Chapter Twenty-Eight Taryn
“Nice sweatshirt,” Zoe said as she caught sight of the back of my hoodie when we met at the stadium before the game.
I spun in a circle with my arms out, showing off. “Yeah. Some hot football player gave it to me.”
Her warm smile said my friend approved. Slipping her arm through mine, she tugged me along to the security gate. “I’m so happy the two of you finally stopped dancing around each other and started dating for real.” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “Though it took you long enough.”
“Aw, Zoe. You’re such a romantic.”
“Do you have your own cowbell tucked away in there?” She indicated the blanket draped over my arm.
Patting the wide pocket on the front of my sweatshirt, I said, “It’s right here. When Danny scores his first touchdown, be prepared for a scene.” I smirked.
“I’ll make sure it’s over-the-top.” She smirked back.
Even though the temperatures hinted that winter was pounding on fall’s door—and kickoff was still an hour away—the stadium was about three-quarters full when we found our seats in the student section. Somehow we’d managed a pair in the third row from the bottom—prime viewing of the home end zone. If Danny scored on this end, I was going to lose my mind.
So many variables played out in a game. If we went up early, the coach might want to keep the ball on the ground, thereby relegating my guy to blocking rather than route-running and pass-catching. If we fell behind, no doubt the quarterback would be tasked with putting the ball in the air. But since Callahan O’Reilly was the superstar of the team—something he’d earned—if the game was on the line, no doubt he’d have the ball. Still, I had a bone-deep belief that Danny was going to get his shot in this game. My body hummed with excitement.
Though they ranked lower than the Wildcats, the Spartans from the Southeast Conference had come to play. The temperatures hovering a notch above freezing didn’t seem to bother those Southern boys as they came at our team with a vengeance. Still, our coach’s confidence in his players showed when he dialed up a play that had Danny running a post route that put him twenty yards beyond the line of scrimmage when Mick Patterson, our senior quarterback, dropped back to pass. He caught the ball in stride and turned on the jets, racing for the end zone. When he crossed the line with the ball in the air, I almost hugged all the breath out of Zoe.
We clanged our cowbells like wild women and screamed like banshees. When I caught a glimpse of the camera crew panning the student section, I turned my back and raised my hands in the air, jumping up and down so everyone on the Jumbotron could see who I was cheering for.
Tugging at my arm, Zoe yelled, “Turn around!”
When I did, there was Danny grinning up at me from the end zone before he joined his teammates to jog over to the sideline.
“I knew it! I knew he’d score a touchdown in his first start,” I shouted to my friend who smiled joyously back at me.
Our joy was short-lived, however, as the Spartans poured on the heat. The game turned into a dogfight, with the Wildcats down by three with two minutes to go. Though Danny’s heroics at the start had given him credibility, as I’d predicted, when it mattered down the stretch, the coach put the ball in Callahan O’Reilly’s hands. When he barreled through the defense after catching a wild pass from Patterson and rumbled across the goal line, the roar in the stadium probably exceeded the decibels of a fighter jet taking off. Our defense held the Spartans on their last possession, and we won the game by four points.
“I take it we’re buying tickets for next week,” Zoe said as we made our way out of the stands after the team had run down to our end zone to salute the fans and sing the MSC fight song with the band.
“I have express instructions to make sure my parents and sisters get seats for next week’s game too.”
We waited in line at the ticket booth below the bleachers for thirty minutes before we had a chance to purchase our tickets. Each buyer was limited to four, so I bought tickets for my family, and Zoe bought mine.
“What’s the plan?” she asked as we walked the short distance to where she’d parked her car.
“Danny asked if we’d meet him and some of his teammates at Stromboli’s.”
“Will Tarvarius be there?” she asked with a coy glance over her lifted shoulder. Seriously, no one could vamp like my friend.
“Only two ways to find out.” At her look of consternation, I clarified, “Go to the bar, or text him. I imagine the two of you exchanged phone numbers, yeah?”
“Plenty of women already chase the team. I don’t need to be one of them.” She sniffed as she unlocked her car.
“You are so transparent.” I was still laughing as I buckled myself in.
When we arrived at the pizzeria, we discovered Danny’s roommates’ usual booth was occupied as well as the one behind it. Several women held the seats normally saved for the team, which didn’t do much for either of us.
“Shall we grab a seat at the bar?” Zoe asked, eyeing two stools tucked back in a corner.
I nodded, and we parked ourselves on the end where we could watch what went down when the team arrived. After last night and this morning, I was certain Danny didn’t have a clue about the groupies awaiting the players when they arrived—not that watching them made me any happier about the situation.
A few minutes after the bartender took our drink order, Wildcats poured in the back door, making a beeline for their booth. Callahan lifted a woman with a head full of wild, dark curls high into his arms and smacked a kiss on her mouth. A purple-haired beauty nodded to Bax, while a petite blonde sort of acknowledged Finn. Another honey-blonde woman stood up from where she was sitting in the second booth, and Fitz and Tarvarius joined her.
Then Tarvi caught sight of Zoe and yelled across the bar. “Hey! What are you two doing way over there? Come here.” His infectious grin was on full display.
When I glanced toward the door again, Danny was there with a puzzled expression.
Shrugging at Zoe, I said, “Guess we’re sitting with groupies.”
We slid off our bar stools and weaved through tables of people to reach the booths in question.
Tarvi made a show of gesturing Zoe into the booth ahead of him, while Danny leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Thanks for being here.” He gestured for me to slide in beside the pretty blonde, and he sat on my other side.
“Hello, Fitz. Tarvarius. Great game today.”
“Thank you,” Fitz intoned in his best Darth Vader voice. “Have you met Saylor?” He nodded to the woman seated beside me.
The woman’s smile was as infectious as Tarvi’s as she put up her hand for a tiny wave. “Saylor Davis. My friends all date Wildcats—even the two who say they aren’t.” She smirked.
“Zoe Lampee. I flirt with Tarvi.” She reached her hand across the table and they shook.
“Taryn Hamilton.” Before I could say anything else, Danny slipped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me to his side. Shooting him a side-eye, I said, “I date Danny.”
Saylor clapped her hands in delight. “So we’re all one big, happy Wildcats family.”
Of course talk centered on the game and the prospects for the next playoff game. Nowhere did any one of them let their egos overwhelm the conversation, even though Danny had scored a touchdown, Tarvi had rushed for more than a hundred yards and a touchdown, and Fitz had forced the Spartans’ center into their quarterback once for a sack. The heroics of each of the guys in our booth could make highlight reels of the game, yet each of them focused on the others’ successes.
Impressive.
When the server came to clear the nonexistent remnants of our meal and leave the check, the conversation became about the party going down at the big Victorian where Danny and his roommates lived. Leaning close, he brushed his lips over the shell of my ear and said, “We can make an appearance, or we can go to your place. Your call.”
As if she knew exactly what Danny and I were considering, Zoe gave me puppy-dog eyes, and I said, “We can hang out at your place for a while.”
To no one’s surprise, Tarvi rode over to Jock Street with Zoe, while Danny ushered me to his Mustang. Once we were seated in the car, he leaned across the console, sliding his hand around the back of my neck and tugging me over to meet him in the middle.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he said against my lips before pressing a soft kiss on my mouth.
Cupping his cheek in my palm, I surprised both of us when I deepened the kiss, licking across the seam of his mouth and demanding entrance he was only too eager to give, our tongues dueling and dancing in a timeless rhythm. Soon, my arms encircled his neck while his hands roamed up and down my sides beneath my sweater and my hoodie. A thunk alerted us we’d popped the car out of gear as we struggled to move closer with the console in the way.
Chuckling, Danny pulled out of the kiss, shoved his foot on the clutch, and reengaged the gear before his car rolled into the one parked in front of us. As I caught my breath, I noticed we’d done a fine job of fogging up the windows, and I laughed.
“Guess we should head on over to my place.” He started the car and swung out into traffic.
When we arrived at the house, dozens of cars already lined the street. Danny turned down a side street and into the alley behind the house where an old carriage house that looked to have been converted into a garage took up the back half of the lot. He parked and walked around to open my door.
Hand in hand, we walked through the back yard—where a couple of sets of cornhole games awaited players—up the stairs to the back porch, and through the laundry room into the kitchen. Fitz was already stationed at the keg, with Saylor standing next to him, sipping beer from a red cup and flirting. Danny led me over to where Callahan stood with his arm around the curly-haired brunette and said, “Hi, ’Han. Didn’t take long for this shindig to get rolling.”
Callahan snorted. “It never does. Hello, Taryn. Meet my girlfriend. Jamaica Winslow, Taryn Hamilton.” With a conspiratorial stage whisper, he added, “Danny and Taryn are just friends though.”
I could sense the blood rushing to my face, but Danny laughed. “Kinda like the two of you are only study buddies.”
“Touché.” Callahan saluted with his red cup.
“Let’s go check out the party in the living room,” Danny said.
“Nice to meet you, Jamaica,” I said as he tugged me toward the doorway.
She smiled. “I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other around here.”
As it turned out we didn’t check out the dancing going on in the middle of the living room. Instead, Danny tugged me up the stairs to his room. Before I could ask what he was doing, he said, “I think I forgot to lock my door after I changed to go out to Stromboli’s.”
Sure enough, his door was unlocked, and we could hear voices beyond it. He shoved it open and flipped on the overhead light to reveal two people wrapped around each other in the middle of his massive bed. At least they hadn’t turned down the comforter and only her shirt was off.
“What the fuck, man?” the guy said as he threw his hand up to shield his eyes. “We’ll be done soon and you can have your turn.”
“This is my house and my room,” Danny growled. “Have some respect.”
“Oh, shit! You’re Danny Chambers, aren’t you? Fucking awesome touchdown in the game today,” the guy said as he scrambled off the bed. “Look, I’m sorry. The door was unlocked, and she’s hot and...”
“Save it,” Danny said.
During all the conversation, the girl on the bed had righted herself—mostly. I didn’t like her speculative gleam for my boyfriend while she pushed her breasts up to show off her cleavage in her tight lace shirt.
Ignoring the girl entirely, Danny stepped back to the door, opening it wider—a clear invitation for the trespassers to leave.
“Sorry again, man,” the guy—who barely came to Danny’s shoulder—said.
“We could make it a foursome if you want.” The girl’s audacity shocked me.
“No, thanks.” Danny’s tone must have got through to her because she put her nose in the air with a sniff. Yet I noticed the extra swing she gave her hips in her short skirt as she walked out.
“Sorry about that, T,” he said as he closed and locked the door behind them. “At least they only had time to mess up the comforter.”
Poorly suppressing a giggle, I said, “Are you sure you’d be able to tell?”
He snorted. “I’ll have you know I made my bed today.” A slight red tinge colored his high cheekbones. “Sorta.”
Sobering, I said, “Good thing you thought to check your lock.”
“Yeah. People have no boundaries.” With a savageness the linens didn’t deserve, he stripped the comforter off the bed and tossed it over his desk chair. Next came the sheets, which he balled up and threw into his laundry hamper by the closet. Jerking open a bottom drawer in his dresser, he pulled out a clean set of sheets and went to work remaking his bed.
Without a word I walked around to the opposite side and started smoothing and tucking in sheets, snapping on a clean pillowcase and pulling the comforter across after he snapped it over the sheets. In a couple of minutes, we’d erased whatever nasty stuff had gone on in his room without his knowledge or permission.
Clearing his throat, he said, “We can stay here, go down and mingle, or head over to your place. Your call.”
“Maybe we can let you enjoy some glory with your friends downstairs for a while.” The song changed on the stereo system a DJ had set up in the corner of the living room, and a thumping bass vibrated the floor beneath us. “Then go to my place.”
He grinned back at me. “Sounds like a plan.”