Spiked

“Ah. I understand,” Jacob said.

I lifted an eyebrow and looked at him. “Do you?”

“You clearly think I don’t. Why?”

“You’re here on a full scholarship, I assume.”

“I am, and I work for it every day. Sure, it’s a game, but I work to be good at that game every single day of my life. I’ve been working to be good at that game since I was six years old. I work to go to school too, it’s just at a different job than you did.”

I blinked at him, stunned.

Jacob seemed entertained by my reaction, and he half-grinned. “Look. We already have something in common.”

“Hardly,” I said, but I smiled as I did so. “What else do you want to know?”

“What’s your major?”

“Business, but I want to minor in anthropology. Actually, I want to major in that, but business is a more flexible degree and will be easier for me to complete on a three-year track,” I said, words rolling from my mouth easily— I’d explained this a half thousand times to everyone in Tifton, back when attending Harton was a dream rather than a reality. Speaking the words had always made it seem more attainable. I went on, “What about you?”

“I’ve changed a few times. Right now it’s accounting.”

I busted out a laugh that was far too loud and came dangerously close to a snort. Jacob looked delighted and appalled.

I couldn’t help it, as I tried to explain my inappropriate reaction. “Sorry, sorry— but you? You’re going to be an accountant? With like a little green visor?”

“Nah, I’m going to sign with an NFL team, with a large possibly-green helmet. But you’ve got to major in something if you’re in college.”

“But what if you don’t make it? Then you’ll have to be an accountant,” I said.

Jacob made a sound of pure disbelief. “Have you seen me play, Mime? I’m a fucking legend.”

“It’s Sasha. And I sold the tickets, remember?” I said primly.

“Ah, but you still watched me on TV,” Jacob countered knowingly.

I felt my cheeks light up. I grimaced and shook my head. “You win.”

“Always do,” Jacob said, and laughed.

We were coming up on tenth street; when we did a U-turn and started back on the sidewalk, our pace slowed, and I noticed Jacob was drifting closer to me. It sparked something in my chest— there was a very simple, basic want to step away from him, lest he knock me over by accident (it wouldn’t take much). But then there was also this want, this desire to carefully hit up against him, to feel how solid he’d be, like testing the solidity and firmness of ice on a lake.

“Why anthropology?” Jacob asked after a moment.

“I like people.”

Jacob lifted an eyebrow. “Not all people.”

I smiled. “I like studying people. The way people group themselves, the value systems that emerge in different cultures, how they clash with the systems of other cultures. Things like that. Like, for example: Coming to Harton, and clashing with the football culture here. I am so not a sports girl.”

Jacob put a hand to his chest, like he was offended; something about the action made me notice how long his fingers were. “Not a sports girl. How are you not a sports girl?”

I shrugged. “Never was my thing.”

“I’ll get you into football. It’s now a mission.”

“Don’t you have enough worshippers without me?” I laughed.

“Yeah, but I want you,” Jacob said. The words were bouncy, casual, but still, I felt my muscles tense and my breath catch. I avoided his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass, and strongly suspected that Jacob not only noticed my reaction, but liked it.

“You tell me something now,” I said.

“It’s a rumor. The thing about girls sucking my cock before games.”

I froze on the sidewalk; Jacob took a few more steps before turning around to face me. “Seriously?” I asked.

“Yep. Though it’s awfully flattering that girls keep trying to get in line for it all the same. Pretty sure I could get a good one, every time, if I wanted—“

“Gross,” I said, waving a hand. “Stop.”

Jacob laughed and we started down the sidewalk again. “Piper is convinced it’s true,” I told him.

“Oh, I know. She’s been working on it for months.”

“Why not just tell her it’s a myth?” I said. “Myth” seemed the appropriate word, given Jacob’s infamy.

“What guy wouldn’t want to be reminded that beautiful girls want to suck him off?” Jacob asked.

“That is so gross.”

“The blowjob itself, or the idea of girls lining up for it?”

“The girls lining up.”

“So you’re fine with blowjobs, then,” Jacob finished, and I turned beet red— both because he’d said that, and because at that very moment, I had to admit that I was quietly thinking about what it would be like to give Jacob Everett a blowjob. I’d never done it before, so I wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it, but that didn’t stop the fantasy from ripping through me. Knowing the rumors of pre-game blowjobs were false made me want to make them true— made me want to do something that made him better on the field—