I shrugged, nonchalant. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
That answer left things in the air. I could see from the expressions on their faces it was irksome. But they couldn’t take their offer back now, or they’d risk losing one hundred percent of their chance at going to this after-party.
Taylor laughed, trying to smooth things over. “I’m sure Weston will invite us afterward. He was here yesterday.”
The same girl who asked me about the invite raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical as she said, “Seriously? Why was Weston Briggs in your apartment? Are you two dating?”
Taylor tugged at one of her pigtails. I almost laughed because I could see her seriously considering lying to her friend. If I wasn’t there, maybe she would. I stood quietly, waiting to hear her reply.
“No. Not me.” She glanced at me. She was waiting for me to explain further. Her friends followed her lead, eyes turning to me for an explanation. But I didn’t owe them one thing.
“He was just here,” I said.
Elena eyed me. “The hottest quarterback in the league was just here? Interesting.”
Taylor looked upset. “Relax. We’re not lying to start some stupid rumor. How juvenile.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” her curly-haired friend sang and got up to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. My apple, from my fruit bowl.
“I was a freshman, God.” Taylor rolled her eyes and started stuffing granola bars into her pink handbag.
I let out a breath. “Weston enjoys hanging out. That’s it.”
Taylor nodded in agreement. Her friends still studied me in wonder. They’d never believe a guy like Weston would ever look twice at someone like me. Taylor could barely be in the room with Weston without having a heart attack about him not instantly falling at her feet.
Elena pushed off the island and came by my side. “Well, if that’s true, then you and I should talk more often.”
“Same,” Taylor chimed in. “I could learn a few things from the girl that got Weston Briggs to ‘hang out’.”
“There aren’t any quotations,” I corrected. “We’re… friends.”
“Friends,” Brown Curls mumbled as she bit into my apple. “Sure. Just friends.”
Elena laughed and hooked her arm in mine. “Come on, Coco. You get shotgun while you tell me how to be just friends with the rest of the football team.”
This would bethe first football game I attended at university. I was already unimpressed.
People of all ages screamed and hollered like they’d lost their minds. We had good seats, right behind our team’s bench. We were close enough to make out… well, the jock cups.
But being this close also meant we were seated next to super fans. And these guys were no joke. Behind us sat three grown men in full blue body paint. They wore white, curly wigs with wings strapped on their backs, embodying our mascot- the Avenging Angel.
Whenever our team scored or intercepted or whatever, the three guys all jumped up in unison and shouted congratulations to the players. At multiple points of the game, they attempted to start up ‘The Wave.’ They only succeed once. The rest of the time it was just them, doing their own three-person wave.
None of the girls seemed annoyed. They posed for pictures for most of the game and discussed the best filters. On one side of me, Taylor photoshopped a good six photos to post on her socials. She was impressive with a photo manipulation app and even showed me a few tricks I could use in class. On my other side, Elena typed viciously into her phone throughout the first half.
“School work?” I asked.
“Twitter war,” Elena mumbled without looking up. “These misogynists think they can just flood my mentions and get away with it. If I want to post fucking swimsuit selfies, I’m going to post fucking swimsuit selfies.”
“Oh, nice.” I nodded, shocked at her passion.
I turned my attention back to the field. My eyes could barely find Weston half of the time. All the guys looked the same in their skin-tight pants and bulky jerseys. I looked for the number twenty-four and would often find him in the middle of the field receiving the brute of the hits.
From what I understood, Weston was the best quarterback our school had seen in years. and according to the three musketeers behind us, he would go pro before graduating. He was already getting offers and had been since his sophomore year.
I eyed him when he finally had a moment on the sidelines. He squirted water into his mouth while listening to something Coach Axe was saying. The man clapped Weston on the back. Weston smiled at whatever the coach was saying and took a seat on the bench. I frowned. He was so odd to me most times. Weston literally shook at the idea of being blackmailed by his coaches the other night, but right now he looked as if they were chummier than ever.
The rest of the game I studied the other coaches. I understood Weston no longer wanted me involved. Still, I couldn’t help wanting to know more. I couldn’t help wanting to be on his team. Besides, a little staring hurt no one. I was bored anyway. They’d never catch me eyeballing them when thousands of eyes in the bleachers were always peering down on the team.
