shouldn’t complain—she wasn’t even supposed to be here until tomorrow—but fuck it, I want to be with her.
Still, I behaved and went to my session with the trainers, had lunch with the team, and watched game film. Basically, I was a model football player.
There’s press milling around when the team bus pulls up to the hotel, but that’s typical of how our time here has gone, and I’m sure it’s the same over at the hotel Notre Dame is staying in. The potential of getting an exclusive interview or comment from a future draft pick increases if you can catch them during downtime when one’s guard is lowered.
Except as my feet hit the asphalt, the slew of questions directed toward me—particularly my thoughts on how I feel about having my girlfriend in Texas to cheer me on—have increased tenfold. How do they know she’s here?
“Bruh.” Trav discreetly holds his phone out for me as we do our best to push through the small cluster of flashing cameras and recorders held out in our direction. I grind my teeth when I see the post from UofJ411. I wonder if I can report their account and get them shut down.
Whatever. I’m going to put all the needs-to-get-a-new-hobby people from my mind. The team has the rest of the night free until curfew, and I’m going to spend every one of those hours with my girl.
With a quick detour to drop our bags in our respective rooms, the five of us pile back into the elevator, this time taking it up to the nineteenth floor where Kay and our friends are staying.
CK is the one to answer my knock, bumping knuckles with each of us as we enter. Every now and then, he still holds himself separate from us—Kay explained some of his history with jocks—but the guys and I have worn him down over the course of the semester.
The suite is luxurious and more than big enough for everyone to hang out in comfortably without any prying eyes. The living room is a large square with a gas fireplace against one wall and a full-sized kitchen directly behind it, and I can even see a small office workspace tucked into the alcove off to the right side by two of the four bedrooms.
“D, stop. That’s cheating,” Kay yells, but her words are choppy because she’s laughing. “Sto—stop.” A deeper chuckle joins in with her tinkling laughter. “Oh my god. Stop, D.” It sounds like she’s struggling to breathe. “Ahhh! G…save me from your brother.”
“No way, Smalls.” Grayson smiles, focusing all his attention on the video game he’s playing and completely ignoring the fact that Kay is all but squirming around on the couch next to him.
Kay also has a game controller in her hands, but her head is hanging upside down off the couch as she does her best to avoid Dante’s attempts at tickling.
“Not”—a laugh—“my”—a giggle—“fault”—a gasp for air—“you don’t like”—a screech—“losing to a girl.”
I come to a stop at the back of the couch as Kay lets out another ear-splitting screech. “You alright there, Skittles?” I ask, looking down at the scene.
“Eeep.” She lifts her head from its tipped-down position, her cheeks pink from exertion and probably from the blood rushing to it. I get a flash of worry over if that’s okay for her cheekbone, but it’s been four weeks, so I try to relax. “Mase.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “Can you please go all caveman and save me from the annoying Grayson?”
I wrap my hands around her flailing ankles and lift her from the couch, easily maneuvering her right side up and down to her feet.
“Wanna explain what I just witnessed?” I hug her to me and drop a kiss to the top of her head.
“She was kicking D’s ass, and the sore loser was trying to distract her,” Em explains as she walks into the room, dropping into Kay’s old spot and picking her controller up off the ground, taking her place in the current game of NBA2K being played.
“Start figuring out what you want…” Bette pauses with the ends of Quinn’s hair pinched between her fingers and gestures to us with her silver scissors. Based on the multitude of colors I see in the strands gathered on the white sheet under Quinn’s chair, she was not the first cut of the night.
“There’s hella food in the kitchen if you’re hungry, too,” Tessa offers, carrying in a loaded plate and perching on an armrest