SPIKED (A Sports Romance) (11 page)

I’ve got no right to be mad— I’ve never talked with him about exclusivity
, I reminded myself.

But Jacob having sex with Jenna— with someone he had a history with, with someone the whole school thought he was meant to be with— that was what horrified me. It meant that I, Sasha, was just another partner. Another body to warm his bed in-between on-agains with Jenna.

It meant that despite the frequency of our sex, I was still, at my core, just another one-night stand.

I
t wasn’t
that I didn’t
want
to see Jacob. In fact, that was more or less all I wanted to do. I wanted to see him, touch him, let him undress me, sleep next to him, wake to him in the morning. It was all I thought about, truth be told— but I knew I needed a break. I needed a week or two to reassess, to parse Jenna and Jacob, and myself and Jacob, and the entire Harton football community and myself and Jacob and…myself.

More than anything, I needed to reassess my direction in life. I was at Harton to get an education, and I’d forgotten that somehow, in the midst of all this. I was giving everything— physically and mentally— to Jacob now, and that wasn’t okay.

It was easy enough to avoid him for the first week; I avoided his calls, sent him back “talk later” texts, and changed up my schedule so he couldn’t surprise me on the way to or from class. I figured Piper and Kiersten would be no help, so took to studying in the library rather than at home, which turned out to be lovely. The Harton library was a brand new building with soaring ceilings, enormous chairs, private study rooms and an insane number of books. It was like a West Elm version of the library in
Beauty and the Beast
.

Almost a week and a half after the Football House party, I was nestled in an armchair in the historical anthropology section, making notes in the margins of my textbook, when Jacob appeared.

I didn’t even see him, at first, but rather, felt his presence. Jacob had the ability to absorb all the energy in the room; I resisted looking up as long as possible when I felt his pull, but finally gave in. He was standing at the end of a row of books, his eyebrows lifted, his arm muscles straining at a gray Harton t-shirt.

Being close to so many books made him even sexier, a fact which infuriated and aroused me at once.

“You’re avoiding me,” Jacob said. He didn’t whisper, location be damned, and I saw someone a few chairs down lift her eyes curiously.

Jacob walked toward me, then sat down in the armchair adjacent. He dwarfed it, and his legs were so long his knees were bent up awkwardly in the air, like an adult sitting on a child’s piece of furniture.

“I am,” I whispered back, closing my textbook gently.

“Did I do something stupid?” Jacob asked.

“No. I just feel like…” I took a big, sweeping breath, and allowed Jacob to capture my eyes with his. I wondered if anyone ever gained immunity to his gaze.

Which made me instantly wonder if Jenna was immune.

“I was at that party at Football House the other night,” I began slowly.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Jacob said.

“The one where Adams gave that stupid speech after having sex with my roommate. And Jenna what’s-her-face was there, the soccer player?”

“Ok,” Jacob said, nodding.

“And I just…I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “People there started telling me about you and her, and how you have this big history and this golden couple sports stardom.”

“And that bothered you? Sasha, I thought you knew I had a lot of experience with women,” Jacob said.

“Yeah, yeah, and look— that’s not the element that bothers me, really, it’s not. Truthfully, I— oh my god, I can’t believe I’m saying this— the fact that you know what you’re doing and are so sure about everything is super sexy.”

Jacob grinned devilishly, and I rushed on before I lost my nerve. “But when people started talking to me about Jenna, it made me realize that you hadn’t just had sex with random girls before me. You had a relationship. One that people knew about. But no one knows about me…so doesn’t that make me just another random girl?”

“Sasha—“

“No, wait, I’m almost done. What did me in was when Jenna swept in and got you out of that room when you were about to punch Adams in the balls. I wanted to talk to you, but she got there first, and it just seemed like there was this connection. Like maybe I’m just someone you’re filling your time with until you and Jenna are on again. And I’m not horrified by that notion— it’s just not what I thought we were doing. So I’ve been avoiding you because I wanted to take a second and sort of get my bearings and figure out what I want and…yeah.”

Jacob watched me for a long while, seemingly waiting to be certain I was finished. When I gave him a small nod, he took a breath. “Okay. Where do I even start, here,” he said. “I guess at that Football House party you were at when I first saw you…I’ll be honest— I was mostly just interested in winning the girl who didn’t talk around me, who seemed to be trying to avoid me…that doesn’t happen to me often.”

“Pat yourself on the back,” I said, but smiled, and Jacob chuckled.

“But look— I like you. And I’m not sleeping with anyone else. I’m not seeing anyone else. And I’m definitely not going to be on again with Jenna, no matter what people say or what my parents want,” he said with an eye roll. “She and I are friends— great friends, even. We get each other; we’ve both trained our whole lives to be pro athletes, and this is our time. But I’m not into her sexually.” He paused and looked…embarrassed? No. Jacob Everett didn’t get embarrassed. He blew air out through pursed lips and said. “I’m not into her romantically.”

“But…you are into…me romantically?” I asked.

“Say it louder and you’re going to ruin my playboy reputation,” Jacob teased, and I laughed. He went on. “And, it goes without saying, that I am very, very, very into you sexually.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, my chest buzzing.

“The last week has been hard. You can’t just cut me off like that,” Jacob said, lowering his voice a tad, but giving me a smoldering look.

“Hey, now, I suffered too,” I said, trying to disguise a smile.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jacob playfully waved me off, then rose. He took a few steps back into one of the rows of books, then beckoned for me to follow.

“What?” I whispered, glancing down at the girl who’d been listening in on our conversation. She had headphones on now, and seemed oblivious to whatever was happening. Warily, I closed my textbook and set it down, then walked over to where Jacob stood.

We were framed in on either side by thick textbooks, though both ends of the aisle were open. This, however, didn’t dissuade Jacob from winding his hand up my shirt. Before I’d really understood what he meant to do, he’d tugged my bra down and taken my nipple in his mouth.

“Jacob,” I whispered frantically, or at least, tried to— the name came out as a sort of quiet cry. How had I gone a whole week without his mouth on me? It felt like my nipples had become hyper sensitive in that period of time— I felt the one in his mouth harden, and felt my clit pulse in anticipation.

“A whole week,” Jacob said, keeping his teeth on my breast. “You know this means we have work to do?”

“How soon can we get to your apartment?” I said breathlessly, and turned to go back to my things. Jacob caught my arm.

“Not soon enough,” he said slyly. My eyes widened. “Grab your things. Follow me.
Quickly
.”

I felt a rush of wetness at his words, and nearly ran back to my things. I shut books, zipped bags, whirled around to see Jacob’s form turning the corner at the end of the aisle. He walked down the center aisle and up to the information desk. I slowed to give him time to talk to the girl behind the counter, who seemed awe-struck to be speaking with the one and only Jacob Everett.

“Thanks,” Jacob said kindly, then, without glancing in my direction, started up the stairs, toward the second story. This floor of the library was a ring of study and video rooms with broad windows overlooking the lower floor. In an attempt to keep students from using these rooms to have sex, keys were hard to come by. Unless you were Jacob Everett, I supposed.

Jacob opened the door to the room in the center of the circle and stepped inside. I was immediately behind him, sliding in and shutting the door behind me.

“Here?” I asked nervously. “Won’t people see?”

Jacob smiled knowingly and reached over, cutting the lights off. The room was still lit by filtered daylight from the first floor’s windows, but I suspected that without an interior light, seeing inside from down below would be difficult.

“But if someone walks by this room…” I said, looking at the walkway just outside the window. Anyone THAT close would easily see in.

Jacob didn’t answer; he walked to me, tugged my bag off my shoulder and kissed me, deep and long, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me tight to him. I melted— I’d somehow forgotten how it felt to be held against his hard, strong body.

“No one’s going to see,” he said against my mouth. “Trust me.”

“But—“

“Sasha.”

I bit my lip, then nodded. Jacob smiled down at me, then in a single, sweeping motion, lifted me up onto the table in the center of the room. I noticed he favored my weight in his good arm, but kept silent on the matter.

He leaned in, kissed me again, then nudged me backward. He leaned over me and unbuttoned my pants, then slid them off my body and cast them aside. He pressed his fingers against my panties, smiling at how damp they were. Then, he lowered his mouth, and ran his tongue along the fabric, kissed hard enough that I was certain he could taste me. My hips lifted, eager to find his mouth again.

“You missed me?” Jacob asked as he ran a finger along my bikini line.

“Yes, yes,” I gasped.

“And now that you’ve had the week to decide what you want— and now that you know I feel stronger about you than I’ve felt about any of the other girls— tell me, Sasha. What do you want?”

“You,” I gasped, then raised myself up on my elbows. “Please, Jacob.”

Jacob smiled at me, then hooked a finger through the crotch of my panties, tugging them down to my knees. “Don’t you want to ask what I want?”

“What do you want?” I whispered, quivering with excitement.

Jacob grinned— he was so close to my pussy I could feel the expression on my skin. “I want to make you happy, Sasha Copeland. Starting right now.”

Then he leaned forward and took my clit into his mouth, sucking at it hungrily, until the frantic movement of my hips made him stop and chuckle before going back to work on me. I squirmed in pleasure as I felt an orgasm building— so fast, now that I’d gone without him for so long— and Jacob grabbed hold of my thighs, holding me down as he tasted me, let his tongue slip into me, licked me with long, hard strokes until I felt lightheaded. He knew what he was doing— bringing me right to the edge of an orgasm, then pulling back, letting me catch my breath.

“Please,” I begged.

“You want to come?” Jacob asked teasingly. I nodded, the action nearly throwing me off balance— the table was slick with my sweat. There was something torturous and incredibly sexy about how skilled Jacob was when it came to making me come— such a personal thing, and yet my orgasm was entirely in Jacob’s hands.

“Alright,” Jacob said. “Ready?”

“Please,” I gasped again.

Jacob licked my clit gently, then pulled it between his lips and massaged it with his tongue. I cried out in pleasure, and felt the rush, the heat as every molecule in my body seemed to charge toward my clit, toward Jacob’s mouth. The orgasm hit me hard, and I was certain I was being far too loud— but equally certain that no amount of decorum could quiet the noises I was making.

Jacob kept going until I’d gone limp and panting, then stood over me. He admired my quivering body for a moment, then tugged my panties back up, followed by my pants. I finally caught my breath just as he was buttoning me back into my clothes.

“What about you?” I asked weakly.

“Tonight,” he said, grinning. “It’s not all about me, Sasha, no matter what this school tells you. I mean it— I want to make you happy. I want to do more than I’ve done until now.”

“Oh?” I said, and accepted his offer to help me sit up. My hair was a disaster, and my eyes had gone watery somewhere in the middle of that orgasm.

“Both inside and outside of the bedroom,” Jacob said, placing a hand on either side of me, huge form taking up my entire field of vision. I smiled and snaked my arms around his neck. He almost whispered his request. “Come out to dinner with me and my parents this weekend.”

“What?”

“Homecoming is Saturday, so they’ll be in town Friday night.”

“Your
parents
,” I said, stunned.

“You want to know you’re special? I’ve never taken
anyone
to meet my parents. I’ve never wanted to.”

“You’re serious. You want me to meet your parents,” I asked. My heart was suddenly pounding again, this time for an entirely different reason.

“I’m very serious,” Jacob said. “But can I make a suggestion? We quit talking about my parents and go back to my place. I know I said tonight, but Sasha, I think I need to have you right now.”

I grinned, then bit my lip eagerly. “Let’s go.”

I
had never been
famous before. Technically, I probably wasn’t
really
famous now, but damn if it didn’t feel like it. All it took was one photo in the school newspaper, which was picked up by the local newspaper, which was tossed around online among football enthusiasts, which was sent to my friends back in Tifton, which was emailed to me basically every hour, on the hour, by somebody new.

THE BEAUTY WHO TAMED THE BEAST

The headline was ridiculous, as was the photo Jacob had let a friend take of us to go underneath the silly headline.

It wasn’t front-page news or anything, but it was enough that Piper’s icy glares reached new heights (or lows?) and that in my classes, I became incredibly aware of people whispering nearby, watching me, studying me.

The thing everyone seemed to be asking was, “why
her
?”

“Does it bother you?” Jacob asked as we sat across from one another at The Grille— a place famous for feta fries and infamous for its low health scores. The feta fries were worth the risk of food poisoning, and we were quietly sharing a plate. It felt strange to be out in public with Jacob like this, but not at all bad. Freeing, almost.

“Sasha?” Jacob asked when I’d gone a long time without answering. “Does the attention bother you? Should we have kept things quiet longer?”

“Oh— no. I mean, it bothers me a little, when I can tell people are thinking shitty things about me. But it’s fine. No one that matters to me has said anything terrible.”

“Good,” Jacob said, smiling. He was crammed into the far side of the booth, almost too large chested to fit in— the restaurant had crammed as many booths as fireside allowed into the space.

“Alright. Ready?” Jacob asked, slapping cash down on the table.

“Probably not,” I said warily. “Thanks for taking me here to eat something first.”

“No problem. Meeting parents is always crazy. I’d rather you not go all hangry on them.”

“I don’t get hangry,” I said.

“No, but it’s not worth the risk,” Jacob answered, sliding out of the booth and offering me his hand. I accepted it, and left the grease-scented restaurant to head across the street, to the alumni resort— where Jacob Everett’s parents would meet me for the first time over an incredibly expensive meal at the resort’s fancy restaurant.

Feta fries give me strength
, I said to myself as we darted through traffic, crosswalks be damned, and to the resort’s front doors. I smiled, remembering how Jacob led me in here that first night. How badly I’d wanted him, even before I realized I could have him.

“Mom!” Jacob called out, and waved an arm. I planted a pleasant smile on my face and smoothed the front of my dress, then allowed Jacob to lead me over to a woman standing near the check in table.

Jacob’s mother—
Mimi Everett, née Frazier, born in Texas, likes pearls, hates rubies, votes Republican, doesn’t trust women in politics
— smiled, cherry red lipstick pulling across her teeth. She was a pretty enough woman, but in a very purchased sort of way; it was clear she’d had Botox, at some point, and her eyebrows were carefully drawn on. She slipped the designer handbag onto her shoulder as Jacob approached, then wrapped her arms around her son. She was
tiny
in comparison— the woman couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, even with the handbag— but she emanated size the same way Jacob did. Something about them both was larger than life.

“Look at you! Darling, how’s the shoulder? Are you sure we can’t bring you home so Dr. Pritchard can take a look?” she asked immediately, reaching up to fuss with the shirt sleeve over Jacob’s injured arm.

“It’s fine, Mom. Harton’s team is doing a great job. If I doubt them for a second, I’ll go back to Dr. Pritchard.”

“He just always took such good care of you as a baby,” Ms. Everett said, dismayed.

“That’s because he’s a pediatrician, Mom,” Jacob said, giving me an amused look. “Anyway, Mom, this is Sasha.”

“Sasha Copeland,” Ms. Everett said, and even though her smile didn’t change, exactly, her eyes did. They went appraising and more than a little pitying. Not cold, exactly, but more like Ms. Everett thought she was looking at a very cute kitten, or one of those slow Loris creatures.

“Sweetheart, how nice to meet you. We so rarely meet Jacob’s girlfriends,” she said, and reached forward to lightly hug me. I reciprocated, and was nearly blown over by the intensity of Ms. Everett’s perfume.

“Let’s see, where’s Walter then,” Ms. Everett said, turning away from me and sliding her arm through her son’s. “There! Walter! Jacob is here!” she called. Her husband was at the concierge desk, but abandoned the woman manning it— mid conversation, from the looks of things— to walk over to us, hard soled shoes clicking hard on the floor.

“Jake! Any shoulder updates?” Walter Everett—
hedge fund manager, six brothers, smokes Cubans, two affairs, plays tennis, uses the non-word “conversate” daily
— asked stopping short in front of his son. Walter Everett was clearly where Jacob got his height, but the father had the lean, almost gangly appearance of a basketball player rather than the rock-solid musculature Jacob sported.

“It’s healing. I’ll be back in by Clemson,” Jacob said.

“Well, let’s go get something to eat, keep your strength up,” Mr. Everett said, and ushered his wife and son toward the restaurant entrance without even looking at me— though to be fair, Jacob was probably blocking the view of me.

“Wait— Dad, this is Sasha, the girl I was telling Mom about,” Jacob said. He unwound his arm from his mother’s, and placed it gently around my shoulders.

“Oh! Well, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Mr. Everett said in a voice that was a half-degree from being inappropriate. Jacob grimaced, but I smiled— inappropriate was fine, so long as they liked me. I’d dealt with inappropriate rich men plenty of times waitressing in Tifton.

You’ve got this
, I told myself for the thousandth time that day.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, and extended a hand to shake. Mr. Everett took it lightly, like he worried he might break my delicate-lady-hand, then gave Jacob a conspiratorial glance that made me wrinkle my nose.

“Sorry about him. Them. Us,” Jacob muttered down to me as we proceeded toward the restaurant.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Make it up to you later,” he answered, and slapped me lightly on the ass. I jumped and laughed, quelling it when Ms. Everett glanced over her shoulder to see what the noise was about.

I considered myself a pretty decent conversationalist— I struck up discussions of local golf courses, the latest Lululemon line, and the neighborhoods most likely to be sound real estate investment decisions in Atlanta, all topics I’d carefully brushed up on before the meal (except the investment decisions bit— I was already carefully watching various neighborhoods and constantly comparing the cost of my student housing to the cost of a mortgage). Try as I might, though, I couldn’t steer the conversation too far away from one subject: Football.

“See, son, you should’ve considered doing the draft last year. I’m telling you,” Mr. Everett said, shaking his head.

“Not as a quarterback, Dad,” Jacob said in a way that made me certain they’d had this discussion a million times before.

“Why not as a quarterback?” I asked. Keeping myself in their conversation was exhausting.

Jacob turned to me, looking relieved that I’d stepped in. “The quarterbacks that are successful in the NFL aren’t the ones who are fast or have the footwork or whatever. They’re the ones who are smart.”

“They’re the ones who are
there
,” Mr. Everett said.

“Walter,” Ms. Everett said testily, and rested her fingers on her husband’s arm.

Jacob went on. “I want as much experience at the college level as I can get, so I’m not one of those punk kids who gets into the NFL and gets crushed by some four hundred pound defensive lineman.”

“But plenty of people get that experience playing in the NFL. The year passes either way,” Mr. Everett said.

“And once you’re
in
the NFL, every year that passes where you’re not stellar is a strike against you in a way it isn’t in college.”

“But if you
are
stellar—“

“Enough, boys, enough,” Ms. Everett said, sipping her cocktail and rolling her eyes. “Jacob, we just worry you missed an opportunity, especially now with this injury, is all. If this had happened while you were already in the pros, you’d be able to collect the rest of your contract. Now…”

“Well, he will have a college degree though,” I pointed out. It was clearly the wrong thing to say; Jacob’s parents gave me a wary look.

“Oh, honey. He will, and that’s fine, but you have to understand— Jacob just has so much potential. We hate to see it go to waste,” Ms. Everett said, pursing her lips a bit.

“What’s your PT regimen like?” Mr. Everett said.

“It’s intense,” Jacob admitted. This was absolutely true— I had seen him come back from PT looking like he’d been tortured for the hour-long appointments. Three times a week, with light training that couldn’t further injure his shoulder on off days. Jacob’s legs had gone from enormous to flatly insane, given the amount of legwork he was doing in the gym.

Mr. Everett seemed pleased to hear the training was intense. “That boy Adams is hot on your tail, son. Get back out there, or this’ll all have been for nothing. Sitting on the sidelines is every bit as bad for you as an injury is.
”
He smiled a bit at me. “Forgive us, Sasha. He doesn’t ever tell us anything, you know. We have to hear it all from the news.”

“That’s not true— he’s told us plenty about her,” Ms. Everett told her husband, motioning with her drink toward me.

“How nice to hear,” I said, but I could tell from the firm line of Jacob’s mouth that wherever this conversation was headed
wasn’t
a desirable destination. This meant it was a huge relief when dinner arrived— Southern food gone high concept, like pimento cheese wontons and chicken fried in rendered duck fat. Jacob managed to steer the conversation to some surgery his grandmother was having, then to a talk about holiday plans.

“Would Jenna like to join us in Vail this year?” Ms. Everett asked Jacob.

Jacob answered in a calm, dangerous voice. “I can’t imagine why she would, Mom.”

“Well, she’s such a good skier, is all,” Ms. Everett said, carefully placing her cutlery at an angle across the top of her plate. “How is she, these days?”

“And how does pro soccer even work for women?” Mr. Everett cut in. “Is there a draft for them too? Or is it more like a sign up?”

“You’d have to ask Jenna,” Jacob said.

“Well, you never bring her around anymore,” Ms. Everett said, like Jacob was being ridiculous.

“Probably because she isn’t my girlfriend. Sasha is,” Jacob said. I smiled— I didn’t mean to, exactly, but this was the first time Jacob had called me that. To have him say it to his parents was—

“I’m just saying that you and Jenna had so much in common— we wish you’d given her more of a chance. No offense, of course, Sasha,” Ms. Everett said, nodding my way then waving her hand, like the action literally wafted away her offending words. “I’m so very pleased you’re making our Jacob happy. What can I say, though? Walter and I are creatures of habit. We miss Jenna!” she laughed cheerily, and elbowed Walter, who joined in.

Jacob sat stone-faced; I, however, affixed a thin smile to my lips and refused to look away from Ms. Everett. I’d dealt with enough rich people to know that nothing,
nothing
threw a rich person off their game like refusing to laugh off their shitty jokes.

Ms. Everett’s laughter faded when she saw my expression. She cleared her throat, then unfolded and refolded her napkin. Jacob glanced at me, looked like he was about to say something.

“So, Sasha, you’ve really
never
played a sport? What do you and Jacob even talk about?” Mr. Everett joked.

“The cultural ramifications of the Brexit vote in various Commonwealth countries,” I said sweetly, then smiled. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to dash to the restroom.”

Mr. Everett’s lips were parted a bit, and I felt mildly certain if I kept going, his mouth would be quite literally hanging open. Instead, I collected my purse and made my way to the restroom.

I walked quickly to the bathroom and locked myself inside— sorry, other patrons. I leaned against the carved wood door for a moment, inhaled the essential oils being diffused from a fancy antique table, and tried my hardest not to wish eternal pain and suffering on my boyfriend’s parents.

Jacob told me they’d be difficult. He told me they were like this, I reminded myself.
And besides, he clearly doesn’t agree with the stuff they’re saying. His opinion is the one that matters, right?

I exhaled, opened my eyes, and stared at my reflection for a moment. It was dim in here, a forgiving sort of light perfect for first dates or finals calls. I studied my reflection, the dress— Jacob had offered to buy it for me, the hair— a blowout that Jacob had paid for, makeup— I’d used Piper’s expensive stuff while she was out, my body—wobbly in places where Jenna’s was fit and toned.

Jacob’s parents weren’t wrong— Jenna and Jacob had a lot in common. More in common. He and I were practically from different planets— our paths would never have even crossed had I not been assigned to be Piper and Kiersten’s roommate.

I stared myself down in the mirror. I lifted my chin.
But Jacob wants you, not her.

So fuck them and their stupid opinions.

“Sasha?” a voice called, and rapped gently on the door. “Honey? Are you in there?”

“I am, Ms. Everett,” I called through the door. I pushed my shoulders back, gathered together my nerves and my confidence, and opened the door.

Ms. Everett smiled. “Honey. Jacob worries we might have upset you. Are you alright?”

“Perfectly,” I said coolly.

“Oh, good, good— I suspected he was overthinking it. There’s nothing at all wrong with you darling, you know that, right?” Ms. Everett said, edging into the bathroom. The door swung shut behind her, and the mix of Ms. Everett’s perfume with those essential oils smelled deadly.