*picture of Kay wearing an I like the game but I LOVE the player shirt, Mason standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her middle, both smiling at the camera*
UofJ411: Hell yeah it is @CasaNova87 #CoupleGoals #Kaysonova
*REPOSTED—picture of Kay wearing an I like the game but I LOVE the player shirt, Mason standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her middle, both smiling at the camera—CasaNova87: Me, @TightestEndParker85. That’s who she’ll be rooting for—ME! #StopPostingOldPhotos *side note* Is this enough proof we’re official @UofJ411? #Kaysonova #MyNumber1Cheerleader #GameChanger #HawksFanForLife*
@Cr8zysockbookblock: Oh shit! #ItsAboutToGoDown #RivalryWeekend #CasanovaWatch #Kaysonova
@Dainer81: About damn time! #FinallySomeAnswers #CasanovaWatch #CasanovasGirl #Kaysonova
@Doterragirl2020: Check out that ship name! #TooCute #CasanovaWatch #Kaysonova
@Filthylittlereader: Football royalty? #ILikeIt #Kaysonova #KingAndQueenOfFootball
@Fununderthecovers: Can’t wait for Saturday. It’s like a modern-day duel #ThemBeFightingWords #BattleOnTheGridiron #CasanovaDontPlay #Kaysonova
#Chapter54
Unlike the football team, the cheerleaders don’t stay in a hotel the night before a game, so the girls and I got to spend a few extra hours in Baltimore after the guys left before we had to return to campus.
Em and Q do have a short practice with the Red Squad, but then the rest of the night is ours.
After dropping them off at the practice gym, I drive to our dorm and open a bottle of Moscato as soon as I put my bags in my room. I’m not typically the type of person to drink by myself, but I am still mildly ticked off from earlier, and it’s best for all parties involved if I take the edge off.
Glass filled close to the top—no restaurant pour for this girl—I take it and my laptop into the living area, set both on the coffee table, and take a seat right on the floor. I click the television on for background noise and open up a video chat to JT.
Instead of saying hello once our call connects, he asks, “Why do I get the feeling I should gird my loins?”
“Because you’re too smart not to know I’m annoyed with you at the moment.” I rest an elbow on the table and prop my chin in my hand.
We sit in silence, the face time through the screen enough to clear the air between us. Yes I’m annoyed, but it’s more from my independent nature than anything else stirring up those feelings.
A full minute goes by before JT asks, “You ready to admit this is a good plan?”
No.
“I don’t like feeling like I need a babysitter.” It’s one of the reasons I chose to lie low and keep mostly to myself after everything went down four years ago.
“Can you please”—he makes prayer hands—“have me on the phone when you call him that?”
I roll my eyes.
“In all seriousness, Kay—”
“I hate when you call me Kay,” I grumble.
“—Carter is a good guy. He agreed to go with you tomorrow as a favor for me, so at least try to keep those two things in mind and not give him too hard of a time.”
Where I went with the put my head down and hope the world will eventually get bored with me strategy, JT took on a more proactive approach. He sought out, not necessarily the most popular, but definitely the most powerful person in our school to put an end to the in-person bullying.
“Doesn’t he have a race to run?” I try again to brush it away, to minimize. Maybe if I downplay the circumstances enough, they’ll go away on their own.
Do I need to drug test you or something? Because that logic has me convinced you are smoking the hippie lettuce.
“He does.” JT nods, lifting a beer bottle and chugging some down.
Looks like I’m not the only one who needs a drink.
“Carter will go with you so you can mack down on your football player…” He makes highly exaggerated kissy faces, his mouth opening and closing as if in slow motion, a noise almost like dripping water sounding every time his lips form an O.
“I hate you.” The pull I feel in my cheeks tells me there’s no way he’s going to take me seriously. “I also feel sorry for any girls you kiss if that’s”—I circle a finger around his face—“your technique.”
“Don’t you worry about my technique, PF.” He gives me two shakes of a backhand. “Anyway…once you’re done in the tunnels and safely in your seat, Carter will head out.”
I run a hand through my hair, leaving the ends pinched between my fingers and focusing on how the brightened red and pink look in contrast with the added black streaks. Bette really did go above and beyond with the school spirit.
I’m two glasses of wine deep by the time my roommates arrive home happy, loud, and full of an energy only this weekend tends to breed.
Quinn dances into the room, twirling around and picking my goblet up off the table to gulp down the last ounce left inside. “You started without us,” she says with a pout.
“What can I say?” I pop a shoulder. “My brothers drive me to drink.”
“I take it you talked to JT?” Em takes the open cushion next to Q.
“Yeah.” I reach for the glasses Bailey sets before me and start to fill them while she works to open another bottle of wine. “I promised to play nice with King tomorrow,” I say to Em before changing the subject by asking Bailey, “How was your break?”
She spent the holiday with one of their other teammates on Red Squad, and I was relieved when I learned of her Thanksgiving Eve plans because it gave me a legitimate reason not to extend an invitation to E’s. My brother’s identity may be out there for all the world to see, but knowing about my connection to him and being invited to meet him are two very different things.
I’m doing my best to come out of hiding, to embrace the “PF” full-time. Don’t let how I invited Mase’s teammates to dinner fool you; I am very selective
