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But even those memories weren’t enough to get me off.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I picked up my phone and scrolled through my messages, looking for an exchange with an open ending --for someone who would be up for another round months later.
All I found were the endings and restraints that I’d placed on myself.
Me: Thanks for a good time.
Me: Thanks for last night.
Me: Glad you made it back safe.
Sighing, I tapped my fingers against the screen. I had a reputation to uphold, and I needed to find a way to have the reckless senior year that I'd always wanted.
Even if I had to pretend for a while.
As I was scrolling through the messages a second time, Josh sent me a new one.
Josh: We stayed up late and made sure the fire was completely out. Coach will be 100% out of the loop for another year.
Me: Thank you.
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
Subject: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire ...
How about making sure that you won’t burn down the grounds in the process?! How about ASKING your neighbors if they’ll mind having five hundred students in their streets until three in the morning?
I know damn well that this was not a “team” idea, and whenever KYLE and GRAYSON want to own up to this shit, I’ll reduce the extra five daily miles you all now owe me to three miles.
I’m waiting.
—Coach Whitten
* * *
Subject: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
It was me, Coach.
Grayson had nothing to do with it this time. He didn’t even show up. Speaking of which—
Dude, where were you? I fucked like three girls from this bonfire. You probably could’ve hooked up with at least five. I don’t think I’ll need another blowjob for a month after how amazing these were.
P.S.—Are you back at our apartment yet? I need to tell you these stories in person when Coach isn’t acting like this shit is a big deal.
—Kyle
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
Kyle,
Meet me in my office at the complex NOW.
—Coach Whitten
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
I meant to send that last part to just Grayson. Not to you, Coach. Can I come in a few hours? I mean, now that you’ve read what I said, surely you understand how exhausted I am. Three girls, Coach. THREE.
—Kyle.
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Next Time You Jackasses Throw an ‘Unofficial’ Bonfire …
Right. Fucking. NOW.
—Coach Whitten
* * *
I shook my head as I reread his messages, wishing I could tell him and Grayson the truth instead of the lies.
They wouldn’t believe me in a million years, though.
I debated whether I should go to my first class of the day to delay Coach’s berating session for another hour or deal with it now.
Clicking on the syllabus for my course Debating Yourself & Others, I saw that today was “Revealing Your Vulnerability” day.
Coach’s berating session it is.
“Have a seat, Kyle.” Coach Whitten shut the door once I arrived. “And turn off your cell phone.”
I obliged and set my phone on his desk. “I’m sorry about sending you those emails, Coach. They were meant for Grayson’s eyes only.”
“I’m glad you sent them to me,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s rather interesting to see how my star receiver behaves whenever he’s off the field.”
“It’s what happens on the field that matters, Coach.” I leaned back in my seat. “I haven’t let you down once since my freshman year.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk, looking at me in the way he did when he first recruited me in my living room years ago. It was a cross between confusion and admiration.
“Look, son,” he said, finally. “Life is not all about women and sex.”
“I know,” I said. “There’s also football, achievements, and success. Not to mention the parties. It’s important to have those as well.”
“Damnit, Kyle.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop talking. I know, without a doubt, that you’re going to be selected within the first round no matter what antics you pull this semester, but since you’ve purposely picked the lightest major and you clearly have plenty of time for recklessness, I think you can make space for a little female appreciation.”
“I always have space for that.” I smiled. “Did you find me some girls I can trust?”
“What? No, Kyle.” He pulled a brochure from his desk and handed it to me. “I found you a brand new activity. The Theater Department is showcasing The Vagina Monologues for the next few weeks of the semester.”
“The Vagina what?”
“The Vagina Monologues.”
“There must be a typo.” I glanced at the front page. “I’ve never heard a vagina talk. Squirt, maybe, but not talk.”
“Kyle …”
I flipped the cover over. “Is this like some type of science fiction?”
