Vaughn grunts and I swear to Christ his cheeks turn red. It’s hard to tell around the new beard, but I'm pretty sure that’s a blush I see. Which is hilarious on a six-foot-six, three-hundred-pound dude.
Imagine if he’d been the one to pick up the vibrator.
He probably would’ve gone into cardiac arrest.
“Don’t worry.” Coop jerks his chin in my direction. “There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate when we win the national championship.”
Reid lifts his beer, as if making a toast. “From your lips to God's ears.”
“Man, we don’t need divine intervention.” Smith grins, lip curling. “We got skills.”
He and Coop bump fists, and another round of cheers breaks out as I turn my attention back to the game, sweat beading along my hairline.
The season hasn’t even started yet and I’m already stressing.
Fact is, I won’t be going pro like Reid or Coop.
I’ve always known it, but that doesn’t lessen the pressure. If anything, it’s worse. I have to be unstoppable on the fieldandin the classroom, because unlike my roommates, I won’t be drafted in the spring and I sure as shit won’t be graduating. While these guys will be playing in the NFL next fall, I’ll be a fifth-year senior.
Which means this is also my last chance to land an internship in my major. I’ve spent the last three summers working at my uncle’s construction company—football scholarships don’t actually cover all living expenses—and my advisor insists it’ll be impossible to break into sports broadcasting without experience.
I don’t have connections like Reid or money like DeLaurentis, but I’m a hard worker and I’ve been busting my ass to maintain a 3.3 GPA. According to my advisor, my best shot for an internship is Sports Stream. The network is based out of Pittsburgh, and though it’s not ESPN, they hire one Waverly intern each summer because the programming director is an alumnus.
This year, I need to be that intern.
“Come on, man.” Reid throws up his hands as my on-screen receiver fumbles the ball and Vaughn’s safety scoops it up and runs it back for a touchdown.
Vaughn snickers and the next thing I know, his safety is doing the griddy.
Someone slaps him on the back and he grins, revealing all of his teeth.
If I didn’t know better, I’d be terrified of that look, but Vaughn’s marshmallow fluff, so I bust his balls a little.
“Someone’s been spending too much time with DeLaurentis. Next, you’ll be admiring your reflection and referring to yourself in the third person.”
“Screw you.” Coop jabs a finger at me. “I don’t talk about myself in the third person. I use first person pronouns like the fucking king of campus I am.”
“So eloquent,” Reid says, shaking his head. “And humble.”
Smith snorts. “I’m just impressed my man knows what a pronoun is.”
“I’m impressed any of you know what a pronoun is!”
We all turn in unison to the blue-haired girl standing in the living room entry with her arms crossed. For a long moment, no one says anything, myself included.
Because what the fuck is happening right now?
“Where’d you come from?” Coop asks, brow furrowed.
Before she can answer, some smartass behind me jumps in. “When a man and a woman love each other very much—”
Coop’s middle finger shoots up, but his attention remains locked on the new arrival. “I meant, how did you get in here?”
She lifts her chin, as if preparing for battle. “The door was open.”
“Who left the door open?” He scans the room, searching for the culprit.
“I did.” Smith ducks his head and gestures to the rest of us. “So we wouldn’t have to get up every time one of these fools rolled in late.”
