The Rivalry

“Hey.” She seemed reluctant to move, but did it, heading in through the open door to her apartment. I grabbed the strap of my bag and followed her inside.

Oh. Well.

There was a lot to take in. A scarlet flag with the Ohio State logo was pinned to the wall over the couch. Her cheerleading stuff was in a corner—a large equipment bag and pom-poms stacked like they’d been dropped there in a hurry. The living room was just a small couch and two mismatched chairs.

The “coffee table” was one of those large wooden spools construction companies usually had cable wrapped around. It had been painted red. It was laid on its side, with the top finished and decorated—of course—with an OSU logo.

Kayla gauged my reaction. “Have I activated your flight or fight response? Now you know how I felt”—she shuddered—“at Biff’s.”

Yeah, standing in her apartment made me uncomfortable. I didn’t hate her school like she did mine, but there was no love lost, either. “I don’t think it’s the same for me.”

“Because you don’t care about the rivalry?”

“I don’t care about it, like, with you. Against the OSU players? That’s a different story.”

Her visible confusion grew. “What do you mean?”

Did I look as awkward as I felt, standing in her living room with my bag in hand, staring up at the red flag? “Forget it, it’s not important.” I tried to change the subject and smiled. “Want to give me the tour?”

She wasn’t fooled. Her hands went to her hips and her gaze narrowed. “What do you want to say, Eighty-Eight?”

Christ, I should have kept my mouth shut. No way Kayla was going to like what I was about to tell her, and it wasn’t exactly going to put her in the mood, either. Her expression said she wasn’t going to let me drop it.

“It can’t be news to you,” I said plainly, “that your football team has a bad rep.”

She waved a hand, brushing my words away. “That’s garbage. It’s not true.”

“Yeah? It is, in my experience.”

She stiffened, her defenses up. “What do you mean?”

“Shit goes on when you’re holding the ball at the bottom of a pile. Everyone expects to get stepped on or get a finger poked in an eye.” Stop talking, numbnuts. “When we play Ohio State? We know punches are going to get thrown. Spit in our faces when the refs can’t see.”

She gasped. “That does not happen.”

Was she a mom refusing to hear her baby was less than perfect? I didn’t like being called a liar. “The fuck it doesn’t. And Tariq Crawford? He’s, like, on a whole different level.”

Crawford was a cornerback for OSU, and a senior like me. The guy would draft, and probably high in the first round, but only if he could keep his ass out of trouble. He was fast as hell, and nobody could cause a fumble like him. I protected the football as if it were the Baby Jesus when playing against OSU.

Crawford also threw legendary fits. His sideline tantrums whenever someone gave up a big play or missed coverage were replayed on ESPN after every game.

Kayla’s shoulders drew back sharply. “I know Tariq. One of the girls on my squad is dating him. Yeah, he gets fired up sometimes, but he plays with passion—”

“You mean passion for getting a lick in whenever he won’t draw a flag. Spare me the bullshit. I’ve heard coaches justify it that way for years. He’s not passionate.” My tone was absolute. “He’s a volatile, spoiled little bitch.”

What the fuck are you doing, Jay?

Kayla glared at me. “Wow, don’t hold back or anything.”

The room went silent, squeezed tight with awkwardness. Fuck. Had I just driven three hours here to get thrown out in the first five minutes? How had I let this spiral out of control? I shifted the bag in my hands. Seemed stupid to put it down if she was about to kick me out.

“Are you telling me,” she said abruptly, “you can’t handle a spoiled little bitch?”

I raked a hand through my hair and paused at her challenging words.

“I thought you could,” she added. “I’m pretty sure he’s never been able to stop you.” She admitted it like it was both painful, but maybe there was also a hint of pride. Was it possible she was proud I outplayed one of the best guys on her team?

She was right. I wasn’t as fast at Crawford on paper, and my vertical leap wasn’t as high. Yet, I managed to break away, or fight for a lofted pass and come down with it over him, year after year.

There was fire in Kayla’s eyes. Heat from our disagreement was rapidly changing into something else. Something . . . more.

“No, I can handle him,” I said. “I don’t know why I brought it up.” I tore my gaze away from the offending flag and focused on her. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”