But I don’t really fancy you both meeting her-“

My eyes flick over to the placard to my right.

Esther Avonlea.

“Is this seat taken?” I look up to see Esther’s mother standing across the table.

“No, of course not!” My mother replies. She looks over at the placard. “At least, assuming you are Carol Avonlea, it’s all yours.”

Carol gives my mother a small smile and pulls the chair out, sitting down. “My husband and daughter will be inside in just a moment.”

My heart is pounding. As much as I’m looking forward to playing footsie with Esther under the table, I don’t want her near my father. Or my mother.

The Dean and Coach finally sit down, and I zone out as the usual, fake greetings pass between the parents and the Fullerton elite.

The Dean spreads out his napkin. “Today we have a junior honors student joining us. We’re happy to mix things up a little this year.”

Carol nods slightly at him. She resembles a mouse meeting a large alley cat.

Even though they look alike, I can’t imagine Esther being raised by a woman like this. I’ve seen more fire from ice cubes than I see in this woman. I glance at the entrance of the dining hall and see Esther rushing toward our table. She looks like she might have been crying. I stand up when she approaches, pulling her chair out for her.

She freezes when she sees me, but recovers quickly. “Thank you, Brother Williams,” she says, inclining her head. I flash her a grin and she sits down, ignoring me entirely.

A moment later, Mr. Avonlea joins the table, shaking hands and saying hello. I look the man dead in the eye.

“Saint Williams,” I say in a voice an octave lower than my usual tone. I have the urge to punch this man in the jaw and I’m not even sure why.

“Nice to meet you, Saint. Great work out there on the field, by the way.”

The Dean stands up and claps his hands three times. The dining room falls silent. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. It’s a pleasure to have you here. Please join us in the opening prayer.”

Heads bow and hands clasp together as the President begins the prayer. I lower my head but keep my eyes open. I shuffle my foot closer to Esther, and slide the toe of my shoe under her skirt and up her calf.

She shoots me a
stop doing that
look but I just grin at her. I can’t move my foot much higher without it being noticeable. She’s blushing red but I can tell she’s enjoying the secret attention.

The prayer ends and I move my foot away, my mind on Esther’s body under that skirt. Servers start bringing food to the tables, starting with ours.

My mother speaks. “Saint was just telling us that he has a new mystery woman,” she says, sipping her water.

The Dean laughs. “Yes, that was causing quite a stir in my office on game day.”

He looks at me. “Saint, your Bible verse pointed to a woman named Delilah.”

It’s Esther’s turn to choke on her ice water.

“Are you alright, Sister Esther?” I ask her.

She shoots daggers at me. “Quite,” she replies coldly through a now-husky voice.

The President resumes his line of questions. “I’m sure there’s not a student here named Delilah. Did you meet someone at an away game?”

“Something like that,” I say.

Esther is kicking me under the table. Even though her sensible shoes are hardly a pair of fuck me heels like she wore at the party, I still like it.

“Well, I hope you two are remaining as chaste as you can. Is she a woman of God?” The Dean asks. Everyone has stopped eating their food to look at me expectantly.

“Of course,” I reply. “As if I would entertain any other kind of woman.” I smile at Esther but she’s starting to look angry. I need to change the subject. Fast.

“Esther, are you finding time for recreation and fun? I know you have such a full plate.” The Dean turns toward her parents. “Esther has been an asset to the football team since she joined earlier this month. Coach Johnson says such wonderful things about her work ethic.”

I watch Mr. Avonlea’s face turn to iron. “Excuse me?”

I find Esther’s foot again. She presses mine back.

Coach looks at Esther. “Did you not tell your parents about joining the team as water girl?”

Esther wipes her mouth with a cloth napkin and slowly returns it to her lap. “Hadn’t really found the opportunity, Coach.”