Why I felt somehow responsible for his situation stymied me. Before Thursday night, Wyatt Baxter was just another anonymous player for the ’Cats. No doubt I’d cheered for him in a general way since I started at MSC, but he wasn’t special.
He shouldn’t be special now either.
Yet I couldn’t deny the tingle at the apex of my thighs when I caught a glimpse of his sweaty, shaggy-haired head over the top of the other players standing around him. Saylor had joked I’d made an impression on him, but the joke might be on me.
Chapter Five
Wyatt
“For the thousandthtime, Bax, that teeder wasn’t your fault,” Finn said as he handed me a fresh beer. “That tackle might have been a second late, but it was clean.”
“Doesn’t matter when the ref flags it and Coach benches my ass,” I grumbled into my mug.
“You’re too valuable to lose before our big game against the Golden Bears next week. Ainsworth couldn’t take a chance on that ref having it in for you and flagging you again,” Fitz said as he popped a chicken wing into his mouth.
“Besides, dude, after they call your ass out for that play, the coaches are going to sing your praises like a church choir in film tomorrow.” Johnson lifted his fist, and though I didn’t feel like bumping it, I couldn’t leave my teammate hanging. Half-heartedly, I brushed his knuckles with mine.
No matter how my friends tried to spin it, I fucked up on that tackle. A second sooner, and the QB would have still had the ball in his hand when he hit the turf. Clean sack. Instead, he let it fly while he was still in the pocket, and I finished the game on the damn bench. I’m sure that impressed the hell out of a certain purple-haired hottie who showed up from the tailgates right in time to see Coach ream me on the sidelines.
I slugged back half my beer, the bite of the hops doing fuck all to improve my attitude. The four of us were seated in our usual booth in Stromboli’s after the game. Having the most popular pizza place on campus as NIL sponsors came with the perk of free beer and food on the nights we won. The servers had kept the pitchers coming for an hour, but my mood hadn’t improved with alcoholic lubrication.
We’d commandeered our usual spot over an hour ago—plenty of time for a pretty business major to show up with most of the rest of the fans to hang out with the team. Guess she didn’t frequent Stromboli’s much either. I sat back against the leather pad of the booth, crossed my arms over my chest, and scowled at the pack of jersey chasers who did like to hang out with us.
“Hello, Finn,” Tory Miller purred as she sidled up to our table. Glancing around at us, she asked, “Where’s Callahan? I thought you guys were always together.”
Riiight. Subtlety eluded this one. Tory had a thing for our roommate—one he didn’t reciprocate. Not that she seemed to catch on.
“Hi, Bax!” Like her leader, the cheery freshman waving at me obviously couldn’t read a room.
“Hey, Fitz,” said another freshman who eyed our nose tackle as if he might be dessert. “Great game, Tarvarius,” she added, addressing Johnson, who grinned his cheesiest million-dollar grin, and her expression said she was considering two helpings of dessert.
A week ago their fawning would have flattered me. After spending one glorious night with Piper Maxwell, all I could see standing at the edge of our booth was jailbait.
“Can you make room?” Tory asked as she deliberately twirled a long blonde curl between her fingers and nudged Finn’s thigh with her knee.
Jesus. ’Han was right. The girl was a walking cliché. But her daddy’s money meant she didn’t care.
Finn moved, crowding me to give her what she wanted. I stayed put. The hike of his brows asked “What the fuck?” But I planted my feet flat on the floor and didn’t budge.
“Bax, scoot over so we can make room for the girls,” Finn insisted.
“I don’t feel like being crowded tonight,” I growled.
“Don’t mind him. He’s in a mood,” Johnson said as he moved in closer to Fitz.
Fitz’s gaze bounced from Tory Miller to me. A slight nod told me we were on the same page. “I don’t feel like being crowded either,” he said. The low rumble of his voice commanded attention, and Johnson stopped pushing.
“Don’t worry about it, ladies,” Finn said. “We’re headed over to Taylor’s for the celebration soon. We’ll catch up with you then.”
“Thanks for inviting us, Finn,” Tory said, her little entourage chorusing “Thanks for inviting us, Finn,” right behind her.
For an awkward moment, the girls stood beside our table staring at us. Beside me Finn fidgeted, but the man didn’t have anything to say. Miraculously, they took the hint and moved off. As soon as they did, Fitz pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text.
“Letting Taylor know he needs a bouncer who’s better at reading IDs than the guy at the front door of this place?” I asked.
His dark skin set off his flashy grin. “Something like that.” He pocketed his phone and reached for the pitcher of beer.
“Aw, Fitz. You’re gonna make me look bad,” Finn complained.
