SPIKED (A Sports Romance) (5 page)

Or maybe he really had wanted me to come watch him play.

Me
.

I felt like it was hard to catch my breath, and my hands were shaking from the adrenaline of it all.

I turned the television off, embarrassed at how flustered I’d become, at how excited I’d become, at how much I wanted to believe what seemed impossible: That Jacob Everett, the Harton hero, had offered me tickets not as a joke, but because out of all the girls throwing himself at his feet, he wanted a shy freshman from Tifton.

M
y favorite class
was Introduction to Anthropology— the subject that, in a world where all jobs paid equally, I’d want to turn into a career. As it was, I was planning to simply minor in the field, but that didn’t quell my enthusiasm. The class was held in a massive lecture hall, with stadium seating and bright honey-colored desks. I always arrived early to get a seat near the front, so I’d have less trouble understanding the professor over the sound of people cutting up in the back row.

Today— a week after Harton’s first football game— was no exception.

I’d finally, mercifully, settled back into my normal routine, especially when the incident with Jake Everett had never been mentioned again. And obviously I hadn’t heard from him or any of his freshmen lackeys, either.

Despite the fact that I’d secretly hoped for something more, I’d resigned myself to the fact that it had all been either a joke, a misunderstanding, or a fluke that was now most definitely in the past.

Now I was back to doing what I did best—studying, working, putting my head down and getting good grades.

I slid into my seat and opened up my laptop, reviewing Monday’s notes. The room filled up behind me, growing ever noisier; then, like someone had flipped a switch, it went almost totally silent. I assumed the professor had arrived, and looked up, only to see the desk at the front of the room was still vacant. I turned my head around, looking for explanation—

It was Jacob Everett.

He was coming down the aisle in the center of the seats, smiling cockily. Everyone was staring— the football players might technically attend Harton University, but you didn’t just see them in regular classes like this. I knew this because, though I’d never had admitted it aloud, I’d spent recent days scouring every campus crowd for Jacob.

And now here he was. Walking down the steps of my classroom, both aware of and ignoring the worshipping eyes of the largely students on him. I pulled in my stomach, twisting a little in my chair, wetting my lips.

His gaze turned to me, and our eyes met, snapping to one another’s like they had at the party so long ago. Jacob’s lips curved into a wider smile, one that accentuated the squareness of his jaw. I tensed as he walked down the final few steps and, without saying a word, slid into the empty desk beside me.

Breath escaped me, and my heart raced.

Jacob smelled so good, and the way he was lounging casually in the desk, legs splayed and head rested on a hand, seemed to waft his scent toward me. I wanted to ask what the hell he was doing, but I’d lost my voice entirely, and besides, it was already going to take an act of God for me to pull my eyes from his. Jacob— did this guy ever blink?— seemed to relish in this, looking at me long and hard, like he was daring me to speak up.

“Hello class, please go ahead and silence your phones so we can begin,” the professor said, swishing into the room and tossing down a large stack of books and folders. The motion was enough to free me from Jacob’s gaze, though his nearness still had a black hole quality to it— everything about me felt pulled to him.

The rest of my classmates clearly felt the same. They were utterly silent behind me, to the point that even the professor noticed. In a few moments, the professor saw why.

“Mr. Everett. I don’t believe you’re on my roster,” the professor said.

“I’m not— but I’m thinking about taking this next semester. Thought I’d get a preview,” Jacob said with a dashing smile.

“Well, we’re pleased to have you here,” the professor said, and this looked true— the man actually glowed a bit, like Jacob Everett’s presence was akin to having Will or Kate show up in his lecture hall.

The professor launched into the lecture and I tried in vain to follow along and take notes. Jacob, however, was too distracting for me to do much of anything but focus on my breathing. I wanted to talk to him, wanted to get angry at him, get even for the thing with the tickets, wanted to kiss him, wanted to slap him. I just
wanted
him.

But I was also afraid. He was still bigger than life, literally and figuratively.

The class was nearly over when a note slid across my desk, written in barely legible handwriting.

You seriously chose this as an elective?

The note had arrived so quickly that I only caught the smallest glimpse of Jacob pulling back after depositing it on my desk. I forced myself to take a slow, steady breath, then wrote a careful response.

How do you know that? What are you doing?

I handed it back, painfully aware of the fact that even though the professor didn’t notice, I was most definitely being watched by the rest of the students in the hall behind me.

The note popped back to me quickly.

I make it a point to know about people that interest me.

I avoided his eyes and wrote in response, pleased that I could write what I didn’t have the nerve to say.

Little bit stalkerish.

He laughed when he read the note— out loud, bright and cheerful, and the professor turned around.

“Everything all right, Mr. Everett?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. What you just said reminded me of something. I apologize,” Jacob said swiftly, with the confidence of a guy who had talked his way out of trouble since grade school.

The professor— who normally hated being interrupted, smiled and went on like nothing had happened. A few moments later, the note came back.

9:30 pm

Manhattan Bar

I started. Was he serious? I dared to look at him and, to my surprise, saw that although his eyes were heavy on me, his mouth was no longer curved into that wry, arrogant smile. He looked…eager. Hopeful, maybe— like the note was more of a question than I’d immediately thought.

I folded the piece of paper in half quietly and, after taking a deep breath, nodded once. Jacob broke into a grin, then stood up.

“Thanks so much for letting me sit in, professor, but I’ve got to get to weight training. But this class is great! I’ll definitely look into adding it next semester,” Jacob said, voice commanding the room.

“We’d love to have you. Please email me if you have any questions about it, alright?” the professor said cheerily.

Jacob nodded and gave a sort of saluting wave, then darted up the lecture hall steps three at a time, a giant in a room made for mortals. He pushed through the doors at the top, and just like that, was gone— but there was no recovering from the buzz or energy and excitement that he left in his wake. Everyone, it seemed, even the professor, could feel it. He was Harton’s hero, after all. And, from the looks of it, I had a date with him that evening.

* * *

N
o
, it wasn’t a date.

A date would imply him asking me out, and he hadn’t. He’d just given me a piece of paper with a time and a place on it. This was an appointment, basically.

I repeated this to myself over and over as I got dressed that evening— wearing one of the outfits I’d bought with my ticket money. Jacob Everett had consumed my thoughts for most of the day, and I was slowly growing furious over the fact. I was here to study, not to get stalked by some sort of football god. I ran through all the things I wanted to say to him tonight to make sure he understood that I had no interest in being one of his pre-game blowjob girls, thank you very much.

Except, when I thought that, I started thinking about what it would be like to give him a blowjob, which consumed my thoughts to the point that I considered touching myself for a bit to calm myself down, relieve some tension. But then it occurred to me that
that
was the exact purpose of Jacob’s pre-game blowjobs, and I didn’t want to have anything in common with him, since he was obviously just a big-headed jock that was just messing with my head.

Right?

Right.

“What are you all dressed up for?” Piper asked when I emerged from my room. Piper had settled down a little after the drama of the Football House party and the free tickets, though she was still edgy around me. Kiersten more often than not served as the in-between, the person whose presence made the air in our home a little less tense. Still, it was clear to me that in a pinch, Kiersten would always team up with Piper.

“I’m just going to a thing at some bar called the Manhattan,” I said.

“That place is great. Get the Tipsy Duck, if you’re into cocktails,” Kiersten said.

“Got it. Tipsy Duck,” I said.

“Meeting someone?” Piper asked absently.

“Sort of,” I said, stooping to clasp my heels. They were kitten heels, tiny things that made me tower over people in Tifton but made me look like a little girl playing dress-up in Atlanta.

“Who is it? Anyone we know?” Kiersten asked.

“Um, it’s…” I hesitated. I could avoid a fight now by lying, and saying I was meeting a nobody— but with the way people, especially Piper, knew Jacob Everett’s business, I reasoned it was very likely Piper would eventually figure it out. Then, there’d be a fight over my going out to this bar
and
the lie.

Better to rip the Band-Aid off, right?

“It’s Jacob Everett. I’m not sure what he wants. I don’t think it’s anything like…serious,” I said quickly.

Piper made a noise in her throat, and when I dared look her way, I saw my roommate’s jaw was clenched.

“Jacob Everett asked
you
to the Manhattan?”

“I think it’s just something to do with the anthropology class I’m in,” I said hurriedly.

Piper considered this, then gave a short laugh. “Probably. I mean, what else would it be for?”

“Exactly,” I said. I turned to look at Kiersten, whose eyes were wide. When I looked her way, she blinked, then shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s not really into your type,” Kiersten said, giving Piper a meaningful, supportive look.

“Yeah,” Piper said, though it was clear the hurt was deep. I almost felt bad— wasn’t it some sort of college law to not covet your roommate’s crush or something?

“I’ll mention you to him, if you want. Maybe I can get you on the…um…list. For the pre-game…thing?” I said haltingly. Had I ever actually said the word blowjob out loud? Not that I could remember.

Piper’s eyes went dark, and I immediately realized I’d hurt more than I’d helped. “I don’t need to be
mentioned
to Jacob Everett, Sasha. He knows exactly who I am, and it’s only a matter of time before he realizes how much I can offer him. That’s why I know this isn’t anything serious— you’ve got nothing he can’t get from me, and I’ve got far more to give than you ever could, got it?”

I was stunned. An array of witty comebacks circled my head, but as per usual, they stalled rather than emerging from my lips. This was one of those circumstances where freezing up wasn’t a bad thing, though— after all, it’s not like a snappy response would do anything to fix things between me and Piper at the moment. Instead, I nodded.

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, and hurried out the door.

I could hear them already starting to talk about me as the door closed shut behind me, but I rushed away anyhow, determined not to let them get to me.

I was going out to meet the guy they all wanted. And for the first time, I was only too happy to know that it was driving them crazy.

T
he Manhattan was
, obviously, off campus, which meant it was a little farther outside the bubble I had built for myself. It was a building tucked off one of the city’s main roads, two stories with loud, obnoxious signs beckoning college-goers in. I had heard it mentioned several times before— it was one of a bars that Harton students more or less kept in business— but I’d never had all that much interest in going. I was too introverted to dance, I wasn’t all that into getting drunk, and it wasn’t like you could have a conversation with the DJ cranking the music up so loud.

If you don’t belong here then why are you going? I wondered for the thousandth time as I walked up to the bouncer and offered him my ID. He waved me in, though he didn’t give me the coveted purple wristband that marked me over twenty-one and alcohol eligible.

Now what? I wondered as I stepped inside. The interior of the Manhattan was done up in an ultra-modern cityscape style, with steel beams, LED lights, and a bar that flashed different colors with the music. It was still early, but the place was already packed with what appeared to be every athlete at Harton, along with a myriad of fan girls hanging onto the sleeves of every male in the room.

It was easy to tell the student athletes apart from the rest of the populace. Harton athletes wore their embroidered jackets with pride around campus, a reminder to everyone they encountered that they were swimmers, or gymnasts, or tennis players. The football players, of course, rarely needed a jacket to set them apart, hulking humans that they were, though they wore them anyhow. Here at the bar, it was still obvious to someone as observant as me that I was surrounded by the physically elite— the girls had sculpted shoulder muscles and backs shown off in barely-there dresses. The guys were well-groomed and broad shouldered, with bodies that tapered into fit waists. More than anything, though, it was those fan girls that gave them away— no one was worshipped so steadily, so adored by beautiful playthings, like the football players at Harton.

The place made me feel small and feeble and mousy in comparison— what the hell was I doing here, amid the beautiful people?

Calm down
, I scolded herself.
You were invited, for starters, and it’s not like they’re going to challenge you to an arm wrestling or beauty contest.
I pulled my shoulders back and walked deeper into the bar, looking for Jacob Everett.

It was no surprise when I saw him holding court, as per usual— was there ever a moment when this guy wasn’t surrounded by admirers? He was sitting at a table flanked by groupies. On one side was a girl with pretty blonde hair and a heart-shaped face who was clearly one of the athletes rather than a piece of arm candy, though she had the looks to be either. After a few moments of consideration, I recognized her. It was the girl who’d stood beside him in the picture I studied when I’d masturbated after the party that night—

The memory made me flush, hard, and I was grateful for the dim lights of the club. I focused on breathing as I closed in on him, but still, when he looked up and met my eyes, I felt all the oxygen rush out of me.

“It’s the mime! You actually took me up on my invitation,” Jacob said brightly, though his voice teetered on the line between teasing and admonishing— but a little more the latter than I appreciated.

“I did. So there’s no need to mention it on cable television,” I replied coolly. Jacob’s eyes narrowed, and for a second, I thought I’d hugely overstepped— arrogant or not, this was undoubtedly his school, his bar, his court. But then the girl from the photo laughed, and it seemed to ease the hesitation in Jacob’s eyes.

“He’s not used to being turned down, is all,” the girl said, elbowing Jacob.

“Enough of you, Jenna,” Jacob answered, and stood, tall and powerful and looming over me. He smiled at me, and I felt my palms go sweaty—

And then he walked away, over to a crowd of guys who were clearly on the football team with him.

I shifted, uncomfortable, unsure where to go. I certainly wasn’t confident enough to go over and join the conversation— those guys probably wouldn’t even see me standing there, they were so huge. Perhaps I was meant to go have a seat with the other fan girls, make conversation with them about Jacob Everett’s sexual prowess?

I’d tried not to put too much stock in this being a date, but now that I was finding out just how much of a date it wasn’t, I couldn’t help but feel a ball of humiliation circling in my stomach. Piper was right— Jacob Everett wasn’t interested in me at all. He’d just wanted to see if I would come when called.

And I had.

I took a step backward, wavering a bit on my heels. I caught my balance, thank god, and turned to go—

“Wait, are you leaving?” Jenna called out.

“Yeah, I think so. Good to meet you,” I said, smiling weakly.

Jenna looked puzzled. “Didn’t Jacob ask you to come?”

“He did. But he’s clearly busy,” I said, motioning to him and the other football players, who were now laughing raucously.

“Hey,” Jenna said kindly, though her nearness made me feel even smaller. “This is just how he is. Don’t take it so personally.”

“I guess I’m not really interested in how he is, then,” I said firmly, and saying the words aloud made me feel stronger. “Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime,” I said, then started for the door.

I wove past girls wearing candy-scented perfumes, athletes with a comically low amount of body fat, and at least a few guys that I was pretty certain could be actual Nordic gods. The air outside was thick and heavy with late summer, but still felt refreshing compared to the Manhattan’s boozy atmosphere. I took a deep, much-needed breath, and started for home. In some ways, I was relieved. At least I knew now that it was all a game. Sure, I’d gotten caught up in it, but it could have gone a lot worse. Plus, maybe me and Piper could settle things once I explained how Jacob Everett had more or less ignored me entirely.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. It was the middle of a busy street, so I didn’t bother to glance over my shoulder at the source until the voice called again, “Hey! Mime!”

I froze, glanced toward the sky, then turned around. It was Jacob Everett and, I was pleased to see, my body didn’t go into total lockdown mode. I lifted my eyebrows at him as he walked toward me, his long legs closing the distance with shocking ease and swiftness.

“You left,” he said, shaking his head, smiling a little, like I had made a careless mistake rather than a conscious choice.

“There wasn’t really anything for me in there,” I answered. Amazing what accepting the fact that you’ve been played will do for your confidence, I thought, pulling my shoulders back.

Jacob looked confused, then laughed. “I invited you.”

“You invited a lot of people, it seems. Every athlete at Harton and some arm candy to match.”

“No— it’s hype night. Most of the teams have some sort of regional or game or contest coming up this weekend, so we all go out, get a little drunk, take the edge off with plenty of time to recover before we’re on.”

“And the arm candy?” I asked, folding my arms.

“They’re here for the athletes,” Jacob said, grinning wolfishly.

“Yeah. Not my thing,” I said, and started to turn. Jacob caught my arm, not tightly, but firmly enough that I froze and turned back. I looked down at my arm, then his eyes; he seemed to realize he’d overstepped, and the expression he gave was as much baffled as it was apologetic. It was as if no girl had ever done anything but cream in her pants the second he touched her.

He released me.

“I invited you because I wanted to see you again,” Jacob said seriously.

“Ok, sure. But you’re a little too busy with your friends in there to see me, so I guess it just won’t work out.”

“Another night, maybe? Football House is hosting—“

“I’m not really interested in being just another admirer at your parties,” I cut him off. “And I’m not interested in getting in line to suck your dick before games. And I’m not interested in fighting with Piper over any of it. So thanks for the invite, but I think I should go.” I finished this lecture both horrified and pleased with myself— I’d just mentioned blowjobs out loud, which was
so
not something I would normally talk about to anyone, ever, but I’d also said everything I’d been wanting to say to Jacob since that day in class.

“Wow,” Jacob said after pausing a moment. I wished he’d take a step back— did he realize how imposing his presence was? Probably. It felt like we were being pressed together, and I wanted it to stop, but didn’t want to be the one to crack and create more space between us.

“Wow,” Jacob said again, and rubbed the back of his head.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s just…been a while since someone told me to go fuck myself.”

“I didn’t say that!” I protested.

“You did, in so many words. I’m not mad. It’s just been a while,” Jacob said, sounding amused. “Look, being invited to a party by me is a big deal. I meant it as a compliment. Same way that I meant those tickets.”

“A compliment is telling someone they look nice, not showering them in your own greatness,” I said.

“You look nice. You look great, actually,” Jacob said immediately.

“Oh. Thanks,” I said.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Jacob asked.

“Now?”

“Do you have other plans?” Jacob asked just a bit sarcastically.

“No, but you do. Hype night,” I said, motioning to the Manhattan behind them.

Jacob shrugged. “There’ll be others.”

I eyed him warily. “I’m still not interested in getting in line to—“

He waved my words off. “Look— walk with me up to tenth street, we’ll turn around, we’ll come back here. Then if you want to go home, go, and I promise I won’t crash your super boring archaeology class again.”

“Anthropology.”

“Sure.”

I studied him, avoiding his eyes since I wasn’t totally certain they wouldn’t lock me in all over again. He still looked solid, strong, someone who couldn’t be moved, but I also saw the rise and fall of his chest, the way he ran his thumb across his fingernails, the way he blinked— the way that despite his stature and reputation and perhaps totally inappropriate attempts at complimenting me, he was human.

“To tenth street, then back,” I agreed.

Jacob grinned, put his hands in his pockets— almost like a show of noble, hands-free intentions— and we started down the street.