Third and Long: A Sports Romance (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Logan

When Alabama’s nose tackle crushes me into the dirt for the second time in the third quarter, I realize that this game is not going to go my way. We’re on the road in a stadium that hates us. Alabama is the only SEC school that can take our spot in the national championship, and right now they are playing like they want it more.

To make matters worse, Katerina is up in the stands watching me instead of Tamber. Being the incredible idiot that I am, I waited until Friday to invite Tamber to the game. I’m sure she took it as an insult. She never returned my call.

Granted she must have seen the pictures that they took of me with Katerina all week long. The
Dirty
created a whole feature just for me and my would-be wife. I had no choice. Her parents and mine set up an entire itinerary for us. We went to Houston to see the sights, and we also visited my dad’s oil fields. To make matters worse we went to Marquise Steakhouse, the same place I took Tamber, and this time there were a dozen paparazzi waiting out front for us.

The local news is spinning it as a royal engagement. The king of Rome and the princess of New York City. If anyone bothered to look close enough they would see that I’m not smiling in any of the pictures. Each time they make me hold hands with Katerina, or kiss her on the cheek, all I can think about is Tamber. I want my short, mocha-haired, workaholic more than anything.

Cam helps me up off the ground after Alabama’s nose tackle drilled me down into it. We lost the ball since that was third down. We had twenty yards to go anyway. A first down seemed beyond hopeless. This isn’t my best game. In fact it’s my worst game.

We sit on the bench and Coach Ainsworth hands me a tablet with some plays on it. He’s showing me what’s working and what isn’t working. Normally this is where I excel in the game: studying, learning, figuring out their defense. However, right now I can’t focus. All I can think about is Tamber. We were never just friends. We were always more than that.

I offered to fly her and Gwen up here for the game. I even sent a message to Gwen and neither of them responded. When I asked Cam to reach out to Gwen, he said she wasn’t speaking to him either, but that’s not unusual. Gwen’s a real love ‘em and leave ‘em type. At least Cam isn’t a big blubbering mess this time.

“Hey Logan pay attention,” Cam says, and I realize that Coach has been talking for a minute.

“I’m good. I heard,” I say. There’s no way I can admit to Coach that I wasn’t paying attention.

Our defense manages to stop Alabama. We’re only down by two touchdowns, so we’re definitely not out of this yet. Beyond my engagement, the sports media decided that this had to be a statement game for me. Now that I’m cleaning up my act and getting engaged, the narrative became that a win will show that I’ve put my party boy days behind me. Well here I am, and I’m losing badly. Ironically, I’d give up every party for the rest of my life for Tamber. But she’s not waiting in the stands. Katerina is.

“You straight man?” Cam asks as our defense rushes back to the bench.

“Can’t get her out of my head, man.”

“Katerina or…”

Cam knows full-fucking-well that I don’t care about Katerina. Still I have spent the past five days with her, and Cam only needed to take one look at the New York socialite to start lusting after her. For a guy that drinks Gatorade all the time, he sure is thirsty.

“Tamber, man, come on, get your head in the game,” I say.

He laughs. “I’m not the one who needs to get his fucking head in the game. How about you try throwing to me some time today?” he asks.

“Next play, let’s do it.”

“Damn man, now you’re talking.”

Our special teams runs the punt back very far. They get us to midfield. That’s as good a spot as any to start my comeback. I put my helmet on, and then make the mistake of looking up into the stands.

Katerina’s sitting directly behind our bench. She blows me a kiss. All week long she’s been pretending to be the biggest football fan in the world, while at the same time she’s been asking me nothing but questions about my dad’s business, my plans for the future, and how we’re going to spend our billions. Most of the time I couldn’t even answer her because they were questions that I’ve never asked myself.

She doesn’t see that I have a real choice between my dad’s company and football. Meanwhile Tamber absolutely understood my choice, but she told me to take the easy way out and marry Katerina. Part of me knows that Tamber didn’t really mean that.

I take the field and my offensive line is already set up and ready to go. Cam is in position. I take a look at him, and he signals that he’s ready to run a crossing route. The defense looks porous because they’re set up to stop the run. This should be easy.

While I should be setting for the snap, I can’t stop thinking about how bad I fucked up with Tamber this week. Every time I tried to send her a text message to let her know how things were going, Katerina was there to get in my way. No time to worry. I have to snap the ball!

“Hike!” I scream over the deafening roar of the Alabama fans.

I take two steps back, standing tall in the pocket. Cam crosses over, and as the ball leaves my arm, I see the safety rushing up. I didn’t notice him before, but he obviously noticed me looking at Cam. I can’t stop the ball from leaving my hand, my motion is too strong, too fast. By the time the ball leaves my fingers, I know that it doesn’t stand a chance of reaching Cam.

Alabama’s safety snatches it right out of the air. Interception.

The safety breaks right past our line. I rush as fast as I can over to him, but he stiff arms me into the ground. Shit. Clear sailing.

Alabama touchdown.

I should have seen him.

What did Tamber say about getting distracted?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tamber

He didn’t text me all week, and at first I tried to understand. His parents put him in an impossible situation with Katerina. Even as all the pictures circulate around the gossip blogs and TV shows, showing the “happy couple” out on various dates, I keep telling myself that Logan is only doing what he has to do.

I start doubting that when he takes her to the Marquise Steakhouse. Of all the places he could have taken Katerina, he chose our place. I take that as a sign. Between that and the lack of contact, I assume that Logan decided to settle. Why go for me: the girl with the mess of a family history when the beautiful and equally rich Katerina Prescott is right there for the taking?

All week long Gwen tries to talk me down, reassuring me that Logan will call me as soon as Katerina is out of the picture. That seems less and less likely as the weekend approaches. It hit me Friday night that our little tryst at his parents house was just that: one last jaunt for him before marriage.

He used me. He brought me to his parents house because he wanted to fuck one last girl before his parents married him off to Katerina. With a little hindsight now I can see how stupid the whole “fake engagement” plan sounds.

It was fake all along.

So why is it hurting so bad now?

I went to his parents’ mansion to get away for the weekend. It was a lark, a favor for a nice guy, a friend. We were playing around. Then it turned into something more. I fell hard for Logan. Against all my better judgment, I actually started to love him.

We didn’t have sex, but I would say that we made love. His kiss, his touch, his muscles, his power. Love. But it wasn’t real.

Gwen and I have big plans to go to a bar and watch Logan’s game against Alabama. Then Friday night comes, and Logan finally texts me.

Come watch me in Alabama? I’ll fly you in.

I show Gwen, and she nearly throws my phone across the room. Talk about uninviting someone. It would have been better if Logan never sent anything at all.

Talk about short notice. Typical Logan: ask me to drop everything just for him. Gwen and I both know that Katerina is going to be at the game. This whole last minute invite from Logan is nothing but guilt on his part. What an asshole.

At that very moment, I decide that I have better things to do than worry about watching Logan Oliver the Third play his stupid game. I can’t believe I actually started to care about football.

In the end Logan turned out to be the very thing I assumed he was all along: a distraction. And he distracted me long enough.

My mother and my oldest sister both set the example. Never fall for a boy. They’re nothing but trouble.

On Saturday afternoon, I find myself with a lot of free time since I’m not watching the game. Gwen has plans to get drunk anyway, so I head over to the basement of the college library with my laptop and a game plan of my own: finish my part of the project once and for all. On Monday, I’m meeting with The Party Girls one last time where we’ll be putting everything together.

For the past two hours I haven’t thought about Logan at all. Instead I’ve been going into way too much detail about how our etiquette app will actually work. If I knew someone that could program, they’d be able to take my design and turn it right into something usable. That’s how focused I am.

Professor Asshole is probably going to be so annoyed that I’m going into this much detail, but when I get mad there’s two things I do: run and work. And right now I’m working my butt off. I hope I piss off Asshole with the depth of my work. He’s the one who assigned the longest most difficult project ever for my last semester of college. Serves him right if he has to read thousands and thousands of extra words.

Gwen was begging me to go drinking with her, but I’d never be able to relax until I get this project done. As it’s going along very smoothly despite the complexity I’ve added, there may be some hope for a drink tonight after all.

Ever since I’ve known her, she’s been trying to get me laid, but tonight she’s more than happy to help me swear off men forever. Then Monday, I’ll be running mad. I’m going to wake up at 5 a.m when it’s nice and cold outside and run until my legs fall off, and my brain forgets the name Logan Oliver III ever existed.

My fingers are typing away at my keyboard faster than they’ve ever typed before. I’m eight pages into a document detailing how the etiquette app is supposed to work. The only thing I don’t have at this point is a name. And wouldn’t you know it, but The Party Girls left it up to me to come up with a name.

Not that they aren’t pulling their weight finally. They’re designing the social media campaign to promote the app. It is a marketing class after all. Somehow telling them that I went on a date with Logan made them my biggest fans. Now they won’t stop Snapchatting me pics with Katerina and him.

Even if I wanted to avoid the gossip news and Logan, I couldn’t. He’s everywhere. Every college kid feels like they are getting ready for the biggest party of all time if indeed Logan’s going to have a bachelor party before the end of the school year.

Then it hits me: Party-Kit, the Etiquette App. I search the name online assuming it’s already taken as all the good ideas usually are. No hits. I might have actually done it.

Somehow my best work happens when I’m the most pissed off. First it was Jessica Oliver grilling me about my parents, and now it’s me sitting in the bottom of the library stewing in my own special mixture of sadness and anger.

Talk about angst.

I text Gwen letting her know that I’m wrapping up my work. There isn’t even a second of hesitation in her reply. It’s one of those moments where she replies so fast that it almost seems like she sent the message before I sent mine.

Good girl. Now let’s get WASTED!

There’s one thing you can always count on Gwen Tully for: drunk therapy. No matter what she’ll always be there for you. Rain or shine, if you need to forgot all your problems, Gwen will show up with a bottle of vodka and a smile on her face.

I send the final document to The Party Girls, close my laptop, and storm out of the library, just as angry as when I arrived, but a bit relieved that this semester is almost over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Logan

It was a brutal loss, and worse yet it’s all my fault. Try as I might I could not get Tamber out of my head. Every time I tried to focus on play calling, she slipped back into my thoughts. Tamber running on the track, Tamber trying to ride a horse, Tamber chilling on my couch watching sports news with me. Her taste, her smell, her everything. By the time I threw my second interception in what everyone is calling the worst game of my career, it hit me that I am absolutely in love, and I cannot marry Katerina Prescott.

I need Tamber, yet she might be lost to me forever.

On the flight back from Alabama, I obsessively check the media reactions to my terrible game. They’re talking about my draft stock falling, calling it a sign that not even an impending marriage can clean up my bad boy antics. I want to scream.

They’re putting three quarterbacks in front of me now in the draft. I could slip into the second round or worse. This is such bullshit. One bad game and they’re ready to throw me out with the garbage. That’s how fickle this game is.

I play football to prove myself. That’s the only reason. When everyone else wants to hand me the keys to the kingdom, I want to make my own way. Today I failed that test, and even though I should only be blaming myself, I spend the entire ride pissed off at my parents for pulling this Katerina shit on me.