Saving Us by Wendy Million
Chapter One
The football players’ tangy sweat mingled with the crisp fall air at just the right balance. If our seats were any closer to the athletes’ bench, the stench might have been overwhelming.
The teams ran around the field, but I couldn’t absorb any of the action. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Football was a foreign language.
“First down! Yes!” Annika screamed and clutched my arm, her brown face joyous.
I jumped up and down with her, feigning enthusiasm. Her midnight hair bounced on her shoulders with the perfect amount of curl. Far more admirable than what was happening on the field.
“Isn’t this great, Natalie?” She was glued to the action.
Annika’s father was a high school football coach, and my theory was that, somehow, the sport had worked its way into her blood. If there was a game on television or if she could access it on the internet, she was watching it. An Exercise and Sports Science student, she intended to become a football coach herself.
Last year, our dorm room at Northern University was a haven for football fans, and now our off-campus house was headquarters for every fan within a five-mile radius. When I first met Annika, I tried for a few months to exhibit an appropriate level of enthusiasm (Go Northern University Ravens!), but I couldn’t do it. There was something about grown men running full tilt into each other that didn’t appeal to me. Some players enjoyed the violence more than the win.
Annika worshipped the quarterback of our college football team, so here we were at yet another game.
“Yeah, this is an amazing game!” Which one of them would look best without his padding? Not that their appearance mattered. The idea of hooking up with any player made me gagtastic. What would we discuss? I supposed that was the point—no talking. Still, the risk of an STD would be sky high and not worth the two minutes of moderate entertainment they’d provide. Most people didn’t share my opinion. The guys on the team were popular with everyone at our college.
Annika glanced at me, her dark eyes sparkling, before turning back to the field. “Yeah, your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
“Hey, I came.” I rubbed my hands together. The crisp September air wasn’t good for my circulation. My toes were growing numb. Some nights were still relatively warm. Tonight was not one of them. “I also agreed to go to the after-party at the frat house, which I never do.”
“Yeah, you and Clay breaking up was the best thing to ever happen to my social life.” Annika puffed her warm breath into her palms.
At the mention of Clay, my heart sank. He was still calling me, even though we’d broken up at the start of the summer. We’d been together since freshman year, but when he started dropping hints about engagements and kids, I bolted.
“So, how long is this game? Is it three periods or something?” My dark red nails had a few chips. I should have painted them again today.
“Oh, my God.” Annika huffed. “Seriously, Natalie, it’s not that hard to figure out the basics. I get that you might not know what a two-point conversion is or what the kicker does.” When I interjected, she held up her hand, partially covered by the sleeve of her sweater. “Yeah, that one is easy. A football game is four quarters. It’s the coin version of a dollar bill.”
She’d used that analogy before, and it never stuck. “So, which quarter are we in?” We had the intermission, didn’t we?
“Fourth quarter. Soon enough, we’ll be headed to the frat house to get drunk.” Annika let out a loud whoop.
“If we’re going, you’ve gotta find the nerve to speak to Johnny. You’re not going to just gaze at him from afar, right?” One player running by drew my attention. “Who’s that?” The words left my mouth without me realizing.
She grinned. “Potential? Am I hearing potential interest? In a football player?”
“No, idle curiosity. You’ve dragged me to enough games now that his face looks weird to me.” Weird was the wrong word. Familiar. He reminded me of someone.
While I did not enjoy the sport in real life, I loved the TV show Friday Night Lights. Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose. It was the one program Annika and I could agree on when we were hung over. The guy on the field resembled Vince or, as I later found out by looking him up on IMDb, Michael B. Jordan. My favorite character was Tim Riggins, but Vince was a close, close second. Fictional bad boys with a heart of gold? Sign me up.
“So, are you going to tell me or make me wait for the frat party?” The way he moved was stealing my focus. A shot of annoyance ran through me. Football players were not a dating option.
She laughed and nudged me with her shoulder. “I’m going to make you wait. I’m curious to see if you’ll actually try at this party instead of being a stick in the mud.”
“I always make an effort.” I went to flick my long black hair off my shoulders, but then I remembered I didn’t have it anymore. Another breakup casualty. My long hair. Tucking my chin-length hair behind my ears didn’t have the same sass.
The hotter than normal teammate was making me reconsider my stance on dressing up for the frat party. Developing a crush on a real-life player might make these nights a little easier to stomach. Only if I didn’t like him too much. That was unlikely, so there was no harm in looking.
Once I had someone interesting on the field, the time passed much faster than it ever had before. Maybe this crush was a winner? Time with my best friend and man candy. Best of both worlds.
The buzzer and whistle sounded to signal the end of the game, and we piled out of the stadium with the rest of the crowd, heading to Annika’s car. We could walk to the frat house from our place, and it would give us a chance to change out of our warm, comfy clothes into something with a bit less fabric.
* * *
“Promise me you’re going to talk to him,” I said.
The evening was brisk, but tolerable if we kept moving. The last vestiges of summer were turning into fall. I rubbed my arms to keep the goose bumps away.
“Yes!” Annoyance tinged her voice. “We have a bet. I won’t lose it.”
“For one week, I get your car for my classes and anything else, and you take public transit.” I removed my flask from my purse and swigged.
Usually, frat parties didn’t interest me. I didn’t trust their alcohol and often refused to go. My freedom present to myself after I broke up with Clay was the flask I was carrying. Boyfriend gone, alcohol consumption up.
We heard the house before we saw it. The music reverberated along the street, and as we got closer, the vibrations went through my feet and invaded the rest of my body. A shiver pierced me, and I stared up at the dark, almost starless sky. Unease blanketed me, and I took another swig from my flask before dropping it into my purse.
“You’re sure about this?” I eyed the line to get in and took money out of my wallet for the cover charge for charity.
When I turned my head, expecting an answer, she was enraptured by something. At the door was Johnny McDade. He was whispering something into his friend’s ear. His sandy hair was damp from his shower, and his chiseled features were impressive even from a distance.
“Let’s go.” Annika took long strides toward the door.
We joined the line, and I took in every other girl dressed in skimpy, sparkly clothes. The guys were in jeans and T-shirts. Criminal that girls got so done up while guys plucked whatever they found off the floor, smelled it, and threw it on, wrinkles and all.
Not that I was any different tonight from the other women. When I pulled my best ensemble out of the back of the closet, a deep purple minidress, Annika gave me a look I knew well. While she might put on this outfit without a second thought, I was a jean and T-shirt girl.
At the top of the stairs, Johnny’s shoulders lifted, and his gaze focused somewhere behind us. He waved to someone with a hint of impatience. “Seb!” he shouted. He made a reeling motion with his hand.
I turned around, annoyed someone so far back was getting the VIP treatment. This dress wasn’t meant for cold weather. The fabric was stitched for the crush of bodies in a hot, sweaty frat house.
It took a moment for me to see who he signaled, but it shouldn’t have. He was tall, broad, and unmistakably the beautiful man I’d spotted on the field. Annika leaned into me and whispered in my ear, “Sebastian Swan. Running back. Junior. Not that you care about the football part.”
While he walked past us, my gaze traveled along his fit frame. If he was running, I’d let him catch me.
Oh, God. Did I really just think that? Judging by the other girls whose heads whipped in his direction, competition for his attention was a certainty.
