I'm about to leave when I see his fine collection of jerseys hanging in the closet so temptingly. If I’m pretending to be his girlfriend I need to dress the part, right? I shuffle through the many options and decide on a black Wildcat's jersey with his number - eighty-six on both sides and Young written across the upper back in Carolina blue. I yank it off the hanger and slip it over my head, but of course it's huge, swallowing me whole. I tie a knot on the side of my waist to make it fit a little better. Never really much of a sports fan before, wearing his jersey actually gives me this strange high. It somehow makes me feel...special. I'm wearing an actual NFL player's jersey. Not one bought at a store but his. I'll never actually admit my giddiness over such a trivial thing to the big bastard.
Hopping into my Beemer, I put the top down since it's a beautiful September day, and cruise over to the stadium that's only a ten minute drive. I park a few miles away from the entrance and hike to the long ticket line that I have to stand in because the asshole wouldn't wait for me. I have no idea where I'm supposed to sit or what I need to do about a ticket if they’re sold out. I refuse to call my father to ask for his help. He doesn't need to know what an ass Jake Young is and give him even more hell. The egomaniac isn't worth it, and I can handle him on my own. I’m a pro at dealing with difficult people.
I finally get my turn at the ticket window and ask if they are holding any ticket for me at will call. Of course they’re not. When I explain that I'm Jake Young's "girlfriend" the gray-haired cashier actually snickers.
Well damn.
"What about bitch?" I say as a last resort, making the woman’s eyes widen. "I mean, are there any tickets under that name?"
She raises a mocking eyebrow but turns around and goes through her stack, coming up with one single ticket. That prick! Doesn't he know we're supposed to pretend to like each other? No, probably not, since he didn't read the freaking contract!
I graciously accept the ticket and walk around the big circular stadium, looking for section 112. Finding it, I buy a cup of beer and a slice of pizza at the nearest concession stand since I was so distracted earlier that I didn't fix anything more than fruit to eat. Walking down the cement stairs, I read the painted number on the ground, looking for row M, seat 15. I have to squeeze my ass by several fans’ faces to take my place in the tight, confined space. This is still a really awesome seat, not just on the lower level, but at the fifty yard line!
After carefully sitting my beer in the armrest cup holder, I dig hungrily into my slice of pizza. With a line of cheese hanging from the plate to my mouth my neighbor decides to become super chatty.
"You a fan of Jake's?" I cut my eyes over to my right and see a young, dark-haired guy staring at either my tits or the number on the jersey. The words “Jake is a gigantic jackass” are on my lips, but I remember the deal and all the money I get at the end.
"Oh yeah. Jake’s awesome. Huge fan. I'm his girlfriend." I nod and say as enthusiastically as possible.
"Bullshit," the guy immediately responds.
"Excuse me?" I reply, swiping a napkin over my cheesy mouth, so that I can face off with him.
"You're lying. I know for a fact that Jake doesn't stay with a woman for more than a few hours, and he never sees the same one twice."
"Well, buddy, you don't ‘know’ him half as well as you think you do because he gave me this ticket. I'm his girlfriend, dammit!"
"Ha!" The man barks out a laugh and taps the similar looking dude next to him. "Josh, get this. This delusional chick says she's Jake's girlfriend." They both burst into laughter again, and I watch as the grapevine game continues down the entire row of Wildcat fans, each person reacting in the same amused way as the first.
"Laugh all you want, Chuckles, but it's true. I just moved in with Jake," I say, returning to my pizza.
"Now you're just talking gibberish, baby. But don't feel bad. You're not the first and definitely won't be the last woman who Jake tosses out quicker than yesterday's garbage."
"Actually, he doesn't throw anything out. His house is a mess! I've told him that shit's going to change. I'll be damned if I go around behind him like his maid to throw out all his Mountain Dew cans and Twix wrappers for him."
"Holy shit! You really have been to his house. He never lets chicks in his place," the guy says with a gaping mouth. He must be a die-hard fan if he knows all these details about my asshole roommate.
"Okay, fanboy, how do you know so much about Jake?" I ask.
"Because I've known him his whole life. I held him the day he was born. I'm his older brother, Jordan," he says, which causes me to inhale a piece of pizza crust and have to cough it back up. "Sitting beside me is his younger, older brother, Josh, and beside him is our baby brother, Jason. Jake hasn't mentioned his brothers to his girlfriend yet?"