Coach gave a friendly, fatherly smile and put out his hand for the traditional handshake. “I’ll let you get back to it. Good luck, and I hope you have a great game tomorrow.”
I took his hand in mine and hoped I could take his advice just as easily. “Thanks, Coach.”
My team returned to Ann Arbor with our perfect season still intact. No one talked about Ohio State on the bus ride home, but every guy knew. A repeat of the “Big Ten game of the century” was going to happen next weekend, number one versus number two. At least it’d be in our house.
I was supposed to be working on homework, but was fucking around on the Internet when Kayla called me on Google Chat. I clicked the button on my laptop, and she filled the screen, smiling widely.
Until she saw what I was doing.
“What’s wrong?” Her eyes filled with worry.
“Nothing.” I tossed away the ice pack I’d been holding to my t-shirt. “I got a cleat to the side.” I lifted the bottom of my shirt and showed off the war wound. It was red-purple, and hadn’t reached its full potential yet.
“Ouch. That looks awful.”
It hurt like a motherfucker. I’d been buried under a pile, and a Northwestern player had used my body like a doormat to wipe his feet on as he’d stood up. But I didn’t want Kayla thinking I was a pussy, so I just shrugged. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” She blinked, and her face changed. She had something else she wanted to say.
“What?”
She looked embarrassed. “I miss you.”
God, it was nice to hear, but I didn’t like the electronic recording of it. I wanted the real thing. “Me, too. So, I’ve been thinking about this Thursday. Any way I can talk you into coming here and staying the night?”
Her lips turned downward immediately. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. I’ll have to be out the door at seven for breakfast. There’s plenty of time for you to get back. You don’t have class on Friday until eleven.”
“Yeah, class where I have to give a presentation that’s twenty percent of my grade.”
Dammit. “I want to see you, not just through a computer screen. I want to touch you. Kiss you.”
Her eyes hooded, and I could see her weaken. It told me to keep going.
“I want to put my tongue in you. Get you to come all over me.”
Her chest lifted with a hurried breath. “Jay.”
“I want to be with you one more time before The Game. It’ll be just us.” I wasn’t an idiot. Things were going to change after next Saturday, and I could tell Kayla knew too.
So much was riding on The Game. Not only did I need a good showing, Michigan needed the win so we could go to the National Championship playoff. Every bit of visibility would help my chances of drafting.
But how was she going to feel, sharing the field as she watched me defeat her beloved team? Was I going to break her heart before I even had it? Fuck, I didn’t want to think about it. We’d cross that bridge when we got there.
“Okay,” she breathed.
The tender skin on my side didn’t hurt anymore. All I could feel was excitement.
On Thursday, I had my laptop on my desk, trying to finish my homework, when a boom jolted me. The single knock on my door was more like a foot being kicked against the wood. What the fuck? “Yeah?”
It wasn’t an invitation, but the door pushed open. In the hall stood Kayla, of course in an OSU sweatshirt, her gaze turned up at the guy beside her. I hadn’t expected her for at least another twenty minutes. The guy who’d escorted her up was twice her size, and had an ugly sneer directed at my girlfriend. Amos was a lineman who was likely to win a NCAA Offensive Man of the Year award, which meant he was a hell of a player. But he was also kind of a dick.
“Your oh-hi-hoe is here,” he said.
“Not cool, man.”
When Kayla gave Amos the evil eye, he returned the look. “You two make me sick.”
She shrugged. “I hope you’re as good at protecting your QB as you were at keeping me downstairs.” She bounded into my room and shut the door before Amos could get a word in.
Her backpack dropped to the floor, and she threw herself into my lap. I groaned against her mouth as her knee hit me right in the spot I’d been nursing all week. Her lips were urgent and desperate, but I tore mine away to pull in a deep breath. Pain was sharp.
Confusion flashed in her eyes and then terrible realization. She sat back in my lap and lifted my shirt. Her gasp was like being hurt all over again. Her gaze was locked onto the angry colors of purple and sickly yellow. My bruise was wicked.