Chapter 21 – Josie
chapter
twenty-one
Josie
O’Leary’s did trivia on Wednesday nights, and Kimmy had decided we were going.
“We’ve been cooped up for three days,” she said, waving a stack of flashcards at Lena and me across the booth. “I can’t look at another textbook in that apartment. I need bar lighting and chicken fingers and a reason to yell at strangers.”
“We have a quiz on Friday,” Lena said.
“Which is why we’re studying.” Kimmy held up the flashcards. “In a bar. With beer. Like adults.”
She wasn’t wrong. We’d been grinding through the sports marketing material all week, and I could recite the four Ps of the sports marketing mix in my sleep.
Lena had the brand equity chapter memorized cold, and even Kimmy — who only studied when panicked and forgot everything an hour later — had actually read the cases.
We didn’t need to study. We needed to not be in the apartment.
“Fine,” I said, and Kimmy pumped her fist so hard she knocked over Lena’s water.
O’Leary’s had been half full when we got here, the Wednesday crowd thinner than the weekend but loud enough that the trivia host had to yell into the mic to be heard.
We had grabbed a booth near the back, and Kimmy spread the flashcards across the table between the menus and a candle that had been burning so long the wax had pooled across the holder and down the side.
“Okay.” Kimmy held up the first card and squinted at her own handwriting. “Name three revenue streams in collegiate athletics that are not ticket sales.”
“Media rights, licensing, and corporate sponsorships,” I said.
“She didn’t even blink,” Lena said.
“She never blinks.” Kimmy flipped the card. “Okay, this one’s for Lena. Define brand equity in the context of —”
“The value a sports brand adds to a product or experience beyond its functional benefits, measured through consumer perception, loyalty, and willingness to pay a premium,” Lena said, and took a sip of her drink.
Kimmy stared at her. “You memorized it word for word.”
“I read it twice.”
“I hate you both.” Kimmy shuffled to the next card. “Ask me one. I’m ready. I swear I’m ready.”
I pulled a card from the stack. “What’s the difference between ambush marketing and guerrilla marketing?”
Kimmy opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and pointed at me. “One of them is sneaky, and the other one is also sneaky but differently.”
“That’s not an answer,” Lena said.
“It’s sort of right,” she huffed.
I laughed so hard my ribs hurt, and Lena buried her face in her hands, and Kimmy celebrated with a chicken finger off the plate that had just arrived.
“Okay, I need to study that one more time,” she said with her mouth full. “But I’m close.”
We ran through the flashcards for another twenty minutes, and the trivia started — Kimmy screamed wrong answers with total confidence, Lena quietly got every geography question right, and I carried the pop culture round because Marcus had made me watch every Marvel movie twice.
The hockey team came in around nine, and they pushed through the door in a pack — loud, taking up space, Kowalski already yelling at the bartender about a tab — and filled up the long table near the front. I told myself I wasn’t looking for russet hair. I found it anyway, third through the door.
Unfortunately, Marcus found me within minutes. The one time I didn’t want to see him. He slid into the booth beside me and dropped his arm across my shoulders and kissed my temple and said, “Hey, babe, didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Trivia night,” I said, and smiled up at him and put my hand on his knee.
“Nerd shit.” He grinned and flagged the server for a beer.
Kimmy caught my eye across the table and raised both eyebrows. I shook my head once, and Lena got very interested in her flashcard.
The first beer went down fast, and the second one went down faster. By the third round of trivia, Marcus had moved on to tequila shots with Kowalski at the front table, and I’d lost track of him for a while.
He came back drunker and louder, with his arm heavier on my shoulders and his hand sliding from my waist to my ass. I moved it back to my hip, and he put it back on my ass, and I moved it again.
“Marcus, stop.”
“Stop what?” He grinned down at me, glassy-eyed, his breath sour. “You’re my girlfriend.”
“I know I’m your girlfriend, and I’m asking you to stop grabbing my ass in front of the entire bar.”
He laughed and pulled me closer. His mouth went to my ear, and his hand went right back where I’d moved it from. “Relax, baby. We’re having fun.”
I peeled his hand off again and scooted sideways to put some air between us. He followed, closing the gap, his fingers hooking into the belt loop of my jeans and tugging me back.
“Marcus, I said stop.” I kept my voice low because the last thing I needed was an audience.
His jaw tightened, and his eyes went flat.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“No.”
“Come on, Josie.” He leaned in, and his hand slid up my side and grazed the underside of my breast. I grabbed his wrist and pushed it down as I got to my feet to create some space.
“I said no, Marcus.”
“Why are you always like this?” His voice went cold. “Three years, Josie. Three fucking years and you still act like I’m some stranger trying to feel you up at a bar.”
“You are feeling me up at a bar.”
His face went red, and he stepped closer. I stepped back, and my shoulders hit the wall behind me, and he was right there, tequila on his breath, sweat beading at his temple.
“You know what your problem is?” He said it loud enough that the guys at the next table stopped talking and looked over.
“You’re a fucking prude, Josie. That’s your problem.
Any girl on this campus would be happy to fuck me but not my girlfriend.
” He was yelling now. “Not my own fucking girlfriend.”
The bar went quiet around us. Every eye in the place landed on me, and my face went hot.
“Keep your voice down,” I said through my teeth.
“Why? It’s the truth.” He spread his arms wide and turned to the bar. “Anybody here want to fuck Marcus Kane? Because apparently my girlfriend doesn’t.”
“Kane.” Trace’s voice cut across the bar. He was at the front table with a beer in his hand, and his face had gone still. “Sit down.”
Marcus swung toward him. “Stay out of it, Coulter.”
“You’re drunk, and you’re embarrassing yourself.” Trace didn’t raise his voice and didn’t need to. “Sit down.”
“I’m talking to my girlfriend.”
“You’re yelling at your girlfriend in front of thirty people.” Waylon appeared at Trace’s shoulder. His voice was low and even, and his jaw was set. “That’s not talking.”
Marcus turned on him, and his face twisted. He took two steps toward Waylon and jabbed a finger at his chest. The only sound left was the jukebox playing in the corner.
“You.” Marcus laughed, short and flat. “You’ve always wanted what’s mine, Johnson. Don’t think I don’t see how you look at her.”
Waylon didn’t move. His hands stayed at his sides, and his eyes stayed on Marcus, and he said nothing. He didn’t deny it, either. Even humiliated as I was, I noticed that.
“Yeah.” Marcus nodded slowly, and his mouth pulled into a sneer. “That’s what I thought. You want her? You want my girl? Go ahead, bro. Try it. See what happens.”
“Kane, nobody wants your girl, as beautiful as she is.” Ryder came off the front table and clapped a hand on Marcus’s shoulder, grinning. “What everybody wants is for you to come do this shot with me and stop being a dick. Kowalski’s got J?ger, and it’s disgusting, and you’re going to love it.”
Marcus shrugged Ryder’s hand off. Somebody turned the jukebox back up, and Kowalski was already pouring shots and yelling Marcus’s name.
Marcus looked at me one more time with his eyes wet and furious, and he pointed at me and said, “We’re not done.” Then he followed Ryder toward the bar.
Kimmy was at my side in seconds with her hand on my arm, and Lena appeared on my other side without a word.
In my peripheral vision, Waylon stood at the front table with Trace’s hand on his arm. I shouldn’t have looked for him first, but I did.
“I want to go,” I said.
Kimmy took my arm, and Lena took the other, and they walked me out into the cold. Behind us, I heard Trace say, “Easy.” And I didn’t have to turn around to know who he was saying it to.