The Rivalry

Kayla was stoic when it happened. She didn’t blink as the Michigan player, number eighty-eight, filled the screen. He was wide open, caught the short pass, and walked it into the end zone while the cheerleaders nearby went crazy. That TD had been awesome. Everything seemed to be clicking for my team this year.

The highlights continued, but she lifted the remote and muted the television.

It was surreal watching the play, and more so with her.

Since starting at Michigan, I’d never had a girlfriend during the season. I needed to focus, I told myself. But here I was now, my career on the rise, and I . . . hell, I wanted her to be impressed.

She didn’t smile. Was I going to die from the waiting? I needed Kayla to say something.

“You won’t get that open against us.”

My mouth fell open. That was it? I deflated. What the fuck had I expected? She hated Michigan.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I gritted out, and then took a long pull of my beer to stop myself from saying anything else. So much for sweeping her off her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Force of habit.” She gave me a glimmer of hope when her blue eyes latched onto mine.

“It’s okay,” I said, even when it bothered me. “Although, what are you going to do if you end up on a sports desk and have talk about a Michigan game?”

“I’m not worried. I’m really good at faking it.”

She hadn’t meant it sexually, but of course my mind went there.

“I didn’t mean it like it sounded,” she said quickly. “I faked with the other guys. Not you.” Her face went white. “And, oh my God, I need to stop talking.”

I grinned. Did I like knowing I was the only guy who made her come? Hell yeah, I did. “Do you think that’s proof we should be together?”

Her face skewed with fear. “Together?”

“You’re sexy. Funny. Into football. Basically, you’re awesome. And me? I’m definitely awesome.”

“Okay, Kanye.”

“We’d be awesome together.” I leaned in and traced my fingertips over the curve of her cheek. Her eyes hooded. Everything turned serious with that one gesture. A stroke of my finger over her skin. “I want this,” I said. “I don’t want it with anyone else.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“Did you not just hear my ‘awesome’ speech ten seconds ago? On top of everything else, I’d know exactly why you’re with me.” I set my beer down on the ‘coffee table.’ “Look, if I want to get laid, finding a girl who’s down isn’t hard.”

I’d reaped the benefits of my starter status my sophomore and junior year. I could fall out of bed and land on a girl, putting forth zero effort. I half-expected Kayla to tell me I was wrong, or for her face to fill with disgust, but all she did was press her lips into a tight line.

“But finding a girl who’ll put up with all the bullshit in my life, and do it only because she likes me, is a different story.” I cupped her face, brushing a thumb along her cheekbone. “I’ve reached a point with football where every new person in my life has motivations. They want or need something from me.” Everyone was fake to some degree. New ass-kissing friends came out of nowhere. Agents showed up at random places, needing to chat me up and see if they could get me anything.

The turning point had been after finals week in May. I’d gone to a house party, stumbled into a room with some girl whose name I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure of, and she’d announced she was down to fuck without a condom because she was on the pill.

It’d been like a jug of icy Gatorade dumped on me.

Even if she wasn’t trying to get pregnant and trap me, I wasn’t about to stick my unwrapped dick into a girl who was cool with it. I told her I wasn’t “down” with getting an STD and left her gawking up at me on the couch.

Kayla, however, had no ulterior motives.

“You,” I said, gazing into her eyes, “wouldn’t be with me because of my spot on Michigan’s football team. You’d be with me . . . in spite of it.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she visibly struggled to find words. “Jay, I like you—”

“Good.”

“But I can’t date a guy from Michigan. My family will have me committed.”

I wasn’t fazed. “Your rivalry excuse doesn’t hold water, McCarthy. If you really care about it so much, then why do you let me do this?”

I cut off her startled breath, sealing my lips over hers. Heat seared through me. It fired down my muscles as she returned my kiss. She matched me stride-for-stride.

“Maybe I’m just using you for sex,” she whispered, only half-joking.

I couldn’t even half-ass an attempt at being offended. My body was all for this plan, and my ego was, too. Our chemistry was off the charts. What was the likelihood she’d sleep with me and then not want more?