“This is intramural softball, Jack.” I emphasize the word in hopes he catches on that I don’t want him interfering or riding me about playing. I need to have a life outside of him and football. “And I don’t know what position I’m playing. I’m meeting with the team Sunday night.”
“You should play left field.” He studies the pamphlet in his hands for a second. “What is this? Are you doing some teaching internship? I thought you planned to major in English.”
“No, I took a grant writing class this semester and my coursework involves writing a proposed grant for the literacy center.” I watch him closely to see if he has any interest at all.
“Glad someone in the family likes writing.” He tosses the paper on the desk.
I watch it as it floats down and summon my courage. “Susan, the director of the learning center, gave me this for research. There’s a lot of adult learning resources out there. I didn’t realize how many, in fact.”
Hint. Hint.
Jack’s silent and his head dips down. For a moment, I think he’s seriously considering my words, but then he kneels on the floor. “Shit, Ellie, I think I got glitter on my shoes. Look.”
I look down, and sure enough, there are sparkles on his running shoes. During the move, glitter I used for some high school craft project must have risen to the surface.
“So?”
“So, I’ll get hazed over this.” He shakes his foot.
“You told me once that glitter was a stripper’s calling card. Tell your friends you went to a strip club,” I say impatiently. Obviously, he has no interest in learning disabilities and I’m too chicken to brazenly ask him about it. Jack has always been my best friend, and I’m afraid of saying something that would push him away.
Other people might have resented how their parents focused too much on one kid, but Jack hated that attention and has always gone out of his way to make me feel important and necessary. I repaid him by doing these things, only I’m not sure it’s the right way any longer.
I sigh at my own cowardice.
“Good point.” He checks his watch. “So you want me to swing by and pick you up in about an hour?”
Oh no. No way I’m going to dinner. “No, sorry. I’ve got too much stuff here to do.”
We both look at my immaculate room with its tidy desk, the clothes all put away, and the once pristinely made bed.
“Rrrrrright,” Jack drawls. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“No, Jack. Really. I want to stay home tonight. Eat by myself.”
“You want to stay home. Alone. Your second night here?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Not to mention, after missing me for the last two months, you drove up early to move in and didn’t call me until all your shit had been unpacked.”
He stands now, towering over me. He looks pissed off.
“Um, yes?”
“Bullshit. You’re coming to dinner with me tonight. And if you keep saying no, I’m calling my entire house to come and carry you out of here.” He holds up his phone and shakes it at me. He lives with half of the offensive starters.
Jack doesn’t make idle threats, so I give in. “Okay. Fine.”
What’ll one dinner with members of his team do to me? Besides, in junior college, Jack hung around solely with the offense and Masters plays defense, so I’m not worried I’ll see him. Still…
“What’s the dress code here?”
“Shorts, flips, T-shirt.”
“For me, not you.” I throw a pencil at him that he snatches it out of the air. One of these days, I’ll learn not to throw things at a guy who wants to catch things for a living.
“It’s pretty casual.”
“I swear, if I show up and everyone wears a suit and tie, I’ll castrate you.” I shake my scissors at him before tucking them into the desk drawer.
“Shit. Ties are for away games. I don’t know what the girls are wearing these days. This summer it’s been mostly nothing. I can tell you that there are a lot of thongs. I remember those.” His eyes get dreamy.
“Jesus, Jack. I don’t want to hear that stuff.”
He laughs and mock throws the football at me. I duck and scowl when he laughs even harder. After a few fakes, he sets the ball down and starts to leave. At the door, he turns back.
“Thanks for coming tonight. I know you told me that you wanted to find a new—what did you call it?” He winds his hand in a circle.
“Tribe?”
He snaps his fingers and points one at me. “Yeah. I thought troop, but I knew that was wrong.”
“I want to make sure I broaden my horizons. Find new people to hang around with.”
“You know it's okay by me if you hang with us jocks. I’d be okay if you even wanted to date a football player.”
“Well, I won’t. I went through that horror house and I don’t need to revisit it.”
Once was enough, thank you very little, Travis F.
“I don't know why you think a guy who plays chess will be better to you than one who plays football.” Jack sounds mildly annoyed.
I shrug and pull out my favorite jean skirt. I wore this all summer long. It was the right length between sexy and sporty. I might as well go with something tried and true. Plus it has pockets, which means I can stuff my ID and keys in the skirt and forego a wristlet or purse. “Maybe they aren't, but I haven't ever dated a guy who played chess before.”
“I’m all for you exploring new shit, but guys are dicks regardless of whether they wear a jock strap or a pocket protector.”
“That's a ringing endorsement of your gender.”
He walks toward the front door. “If you decide to take a vow of celibacy that'd be great, but I’m not that naïve.”
“Maybe I should hang around with Masters,” I joke.
Jack opens the door and steps into the hall. All the traffic stops and stares at him. He smiles and nods to the bangable girls, which it appears encompasses all of the females in the hall. “I thought you didn't believe him.”
“Jury’s still out.”
5 Ellie
“Hi, Eliot,” Masters murmurs as I wait for the food service employee to spoon a very bland piece of chicken onto a plate.
“Masters.” I guess we’re skipping over exchanging names. I felt him at my back before he even opened his mouth. He carries a certain crackling energy with him. Tonight he smells freshly showered, which is as dangerous as the slightly sweaty, early morning Masters. I shudder lightly.
“Anything wrong?” There’s light amusement in his voice. I’m sure if I turn around he’ll be grinning. Since my defenses are weak from the lack of food, I don’t even peek at him.
“The food here is lousy.” Of course, I say it at the exact moment the server hands me my plate. “But this looks great.” I give her a big smile that she doesn’t return. Masters muffles a snort while I hurriedly grab my plate before the server tips the tray on my head.
“It’s the hall closest to the athlete dorms, so there’s a lot of low calorie choices for those in training. But you can ask the grill to make you anything.”
I turn then, because I have to, and see Masters has a giant cheeseburger, French fries, and a glass of milk taller than my head.
“Now you tell me.”
He plucks the tray from my hands and says, “You should have had breakfast with me. I could’ve shared all kinds of important Western State secrets with you.”
I’m forced to trail after him like a puppy as he makes his way to the back, which has about ten tables shoved together and forty guys. It’s a good thing I’m not carrying my tray, because the sight of half the football team sitting together makes my hands sweaty.
I use the only diversion I have available—Masters’ butt. It’s a work of art and I’m not even into men’s asses. It’s hard and round, and even though he’s wearing cargo shorts, I can still see the flex and release of his glutes. The more I think about Masters flexing and releasing, the tighter my body gets.