Page 1 of The Late Hit
I’mneverdrinkingagain.
The soft chirp of birds fills the silence around me as the sky is slowly starting to wake. Steadily, I begin to rise from bed, only to be met with the pounding in my head that is trying to consume me.
Another morning, another hangover.
Glancing around the room, I search for my clothes. There is no way I am making the trek to my car in only a borrowed Central Texas Eagles football shirt that looks more like a dress than a shirt on me.
I throw the covers off me, sitting up slowly, trying to avoid the inevitable feeling of the room spinning and the need to empty my stomach.
“The sun isn’t even out,” Quinton groans from the makeshift bed on the floor.
“I’ve got class,” I reply, jumping out of his warm bed. It’s either I get up now, or I’ll cave in and spend all morning lying in bed. “Besides, don't you have to get up soon for weightlifting?”
“Coach pushed weightlifting back until eight o’clock, thank god,” Quinton replies.
“Lucky you,” I say. “Meet me at the Student Union at eleven thirty for lunch?”
“Yeah, see you later,” Q says, rolling over and bringing his blanket up to his chin. He looks so comfortable. I wish I could say the same about myself. Why did I want the best professor for my Psychology 3600 class? And why does he only teach eight a.m. classes?
Locating my clothes on his desk chair, I throw off Quinton’s T-shirt, toss it in the pile of clothes that I assume are dirty, and pull on my clothes from last night. I’m always thankful when parties are casual and not themed. It makes the next morning less awkward. Cutoff jean shorts, a cute tank, and Converse don’t scream “walk of shame” quite like a tight dress and heels.
Stumbling over to the nightstand, I pick up my round, tortoise-framed glasses and pop in a piece of gum. Gum will have to do until I make it back to my town house to freshen up. The inside of my mouth feels like I licked the mat that holds overflow draft beer at bars.Gross!
Stepping out of Quinton’s bedroom, I notice that the house is calm and quiet, the total opposite of last night. But before I can take in my surroundings, I am met with the stench of weed, sticky floors, and littered beer cans.
God—this house is a disaster.
Dubbed the Football House around campus, Quinton’s house is a three-story brick colonial. His parents purchased the house for his older brother to live in while he was in college. Once Damien graduated, Quinton moved in with some of his teammates and younger brother. The Football House is the place to party on campus. They’re known for throwing the wildest parties. But since a lot is riding on the line for all the guys that live here, the parties are usually invite-only to keep the crowd under some control.
Since I don’t live nearby, Q lets me crash in his room after parties, as long as he isn’t hooking up with some chick. On the nights he’s got a lady, I crash in the third-story movie room. The couch isn’t as comfortable as Q’s bed, but it gets the job done. Nothing will ever compare to Q’s bed. It’s the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on. It’s like lying on a cloud. There’s no way I’d give up sleeping in this bed if it was mine. But Quinton does every time I stay over. He never sleeps in the bed with me, he always takes the floor.
Quinton Boyd is not only a Power Five running back for the CTU Eagles, but he’s a potential first-round draft pick in the NFL. With Q’s stats, it’s a no-brainer that he will go first round, top ten. He’s insanely talented, can bench and squat an ungodly amount, and makes defenders look stupid. While he may have the NFL’s eye, he also has the campus eating out of the palm of his hand. The guys want to be him, the ladies want under him, and I’m lucky enough to call him my best friend.
Football season kicks off next weekend. Every September, the team kicks off the season and the new school year with their weekly Thirsty Thursday party. The guys always say their Thirsty Thursday nights are going to be low-key, but the parties are far from laid-back. Last night’s party got a little carried away.
That’s what happens when people start talking about a party, especially one at the Football House.
Carefully, I make my way down the old, hardwood staircase, stepping over a few bodies of passed-out partygoers, and walk straight into the kitchen. For some reason, during the party, I ended up taking my Converse off, and now I have no idea where they are. This brings me to a better question than where, but why would taking my shoes off inthis houseeven cross my mind?
Pulling a kitchen chair to the refrigerator, I stand and look to see if someone put them on top. Nope, not there. Glancing around the open concept kitchen, dining room, and living room, I see a lot of random things, but no Converse. My eyes keep scanning and snag on something hanging from the patio. Stepping off the chair, I make my way to the kitchen window and peer out over the yard. And there they are. My shoes are dangling from the patio roof. There’s no way I’m going out to get them now. Deciding to let them hang, I make my way to the front door barefoot.
It’s six o’clock in the morning, my head is pounding, and I got four hours of sleep, but I can’t help but take in the quiet campus. I don’t think there’s anything better than the morning on campus. Even hungover, I can truly appreciate the historic campus that makes up Central Texas University, a one-hundred-fifty-year-old university. The school hasn’t lost any of its charm over the years and somehow, like a fine wine, keeps getting better with age.
The mature trees line the sidewalks and are flourishing. Instead of paved streets, CTU features a majority of brick-lined streets. The buildings that make up the campus are all original with stunning architectural designs.
Attending CTU had always been my brother’s and my dream. I’m so glad I decided to attend, even though his plans changed. Thankfully, I met Quinton. He helped ease the guilt of being at CTU.
Quinton and I met freshman year. But we weren’t instant friends.
The first week of school was ‘icebreaker’ week. Each day, we were assigned mandatory activities. Quinton and I were assigned a lot of the same activities. My team kept beating Q’s team, and apparently, he’s a sore loser.
Then at the end of the week, we were both at the same party. Q and I were paired opposites in a beer pong game. He and his partner were on their ninth game-winning streak, when my partner and I beat them. We continued our winning streak and won the little tournament that was going on.
My cockiness might’ve shone through as I ran my mouth to all of his friends about how much he sucked. I might have been a little—okay, a lot—drunk.
Karma would then come around and bite me in the ass when we both had the same mandatory freshman class. The only open seat was beside Quinton, which made us partners for the semester. It ended up being a blessing because we quickly became best friends and have been inseparable since.
Making the ten-minute drive to my town house, I park in my designated spot. I share a three-bedroom house with my two best friends, Chloe and Macy. Before I get a chance to open the front door, I’m forced to halt my entrance as Macy opens it with a tall man behind her. He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place where I recognize him from. Story of my life.
