Page 77 of Faking It with the Forward

If Jeff gets any bigger both his ego and body will struggle to fit through the door.

“I’ll just take one,” I say, holding up my tray. Shirlene drops the waffle on my plate next to two slices of bacon and a banana. “Thank you.”

Crossing the dining hall, Jefferson carries his tray in one hand and eats one of the waffles with the other. One of the perks of being a training intern is access to the athletic dining hall. Groups of athletes cluster around the tables, usually divided by sport. The women’s softball team sits up near the window, and the football players occupy a long table closest to the cereal bar. Brent Reynolds holds court at the end, three demolished plates of food sitting in front of him.

The hockey team has staked out a section right in the middle and Jefferson drops his tray and sits at an open seat at the end. I scan the table for an empty spot and whaddaya know… there’s an empty chair next to Reese. He doesn’t look up at me when I approach, but grabs his backpack out of the seat and moves it to the floor. Ah, no wonder it was empty.

“Hey, TG,” Reid says, holding up a piece of toast. “You watch that new documentary on Dahmer?”

“Dude, you know the rule,” Kirby says. “No talking about cannibalism while we eat.”

“You were seriously just talking about the rash on your balls.” Reid rolls his eyes dramatically and looks back at me. “The four-part one?”

“I did,” I tell him, pouring syrup on my waffle. I take my time, filling up every little divot. “And, honestly, the whole thing is just really sad. Those poor kids.” I shift my gaze to Kirby. “Do you need to go to the clinic? I can make you an appointment.”

“Or you can just wait for the health department to follow up,” Axel adds. “But it may spread to your cock by then.”

“Shut up,” Kirby says, although I see the unease in his eyes. “I just need to air my balls out a little longer after I shower.”

Reese leans over and punches Kirby so hard on the arm that his fork jerks and snags his lip. “Jesus!” he touches his lip. “You could’ve hurt me.”

“You’re right. I could have.” Reese narrows his eyes. “Stop talking about your balls in front of Twyler.” Pete coughs and Reese sighs. “And everyone else. It’s fucking disgusting.”

“Cap’s right,” Murphy agrees. Kirby touches his lip and mumbles something about girls shouldn’t be invited to the table if they can’t handle the talk.

“Sorry about that,” Reese says, resting his hand on my knee under the table. Despite the cooler air, I’m wearing shorts and a hoodie after working with the guys in the weight room. “You don’t have to ruin your morning by eating with these degenerates.”

“I don’t mind,” I say quietly, making sure the other guys aren’t listening. “It’s pretty much the only way I can see you during the day.” I cut off the corner of my waffle and grin. “Even if I have to listen to Kirby talk about his balls.”

Even if Coach Green wasn’t watching me like a hawk, the matchup against Mason U has completely consumed the team. If the guys aren’t on the ice, they’re in the weight room. If they’re not in the weight room, Coach Bryant has them watching film. The guys are exhausted, physically and mentally. The time we have together has shrunk, and is a pretty good indicator of what will happen once the regular season starts.

It’s going to suck.

This is one of the solutions, having meals together with the team. It’s loud and the guys are obnoxious. No one around us pays us the slightest attention. I think I’ve become another fixture to them—just another part of the team—the girl to come to when you have a boo-boo.

With Kirby shut down, the guys fall into talk about the alumni dinner coming up. It sounds like Coach Bryant encourages the guys to bring a date, hoping that it’ll make them behave better. I barely listen because Reese’s thumb is rubbing small circles over my inner knee. I try to ignore him, but that’s impossible. Even before I got into this situationship with him, he was a force to be reckoned with.

His fingers inch up my thigh, and although it’s a tiny, almost insignificant touch, a zing of electricity shocks my core like I’ve been struck by lightning.

Unaware of my suffering, Pete asks Reid, “Who are you bringing to the dinner?”

Reid doesn’t answer right away, spending way too long on a piece of bacon. Finally he admits, “I asked Darla.”

“You didn’t,” Reese says, fingers curling. “I thought that was over.”

Reid sighs. “I did too, but she texted me the other day and one thing led to the other...”

“You mean she sexted you,” Axel says. “And you folded like a shitty hand of cards.”

He shrugs. “What can I say, she gets me. It’s easy and she likes dressing up.”

I glance at Reese and wonder if he ever wishes he was back with Shanna. She had no reservations about being seen in public with him, but the slow drag of his fingers up my thigh makes me think that his ex is far from his mind.

“How about TG?” Axel asks “You bringing a date to the alumni event?”

My fork stops mid-air. “Uh, I don’t know if I’m supposed to–I’m just there as support staff.”

Reese and I haven’t talked about the alumni event since we first made our deal. The arrangement had been that we’d reassess our relationship at the one month point–this week. We’d also decide how to handle the fundraiser when we got to it. Well, it’s here and I still have no idea what to do.

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