Page 120 of Necessary Roughness
“I love you too!” Knox quickly said. “I’ve loved you for a while, but only now figured it out. Only when I didn’t think I had you anymore.”
I felt lighter than air, like I might float out of my seat and up into the sky. “I feel the same way! I love you!”
Roman cupped his hands over his mouth. “I’m quite fond of you! But I’m not ready to attach any labels to it yet!”
“That’s okay too!” I replied.
Behind me, a sorority girl screeched, “I LOVE YOU ALL TOO! And I’ll do stuff in bed that Sloane would never do!”
“Doubt it,” Jayden muttered next to me. I glared at him, and he lowered his phone and said, “What? You’ve told me all the things you let them do to you. That girl’s a Gamma, and Gammas are all prudes.”
53
Sloane
Knox jumped down, disappearing from sight. Roman went next. Logan gave me a silly little wave, like a boy waving goodbye to his crush, before he dropped down and jogged back to the bench with the others.
Immediately, another woman behind me leaned forward and said, “The rumors are true? You’ve been sleeping with the entire football team?”
“Not the whole team,” the guy next to her argued. “Just those three. Duh.”
Soon, I was being bombarded with questions, comments, and opinions. Most of them were incredulous. But someone in the row in front of me did say the word “slut,” and Jayden immediately grabbed a handful of the guy’s hair and yanked him backward so hard he almost bent in half.
“Call my friend a slut one more time,” Jayden growled at his upside-down face, “and I’ll be wearing your dick skin like a sock. Andnotin the kinky way.”
He let go of the guy, who looked too shocked to do anything but turn back around and face the game.
“Wow,” Bryson said, completely shocked.
“I know, right?” Jayden exclaimed. “I surprised even myself. Maybe I’m a loveranda fighter!”
The Westview backup quarterback handed the ball off for a running play to start the third quarter before being replaced by Knox. They ran two more running plays to get a first down, then Knox threw a snappy pass up the middle for a fifteen-yard gain.
After that, he dropped back on the next play and threw abombdown field. Logan had gotten past his defender and was wide open. I leaped to my feet along with all the other fans while the ball soared through the air, praying it would be a success. The ball landed perfectly in Logan’s outstretched hands, and he glided into the end zone for an easy touchdown.
The stadium erupted with a roar so loud it hurt my eardrums. Then I was being pummeled by fingers and palms as all the students around us patted me on the back, stretching toward me like I was some savior.
“Lucky Sloane!” someone shouted, and soon it turned into a chant. “Luck-y Sloane! Luck-y Sloane!”
I wasn’t sure how to handle all the attention.
“We’re still losing, twenty-four to thirteen,” Bryson said. “But that’s a good start.”
It indeed proved to be the start of something amazing. Our defense stopped Orange Coast on their next drive, forcing them to punt. All the momentum had swung our way, and Knox and the rest of the offense had a kind of swagger and confidence about them as they took the field again. Knox seemed to float around the field, narrowly avoiding tackles and executing laser-like passes. A clueless spectator might have thought it was a completely different player who had begun the second half of the game.
The touchdowns racked up, and our defense held strong—even without Roman’s physical presence on the field. For the remainder of the game, we looked like the team that had stomped OCSU earlier this year. We took the lead with seven minutes remaining.
The rest of the fourth quarter held a nervous energy, which grew with each play. Every tackle, every pass, every run fed it like fuel thrown onto a fire, the crowd of Westview College fans sensing that our victory was at hand. There was one more scare with two minutes remaining, after a deep pass from Orange Coast’s quarterback, but it ended up not mattering.
The clock hit zero. We had won, 37 - 27.
Suddenly the student section was moving, like we were caught in a riptide. “We’re storming the field!” Bryson exclaimed.
Everyone was pushing and shoving to get down to the railing. Like twigs in a raging river, we allowed ourselves to be caught up in the flow. More students patted me on the back, drunkenly shouting, “Lucky Sloane! WOOO!”
It felt like a dream. Three hours ago, I was public enemy number one on campus. Now I was treated like something between a mascot and a goddess.
We reached the railing, climbed over, and dropped down. My ankle protested in pain at my awkward landing, but the adrenaline racing through my veins made it easy to ignore. Then we were all sprinting across the field toward the players, the turf underneath my feet feeling as soft as heaven. There was a mass of bodies on the fifty-yard line, surrounding the players and trying to get closer. The voices melded together, a kind of unanimous wailing, a singular joyful scream of ecstasy.
