We. Like she’s the one out on the field losing blood, sweat, and tears on behalf of the university.
I shrug. “I’ve just never really been into sports.”
“We’re going to change that today,” Jenna says, beaming. “The Wildcats are 5-0 and the Cornhuskers’ offense is on fire, so it should be a good game.”
“Cornhuskers?” I echo.
“You know, like husking corn.” Jenna’s eyes twinkle with mischief as she casually adds, “I know a certain farmer who could probably explain it better than me.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t even start.”
Surely we can go at least one day without discussing said farmer?
“He’s number fifty-three, by the way.”
Jenna explains the rules and I find myself sucked into the game. It’s fast-paced and hard-hitting and though I don’t understand all the calls, I know just enough to be outraged when the Waverly defense gets a penalty for roughing the passer.
A loud roar of protest fills the bar and when the Nebraska quarterback finally climbs to his feet, seemingly satisfied with the call, a guy at the next table shouts, “Fuck that ref!”
“This is intense,” I say, surveying the bar. “Are people always this invested in the game?”
“We bleed blue and white,” Kylie/Rylee says, sounding like she’d offer her firstborn to the football gods in exchange for a winning season.
“This is nothing.” Jenna laughs. “You need to go to a home game. Cheering our boys on with one hundred thousand screaming fans is almost as exhilarating as sex.”
“You’ve never been to a home game?” Alexis curls her lip, not even trying to mask her disdain. She’s usually better at hiding her dislike of me, and I can’t help but wonder how much she’s had to drink. “How is that even possible?”
Football is a BFD—big fucking deal—at Waverly, but I didn’t grow up playing sports, let alone watching them, and it never even occurred to that I might be in the minority.
“I’m a bookish girlie, but I’m starting to see the appeal of the game.”
We chat some more and by the time Waverly’s offense takes the field at the end of the fourth quarter, I’m enraptured. The camera zooms in on the quarterback, and by default, Brady, who’s at his side. He struts out wearing the tightest white pants I’ve ever seen andholy shit.
Is that his cock?
The long, thick ridge is clearly visible through his pants, and I know I shouldn’t be looking, but tell that to my pussy. Desire pools low in my belly and I shift in my seat, desperate to relieve the growing ache between my legs.
The thin shorts he wears to class have nothing on those pants.
“Having second thoughts?” Jenna whispers with a knowing grin.
I swallow, striving for a calm I don’t feel. “About what?”
“Don’t play coy.” She offers me a napkin. “You’re practically drooling.”
Wonderful. I’ve been caught objectifying the man.
Which is totally unfair. He has plenty of qualities I appreciate in a person. It’s just that those qualities aren’t currently on display.
I take the napkin, crumple it up, and throw it at her. “I am not drooling.”
“Keep telling yourself that, sis.” She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “I don’t know why you keep turning him down. You’ve got chemistry for days, and he’s clearly smitten with you. Make it make sense already.”
That’s the thing. I can’t.
The fears I harbor aren’t ones that can be shared.
“I told you—”
