TackledP: A Sports Romance(11)

"You need a new thesis topic," he insists. "Preferably something you're interested in. And something publishable. At least if you still want to pursue a career in academia."

"I do," I say firmly.

"Are you sure everything's okay?" he asks, his expression concerned. Professor Richards is a great advisor. He's basically the professorial version of Santa Claus, kind and good-natured, except in Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops most of the year.

"Absolutely. I was just distracted by finding a teaching position and… it has a slightly steeper learning curve than I expected."

"I forgot about that. You're teaching at…"

"I'm tutoring at the athletic center," I finish for him. "One of the football players."

Professor Richards leans back in his chair. "That's interesting. Have you thought about going in that direction?"

"For my thesis?" I ask.

"Football teams are an interesting in-group,” he points out. “Or there’s –“

“Masculine identity in college football players." It pops into my head, just like that, and I blurt it out.

“You should run with that."

I shake my head, reconsidering my impulsive idea. “I can’t use anything I learn while tutoring,” I say. “I signed a non-disclosure agreement.”

“You don’t need specifics,” he assures me. “It’s a proposed study. Propose it and then for your dissertation, you’ll see if you can get permission to run it through the athletic center.”

Professor Richards is right. I wouldn’t be using anything I learned while tutoring in my thesis, and maybe my sessions Colton King will give me insight I wouldn’t otherwise have.

Masculine identity in college football players. I wonder if winding up underneath one of them counts as "research".



* * *



“So?” Sable yells over the excessively loud music in the bar. We’re at one of the cheapest happy hours in town, which makes it the favorite hangout for poor college students everywhere. Cheap drinks and tacos – the perfect combination.

Coupled with an interrogation by my roommate.

“So what?” I ask, scooping up a glob of queso on a tortilla chip. I pop it into my mouth and crunch so that I have an excuse not to answer her questions.

“You know what I’m asking, so don’t play coy,” Sable yells. “How did it go?”

“I signed a confidentiality thing, Sable."

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please. I’m not asking for specifics. I don’t give a shit about the academic bullshit. I want to know if Colt –“

I interrupt her, clearing my throat loudly. “No names,” I say, looking around.

“A code name, then,” she suggests. “I want to know if Horse –“

I roll my eyes. “Do I need to ask why you picked that as a code name?”

“I was trying not to be subtle." She runs her finger along the rim of her margarita glass and licks salt off her fingertip. “Because he’s hung like a horse, obviously.”

“Yes. I got the joke.”

“Yeah, you should have, especially given the fact that you’ve seen all of the goods."

“I’m not referring to him as Horse,” I protest. “Donkey would be more appropriate, since he’s a jackass.”

“Oh, that fits, too,” she says, laughing. “Donkeys have huge dicks.”

“Conversation with you is always so classy, Sable. It’s really a testament to how you were raised. Those classes in etiquette must have taught you a lot.”

I don’t know if Sable ever had to take etiquette classes, but that’s the type of family she was raised in. Her family is the Pierce family, one of those old money families, like the Carnegies. She had a butler. An actual, real-life butler. I’ve never seen a butler, except for on television.

“Oh honey." Sable laughs. “Rich people talk about cock just as much as poor people do. They just do it while they’re wearing designer dresses and drinking from crystal glasses.”

“Clearly, since you’re so focused on donkey dick.”

“Sure,” she says, sipping her margarita. “It’s me who’s focused on that.”

“I’m certainly not,” I protest. “I haven’t said a word about you-know-who.”

“Mmm-hmm. You can’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”

“I haven’t!” I lie. “Not even a little bit.”

“Sure you haven’t, doll,” she says. “That’s why your cheeks get all pink when I mention donkey dick.”