On a Wednesday (One Week 2)

“Thank you, Coach.” I let out a breath. “Thank you so damn much.”

I stood up to hug her, but she waved her hands.

“Get out of my office before I change my mind. And if anyone on the team ever asks about this, you better tell them that you’re dying.”

“Will do.” I stuffed my uniforms into my bag and headed toward the door.

“Oh, and Courtney?” She called after me, and I turned around.

“Yes?”

“Don’t let this get to your head, but you’re far more gorgeous than any ‘pretty blond with overdone makeup’ that I’ve ever seen on my television screen,” she said. “You’re also the smartest woman I’ve ever met … I’m sure any sports fanatic would love getting the news from you.”

“Thank you, Coach.” I left her office and rushed out of the practice space.

For the first time in my entire college career, I felt free and entirely in control. Like I was finally getting the chance to do what I wanted to do.

Even if it was only for the final two semesters.

Later that night, I stood in front of a mirror in the student union building, ensuring that every part of my uniform was in place for the official bonfire.

Blue hair ribbon double wrapped with gold? Check.

Belly button ring out and scar hidden? Check.

Bright red lipstick for the mandatory team spirit photo? Check.

I adjusted my panther-eared headband one last time before grabbing my pom-poms and heading toward the lawn.

Tonight’s bonfire was practically a staged event for alumni and helicopter parents. It was full of pseudo smiles and school spirit, and it was a far cry from the drunken fueled “unofficial bonfire” that the football players held, randomly, off-campus every year.

The latter was every student’s little secret that we kept tucked under our tongues. Even though I never attended the other one, I’d heard enough rumors to know that it wasn’t for the faint of heart.

By the time I made it to the lawn, the football team was already running around and giving the alumni high fives and posing for pictures.

I jumped up and down as they ran around the flames like madmen, joining in the chants that had dominated their incomparable three-national championships-in-a-row reign.

“Hail to Pitt!” I screamed. “We’re winning this shit!” “Alle-genee-genac-genac! Hoorah-Hoorah!”

“Introducing our team captains!” A loud voice from the speakers called out.

“Playing the quarterback position, Grayson Connors!”

Deafening screams filled the yard as Grayson winked at every girl who made eye contact.

“Playing the wide receiver position, Kyleeee Stanton!”

I immediately stopped jumping and held back my applause as the guy I’d hated for years strolled across the lawn.

Unlike the rest of the team, who wore button-down shirts under their navy blue blazers, Kyle wore nothing under his.

Instead, he let his well-defined six-pack abs steal the center stage, along with his perfectly messy dirty blond hair and deep green eyes.

Some of the alumni—full-grown women who were here with their children, fanned themselves as he took his place on stage next to Grayson.

Ever the jester, he motioned for the crowd to give him another round of applause, but I held back again, just like he held back on showing up for a certain group project during my freshman year.

Although my version of events was slightly fuzzy after all this time, my feelings weren’t. I doubted someone like him even remembered me, but I didn’t see a reason to go back on my “No cheering for him, ever” policy at this point.

Since I had no interest in hearing his ridiculous speech, I decided to grab some water from inside.

I was halfway there when I felt myself being tackled by something hard.

Suddenly, I was in an utter free-fall, tumbling backward without any control. My back hit the ground with a loud, sickening thud, and everything went black.

I knew I had to be dead from the sudden collective gasp by the crowd, so I lay there and waited for Death to greet me.

“Hey,” a deep voice said. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

I couldn’t feel my legs. I couldn’t feel my arms.

Oh my god, I’m paralyzed!

“Shit. Can someone come help me, please?” The deep voice said. “She’s blinking and talking to herself, but …”

I opened my eyes and saw Kyle Stanton on top of me. I wanted to push him off, but the sun was hitting the angle of his face in all the right places, only confirming that he was, hands down, the most beautiful asshole on this campus.

Why the hell did he tackle me?

“So, should I assume that you were just savoring the moment of me on top of you, then?” he said, smiling. “Would you like to try this position with me tonight when no one else is watching us?”

I quickly came to my senses, felt my toes and my fingers. “Get the hell off of me before I scream.”

“I think I might want to hear that.” He smirked. “You don’t strike me as much of a screamer, though. You look like the moaning type.”