Jay: Study session ran long, sorry. Okay if I crash and we talk tomorrow?
It was getting harder to find time now that the season was in full gear and we were balancing courses on top of it. We hadn’t talked other than a few texts this week. His fifteen-hour days were scheduled to the minute.
Breakfast. Class. Lunch.
Weights. Team meeting. Practice.
Dinner. Tutor session. Homework.
Only then did he get to sleep after his demanding day. As I was typing out my response, the three dots blinked, indicating he had more to say.
Jay: So tired last night. Fell asleep while jerking off.
Me: LOL! Was the porn you were looking at bad?
Jay: Wasn’t looking at porn. Was thinking about you.
Oh, good God. That turned me on to no end. I pictured him in his bed and his strong hand running down his length. Had he touched himself just as he’d shown me while leaning back against my door three weeks ago? All while he’d thought about me?
Jay: Can’t wait to see you again.
Jay: In my bed. No height restrictions.
I was looking forward to seeing him too, although I hadn’t told anyone about it. Not even Chuck.
Me: Height restrictions? Is that a short person joke?
Jay: No. We both know you’re tall enough to ride.
I snorted, but heat also simmered in my body at the memory of being on top of him. Suddenly, Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. I’d been dreading it the whole week, but all I needed was incentive. Going to the Michigan game might be the equivalent of a double root canal, but getting to be with Jay afterward would be my earned reward.
Me: Rest up, 88. I plan on multiple rides this weekend.
My stomach churned with unease as I shut and locked the door of my Kia Rio. I’d sort of hoped my car would break down during the three-hour drive up here. Or my Ohio State loyalty would jolt me like an invisible training collar as I crossed the border into the enemy’s state.
It was pleasant for October. Partly sunny and a light breeze, meaning I could wear a t-shirt and jeans. Picking out what to wear had been difficult. I wasn’t sure if I should dress to impress his parents, and in the end, I went with comfort. I slung my purse on a shoulder, stared at the screen of my phone to confirm where I was going, and then willed myself to put one foot in front of the other, shuffling toward the outskirts of the U-M campus.
I’d parked in a lot far away from the stadium, but it was already full of cars, and I reluctantly followed the mob of fans. A guy glanced at me and confusion was broadcasted on his face.
“A little early for a Halloween costume, isn’t it?” he asked.
I smiled, and he shrugged, moving off. I ignored the other looks I got, some accompanied with a what the fuck yell, and I trudged along. The crowd grew dense as we moved closer, and I kept my head down, studying the GPS. I’d only been here once before, during my sophomore year, and we’d gone from the buses straight into the stadium.
The tailgating area was bustling, and smoke from grills hazed upward. Blue temporary shades had been erected and staked down on the grassy lot beside trucks and SUVs, and Michigan flags flapped in the breeze as people lounged in folding chairs, drinking beer.
During gameday, my family did this same thing. Up until my freshman year, I’d tailgated with them, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until this moment. Cheerleading was amazing, but it could be stressful. Tailgating was a party. A way to relax and hang with friends while the promise of a win hung in the air just as much as the smell of brats and hamburgers cooking.
Only, this wasn’t relaxing. I spotted the tent I was looking for and slapped on my game face.
The conversation died as the two men standing behind the grill spotted me. The older of the two lifted his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “Jay wasn’t kidding when he said you’d be easy to spot. You must be Kayla.”
He wasn’t as tall as his son, but Jay’s father was a bear of a man. His hair was short and gray, parted neatly on the side. His Michigan football shirt did little to conceal his extra pounds around the middle, but he had kind eyes, a paler shade of blue than his son’s.
“He told you about this, right?” I said, gesturing to my scarlet Ohio State t-shirt. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Harris.” I thrust my hand out, trying to seem confident.
“Call me Noah.” He shook my hand with a firm grip, and I relaxed a few degrees. Wearing the shirt had been a gamble, but I wanted to make a statement and announce my loyalty. I was here for Jay, not his football team. Noah seemed to find the shirt amusing, rather than offensive.