Kay in today’s gameday shirt—one of the ones I got her. The weather is warm enough she can get away with wearing the gauzy cropped-style shirt. The tee itself may be a looser style, but it clings to her curves and there’s the slimmest sliver of skin visible between the shirt and the high-waisted band of her leggings.
The shirt itself is red, and in black reads I like the game BUT I love the player. There’s also the outline of a football with MASON and 87 stamped in the middle of it.
I run my thumb over the image, her beautiful face fully on display thanks to the thick side braid ponytail thing she must have had Bette do. My favorite part is with her hair gathered together, it won’t block the large NOVA #87 on the back of the shirt. I’m sure that comes as no shock to you.
Another message alert pings, and I swipe to see she also sent me a picture of her shoes. She’s rocking her red Chucks, but this time she’s switched out the plain laces for ones with mini 87s printed on them.
SKITTLES: I love you. Just think about the victory kiss I’m going to lay on you after the game.
SKITTLES: *GIF of fireworks exploding*
ME: Yeah…I’m going to need much MORE than a kiss to make up for this insult.
SKITTLES: Fine. *sighs* I’ll hump your brains out too.
ME: Oh you’ll be sighing later for sure. And moaning, and screaming, and…
SKITTLES: Stop trying to sext me from the locker room. Listen to Zac Efron
SKITTLES: *High School Musical GIF with “Get your head in the game”*
SKITTLES: I know it’s basketball, I don’t wanna hear it.
She’s insane, but my bad mood is officially gone.
ME: Love you too, baby.
I power down my phone and lock it away in the small safe at the top of the locker. Time to shake off the last of my nerves from not getting my kiss and follow Kay’s—or I guess, Zac Efron’s—advice and get my head in the game.
If last year taught us anything, it’s that Alabama is one hell of an opponent. History will not be repeating itself.
I rip out a hawk cry, and every single person returns it.
Fuck the Tide. The is the year of the hawk.
#Chapter45
A small kernel of guilt forms in my stomach as the guys continue to blow up my phone with texts about Mase pouting like a four-year-old because he couldn’t get his pregame kiss. I’m hoping what I have planned will more than make up for the stress I’ve caused. Damn athletes are such superstitious fools.
My thumbnail—painted red, of course—spins the peridot band around my ring finger as I do my best to settle my nerves. What I’m about to do goes far beyond satisfying a superstition, and I’m not sure how much longer I can listen to T wax poetic about how this is my grand gesture. I brush it off any time she says that. The only person I’m doing this for is Mason, no one else.
He thinks I can’t tell, but I see the way he tries to shield me when we talk, as if him censoring himself is what I need to be able to handle our upcoming reality. Or who knows, maybe he doesn’t want me to think badly of Brantley.
It doesn’t matter. What does is that it’s time for me to stop hiding, time to step up and control my narrative.
Watching the footage from Mase and Trav’s interview during yesterday’s Media Day confirmed something for me. There will always be rumors, always be someone looking for an angle to sell a story, but it wasn’t until I listened to how Trav defended both Mase and me that it hit home that I’m not alone in this battle. Also, holy shit you cannot tell my family I said that. They’d be pissed.
I have no issue embracing who I am at The Barracks. No, PF Dennings knows she’s a badass and isn’t ashamed to admit she’s the best damn flyer there is. It’s time for me to take that attitude and apply it to the Kayla Dennings side of my life.
Better late than never.
Yes my older brother plays in the NFL and I’m so fucking proud of it. While people think this is the most important thing about him, to me it’s how he altered his life to raise me when Dad died.
Yes I’ve experienced heartbreak—who hasn’t? My loved ones refused to let my bullies win. They protected me, did their best