The Freshman (College Years 1)

“What did you think of tonight’s game?” he asks.

“I think you played amazing.” I mean, he looked amazing to me. My dad is more of a basketball fan. We didn’t watch a lot of football in my house growing up.

“I was all right,” he says with a modest shrug, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. “I’ll be starting for the rest of the season.”

“That’s a big deal, right?”

“Yeah. I’m kind of freaked out, if you want the truth.” His laugh is self-conscious, and he still won’t really look at me.

He is unlike any other guy I’ve ever been with. They’re usually full of bravado and brag nonstop. Overly cocky and downright flippant about anything. Everything. The world is their oyster and they’ll do whatever it takes to make it theirs, no hesitation.

Tony is much more…subtle. Calm. Real.

So real.

“Why are you freaked out?” I ask.

“What if I fuck up?” He turns his head toward me and I realize we are sitting really close. Kissing close. My gaze drops to his lips. His lower lip is extra full. Bitable. “The coaching staff already watches me extra close because I fucked-up so bad early in the season.”

He doesn’t seem like the type to fuck-up. He seems rather methodical in everything he does. “How did you fuck-up?”

“I bailed on practice a couple of times. Wasn’t feeling it. Didn’t care. Had a new friend who felt the same, so we always took off together.” He looks away again, his jaw tight. “When you go from being on top of the world to the very bottom rung, it’s kind of difficult.”

“Big fish in little pond to small fish in giant pond,” I murmur.

“Exactly.”

“Why did your coaches say you’ll play the rest of the season if they supposedly have no faith in you?” I ask.

“They don’t really have a choice. I’m third string. First and second are hurt. Both season-ending injuries. I’m all they’ve got left,” he explains.

“I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” His gaze returns to mine once more. “I don’t want to talk about football anymore.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” I point out.

He smiles. “I guess you’re right.”

I decide to change the subject first. “Are you in this frat?” I ask him.

“No. Caleb is. So is Jackson. I don’t like hanging out with so many people all the damn time.” He sends me a meaningful look. “I half-expected to find you here tonight.”

I arch my brow. “Do I look like the hang-out-at-a-frat-party-every-weekend type?”

“No. I think it was more wishful thinking on my part.”

Aw. That was a sweet admission.

“My roommate and I went straight home after the game,” I say.

“Why?”

“We don’t really go to the games that much.” If at all. “Once it was done and we struggled with getting out of the parking lot for so long, we were kind of over the entire evening.”

“I get it,” he says with a nod.

“You want me to be real with you right now?”