Slammed #3 (3 page)

The next morning, I woke up with my stomach in
knots, twisting in on itself from hunger. I realized that I had left my phone
turned off all night and dug it out of my bag, turning it on. At least I hadn’t
managed to oversleep. As my phone loaded up, I saw the flash of two more
messages and a voicemail—all of them from Zack.

Look,
just tell me you’re okay. I can’t find you and your roommate won’t tell me
where you are.
The second one read:
If I did something wrong you should at least
give me a chance to apologize.
 

Steeling myself, I opened up the voicemail he’d left
me. It was three minutes long. “
Evie
, come on, I know
you’re avoiding me. I just want to know why. My phone is showing all the texts
are delivered—and I saw you read most of them. What’s going on between us? I
already told you: no more public spectacles. I promise. Just give me a chance
to figure out what I did wrong and how I can make it right.”

My eyes stung as I deleted the message, unable to
listen to it all, and took a deep breath. I didn’t think he’d try to contact me
again after that. At least I hoped not. I just hoped that once everything was
said and done, I’d have some kind of a chance to explain to him why. But then,
I thought, I didn’t even fully understand why I was doing it myself.

It would have been bad enough to handle Zack’s texts
if I was able to keep my reaction purely emotional; it bothered me to hurt
him—and I definitely was—but the sex I knew I was missing out on bothered me
almost as much. I had gotten so used to not getting any; even before I started
college, I had cut myself off from sex, having too much to deal with after my
mom died. Even more to the point I didn’t even particularly want to date anyone
after—not just because I was wrecked by having my biggest support and
cheerleader gone from my life, but because I had discovered that guys were just
a bunch of trouble.

But from the first time Zack and I had made out, I
felt the juices flowing in my veins again. When we’d had sex on the couch at
his frat, I’d been easy prey—it wouldn’t have been that difficult even for Zack
to convince me to head to his bedroom at the frat house during the party. Now
that it had happened again I was consumed with the memory of how good he’d
become, of how great it felt to have him touching me, tasting me. I shivered in
class as my brain—against my will—reminded me of how great Zack’s cock had felt
deep inside me, brushing against my inner walls, filling me up. I couldn’t
focus on my work the way I used to be able to easily; I was distracted, having
to take breaks to get myself off to the thought of Zack in my bed again, going
down on me or working me with his fingers, thrusting into me, rocking his hips
against mine until I came. I didn’t tell Jess about it, but I was almost afraid
of how intensely I wanted sex—how much I wanted to just give in and call Zack,
tell him to come over and screw my brains
out
.

I told myself that it would pass—that it had always
passed before—but I was on fire constantly, hoping and dreading that I would
run into Zack. If I just saw him, I knew I’d end up throwing myself at him,
begging him to forgive me and find us somewhere private where we could be
together. I could only grit my teeth and hope that it would pass in
time, that
I would be able to get back together with Zack
once the football season ended and I could be with him without distracting him.
It occurred to me more than once that it was—for me at least—more distracting
to be separated from him than it was to be with him. But I had to stick with
what I had decided.
Even if it was torturing me slowly every
day.

****

I had to miss the staff meeting for the newspaper; I
told Professor Grant in advance and also emailed Lisa that I couldn’t be there
because of a class. They both told me that it was a perfectly valid excuse, and
Lisa said that I could drop by her office in the student union after class to
get my assignment from her. I hurried over to the student union as soon as the
professor let us out of class, and made my way to Lisa’s office, still drinking
the last of the coffee I’d brought for my late class and ready to take notes on
the assignment she had for me.

“Hey, come on in,” Lisa said, gesturing to the chair
on the other side of her desk. “I wanted to tell you we all really loved your
piece on the last game. The interview was great—you really got Zack to open
up!” My cheeks burned with a blush but I didn’t say anything, struggling to
keep my composure. I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. “In fact, we didn’t
have to do much editing to it at all! Good work.”

“Thanks—that means a lot.” I took a deep breath. “So
what have you got me on for next week, Chief?”

Lisa grinned. “Since you did so well on the game
last time, I figured you were a natural to cover the final game of the season.
This time, though, we want you to get an interview with Coach
Bullden
, about our prospects for the nationals, that sort
of thing.”

I nodded quickly. The very last thing I wanted in
the world was to have to go to another football game and watch Zack. But I
couldn’t exactly tell Lisa that the reason I’d been able to get Zack to open up
to me was because he and I had a history together—a history that I was risking
by staying away from him. Besides, since I couldn’t make the meeting, there
probably weren’t any other assignments open anymore, and I wanted to make sure
I was in the campus paper as many times as I could be.

Lisa gave me the details and asked me to do some
research on my own about the coach—his career, his strategies, the kind of
material that would make a good profile on the man to accompany the coverage of
the final game of the season and the one that would determine our position in
the national level. I took notes, trying to calm myself. I wouldn’t have to
even talk to Zack, I told myself over and over again. I would just ignore
him—as much as you can ignore the quarterback when it came to a major football
game.
I would cover the game, talk to the coach, and have
done with it.
If I had any luck at all, Zack would just head straight
for the showers after the game and I could get my interview without any fuss or
even any attempt from him to talk to me—he might not even know I was there
until the article came out.

CHAPTER
THREE

Jess had a date for the night of the game—away from
campus, with a guy she had met in Women’s Studies. So I went to the stadium all
on my own. I had my campus newspaper ticket and my press pass that would allow
me to get onto the field after the game, and I told myself that I would be just
fine on my own, that it didn’t matter; after all, when I’d gone the last time,
Jess had left when I went out onto the field to talk to Zack. With my notebook
and camera, I’d be left to my own devices, more or less, by the people seated
with me.

I thought about what I should wear. Jess, I know,
would have suggested that I dress up for the event—wear something cute, something
just a little sexy. Especially since she would assume that I would be waiting
for Zack at the end of the game. On the other hand, the very last thing that I
wanted was to look as though I was interested in flirting. I decided to dress
as plainly as possible; the main benefit to that was also that it would at
least be comfortable—but I also didn’t want to look like a scruffy,
unprofessional college kid. Not when I had to interview the head coach. I put
on my least-ratty pair of jeans and a medium-brown cardigan over a matching
camisole. I put my hair in a bun, smoothed back but not overdone. I kept my
face mostly clean, just a little powder and lip tint to make me look polished.
It was a relief to be going to a game without having to worry about if I would
smear my eye makeup or my lipstick. I could focus entirely on the game; I’d be
practically invisible.

The stadium was absolutely packed with people—as it
should be, considering it was the last game of the season, with some of the
highest stakes. But the team we were playing against wasn’t huge
competition—they were ranked third or fourth overall, with more losses than the
team we’d been up against the last game. It should have been a decent game, but
overall the chances of us winning were pretty good.

I grabbed pictures of the packed stands, of the
marching bands on either side warming up the audiences. I tried to figure out
what my angle for the article would be; after all, it wasn’t going to be a
massive struggle like it had been for the team they were up against the
previous week. There was no real rivalry between our school and the one we were
playing. I couldn’t focus on Zack—because I already had in the previous article,
and because I frankly didn’t think I could handle it. I decided that I
would—without Jess’ flirting to distract me—look at the game as a way to show
off my knowledge of strategy and tactics in football.

Part of my research on the coach had been on
football strategy in general. Of course, the skill of individual players came
into play with the game—it was unavoidable. And if you had the best possible
players in all positions, you didn’t have to worry that much about strategy.
But knowing that another team had a particular weakness on the defense, or a
lag in their offense because of certain players, could mean the difference
between win and loss. I had looked over Coach
Bullden’s
usual strategies and tactics, the way he put his players to the best possible
use. I’d also done a little bit of digging on the strategies of the coach that
Bullden
would be
up against
.

I was starting to feel more than a little bit
fidgety as the bands played on, and the crowd of people continued chanting,
watching the cheerleaders on the sidelines performing. I just wanted to get the
game over with; it would be a definitive win, and then I would get my interview
and have a rest from the pounding of my heart.

The opposing team took the field first, coming out
of the lockers with a roar. They may not have been the best team in the
division, but they looked energetic, in their white, black, and gold jerseys.
They warmed up on the field, garnering plenty of cheers from their fans in the
stands. They were clearly hungry to prove themselves—they were up against the
number one team in the division, which should have daunted them, but it would
be a great opportunity if they could manage to score a few times against us; at
least if they put on a good game, they could lose with dignity. They went back
to their sidelines, jumping up and down, smacking themselves, and I grabbed a
few more pictures of them.

Our team finally took the field with a burst of
enthusiastic musical noise from the marching band, running out of the locker
rooms and basking in the cheers of the fuller section of the stadium that
belonged to the home team. I tried not to look for Zack while I snapped
pictures of the team warming up and showing off. The team looked confident, as
they should; they had a winning record, they were on their way to a bowl game,
and they were almost certain to win that night’s game. I thought, with a sudden
sense of foreboding, that I hoped they wouldn’t take it too easy on the other
team—even if they were the best team in the
division,
they couldn’t afford to become overconfident.

As the game started, it was difficult for me to try
and piece together just what the problem was; the teams had both taken the
field full of energy and looking confident in
themselves
.
But from the first play, I was shocked at how disorganized our team was. Zack
went down in a tackle right away. I watched in concern, but he got up onto his
feet and shouted something, and then they were onto the next play. The other
team seemed to sense something different in our team; they took advantage,
rapidly getting their first touchdown early in the first quarter and then
managing somehow to keep our offensive line at bay through most of the rest of
the period. I shook my head, and I wasn’t alone; the people in the stands next
to me were murmuring amongst themselves between plays, wondering out loud what
was wrong with Zack.

Someone said that they thought the pressure must be
getting to him, but I didn’t think it was likely; after all, the team they were
up against had lost several games. If Zack
was
going
to crack under pressure, it would have been the previous game, where we had
been up against our greatest competition for the top spot. But it was hard not
to argue that something was clearly wrong; we were down by two touchdowns
heading into the second quarter, and didn’t manage to even the score by
halftime. Zack’s plays were all over the place—he was getting instructions from
the coach, but I couldn’t imagine that he was doing what he was told, at least
not exactly. The other team became more and more confident of their possibility
for a win, driving us back again and again, defending their end of the field
more aggressively than I could have imagined.

I watched the halftime show with my mind full of
questions. What was going on? Our team was much better than this, and a win was
almost a foregone conclusion going into the game. How could we still be lagging
behind by a touchdown going into the second half? I had taken notes throughout
the first part of the game, but even with my notations on the different plays I
could see, I couldn’t understand just how it was that Zack was consistently
missing his passes, or being tackled before he could make the handoff. He was
obviously distracted—he didn’t have his entire brain on the game. But surely, I
thought, that couldn’t be the only thing going on? It was just as much the
other members of the team that would be to blame, wouldn’t it? Maybe they were
overconfident, and Zack was distracted.