Before James, I liked football, but honestly, I didn’t care enough to learn all the intricacies. I watch football on Thanksgiving at Aunt Nicole’s like the rest of the country, and thanks to Darryl, I came into this knowing the basics. But watching James play has gotten me into it on a whole different level. He’s faster than you’d expect him to be, and his passes are like bullets arcing through the air. I wince whenever he hits the ground, cheer whenever he escapes a tackle, and screech like a banshee during each touchdown.
Still, McKee barely makes it out with the win.
“My heart’s still racing!” Debra Sanders says as we head down the stairs after both teams leave the field. James got me a seat next to Bo’s mom, and we hit it off over the course of the game. I know way more about Bo now than he probably wants the girlfriend of his teammate to know, like how his nickname throughout middle and high school was “Stinky.”
“Bo made an awesome block right at the end,” I say. “He saved the game.”
“Don’t you know it. My baby’s going to fit right in with the big guys in the league.”
She gives me a hug before we part ways, patting my cheek fondly. She’s about my height, with this awesome pink streak in her braids that I complimented her on the moment I saw her. “It was nice to meet you, Bex. I don’t know James too well, but he seems like a good boy. Darryl wasn’t good enough for you.”
That makes me tear up unexpectedly. “Thank you.”
“Now, if only Bo would find himself a nice girl. I told him to bring someone home for the holidays, but something tells me he’s been ignoring that.”
I laugh as she heads off. “Bye, Mrs. Sanders!”
Instead of hanging around waiting for James postgame, I call a cab to take me back to the cute little inn he booked for us this weekend. He had to get permission from Coach Gomez to stay somewhere other than with the team. He’ll be all pumped up from the close win. Hungry. This morning, I asked if he wanted to go out somewhere with the team, but he said he didn’t want to have to make nice with the guys when all he’d be thinking about was getting me alone. When I get back to the room, I’ll order in from a restaurant we picked out that does delivery.
I head outside to wait, watching as the Penn State fans head back to campus or their cars.
“Going to all his games now like some kind of cleat chaser?”
I stiffen, trying to keep a neutral expression as I look at Darryl. He’s still in half his gear, his Under Armor shirt plastered to his skin, hair damp on his forehead.
He’s standing too close, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of backing up. “Is that what you called me when we were dating? A cleat chaser?”
His expression tightens. “You made your point with him, Bexy. Give up the act.”
“It’s not an act.”
He scoffs. “Come on. The guy’s a douche.”
“Oh yeah? What brought you to that earth-shattering conclusion? Is it the way he’s been leading your team to wins all season? His nomination for the Heisman? How he told you off when you hurt me?”
He works his jaw. “I never meant—”
“Stop. Just stop.” I lower my voice since we’re in public. At least he didn’t try to get me alone. “Go back to the locker room, Darryl.”
He hustles me against the wall, underneath a memorial plaque. I’m caught by surprise, so I don’t fight it, but my heart hammers wildly as I look up at him. He settles a hand on the side of my head, flat on the wall, like he’s just trying to chat me up. Casual. No one glances at us as they pass by.
“Stop.”
“You might think he cares about you, but he’s just as selfish as you think I am,” he says. “Did he tell you the real reason he left LSU?”
I stay silent. He takes my lack of an answer as confirmation, chuckling softly. “I didn’t think so.”
“Shut the hell up, Darryl.”
“Ask him about Sara Wittman, babe. His ex-girlfriend.”
“Don’t call me that.” I try to wriggle away, but he uses his height and weight to his advantage to pin me in place. “And get the fuck off me, or I’ll call him.”
“You won’t.” Darryl’s eyes pierce mine. “If he fights me, he’ll get kicked off the team. That already happened once.”
His words catch me off guard, and I can’t help replying. “What do you mean?”
“Of course, his daddy cleaned up the problem. Tried to make it disappear. But that doesn’t change the fact that Sara nearly killed herself.”
I dig my teeth into my lower lip, wiping my sweaty palms on my jacket. “You’re lying.”
“And when he realizes you’re just another slut, he’ll dump your ass like he did her. You think he’s going to save you? Babe, the second you get in the way, you’re gone. And I’ll be waiting.”
“Fuck off,” I say, unable to keep the tremble out of my voice. I shove at him.
He goes this time, laughing. It takes me a minute for my mind to stop spinning. By the time I think to check my phone, I see that my cab has come and left, so I need to call for another.
But when the panic quiets, I’m left with one thought: Who is Sara Wittman, and what happened when she dated James?
26
BEX
When I get back to the inn, there’s a bottle of champagne on ice sitting on the table, plus two crystal flutes and a box of chocolates. There’s also a present wrapped in silver paper sitting in the middle of the fluffy white bedspread.
My heart skips a beat. He’s so sweet.
But I can’t get the conversation with Darryl out of my mind.
I shrug out of my jacket and peel off my jeans, sitting in his jersey on the edge of the bed. I pull out my phone to see that he texted that he’s on the way. I reply, then search the web for Sara Wittman.
Maybe Darryl is lying to me. He’s obviously jealous; he can’t let me go. He’d say anything to make James seem shitty in my eyes.
There isn’t much I can find. A private Instagram. A page from LSU featuring a picture of Athletic Director Peter Wittman and his family—a wife and a daughter, Sara.
So, she’s a real person. That I didn’t doubt. The question is, if James dated her, what happened? Did she try to hurt herself? Even if that’s true, how was James involved?
I didn’t search his name again after the first time, before our dinner at Vesuvio’s. He didn’t seem to like it, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. That was back before I thought I had any real claim to him, anyway.
Wouldn’t he tell me if something that horrible had happened?
I thought he left LSU because he couldn’t win a championship with that program. He’d made it sound cut and dry. But Darryl talked about it like he left in disgrace. Threatened with getting kicked off the team? My heart twinges with sympathy. That would be devastating for him.
I’m typing his name into my phone when the door opens.
I exit out of the window and set my phone aside. He comes into the room with all the energy you’d expect after that kind of close win; he sweeps me up into a hug and kiss immediately.
“I missed you,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t think of anything the second the game ended except coming back here to you.”