Chapter 3
Nadia
After three years,you’d think I’d be used to the sharp feel of cold wind as I walk across campus, but it still surprises me every time. Ducking my head, I hurry to the front doors of the business school and rush inside. It’s hard to believe that I only have the final month of fall semester and then the spring left before I’ll graduate and leave Wittmore behind.
I feel like I’ve barely accomplished any of the goals that I set out when I arrived from Florida. I’d picked a school so far away, because other than an education, I came here with the grand plan of reinventing myself. I wanted nothing more than to be a different person than I was back home, where I’d wrapped up my high school career with drama and bad decisions. I’d hoped for a fresh start in a new town, a new school, with new friends, but whatever I thought was going to change my life for the better, didn’t. I guess in eight months, I’ll have the opportunity to do it again.
I enter the room late, and take an open chair on the edge of the room, unwrapping the scarf my aunt knitted for me from around my neck. I hang it and my hat on the back of my chair. It’s the layers that I hate. Scarves, hats, gloves, coats. I still prefer the shorts and crop tops I can wear year round in my home state. Peeling off the rest of the layers, I get out my laptop while the professor continues with his lecture.
I’ve seen the looks people give me when I say that communications is my minor. They think it’s an intentional, desperate move to be around the varsity athletes at Wittmore. It’s well known that it’s a common degree for athletes–a backup plan if their sports career doesn’t take off. But it was my mother that suggested it. She thought it would give my business degree a boost when I look for a job after graduation. The fact that my classes are filled with hot athletes? Originally, that had just been a bonus.
After years of hook-up apps and trying to meet men at parties, I had an all organic opportunity to meet the guys that I was interested in. For once, I wasn’t just a jersey chaser. I was a classmate. A peer.
Hopefully, I was girlfriend material.
Until everything with Brent and CJ blew up, and if I’d hoped that Brent was just throwing around idle threats about having me blacklisted, I can sense the shift already.
Things had been tense and awkward for a few weeks–ever since that night at Brent and CJ’s house. The football players that I’d been talking to all semester, the same guys I’d been texting and hanging out with at parties, suddenly grew cold. Even the ones that I’d been intimate with, like Rocky and Austin, stopped acknowledging me.
I’m more embarrassed by how hurt I feel, than the actual fact Brent carried through with his promise.
Opening my computer, I try to orient myself to the professor’s lesson. Behind me, Rocky, all two-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds of him, taps his foot to the beat of whatever song is playing on his headphones. At least he’s not singing this time. His voice is not good. Not that anyone would ever tell him that.
Turns out that the special privilege everyone thinks student athletes get on campus is real. They’re loud and entitled. Showing up when they feel like it and when they do, barely paying attention. I’m sure it’s not every player, but this class? With these particular guys? It’s obvious they’re used to being the center of attention and the professor has been told to cut them slack. He never skips a beat when Darius, the six-foot-seven starting basketball player, leaves the room, grabs a snack from the shop on the first floor of the building, and returns, loudly eating a bag of chips. Or when the entire defensive line naps in the back row.
It’s surreal watching people get away with so much just because of their status.
They have power that I don’t understand, but I’m unrelentingly attracted to.
No.
The word echoes in my head.
Not anymore.
I’ve sworn them off. No more athletes. No more trouble. No more jersey chasing.
“Hey.”
The whispered voice comes from the seat next to mine and I look over at Eric, the only other non-athlete in the class. Really, he’s the only person in here that doesn’t look at me like I’m a piece of trash stuck to the bottom of their shoe. He tilts his laptop in my direction so I can see his notes.
I smile gratefully. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Eric’s a normal guy and the only friendly face in the group. Quickly, I take down the notes and manage to ignore the distractions in the room. The class moves swiftly–which happens when I’m interested in a topic. Even with all the hostility around me, I get into the lecture, taking notes until the professor wraps up, and I quickly start to pack my things.
“One last thing before you go,” the professor says from the front of the room. “If you looked at your syllabus, you’ll know there’s an end of semester project that will count as your final grade. You’ll do them in pairs and I’ll be assigning you randomly to a partner.”
My stomach sinks. Projects in this class suck for two reasons. One, these guys don’t want to do any of the heavy lifting on classwork. Two, none of them will even acknowledge me. So how the hell is that going to work?
Anxiety crawls up my spine as he starts calling the pairs: Rodriguez and Smith. Davenport and Lane. Beckwith and Lassiter.
I look over at Eric with my eyebrow raised. Well, that’s convenient.
“Looks like we’re partners,” he says, as our professor continues to rattle out names.
“Sorry.” I feel the need to apologize. “I’m sure you’d rather work with someone else.”
“Why would you say that?” he asks, tucking his laptop into his backpack.
I make a face. Eric, like the rest of the guys on campus, is a Wittmore football fanboy. He loves being in this class with the players, always stopping them to talk about the game. There’s an expression of innocence on his face–like he maybe actually doesn’t know about my reputation. I slide my laptop in my bag and zip it up. “Don’t worry. I’ll do my part.”
“I’m not worried about it,” he says with an easy shrug, while pulling out his phone. “It’ll be fun. Can I get your number?”
“Sure.”
Quickly, we exchange and set up a time to text about specifics later. I’ve put on my coat and have my bag over my shoulder when I hear him say, “Congrats on the game, man. You guys killed it.”
See? Fanboy.
I don’t even look to see who he’s talking to, I’m just ready to get out of here. Unfortunately, I’m barely ten feet away when I realize I left my scarf in the room. Crap.
My aunt knitted the scarf for me when she heard I was coming up north for college. It’s yellow and black, Wittmore colors, and made of the softest yarn. I’ll slip in and out. No big deal.
I hear the voices before I step back in the room.
“Congrats to you too, brother.”
“What do you mean?” Eric asks.
“She’s a jersey chaser, but with the freeze out, she’ll probably happily fuck you.” I recognize this voice too. Austin–Wittmore’s superstar tight end–we hooked up for a few weeks in September. Right before Brent started texting me.
“Just make sure you wrap it up,” Rocky adds. I can hear the smugness in his voice. “That cunt has taken a lot of dick.”
“At least get a blow job,” Austin adds. “Her tits look fantastic when she’s on her knees.”
Not wanting to hear another word, I turn on my heel and rush out, leaving my scarf and dignity behind. Whatever hope I had about moving on with my life vanishes in a heartbeat, and I only have myself to blame.
“Just stay for an hour,then we can go home,” Twyler says, pushing open the door to the Badger Den, Wittmore’s popular hockey bar. “Please?”
I’m not sure when Twyler and I swapped lives. I guess around the time Reese Cain kissed her in the coffee shop and swept her off her dirty sneakered feet. I’ve always been the one up for a party or closing out one of the off campus bars, but in the last month it’s been hard for me to get the energy up for socializing. It all seems so pointless.
But I also know I dragged her out countless times when she didn’t want to go, and even with the captain at her side, she still feels socially awkward in bars and at parties. I owe her for having my back all those times she just wanted to stay home and binge true crime documentaries.
Tonight, the bar is crowded, mostly filled with guys from the team. As captain, Reese plans these bonding nights, where they all hang out after practice to chill out and build relationships. After a few hours, girlfriends and puck bunnies show up to join in.
“Twy!” Reid calls out, grinning as we approach the bar. “You made it.”
Reese hears his girlfriend’s name and turns, his eyes sweeping over her. God, to have a man look at me the way Reese Cain looks at Twyler. He pulls her close and drops a kiss on her mouth.
“Hey, Nadia,” Reid says, leaning against the bar.
“Reid, how are you?”
“Not as good as those two,” he says, eyes darting back to the couple. Reese’s hand slides down Twyler’s back, never quite going into PDA territory. She’d cut his balls off. “But otherwise I can’t complain. Still undefeated.”
Hockey. The only barometer that really matters. Once upon a time, I’d been interested in Reid. He’s a year younger, but he’s hot, with the most adorable dimples. I’d asked Twyler to give her permission for me to pursue him earlier in the fall. My one-time hockey player pass. She’d agreed, but only if we went on a real date. We did–sort of–and it was fine, but the sparks weren’t there.
It’s okay. It’s kind of nice having a group that’s off limits for me. I know it. They know it. It’s a safe place and right now I need more of those.
“You want a drink?” he asks, holding his hand up to get the bartender”s attention.
“Nah,” I say. “I’m good.”
His eyebrows raise but he shrugs. “Water? Soda?”
“Yeah, sure, water with lemon would be great.”
He leans over the bar and orders the drink from the bartender, before turning back to me.
“Undefeated, huh?” I ask. It’s a big deal. They narrowly lost the championship last year and the guys are incredibly focused. “Sounds like you’re a lock for the finals.”
“If we can keep our shit together,” Jefferson says, turning away from the game playing on the big screen over the bar. He and Reid exchange a look.
Sensing a vibe, I ask, “Something happen?”
“Someone made a report to the NCAA and they did a surprise drug testing. A few guys got busted,” Jefferson says.
“Probation,” Reid adds quickly. “But it’s not the kind of drama we need right now.”
“That really sucks,” I say, taking the water from Reid. “I bet Coach Bryant is furious.”
“Livid.” Reid takes a swallow of his beer. “But there’s no such thing as an obstacle free season. We’ll pull through.”
On the screen over the bar, the game comes back on and both guys are drawn back in. Twyler and Reese are still engrossed with one another and I let my gaze travel over the room. That’s when I notice Axel sitting at a high top table, alone, a plate of hot wings in front of him. He’s got his own glass of clear liquid in front of him. Unless it’s straight vodka, I’m pretty sure he’s drinking water too.
He notices me watching him and his lips quirk. “See something you like, T?”
I have no idea what ‘T’ stands for, and after the last month, I don’t really want to know. Axel is notorious for handing out nicknames like candy.
“Want a fry?” He holds up the basket. Needing something to do with my hands other than hold this glass of lame water, I take one. The salty goodness is perfection on my tongue.
“Thanks.”
Now that I’m closer, I notice he looks different. And not just that godforsaken caterpillar under his nose. Even with it, he’s hot as fuck. All those dark tattoos peeking out from under the collar of his shirt and down his hands. The silver hoop in his lip draws my eyes to his sexy mouth, but his trademark easiness seems replaced by something that looks like exhaustion.
“What?” he asks, tearing the meat off a wing.
“You look miserable.”
He snorts and tosses the bone in the pile, then his tongue darts out, licking sauce off his fingers. “What gave it away?
“Well, for one, your shirt’s on–”
He holds up his hand. “Mike has a rule about the shirt at the Den. He’ll kick me out if I take it off.”
“Huh.” If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that if there’s a rule specifically created for you, it’s for a reason. “I also don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink water outside of a game.”
“You keeping tabs on me, T?”
I shrug. “I’m just observant.”
His clear green eyes draw away from the TV overhead and over to mine. “I’m guessing Twy didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
The green in his eyes darken. “That I failed a drug test and Coach put me on probation for the next three weeks.”
“Fuck. No! Seriously?” I drop to the stool next to his. “You’re the one that got busted?”
“So, she did tell you.”
“No.” I tilt my head over to the bar. “Reid and Jeff mentioned that a couple of guys got busted. No wonder they’re worried. I don’t know much about hockey, but I do know that the goalie is a pretty integral part of the team.”
He picks up the glass of water and takes a drink. “I’m not sure about worried. Pissed is more like it, especially Reese.”
I look over at the captain who is drinking a soda by the bar with his arm wrapped around Twyler. I know he keeps pretty clean during the season–only drinking occasionally and only when they’ve got a break in the schedule. He’s not letting anything get in the way of his goals.
“So, you’re sober now?” I ask.
He shrugs and nudges the basket of fries toward me. “Until I earn Cap’s trust back.”
I grab another. “Wow.”
“Epic fuck up, huh?”
“Pretty spectacular.” Not like I can judge fuck ups. I’m the reigning queen.
“What about you?” he says. “Haven’t seen you out in a while.”
I frown. “Dude, we talked the other day.” His expression is blank, like he’s got no clue what I’m talking about. I sigh. “When you saved me from Brent at the party?”
“Shit. You were there?” A line creases his forehead, like he’s searching his memory, but then his expression clouds. “What the hell were you doing with Brent?”
“You seriously don’t remember?”
I sure as hell wish I didn’t.
“Not a fucking thing. I got blackout. Which believe it or not, isn’t like me.”
Axel is fun at a party. No, he’s the life of the party. The kind of guy everyone, male or female, wants a little piece of. He’s fun, good looking, talented… and there’s definitely a dangerous vibe going on with the tattoos and piercings. I can’t help but think that if he’s partying enough to black out his memories, it’s probably a good idea to slow down.
He picks up a drumstick and asks, “So what did you need saving from this time, T?”
“Myself, mostly.” I shrug. “He was just being a dick.”
“So nothing new.” He takes another bite and chews, before asking, “So how’s all that going?” He gestures with his hands. “You know, everything with Brent and CJ?”
I take a deep breath, weighing how much to tell him. If he doesn’t remember anything from the party, I’m not going to remind him. “Fine, I guess. I think the video is still down, but it seems like he’s spread word to the rest of the football team and maybe a few others not to talk to me.”
“Good.” He scowls. “You don’t need to talk to any of those pricks.”
“It doesn’t feel good to be ignored and ostracized,” I admit, the shame from hearing the guys talking to Eric about me after class resurfacing. “They won’t even look at me in the class we have together, and I’m pretty sure they orchestrated it so that I’m not paired with any of them in a group project.”
“Why would you want to be?” He shakes his head. “You’re better than these fuck-head, abusive, entitled assholes. Don’t look to them for validation. You’re never going to get it.”
In a moment of pure honesty, I blurt, “This is my identity, Rakestraw. I’m a jersey chaser. If I’m not on the arm, or in the bed, of a varsity athlete, who am I?”
Axel looks at me like he wants to tell me exactly what he thinks, his teeth pulling at that silver hoop, but instead he reaches for his water. “Hold up your glass.”
“My glass?”
“I’m making a toast, T, humor me.”
I shake my head, but lift the water glass into the air. “What are we toasting?”
“To new identities,” he declares. “To no more epic fuck ups. No more partying for me. No more athletes for you. Not until we get our shit together.”
I laugh, but he looks dead serious. “Okay.” Yeah, I can get behind this one. I clink my glass to his and repeat the mantra. “No more epic fuck-ups.”
Maybe it’ll be easier if we do it together.