Page 29 of The Midseason Fakeout

Finally, in this other universe, I’m a part of something like I always wanted to be.

It’s a nice feeling, even though it’s not real.

9

AIDAN

Seeingother dudes at this party ogle Bailey as we dance makes my hackles raise. I underestimated how overprotective I would be.

Honestly, I’m having to remind myself that I’m playing a part the whole time. I shouldn’t care that other guys are staring at her like they could take her upstairs. Hell, maybe she should. That would certainly be an experience to check off her to-do list.

On the other hand, that would lessen the credibility of our all-important fake relationship.

Despite all these thoughts pinging around my head, Bails is enjoying herself. She agreed to sip a beer out of a plastic cup, but I’ve noticed she hasn’t drunk much of it at all. At this point, it’s been unattended for so long, there’s no way I would let her drink out of it again.

The party is in what used to be the football house until they built the athletic dorms and made all the athletes move back onto school property. When I was here just to check out the campus, I attended a wild party in this very house. Reid and his friends Cade and Lex took me under their wing and showed me around. They basically proved there was no other place for me. I needed to be a Bulldog. Of course, it helped that Reid was a no-brainer for the draft. To play backup for him was an honor, and now that I’m at the helm, everything is working out the way I wanted.

Well, except for the recent brief blip of losing sight of my goals, but that’s never going to happen again. There’s too much at stake.

“Hey,” Bails says, placing her palms on my cheeks and making me look at her. “You left for a moment.”

There’s no use denying it. I’m not even sure I was dancing to the beat. Some first date to a college party I’m being. “Sorry, I was reminiscing.”

I tell her the story about how this used to be the football house, and her eyes widen. “That sounds like a disaster.”

Chuckling, I answer, “I think it was. Coach was relieved when Warner put the money into building the athletic dorms.”

“Keep a better eye on you wild football players,” she teases.

Not that it’s worked totally. I scan the crowd for Kenna and West as a memory of another time the football team did something very, very stupid. Somehow, she was able to forgive us, though sometimes I’m not even sure how. The rivalry with Hamilton still exists, but if they bring it to our turf again, Coach will blow a gasket.

No one wants that.

Behind Bails, a group of people enter the pseudo dance floor in the middle of the large living room. The house is now owned by one of the new fraternities, but it looks like they haven’t done much to the place since they took over. It even smells the same: stale beer, burnt popcorn, with a slight tinge of laundry that needs to be properly washed.

What more can you expect from a bunch of guys living together?

Bails stills, mouth wide, as the group we danced with a couple days ago on the quad encircles us. She joins right in like she’s one of them. I grin at her, stomach tightening. This is all she wants. To experience the things she’s missed. To no longer feel left out. To feel like she belongs.

I can relate to that.

She turns her back to me, dancing into my crotch, but before we can get into another situation where I need her to block my raging hard-on, I lean down and ask her if she wants some water. She nods in agreement, and I leave her dancing her heart out as I make my way through the crowd. I check the kitchen, but only find the keg on the counter and some liquor bottles lining the peninsula.

Moving to the fridge, I spot even more alcohol, a box of wine, some White Claws, and hard lemonades. When I shut the refrigerator door, the huge body of my roommate moves into view.

“What’s up, man?” I give him a bro hug. “Where’s Kenna?”

“She went to find Bailey.”

Glancing over where I left her, I spot Kenna laughing and dancing right next to her. That’s good. Bailey couldn’t find a better friend than in Kenna.

“Which, by the way,” West’s hard voice picks up again, “I haven’t told her your shit is a sham.”

The accusation in his voice pricks my skin. I peer around like someone else is going to overhear and know exactly what we’re talking about. “No one’s going to find out,” I assure him. “You worry too much, Big Guy.”

West shakes his head, a hint of a smile across his face. “I’m not worried. Because I’ve seen the way you look at her. However, I am worried you’re going to scare the shit out of yourself when you realize you might actually like her.”

I laugh his words off. I love my friend, I do. But because he has Kenna now, he thinks he’s some sort of relationship expert. Like he should have his own column in the Saturday paper where people write in and ask him dating questions. The truth is, he was like me before he found her, except the part where I let it interfere with football. West would never do that.

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