Inside my pocket, my phone vibrates for the billionth time, the steady stream of congratulatory text messages and phone calls as well as comments from Brantley about my on-field interview doing its best to drain the life out of my battery. My notifications are also blowing up thanks to the highlight reel UofJ411 has been posting, and even I can admit I’ve watched the boomerang of Kev tackling Liam at least a dozen times.
I push through the crush of partygoers, the first order of business to drop my bag in my room then find Kay. While I appreciate—both on a personal and career level—Kay forcing me to participate in the on-field interview, all it really meant was more time spent away from her.
Unlocking the door to my room, I grin at the pile of discarded clothes in the center of my bed. Sure, I would have rather found my girlfriend lying there naked instead, but at least this way I won’t have to fight through miles of fabric to get my hands on her silky skin.
For as much as I want to dive right in and spend the night buried between Kay’s thighs, it’s probably a good thing we need to put in some face time at this party before that can happen. With the amount of adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream from both the game itself and from dealing with Peckerhead Parker, I’m not sure I’d be able to hold back, which can be dangerous given how much larger I am than Kay. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt her by being too rough.
The sounds of the party are muffled two floors up, so I can make out the faint strains of laughter spilling from the open door to Grayson’s room.
Leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, I cross my feet at the ankles and take in the scene before me. Kay, Em, and Quinn are a mass of limbs on the bed, bent over each other, laughing while Grayson regales them with some story about God knows what. Even CK, although shaking his head, looks amused from his perch against the dresser.
I don’t need to know the details of the story. All I care about is how Kay seems to have shed most of the tension from what happened before the game.
Her hair is a riot of blonde and U of J pride curls, her cheeks are flushed, and my name and number are stamped across her back. Fuck me! She’s so beautiful like this—happy.
“Caveman!” she cheers when she sees me, disentangling herself from her friends to jump from the bed and rush into my arms.
“Skittles.” I fit her body against mine and drop a kiss on top of her peppermint-scented head. “You might want to slow down on the partying if you want to last all night.” I tap the top of the to-go coffee cup in her hand.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” She pinches my chin between her fingertips, her nails painted school-spirit black. “Because your jokes need work.”
The day this girl stops giving me shit is the day I have to worry. I give her a squeeze and avail myself of a sip of her pumpkin-flavored coffee.
“Yo, lovebirds.” Trav pushes his face between us. “You can do each other later. I need a beer.”
“Jelly,” Kay teases, booping him on the nose.
“Damn straight,” Trav admits without any shame. “Now come on, Short Stack…” He hooks an arm around her shoulders and pulls her to his side instead of mine. “You can help me find the lucky lady who’ll get the privilege of sharing my bed for the night.”
“Ew.” Kay pops him on the chest. “I want no part in helping you play jersey chaser roulette.”
“I thought we were besties? Your taste in football players may be questionable…” Trav looks over Kay’s head at me, winking. He lives for getting under my skin. “But you have good taste in girlfriends. So, who better to help find QB2 a playmate?”
“Gross.” She shoves his arm off her as we enter the den. “Do you really call your dick QB2?” A mixture of disgust, humor, and genuine curiosity crosses her face.
“What?” Trav fills a cup with beer, handing it off to me before filling another for himself. “You have a better name? What do you call Casanova’s?”
Pink climbs up Kay’s neck, staining her cheeks with a pretty blush as she turns her back on my best friend, leaving him to come to me. She scrunches her nose and digs a finger into one of my dimples as I grin down at her. I know what she calls my dick, and now she knows I’m thinking about it.
As per usual, the den is sparsely populated, and it’s easy to claim one of the leather armchairs. I stretch the arm holding my beer along an armrest and hook the other around Kay’s waist to pull her onto my lap.
Home. That’s the thought I have every time she settles with me. She’s my home.
“Just remember, Travis…” Kay says, resting her head back on my chest. “No glove, no love.”
Howling laughter meets her advice, and she receives a knuckle bump any time one of my teammates passes where we’re seated.
Conversation cycles as different people filter in and out of the room. At some point, someone changes the channel to College GameDay on ESPN for the weekend’s highlights, but it mostly serves as background noise.
“I think this is my favorite out of any of the times you two have trended.” Noah, never understanding the concept of personal space, crowds Kay and me to show us a picture on his phone.
On the screen is a shot of the kiss Kay and I shared when I first found her on the field. I’m not sure who took
