“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “You want a beer?”
At this point, I’d kill for one, if only to shut me the fuck up. “Sure.”
To the right of the living area, there was a small kitchen, and she padded into it. There was hardly any counter space, and the microwave sat on top of a square table, and on top of that was a case of ramen noodles. The whole thing blocked my view of her ass as she pulled open the fridge, and I was annoyed to miss out. It had to look amazing in those jeans.
Beside the kitchen was a darkened doorway, which seemed to lead to the bathroom, and at the back of the living area were two doors. The left one was closed. The door on the right was open and the light on, and I could see the lofted bed in there that I hoped I still had a shot at tonight.
Kayla strolled toward me with a can of Bud Light in each hand, and her gaze was guarded. She’d moved past my comments, but they clearly weren’t forgotten. She handed me the can, then took hold of my bag by the strap, tossing it beside her cheerleading stuff near the couch.
It sent a message of where I’d be staying tonight. Or maybe it was a challenge.
There was a soft hiss and pop as she opened her beer. She sat on the couch, leaving plenty of space, snatched up a remote, and turned the television on. “Mind if we watch the highlights on SportsCenter?”
I almost laughed, but cut myself off. No need to dig myself a deeper hole. “Let’s do it.”
She gave me the side-eye as I sat right beside her. She probably needed space to cool off, but I didn’t drive all the way here on a game day to sit on the other side of the couch.
When they came back from commercial, the two anchors at the desk were talking about an NFL player who’d gotten a PED suspension. I opened my beer and took a long sip, paying more attention to her than what the guy was talking about onscreen. Who cared what kind of drugs the player had taken? All I needed to know was he was doping, and . . . forget that noise. Way to fuck up your whole career, pal.
The beer in Kayla’s hand was ignored. She was fixated on the screen, and she didn’t seem to be watching the ticker across the bottom, either. If she had been, she would have seen the beating Michigan put down on Florida as our 13-36 score scrolled past.
“I like this guy,” she said, gesturing to the anchor. “He knows his stuff, and he’s so funny. The other guy? He doesn’t add anything. There’s no banter. He just recycles stats.”
As if to prove her point, the camera cut to the other anchor, and the sportscaster listed all the accomplishments of the suspended NFL player.
“I bet he gets shuffled soon. They need a new guy on the Saturday desk.”
“Guy?” I asked. Wasn’t she interested in going into broadcasting? Shouldn’t she have said ‘person’?
She turned to face me and her expression was cool. “I’d love to see a woman on the desk, but I’m a realist. Sportscasting’s come a long way, but it’s still a boys’ club.” She turned back to the television and grumbled. “I’ll have to work twice as hard as a guy, and I’ll be lucky if I get any higher than a sideline-reporter job.”
I took a sip of my beer, considering what to say. “It’s not fair,” I agreed, “and it sucks. You can play by all the rules, but football’s not always fair, either. It’s still hard for black guys to get the starting QB spot. Coaches want to start them at running back or wide receiver.” I gave a humorless laugh. “And then look at me. No way a white boy like me can be fast, coaches say. Doesn’t matter I won the Indiana state title in the four hundred meters my senior year of high school. I have to prove how fast I am every time I take the field.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by the highlight promo for Division I football.
We watched the clips go by. Oklahoma. USC. Alabama. The list of powerhouse football programs continued, showing five-second recaps of each game. Ohio State’s was a punt returner darting and weaving through special teams toward the end zone, and a smile spread on her lips. Fuck, her smile was beautiful.
It was selfish, but I hoped the clip of Michigan’s game would feature my touchdown in the first quarter, and I’d get that same smile. There were a lot of great plays by my teammates, though. We’d given the ESPN folks plenty to select from.