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An hour later, our team is on the field and split by position, each of us working on specific plays and strategies. By the end of the week, we’re in scrimmage games and heavy-hitting, though I’m usually off-limits for hitting. Surprisingly, I love the roughness of football. Hard hits don’t bother me one bit.
I trust these guys on my team and we’ve played well together the last two years. Who I don’t trust is Codey Jackson, our tackle. He’s sloppy at times. Like today. When he leaves me open for a sack and I’m picking grass out of my faceguard.
College football is so much more intense than high school ball. Nothing is the same. Every hit is harder and with every play more is on the line. I don’t like to be sacked. Ever.
Codey laughs, throwing out his hand. “You good, bro?”
I hate that word “bro.” It’s fucking cliché.
“Fuck you,” I answer, casually picking myself up off the ground. I brush past him and get back into huddle as we call the next play. I feel Roman’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at him, especially not after the word “bro” is said to me by Codey.
When I look at Roman, anger gets the better of me. I hate that he was there that night and didn’t keep an eye on her. Barrette’s his sister’s best friend. Or was. He should have been looking out for her and he wasn’t. For that reason, our relationship changed.
We break apart from scrimmage and run plays. Sometimes the same one over and over again until we get it right. Roman struggles. He can’t seem to get to the ball or he overruns it. Just like every other practice. It pisses me off when I watch him. He’s by far our best wide receiver, even better than Demarcus Witten, the senior he beats out for the starting position each week.
Roman never gives 100 percent and it irritates me. We’re a team that’s supposed to be tight and trust one another, yet he can’t even give us the gratification of knowing he gave his best. A total slap in our faces.
Roman catches up with me. “Sorry, A. I’ll get it.”
Yeah, right. “Late nights?” I grumble, knowing damn well he stays out too late, drinks too much and fucks all night.
He doesn’t say anything and runs back to the line.
We bust ass through the rest of practice, and I watch Roman bullshitting with Codey and the other running backs. They’re talking about some cheerleader they all had the other night, and it makes me fucking sick that they treat sex like it’s some kind of game. It also drives me mad to think about them treating sex like it’s some kind of status. Believe me, I wish Barrette and I were having sex, but it’s not like that with us. I’m not sure it ever will be after seeing what she went through. Because of that I can hardly stomach half the shit said by the players on the team in regards to women and sex.
The idea that the guys who did it to her were probably bragging like this sends rage through me instantly.
I leave the locker room without talking to any of them.
It’s late when I get back to my dorm room, probably around nine or ten. I’m not feeling like much of anything, nor do I want to study. I have to though.
During the week, we don’t usually party. At all. Unless you’re Roman. We’re too busy with practice and school. Although tonight, as I’m studying, Terrell has some kind of open house going on. Our dorm room is open, as is the door leading into the bathroom that connects our room with two sophomore running backs who play with us.
For over an hour, it’s an endless flow of girls moving in and out. Some make their way to my side of the dorm where I’m studying, others don’t and stay beside Terrell.
Sometimes I want my own room, but we room together because of the unity. It’s important in football. I’m reading the same passage over and over again, only the giggling is louder. When I turn my head, Terrell has a girl on his lap, his chocolate skin standing out against the fair-skinned busty redhead straddling him.
Smiling, I look away.
Like I said, Terrell gets pussy. There have been a few who show up when he’s not here and try to test their luck with me. I’m not really into the whole “hook-up with whoever” thing, as I said before. It’s not that I wouldn’t mind the occasional one-night stand just to satisfy the urge, but it’s not my thing.
I came here to play college football and that’s what I’m doing. I’m not here to fuck around but, yeah, there’s the temptation to do that. I can if I want. It’s all around me. It’s easy. I wouldn’t even have to try. I can go to a party, and there’s three or four who will meet me at the door. Ready and willing.
I want a girl who isn’t emotionally or physically available. I wish it wasn’t that way.
It hurts that we can’t have that.
It hurts like a son of a bitch.
It just… fucking hurts.
Eva makes her way over to me. She’s a cheerleader and tries every day to get my dick between her legs.
“Homework is boring.” Her hands move to my chest over my heart, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulder. “I can distract you, if you’d like.”
I crave the blonde hair and ocean eyes, and this girl isn’t any of those. I look down at her hand until she removes it. “I’m studying.”
Good thing about these girls is they don’t like to be denied any more than they want to be humiliated. They’ll try again, another night, but they give up easily and move to the next willing guy. I’ve heard girls say how desperate some guys are in college, but I think that’s a fucked-up phrase. I’ve seen more desperate girls than I’ve seen guys. Maybe because they’re thrown our way, or they simply hang around like leeches waiting on their next meal.