“I’ll free ball,” Beck says, turning to go change out.
I hold up my hand. “None of you are stepping foot on that field without you’re boys strapped up,” I say. I make eye contact with each player. “Man the fuck up and put your damn panties on.”
A chorus of groans travels around the locker room as the guys lower their heads and make their sad ways back to their lockers. They know I’m serious.
I let them vent and curse, be as pissed off as they want, but they know they’re accepting this punishment. I look down at the pink thong with little plastic jewels. I have to admit, I feel a little pissed myself, but the thought that she took the time to make something—even a gift meant as payback—means she had to be thinking of me. Period.
Despite the fact that she had revenge on her mind; wanted to see me suffer. Still, it’s the thought that counts, right?
I suck up my manly pride, shake my head, and strip down. Working myself up to slip on the underwear. Hell.
Hoots and whistles rise, echoing off the walls. Then Gavin streaks past me in only his tiny black thong. I laugh as the guys whip towels and tees at his bare ass.
* * *
First and ten. The roar of the crowd bounces off the stadium. Reverberates through my chest. We’re in the lead by four points. James touches the ground, palms the ball, ready to snap to me. I glance around, catch the eye of one of the linebackers. He sneers, prepared to run me through.
I breathe in the fresh scent of cut grass. The crisp night air. The lights beam down on the field, casting a glowing halo over the stadium’s arc.
This game is ours.
Before I call out to start the play, I look to the risers. To where Arian watches. I spotted her during halftime, a beaming smile on her face as she laughed while I waddled off the field, desperate to dig the damn underwear out of my ass crack.
And now, her smile grows. Our eyes meeting. If laughing at my expense puts that smile on her face, so be it. I’ll make a damn fool of myself if it means never having to see her hurt or upset again.
Something has shifted. At this point, all the humiliation in the world couldn’t keep me from her.
A fraction of the fissure running through me begins to seal itself. And it’s because of Arian. I wish I could’ve found a way to make things right with Alyssa. But it would’ve taken more than wearing a pair of thongs to correct that mistake. A hell of a lot more.
Down the yellow line, Beck curses. I glance over to see him hike one of his legs and reach behind him to pull at his pants.
Game well played. Arian, all the points.
11
Arian
Vee’s asleep. Zonked out to the world. Offering me the solitude I need to reflect. She talked non-stop about the game. Gavin making a touchdown after a fumble. Pointing to the stands and doing a victory dance…and then digging out his wedgie.
We almost died laughing, tears streaming down, the blistering cold freezing our faces stiff. We knew the Bobcats would be upset. Angry. Livid, even. Or maybe they wouldn’t get the joke at all…just toss the thongs away and run out onto the field to face the other team going commando.
We never imagined that our prank would go so far as to see our school football team out on the field walking like big, muscle-burdened ducks. Digging into their pants in-between plays. I mean, why the hell did they actually wear the thongs? Are jocks really that bone-headed?
Gavin even saluted the risers at one point, singling out the criminals—us—with a thumbs-up. Vee fantasizing he was talking directly to her. Which, I pointed out, he was. She was euphoric after that. And I was right there with her.
I’ve never been a part of anything like this. Just the heightened anticipation, the excitement, of walking with the whole school to the stadium. The roar or cheering, thunder of stomping, the sea of blue and white—it was overwhelming. So powerful. Granted, I was only going to gloat at the players, at Ryder—but sharing that with him, feeling how he must feel when he runs out onto the field, it was mind-blowing.
And I won’t feel guilty for indulging in the rare, carefree mome
nt. I probably won’t get many of them later.
Now that I have some time to myself, I pull out my journals. The ones I kept during the four months at Stoney Creek. I stashed them in a box under my bed. Never really thought I’d look at them again, not wanting to read the many dark, twisted thoughts that cluttered my head during that time.
Right this second, though, I have this overwhelming need to write about today. Just put into words this feeling that I can’t otherwise express, explain.
Something altered this past week.
From the moment I was kicked out of school until now, I’ve been so focused on recovery. On fixing myself. On righting my relationship with Becca and my father, trying to repair the damage I caused. Though I honestly had no idea even how to go about it. Eat more? Exercise less? Go out with one of the guys my dad keeps pushing my way? Invest more time in studies? Get a freaking life?