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I turn to him with delight. Apparently, he knows every word to “Umbrella,” and doesn’t seem at all bothered by that. His voice is awful, but he sings with such conviction I can’t help but join in, wiggling my body to the beat. When the song ends, we’re both breathless with laughter, and his hand is on my thigh, squeezing lightly. Possessively. I look over at him, but he’s busy checking the mirrors before merging into the next lane.
I never gave much thought before to whether driving is sexy, but you know what? I’m loving this.
***
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’dexpect 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 tohave 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 move 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 asyou 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.”
