Sweet Little Nothing

I’m just petrified by the thought of actually doing it, by the thought of ever willingly being so vulnerable with a man.

It’s really a moot point though, because after Rob, what man would want me anyway? I’m the definition of used goods.

“Twinkies!” Zach’s booming voice cuts through my melancholy. “Well, no. What do you call three twins?”

“Triplets,” Stella deadpans, making us all laugh.

“Seriously, these shirts are gold.” Zach’s grin is so infectious, I find myself cheesing right alongside him.

“We need a pic!” Stella exclaims, and Zach grabs a random passerby to snap one.

The front of our jerseys all read “Ooh that 99, he’s so fine” with a wildcat silhouette. The back has Gabe’s name across the shoulders in glittery gold block letters.

“They are perfect,” I say as we scroll through the photos.

“Right?” Zach laughs. “Gabe’s going to die.”

“He doesn’t know?” Stella asks.

“Nope.”

“This is amazing!”

“C’mon, ladies.” Zach wraps an arm around each of us. “There is tailgating to be done.” He guides us over to where his friends are already partying hard.

“Ooh, cornhole!” Stella murmurs as we pass a group of fit-looking guys tossing beanbags. “You wanna play?”

“Eh.” I shrug. “Hand-eye coordination’s not really my thing.” You’d think as a former cheerleader it would be, but nope. It seems that was the only exception to the rule.

“Do you mind if I go?”

I nudge her with my hip. “Don’t let me stop you from having a good time!”

Stella studies me. “You sure?”

Zach answers her before I can. “Girl, go. I’ll keep our Emmy company.”

Stella’s pink-glossed lips tip up into a huge smile. “Be back soon!” She practically skips away, giddy as can be for her first college football game experience.

“Feeling a little overwhelmed?” Zach asks. He is way too perceptive for my liking. “Let’s sit.” He weaves through the crowd, leading me to a cluster of chairs.

Or I’m not hiding the anxiety clawing at my skin as well as I thought I was. “Maybe a little.” I scan the area, looking for Stella. Sure enough, she’s having the time of her life with the cornhole guys.

A particularly muscled specimen currently has his front molded to her back under the guise of helping her with her toss.

Judging from the megawatt grin she’s wearing, she’s loving every second, the shameless little flirt.

“You want me to grab you a drink? Water, Coke?”

“Water would be great,” I say, even though I’m not particularly excited about Zach leaving me on my own.

Maybe I’ll just offer to tag along...

But before I get a chance to offer, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Yo! Renski!”

In the blink of an eye, a ginger-haired guy pops up out of seemingly nowhere. “Yes?”

“Get the lady and me a couple bottles of water.”

“On it!” He gives a jaunty salute before hustling away in search of our drinks.

“How’d you manage that?”

Zach bounces his shoulders and smiles. “Must be my award-winning personality.”

“Must be.”

“Back!” Renski hollers, a condensation-covered water bottle in each hand. “Need anything else?”

“Nah, we’re good, my man,” Zach says, politely dismissing him.

“Thank you,” I call after his retreating form.

Without looking back, he flashes a peace sign our way over his shoulder.

“Now, drink up so we can calm those nerves and get you in the Wildcat spirit.”

I shake my head and crack open my bottle of water, sipping from it slowly.

Zach does his best to entertain me, but eventually, I send him off to have fun. Just because I’d rather sit and chill doesn’t mean I want to be a wet blanket for my friends. They should still have a good time.

Plus, this is prime people watching if there ever was any. All walks of student-life are here and en masse. It’s crazy the way everyone sort of meshes together in a big show of school spirit. Stoners, jocks, nerds—people who wouldn’t be caught dead together in high school—are all here.

I’m deeply invested in the Stella-cornhole saga when my phone buzzes in my pocket. After my unexpected and supremely unwanted exchange with my mother earlier, I’m hesitant to check it again.

Another alert buzzes through, and I decide at the very least I can set it to silent.

But when I check the screen, the messages are from an unknown number.

Unknown: Why do you look so miserable?

Unknown: I don’t like his name on your body.

What in the ever-loving hell?

My hands shake as I tap out a reply.

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: Who do you think it is?

I suck in air through my teeth as my vision swims.

Me: Answer my question.

Unknown: Who do you want it to be?

It feels like there’s a hummingbird trapped inside of my chest, my heart is beating so hard.

Me: This isn’t funny.

Unknown: It is a little. Come on. You know who this is...take a guess. If you’re right, I’ll give you a prize.

Me: Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing. But I’m about to block your number.