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It’s Gabe, Jake, West…and Elias O’Shea.
6
We head toward campus. All of us are in a mood. As we get closer, we can hear the party’s loud music and thumping bass line.
“Remember the plan,” Gabriel says. “Elias, you’ve worked your entire life to get to the position you’re in right now. Think logically about this. With your brain.”
“Yeah, Elias,” West adds. “Not your dick.”
Gabe ignores him. “You’re so close to getting everything you’ve worked toward since day one, man. Fame. Fortune. The best shot of any of us at the NFL.”
“Hundreds of millions,” Jake muses. “That’s how much the top quarterbacks are pulling down in their extended contracts, Elias. You could reach that level if you stay focused. You’re that good.”
It’s nice of him to say.
Gabriel backs him up. “Going high in the draft is basically a sure thing if you stay the course. That’s all you need to do. The hard work is mostly done. Keep the distractions to a minimum and ride that train all the way to the station.”
“Choo choo,” West laughs at the description, then adds, “Unless you fuck everything up by lusting all over the coach’s nubile freshman daughter.”
I give him a shove. “Don’t call her that.”
West almost stumbles but recovers, grinning insolently at me. “Call her what? You don’t like me calling the mother of your future children ‘nubile’?”
“Not if you want to continue to live.”
He finds this hilarious but at the same time he takes my warning seriously when my fists involuntarily clench. “Okay. I’m sorry. Dude, don’t kill me.”
Jake asks, “Can’t you wait to make her the mother of your future children until after the draft picks?” Unfortunately, it’s a good question.
“Trust me, I don’t want to fuck up my future. I also can’t risk anyone else going near her. She’s mine.”
The three of them give me another one of those looks. Like I’m losing my mind.
Maybe I am.
“Who are you and what have you done with our quarterback?” West jokes.
“Well, that’s a possible solution, then.” Gabe’s tone is more upbeat. “We somehow get the message out that she’s off-limits. To everyone.”
“How would we do that?” Jake has to ask it loudly because we’re close now. The music is loud.
“I’ll do it,” I growl.
“Maybe the chance encounter earlier this afternoon was just a fluke,” West suggests. “Maybe when you see her again, you’ll realize that it was the slant of the sunlight or something. Maybe she’s just an average girl and your obsession isn’t really a thing.”
“There’s nothing average about her.” I shove my hands in my pockets, wishing I could somehow tone down the rage. The need. To see her again.
A group of people watch us approach. They stop talking, riveted by us. We tend to get attention.
I don’t recognize anyone in the group but West goes straight up to them. “Hey, are you guys freshmen?”
“Obviously,” mutters Jake.
“Oh my god, aren’t you West Hawkins?” a girl asks breathlessly. When he grins, she says hopefully, “I’m Heather. This is Elle.”
I hear the whispered gasps nearby. “Holy shit, it’s Elias O’Shea.”
“And that’s Jake Bowie and Gabriel Dillon.”
