TackledP: A Sports Romance(41)

"Is Tank going to be there?" I ask.

Sable blushes.

"Oh my God, did you just blush??" I ask. "I don't think I've ever seen that happen."

"I'm not blushing," Sable spits back, running to the mirror on my wall to examine her face. "It's just warm in here, that's all."

"You're blushing," I insist. "When I mentioned Tank, your cheeks turned pink."

Sable shrugs. "It's no big deal."

"You like him," I tease, laughing.

"I think he's cute."

"I think that's probably the first time Tank has been called cute. The guy is massive. Built like a, well, tank. He's not the kind of guy you call cute. Unless you're Sable.

"He is cute," she says. "I was talking to him after dinner. I think he's really nice."

"Holy balls. You're standing here telling me you think a guy is nice and cute. How many assholes have you dated? This is like the first time I've ever heard you say a guy is nice and that you're interested in him."

"I'm not interested in him," Sable says. "Okay, I'm interested in him. But I'm going to text him and tell him I'm staying in to work."

"No, you're not. You're going to the party. I have to insist."

"I really thought Colton invited you," Sable complains. "Are you sure he didn't text you? It has to be a mistake. I'm positive he would want you there. Why don't you get dressed and come with me?"

I look down at what I'm wearing — flannel pajama pants and a tank top that's raggedy and worn out, with a faded pink stain on the front from last fall when Sable and I made a giant pitcher of strawberry margaritas one night.

"No," I say with false brightness. "I'm doing work. You should go have fun. I want you to see Tank.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Sable asks. “If I see Colton, I’m going to hit him for being a dick.”

“It's no big deal,” I insist, despite the pang in my chest. “We just hooked up. That’s it. He’s under no obligation to invite me anywhere. And I’m busy anyway.”

Sable groans. “The two of you just need to start banging. All of this denial and back-and-forth is really exhausting.”

“There’s going to be no banging,” I huff, grabbing one of the books and opening it to demonstrate how incredibly busy I am. Alpha Male Behavior in Athletes. I think it was written in the nineteen thirties.

I slam it closed. The last thing I want to do is think about alpha male behavior.

“There’s going to be banging,” Sable promises me with a look. “The two of you should just admit it already.”

She turns to leave.

“Hey Sable?" She stops at the door. “Be careful, okay? The football parties… I think they get kind of crazy. At least the one I saw in the afternoon was anyway.”

Sable laughs. “Honey, I can out-party a bunch of beer-guzzling football players,” she insists. “Besides I always bring this when I go out.”

She reaches into her demure little purse and pulls out a knife that she opens and brandishes proudly. It’s gold and covered in glitter. Or rhinestones. I can’t tell which.

“Oh my God, is that a switchblade? How many other weapons do you have in your room?” I ask. “Is there an arsenal in there?”

“I like to be prepared,” Sable says nonchalantly, closing it and returning it to her purse.

“I feel like maybe I should worry about the safety of the football players instead of you.”

“That would be advisable.”





21





Colton





It's ten p.m. My mom is off at her hotel room, but she made sure to lecture us before she left, since she has some idea of the kind of parties that happen at the house. "Condoms, boys," she yelled at us before she left. "And don't do anything really stupid. Like slide off the roof into the pool, Colt."

I'm sitting in my room listening to the music pounding downstairs. The house won't fill up for another couple of hours, but practically the whole football team will be here now playing beer pong in the yard or running a roll of plastic through the house onto the lawn as a makeshift slide. Normally, I'd drink too much and hook up with some chick whose name I won't remember two hours later, then feel like shit tomorrow. Rinse and repeat.

Except this time, I'm not downstairs with the guys. This time, I'm sitting in my room wondering why the hell I don't really feel like going down there.

And I'm thinking about Cassie. The look she gave me at dinner when my hand grazed her leg, like she's pissed off and turned on at the same time. Her hair falling around her face as she held herself above me. The expression she made when she came, when she let go for just a second without worrying about everything…