Scrimmage Gone South (Crimson Romance) (6 page)

He thought that was funny. Then he said, “How do I taste?” and he kissed me. Oh, my God. When we came up for air, he looked as dazed as I felt. Then we went over and sat on the end of the porch and hung our legs off. We kissed some more. It was the best kissing ever. I just
thought
I’d been kissed before.

Finally, he said, “I have got to go. I’m going to pay for it if I don’t.” Then he whipped out his cell phone and asked for mine. It never occurred to me not to hand it over. He asked for my number and called our phones back and forth and stored the numbers. It looked like something he’d done before. That’s when he told me his whole name and that’s when I realized who he was. That’s when I should have known I was in trouble, but I didn’t because it never occurred to me that the likes of number 85, star wide receiver Nathan Scott would even remember me, much less call.

But he did call and he kept calling. Sometimes we would talk for a whole hour. Then he got into the habit of calling the last thing at night after we were in bed. It was like the last truffle in the box. At first, he just told me how his classes were going and when he was hurt and sore. He told me his favorite foods (chocolate pie, bacon, and lasagna) and the foods he hated (Swiss cheese, sweet potatoes, and coconut). There were about a million sports agents courting him and he told me all about them. We talked about football and how I intended to go to law school. I tried to stay away from the subject of me and, to be honest, it wasn’t that hard. Like when he asked where I was going to law school, I told him I hadn’t gotten that far yet. If he thought it was odd that a junior in college hadn’t figured that out, he didn’t show it. Of course, he had a lot going on. Big games every week. And pretty soon they were saying the Heisman Trophy was his to lose. They were speculating about how high he would go in the NFL draft and how much money he would make. Of course, he didn’t say any of that stuff. I knew that from the papers and the news. We talked about how many yards he gained and how many touchdowns he made, though he didn’t know I’d been in the stadium with my family seeing all that. I figured out from things he said that he likes Harris, but they aren’t close friends, so that’s good. Seems like they might hang out together in a group sometimes, but they don’t do stuff one on one.

He told me about his mother — though I already knew that story. Who doesn’t? But what other people don’t know is that, though he hasn’t seen her since he was a baby, she started calling him. I guess that’s good since his daddy died last spring.

I must have thought things would just go on like this forever, the talking on the phone, but not seeing each other. Truthfully, it didn’t seem real. I figured I was his phone buddy and he was dating glamorous sophisticated college girls. Of course, he thinks I’m a college girl. I don’t know about the sophisticated part, though he does keep saying I’m classy, whatever that is.

But then came the week after Halloween, when Alabama didn’t have a game. I planned to go home that weekend. Though I’d seen my family every weekend, I hadn’t been home since August and I needed to get some of my winter clothes. And I also wanted to see my dog, Tide. My dog isn’t named after Alabama’s football team just because Harris plays quarterback there. All my family has gone to school there for like a million years. My mother and Harris’s, plus our grandmother were Chi Os and I guess I will be too. We’ve always gone to football games as long as I can remember, but not all of them like the last four years when Harris has been playing — though his freshman year, he hardly played.

Anyway, I was going home and so was Harris, though he couldn’t leave until mid day Saturday after practice. He was bringing his new girlfriend, Missy — also a Chi O — who I like.

But on Wednesday, Nathan called and asked me to come to see him in Tuscaloosa. He said he would be glad to drive to Huntingdon to see me (only he wouldn’t see me there because I’m not there) but he couldn’t leave until noon at the earliest and if I could come there, we’d have more time together.

I started thinking how chancy that was. I mean, it’s not like I know the whole team, but I have met a few of Harris’s teammates, who are Nathan’s teammates — Chase, Austin, and Cute Jon, who is really just Jon except I named him Cute Jon in my head when I first met him three years ago when I didn’t know what cute was. I know now.

All this led me to face that I had to tell Nathan the truth and I could not tell him on the phone. I was in too deep. He deserved to hear it in person. So, I told him that, yes, I’d come, that I’d love to come. Which was true, all except for the facing up part.

My mother did not give me any trouble or check out my story when I told her I was going home with Mary Margaret so we could study together for a big art history test. There was no reason for her to question me. I never lie. (At least, I never used to.) I never get in trouble. (That remains to be seen.) She just said to email her a list of the clothes I want and she’d bring them to me when they pick me up for the Mississippi State game.

It was going to be hard to tell Nathan because I knew what was going to happen. He was going to get mad and tell me to go back to where I came from. There was a tiny part of me that fantasized that he would tell me that he liked me so much that it didn’t matter, that he’d wait for me. But how stupid is that? What grown man and pro football player wants to wait around for a high school girl? I mean, who do I think I am?

And Nathan is such a huge deal football player. Harris is a star — All American and all, but that’s as far as it goes. He’s going to law school, just like our mothers did, just like our granddaddy did, and just like I’m going to do.

But Nathan, he’s going to play “on Sunday” as the announcers say about really good college players. He’s going to win the Super Bowl one day and I don’t see any way that I can ever fit into that.

So I was really sad when I drove toward Tuscaloosa two days ago. I wouldn’t be there long. I was supposed to call him as soon as I got to campus and he was going to meet me in front of Bryant Hall. But first, I called Harris. I wanted to make sure he was on the road for home. All I needed was to waltz up in front of the athletic dorm and meet my cousin coming out. I don’t know if he’d tell on me to the family or not. I’ve never done anything to get told on for, but it was for sure he’d blow the whistle on me to Nathan. And I wanted to do that myself. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I was going to start with, “I have something to tell you, something that you are not going to like.” And then I’d go from there.

After I talked to Harris for a minute and Missy for another minute and was sure they were clear of campus, I called Nathan. My eyes got a little watery because I knew this was the last time I’d talk to him on the phone. He told me that yes, he was done that he’d meet me out front. He told me where to park, but I already knew. I didn’t say that. Since there was no game, the campus was almost deserted, which was good for me.

Nathan was sitting on the low wall at the end of Bryant Hall. He didn’t see me because he had his eyes closed and his head leaned up against the building. I took a minute to look at him because I knew I wasn’t going to be allowed to look at him again, except in the paper and
Sports Illustrated
. If he’d been good looking before, here in the sunlight, he was spectacular. Aside from his buttery caramel hair and this perfect body, his face was nothing short of beautiful — with good reason I guess, considering his mother was one of the original elite Glitter Star models for Celestial Silk lingerie. He was a little dressed up in khakis and a blue oxford cloth shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his million dollar forearms.

I wondered if he’d dressed up for me. I had not dressed or made myself up to try to look older this time. I wanted to look pretty (I have some pride, you know) but I didn’t want to be deceptive. I wore jeans and a soft pink sweater, with only a little mascara, blush, and lip gloss. Part of me hoped that he’d see me and realize I was sixteen so I wouldn’t have to tell him.

I guess I’d been looking at him about five minutes when he finally looked up. His eyes were red rimmed and for just a second I thought he’d been crying. But then he smiled and he didn’t look sad at all. In fact, he looked happy.

“Hey,” he said and stood up.
Hey
. Who knew a word could sound so sweet, so wrapped up in a smile?

I knew I needed to open my mouth and tell him right now, tell him before he could say
hey
again, or my name, or utter anything that would make it impossible for me to tell him. But he was stepping toward me with his arms open and I thought, what could it hurt if I let him hold me just a second? Just one little second and then I’d tell him.

And his put his arms around me and bent and pressed an incredibly hot cheek to mine. Hot. A face wasn’t supposed to be that hot. I put my hand on his cheek and then his forehead. That explained the sleepy looking red eyes.

“You’re sick,” I said, but he was like, “Oh, no, not so much. I’m doing okay.” Then he coughed and it sounded like he might turn himself inside out. I asked if he’d been to a doctor and he said the team doctor had given him a shot and some cough syrup and would I like to go out to lunch? I told him he wasn’t able to go out to lunch.

He said, “Most girls want to be seen in public with me.”

I told him I thought I needed to turn around and take myself back to school and he needed to go to bed. He said that was not going to happen. He finally had a weekend off, he finally had me here, and he wasn’t going to let me leave.

“You’re burning up,” I said and he had another coughing fit. Finally, he said that okay, maybe he didn’t feel so good but it was just a matter of time before that shot took effect. Maybe we could go in his room, watch some football, and order a pizza. Then later, he’d take me to dinner.

What could I do? He was so sick. I couldn’t tell him, not yet.

I’d been in the athletic dorm before and Nathan’s living quarters were just like Harris’s. The suite was made up of four single bedrooms, two bathrooms, a little kitchen, and a living room. I was terrified. For all I knew, Cute Jon might be sprawled out on the sofa and Austin might occupy the bedroom next to Nathan’s. But Nathan told me most of the team and all his suitemates had left for the weekend.

Nathan’s room was just like Harris’s — except Nathan’s didn’t have a matching comforter, curtains, and rug. There was a desk and chair, chest with a TV on top, and double bed. (I guess you really can’t fit most football players in single beds.) He turned the television on and told me he was going to change clothes. I was afraid he might do it right in front of me. I mean, who knows what a college girl would expect? But he didn’t. He went into the bathroom and came out wearing a pair of shorts and a Crimson Tide t-shirt.

He came over, put his arms around me, and kind of collapsed against me. “Thank you for this. I wanted to take you somewhere nice.” I told him I
was
somewhere nice and he looked at me all sweet and misty looking. It made my stomach turn over.

“You should lie down,” I told him and he took my hand and pulled me right onto the bed beside him, like it was nothing — which I guess was the case for him. I, however, was not in the habit of crawling in bed with a guy, even if there was nowhere else to sit in the room.

I had not thought about any of this, never imagined I’d end up in his room. What was I thinking? But before real panic set in, he reached for his phone and asked me what I liked on my pizza. Then we watched football and ate pizza, with him telling me what everyone was doing right and wrong on the field. By then, I was pretty confident he was not going to try to have sex, and it was nice lying with his arm around me and kissing ever so often.

Somewhere near the end of the third quarter of the Mississippi State/Kentucky game, he fell asleep. He wasn’t quite as hot but he kept coughing and he sounded so congested that I hurt for him.

I covered him up, slipped quietly out of the room, and drove to the drug store where I bought a vaporizer, a box of tissues that are supposed to feel good to your nose, some orange juice, ginger ale, a thermometer, a bag of little Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and a pack of toothbrushes. (My mother always makes me throw my toothbrush away after I am sick. I don’t know if that’s necessary, but it can’t hurt.) Then I picked up some takeout Chinese and went back to Bryant Hall. I was a little nervous going in. I didn’t really even know if I was allowed to be there. I put the food in the kitchen, which I would have not done if his suitemates had been there.

When I went back into Nathan’s room he was sitting on the side of the bed, looking sleepy and grumpy like two dwarves rolled into one football player.

“I thought you left,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I did but now I’m back.”

“You went shopping.” He looked at the bags I was carrying like they were enemies.

“For sick equipment.” I unpacked the vaporizer and started to set it up.

“What’s that?”

I thought it was funny that he didn’t know what a vaporizer was. Hadn’t he ever had a cold before? I explained that it would help him breathe better but he didn’t look like he believed me.

Then I opened up the orange juice and ginger ale and poured some, half and half, over the ice I’d found in the kitchen.

“Gross,” he said.

“Just try a little sip.” He did and then he drank the rest of it down without stopping and asked for some more. I didn’t tell him I told you so. I replaced the roll of toilet paper on his bedside table with the tissues. Then I took his temperature, gave him some aspirin, and the bag of candy.

By then, he decided he was happy again. “You’re quite the little nurse, aren’t you?” He leaned against the pillows and held his arms out to me.

It was so easy to go into them and lay my head on his chest. I needed to go soon and before I left, I had to tell him and there wouldn’t be any more of this. We talked, ate peanut butter cups, watched more football, and finally ate Chinese food. I tried to teach him to eat with chopsticks but, in the end, he tricked me into feeding him. Not that I minded. He admitted the vaporizer was helping and he asked how I knew about taking care of a sick person. I told him that I just thought about all the things my mother did for me when I was sick and did it for him. He wanted to know if there was anything I’d left out, that he wanted the full treatment. I told him she used to stroke my back. He said that he wouldn’t mind that and flipped over on his stomach. I was on my side and our faces were close together. When I started to rub his back, he said, “Under my t-shirt, please.”