Stars (Penmore #1) (11 page)

I have a momentary lapse in dwelling on my anxieties and realize that I should probably think less about what I want and see if Nate and Keeley are right, so I nervously decide to text Gray back. This way, at least when he tells me he doesn’t care in the least, I won’t feel this guilt settling in the pit of my stomach right beside my fears.

Do you really want to see me cheering you on?

I look between the book I have resting on my side table and the clock before I hear the chime from my phone.

Hells yes. I mean pretty please.

Fuck. Looks like I’m going to the game.
I quickly slide my uniform off and throw it into a small backpack I have beside my bed before I can overthink it.

I grab my new favorite skinny jeans from the closet and throw on my best black tank top with a scalloped neckline.

I then look at my knee-high work shoes.

It would be dumb to carry around extra shoes if I didn’t need to.

I glance at the clock and realize I probably have just enough time to curl my hair, contact Keeley, listen to her scream with excitement, and make it for the start of the game.

No time to text Gray back.

I’ll do it when I get to the stadium.

Eek. Where did I put my straightener?

GRAYSON

She was in the stands. I knew it. She may not have let me know she was coming. She may not have replied to my last text message. But I knew she wasn’t going to miss it. I felt this rush of fucking adrenalin knowing Stars was watching me. Cheering me on. I sent her one last text before nodding at Coach Hardy to let him know I’m getting off the bench and putting my shit away.

So if we win, will you finally agree to go out with me?

I had been asking her at the end of every class for the past month. Each time, she blushed but never responded. I had never had to work so hard to get a girl to go out with me. I finally told D last week about her and now I was constantly being fed jokes about meeting my match.

When I hit the field, the frustration of not being able to finally claim what I’ve been pretty sure has been mine for the last four weeks has my blood pumping. I was ready to fire up my teammates in the pre-game pump-up. Thankfully, we win the toss and our offensive unit gets to go in first. It’s early on, and I watch as the ball sails through the air to be grasped fiercely by Leyton, who is looking to make a touchdown only minutes into the game. Fuck, it’s thrilling, between the crowd’s cheers and the simple splendor of the game.

But this one is different. The field is the same bright green. I take the snap like I always do, and the rumble of the fans echo around the stadium the same way it usually does. This game, however, will always be special. I knew it the moment I messaged a girl, telling her I wanted her to be here. Something I had
never
done before. This was the first game I’ve ever played where my heart hasn’t been on the field, but in the stands. And I feel more pressure to do well than ever before. Mercifully, it makes me faster than I’ve ever been before.

The boys will be looking to celebrate tonight. And I might have discovered the thing that will finally allow me to make a decision for my future.

A future where I play on the field and Stars watches from the stands, cheering me on, seems pretty perfect to me.

If only my girl wasn’t working later tonight. There was only one person I wanted to see smile and give me a congratulatory hug at the end of today’s game. Hell, I had a nagging feeling that she might be the one I want to see after every game from now on. I guess I better make sure she sticks around.

*****

I’m exhausted and utterly wrecked as I throw my duffle bag into the back of the Wrangler.

The boys will be partying to the early morning, but I’m ready to collapse.

That is, after I go get my girl. She still hadn’t replied to my text, but I caught sight of her glimmering hair and unmistakable amber eyes as I looked toward the cheering fans when I made my way off the field. A smirk settled upon my face as I reached the locker room, bypassing all the “good game” and back slaps, knowing that with our final touchdown I might have managed to get Stars to finally go out with me.

“Excuse me, Mr. Waters, can we have a word with you?” I turn around and find two guys who look like they spend their weekends in bodybuilding competitions approaching me slowly. Both have their hair greased back and have decided to emulate Johnny Cash and wear all black. When they eventually stand before me, their stance radiates intimidation. This isn’t the first time fans from our opposition have approached me after a game looking menacing, trying to act out some pathetic form of revenge after a loss. This is the only time, though, that I was willing to talk it out, if it meant getting to Parker before she had to go to work without bruises covering my face. If I didn’t know I was hooked on her already, fucking preparing myself to compromise with clearly gigantic dickheads definitely would have woken me up to that shit. I especially hated guys who thought they could corner someone in the parking lot and gang up on someone two against one. But I couldn’t wait to start making plans to take my girl to my favorite restaurant. So I wouldn’t throw my weight around. Instead, I’d try to use my fucking words.

“Guys, you have a problem with the game’s result today you’ll have to take it up with the NCAA. Now, if you don’t mind, it was a rough game. I would like to go home and call my girl before she has to work, not tear shit up with you two.”

“Mr. Waters, we aren’t here to talk to you about the football game. We didn’t manage to watch the game ourselves, but have been told that you played brilliantly. We do, however, have a message from Mr. Simons.”

“Am I meant to know who the fuck Mr. Simons is?” I ask, losing patience with their sinister tone and implicit threats.

“Mr. Simons is a very powerful man in this town. A man your father has tried to steal a great deal of money from,” the sleazy guy on the left replies.

Of course it was my fucking father.

On a day like today, my best day in years, of course he’d taint it.

“What the fuck does that have to do with me? You think I care about my father?”

“Mr. Simons just wants an opportunity to get his money back. He would like to meet with you to discuss options. Before other measures need to be taken. Mr. Simons is not above sending a message.”

“Fuck no. You can tell your boss I don’t have a lot to do with my dad and won’t be starting now. He’ll have to relay his messages in person to that dickhead.”

I’m over this shit.

I don’t waste a second throwing my door open and slamming my foot down on the gas pedal.

PARKER

I arrived at work still on a high.

The Herons had beaten San Diego 28-3.

I had always known Grayson was talented, but getting to watch him play in an amazing stadium surrounded by an enthusiastic audience decked out in yellow and blue, without anything obstructing my view, was overwhelming. Apparently, I didn’t really need to worry about standing out or needing to know a whole lot about football to sit in the front row with friends.

The pure exuberance and enthusiasm surrounded me, embraced me into the whirlpool of football fandom before I could even begin to worry about the statistics of quarterback injuries or the number of people who could see me cheering and screaming Grayson’s name at the top of my lungs. The wild sea of fans rose like fierce waves when the players scored a touchdown, pulling me along for the ride. The sounds were exhilarating—the roars of victory, the shouts from the cheerleaders and the grunts from the players on the field.

I was cuddled up to Keeley surrounded by Herons supporters, waving pom-poms like my life depended on it, caught up in everyone’s excitement. I did have a front row seat to the girls who were scantily clad, the number 27 painted on their cheeks, who kept cheering at the top of their lungs, “Go Gray! We love you, Gray!” But I wasn’t really bothered by it like I thought I would be. Being able to take it all in—the game, the stadium, the drinks and the crowded atmosphere—I was finally able to clearly see that their behavior was simply part of the very large spectacle that was college football.

I realized that everything seemed more fantasy than reality. I recognized that these girls were cheering the new super-human character that Gray was pretending to be. He had shed his Spiderman costume for pads and a jersey. His new costume complimented his agility, speed, strength and ability to fly over mere mortals. But he had simply replaced a spider with the number 27. He was no less magnificent, but the Grayson Waters on the football field that all these girls cared about was a make-believe persona. I suddenly knew why he cared about seeing me cheering him on. I wasn’t excited over some fictional character; I was excited for him and his hard work. I knew what was under the costume.

All right, so maybe I didn’t know what was
under
the costume.

I mean, I did on occasion from my bedroom catch sight of mini-but-very-well-endowed Grayson, but the way my body ached I must sadly confess that I have yet to gain up-close-and-personal knowledge of what is going on
under
his clothes. I did, however, know how he liked his coffee. How much he hated talking about his dad and how protective he was of his mom. I knew that I was privy to what counted. So just like when I smiled and laughed when Gray pretended to be Spiderman, I couldn’t help but smile and enjoy his performance as number 27.

When Gray threw a beautiful sixty-yard pass to Leyton, scoring the final touchdown of the game in the last seconds of the fourth quarter, I was swept up in the excitement of the crowd. Unlike every other game I’ve ever been to, I didn’t run away before everything was over. I knew I would probably end up being late and have to change into my uniform in the storeroom again. But I didn’t mind. If I fall in the mop pail as I pull on my leather pants, I know it’ll have been worth it. Worth watching Gray being lifted by his team and carried off. Worth getting to experience the first time Gray saw my face cheering him on after a win, his quick grin that followed and seeing how the fans react to victory. I also couldn’t help but smile and stare for a few extra minutes at the last text message he sent me.

So if we win, will you finally agree to go out with me?

I was finally ready to tell him yes.

I have been so shy each time he’s asked me, scared that I might say or do something that will reveal I’ve been lying to him. Maybe even remind him of the girl I was before. But after the energy of the day, I’m ready to put my cares aside.

I didn’t feel like I couldn’t fit in anymore.

I figure I’ll text him as soon as I’m on my first break.

And when we go on our first date, I’ll tell him all about my parents.

As I make my way to the back storeroom, I give a quick wave and smile to Nate. I notice that he’s frowning at me, but I figure I’ll quiz him once I’m changed. As soon as I leave the room, I needn’t ask him what’s wrong. Marissa comes barreling toward me. “It’s a game day. If I can’t trust you to get here on time on a game day, I would like you to tell me now.”

“I’m so terribly sorry. I have never left any of the games at the same time as everyone else before. I didn’t realize how long it would take for me to get here.”

“So, you’re stupid, is that it? Have a hired an idiot as well as a child?”

I want to quit. With insults like that, I want to tell her to shove her fucking job right up her fucking ass. Of course I don’t, because I don’t think I’ve told anyone to shove anything. In my life. Not even Stacey Cain, the high school head bitch. And she used to call me names far worse than stupid. Not to mention I only recently told my dad and grandma Mimi that I had a job and they both cried and told me how relieved they were. They had apparently been worrying about me, and knowing I was busy with work, school and making friends had offered them peace of mind. I was willing to put up with shit from Marissa if it meant I kept my job and provided the two most important people in my life with comfort.

Then it dawns on me.

Maybe someone has mentioned seeing Grayson and me together at Penmore.

In all our times drinking coffee, laughing in lectures and sharing palm kisses, I had completely forgotten that Nate had said Gray and Marissa were sleeping together. Just the thought that Grayson might still be seeing Marissa causes me to feel like a sharp knife is buried in my collarbone, its serrated edge tearing me a part. Suddenly, I feel like the bad guy. Apparently, the new me was not only a liar, but also a boyfriend stealer. A home-wrecker. I imagine I would be just as upset finding out that the guy I was sleeping with might be seeing one of my employees. “It won’t happen again,” I tell her quietly with a hint of pain. Hopefully, she understands I wasn’t only talking about arriving late.