Just Another Football Romance

Prologue

Then-Freshman year

Elle

Goosebumps spread across my arms as I sit through what I hope is the final part of the NCAA student athlete speech.

The presenter, I think his name is Rob— is talking about red-shirting whether it’s for an injury or for a year if you decide to transfer.

I know I should be paying better attention, but it is freezing and it’s not like cross country athletes are being poached by other schools, it happens, but it’s not common.

Not like the ball sports, football, basketball, baseball, those sports, you know the ones that people besides the athletes’ parents come to watch, REAL spectators, actual revenue brought in; ya know those sports.

I squirm in my seat hoping some movement will stop the hairs on my arms from standing straight up; when the presenter finally ends his speech and declares us free to go, once we turn in our signed compliance forms.

I quickly sign the forms and get up out of my seat, praying to the powers that be that my nipples are not visible through my sports bra and t-shirt that I decided to wear; because even though I promised myself that college would be my fresh start, my new me, one who actually puts effort into how she looks, I still ended up in my usual attire, a t-shirt and running shorts.

Sneaking a quick glance down I discover that there is a god and he or she deems me worthy because I’m safe from nipplegate.

Unfortunately, since I was discreetly checking myself out, I am not safe from bumping into a hulking man giant.

“Sorry! I wasn’t paying much attention.” I explain shifting my backpack onto my shoulders. Well shit. Man giant is gorgeous. Caramel hair and perfect eyebrows. You’d be surprised how many men neglect their eyebrows.

“No problem, I can take those for you.” Man Giant responds as he holds out a hand for my forms.

“That’d be great, yeah thanks.” I reply as he graciously takes both of our forms and turns them in and walks out.

Great first day Ellie, very smooth I think as I watch him leave. Luckily, we’re at a very large university and I will probably never see the hulking man giant again. Grabbing my phone from the water bottle sleeve of my backpack I text my friend Vi.

Elle: Well I hope your day is going better than mine. Just bumped into a hulking man giant at the compliance meeting.

Vi: Ohhhh what sport was Man Giant and was he hot?

Elle: I mean I literally had to look up at him. But yeah he was pretty cute and since he’s so large I’m going to assume something physical but since it was the mandatory rules/compliance meeting. I have no clue what sport.

Vi: this is why you always lose when we play Clue. You’re not observant enough.

Elle: rude.

I swipe out of my messages and pull up my class schedule again. Sighing, I make my way to the lecture hall and hope I can get a decent spot, not one in the way back but definitely not in the front. Middle, preferably near the aisle in case I have to pee from staying hydrated for practice.

Lucky for me, I’m early enough that there are still spots available in my desired location. I pull out my pen and notebook. Everyone around me has their laptops out, but I know I learn better when I physically write it all down. So here I am, slumming it old school style.

“Oh! I recognize you. You were just at the meeting too. Can I sit here? I know no one in class.” A deep voice startles me from my doodles on the margins of my notebook. I glance up to see Man Giant with a slightly anxious look on his face.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead I don’t know anyone either so the spot isn’t being saved.” I smile.

“I’m Archer” Man Giant says as he plops himself down next to me. His face relaxes into a more comfortable expression.

“Elle” I say, “but most people call me Ellie.”

“Nice to meet you Ellie, so what sport do you play?” His blue eyes are piercing.

I can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or trying to make polite conversation.

I’ve always been a girls’ girl so conversations with men do not come natural to me.

I mean I talk to my brother and his friends just fine, but I’ve also known most of them since they were pre-pubescent.

So this conversation with a real life Adonis, completely out of my depth.

“I run cross country and track.” I reply and I can’t help but notice the ‘eesh’ look that crosses Archer’s face, the look that says ‘this chick is a psychopath, she actively enjoys running for extended periods of time’. “What sport do you play?” I ask quickly, trying to salvage this conversation.

“Football” before he can elaborate or I can ask what position, our professor clears her throat and the class begins.

Now-Present Day

Elle

“That was ugly. At least it’s the first game of the season?

” I say to Fish as I slug back the rest of my beer.

It’s Sunday night and the beginning of my fall break so I can afford to drink a beer or three on my couch; with my cat, who couldn’t care less about Wolves’ game.

My cat continues to groom himself completely unconcerned with the disaster we just watched.

“He just looked so sad out there at the end of the game.” I look over at Fish like I expect him to actually answer me.

“Should I message him and tell him he’s still doing a good job?

My students always respond positively to that when they’re having a bad day. ”

Before my logic can catch up with my liquid courage, I grab my phone and pull up his Instagram.

“Lucky for me we still follow each other from college. I don’t think he realizes he still follows me actually but at least I know my message won’t get flagged.

” I say to Fish as I type the message and hit send.

Archer

Lights flash and the cacophony of sounds dies down as I step up to the podium.

I know I fucked up tonight. I threw two interceptions and everyone is pissed.

I’m pissed, my team’s pissed and Coach is pissed, although he will never admit it.

He just gives you that ‘I’m disappointed’ look. Which is arguably worse.

I can’t get my head on straight. I really don’t have anyone but myself to blame, but I really want to blame Cassie.

Cassie who I thought I was going to spend forever with after we tied the knot this upcoming off season.

Cassie, who wore my jersey all through college after I transferred for more playing time.

Cassie who cheated on me with another man in my own fucking house.

Yeah, I really want to blame her. But I can’t because that wouldn’t be taking ownership for my mistakes. Cassie wasn’t there on that field. I was.

“Archer!” Kirk Williams shouts, holding his recorder up to me. “Two interceptions and your throws were all over the place, you had your receivers running for their lives”

“Is there a question in there?” My voice flat. This loss was hard; it was a division team and our biggest rival.

Williams is unphased as he continues to hold his recorder “Is your performance issue caused by your ex-fiancée’s performance with the media last week?

” There it is. Williams has never been one to just ask about stats or team performance, he always wants to crawl his way into the athletes’ personal lives, mine included. Before I can respond, Coach cuts in.

“We are here to discuss football and if your question has anything to do with Miss Johnson, we will not be entertaining any further questions so you might as well pack up and leave.” There is some grumbling with that but luckily the rest of the questions are your typical post loss questions.

Not fun to answer but nothing to do with Cassie.

Thank fuck for coach. Coach Pierson is not someone you want to mess with.

He’s no nonsense but he’ll give you the shirt off your back.

He’s also a great cook. Which I found out when he invited me to dinner with his wife after my security caught Cassie with some unnamed fucker in my house.

“You need to get your head back in the game.” Coach says as we walk to the locker room after the press conference.

Before I can respond he continues, “I asked Dr. Mondary to come in, she’s out of town for a family function but she will be back before our next game.

I want you to meet with her and try to work out whatever has got your brain in a funk.

” Luckily, he’s kind enough not to mention that he knows exactly what has my brain in a funk.

“Yes, Coach.” I respond as Coach walks away toward his office after clapping me on the shoulder, no doubt to review footage and plan a new strategy for the next game.

I head toward my car; I should shower but honestly, I just want to get home.

Not the home Cassie defiled mind you, but my apartment in the city where I play.

It’s a lot more convenient to stay locally than it is to drive the hour and half to the house I bought with Cassie; the house we planned to build our life in.

The house that now sits abandoned and haunted by the ghost of our relationship.

Once I get to the apartment and shower, I pull up Instagram as I lay in bed. I go through the dozens of jersey chaser messages and a few memes that my teammates and friends shared with me. When my phone buzzes and a message from an account I didn’t realize I followed flashes at the top.

11:17 pm @ Ellebelle77 “Archer! Hi! You probably don’t remember me.

We had World History together freshman year.

We were friends, well I considered us friends.

Anyway I wanted to tell you that you’re doing a great job, the city loves you.

And well, if you ever want someone to talk to, I’m local!

We could meet for drinks or coffee. Well anyway, keep your head up, you’ll get us to the Super Bowl. I know it.”

A wave of realization hits me as I go through her photos.

Elle Taylor, cross country runner, my history partner and the only girl who knows about my weird niche obsession with pirates.

Even Cassie doesn’t know how much time and effort I’ve put into the study of pirates and The Golden Age of Piracy.

I realized when I transferred colleges that girls don’t typically like guys that can tell you all the gruesome details of scurvy.

So I locked that up only to be indulged in during long plane rides after games.

Still, Ellie or I guess she goes by Elle now, indulged that interest and even agreed to let our final project for our history class be about pirates.

We aced that project if I remember correctly.

I reread Elle’s message multiple times. Was it really her?

Her account looks authentic. Does she really mean that she would want to meet up and listen to my problems. Dr. Mondary does that and I don’t even tell her everything and she can’t go blabbing to the media due to HIPPA.

Elle doesn’t seem like the type to go blabbing all my business to the media, but you never know.

It would be nice to talk to someone who knew me before I got my pro contract with the Wolves.

After mulling it over, I ultimately decide to wait until the morning to respond.

Setting my phone down I roll over to my side and fall asleep.