And then the flags of orange and white, followed by a backflipping, high kicking cheer crew I hated as a whole based on principle, burst out of home tunnel. I didn’t need to consult the number on his chest to identify him when he sprinted out of the tunnel. Jude had a particular brand of swagger, even in a run, that I’d be able to identify fifty years from now.
“I swear that man swaggers in his sleep,” I yelled over at her.
“Yeah, but Jude’s swagger is justified, not manipulated. He moves with that strut because he knows how to make a woman throw her head back in bed. And he knows it,” she said, tipping the hot cocoa back.
“Yes, he does,” I mumbled, lost in the sea of noise.
The stadium went wild, screaming, chanting, and bowing as their hero led his team onto the field. In barely two months of college play, Jude had already become a legend. He played on a whole different level than the rest of the college boys. He played like he was a god. And his fans worshipped him accordingly.
Shooting up in my seat, grabbing Holly up with me, I bounced, hooted, and hollered with the best of them. So much so, I already felt hoarse when Jude took his spot on the sidelines, right in my line of sight. The coach was talking to him, but Jude looked back, his eyes finding me right away. The benefits of calling the front and center seat for your girlfriend, I suppose. He waved at Holly, then winked at me, which I answered with an air kiss. His grin split his face mask before he turned his attention back at his coach.
“That man has such a stare-worthy, needs-to-be-grabbed-onto-in-handfuls ass,” Holly said, gazing a little dreamily at Jude’s backside. I would have been jealous had it been anyone but Jude’s childhood best friend. Holly, and only Holly, could make an honest observation about Jude’s ass without me going all jealous girlfriend on her.
“I mean, that’s something a girl could hold onto in bed,” Holly added, munching on a piece of popcorn.
A flash of heat flushed my cheeks, assigning a picture to that statement.
Like he could feel our eyes devouring his backside, Jude shifted his arm back and gave it a smack, throwing me a quick smirk over his shoulder before huddling up with a few of his starters.
Jude Ryder was all kinds of cruel.
“So,” Holly began, elbowing at my side, “you guys…?”
I glared over at her from the side.
“That was a firm no,” she muttered, hiding her smile behind the hot chocolate cup.
I watched as Jude and the guys took the field after the kick off. Number twenty-three’s name caught my attention. Where “Hopkins” had been stenciled in his jersey the entire season, tonight’s jersey had the word “Douche” written in black sharpie on a piece of duct tape. Jude took his payback seriously.
“Well, it hasn’t been for lack of trying,” I said, turning in my seat to face her. I was comfortable talking with Holly about Jude’s apparent inability to sleep with me because Holly was the epitome of nonjudgmental. I doubted she would have raised a brow had I divulged I had some sort of toe sucking fetish. “On my part, at least,” I added.
“You know it isn’t because he doesn’t want to, right?” she said, looking over at me. “Because the man wants you so bad he’s about to explode in his pants. He’s just hell bent on doing this whole thing right by you. He doesn’t want to screw anything up, and if you’re Jude, you believe that screwing up is in your nature.” She paused, nibbling on a piece of popcorn as Jude lined up behind his offensive line. I hopped up with the rest of the fans. “Just give him some time.”
“Much more time, and I’m going to implode and then whether it’s right or wrong to sleep with me won’t matter,” I responded, holding my breath as Jude crouched into position.
“Honey, I know the feeling,” Holly said. “This mare has been taken out to spring pasture since before little Jude.”
“God, Holly,” I said, almost choking on my kernel of popcorn, but then the center hiked the ball and I froze. Jude feinted to the side, then the other, arching the football back as Tony charged down the field. Jude’s arm blurred, the ball arching into a praise worthy spiral, ticking off the yards until it landed in Tony’s cradled arms at the fifteen.
The crowd exploded, pom-poms shaking, foam hands bouncing, fanatics chanting; it was more intense than any rock concert I’d attended.
“Damn!” Holly shouted over at me, after whistling through her teeth, “that boy isn’t only out there for ass candy.”
“He can play,” I said, underemphasizing. “Ass candy is just an honorary title.”