Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (56 page)

The loss of the other team’s key defensive
lineman seemed to galvanize our team— finally they were able to break through
fast and effectively. We scored a touchdown on our very next play; it didn’t
even the score, but at least we weren’t so far behind. My heart was pounding in
my chest and the people in the stands around me were losing their minds,
screaming and shouting, cheering and chanting. The other team managed to
continue to hold us off through a few more plays—they intercepted once and then
lost possession of the ball in the very next scrimmage—but it was clear that
they were really suffering from the loss of their best defensive player. I was
worried about their offense; it had always been strong, and with one of their
other players down, they’d be looking—at least subconsciously—to even things up
and maybe take out our quarterback.

They nearly achieved it. In one of the
plays in the middle of the fourth quarter, Zack went down under what was
practically a dogpile of players from the other team. He was down for a few
minutes, but before they could bring the medics out, he was on his feet again,
shaking himself off, hopping up and down in place before he resumed his normal
position. The next play after that we managed to finally even up the score—Zack
using a deceptive move to convince the other team he was going to try for a
pass instead of a throw, and then getting the ball as far downfield as he could
to the running back who caught up to it just in time. I nearly went deaf once
more with the shrieks that came up from our side of the stands, but I was
grinning as broadly as anyone.

So, with only a few minutes left in the
game—and the championship riding on it—the two teams were once more tied. My
mouth was dry, and my heart was racing. We could end up in overtime, which
wouldn’t be a bad outcome—as long as we won it. I noticed, almost absently,
that I was becoming more and more invested in the game, in spite of wanting to
remain impartial, in spite of convincing myself that I didn’t care who won. If
we couldn’t score something in the next play or two, we would go into
overtime—provided we could keep our defense up and keep the Wild Cats from
scoring.

The other team started its play. Everyone
in the stands—on both sides—was standing up, chanting, screaming, clearly at
their wits’ end with excitement at the prospect of such a close game. I had my
camera ready. If the other team managed to somehow get a touchdown in their
play, they would have basically won—it would be nearly impossible for us to
score sufficient points before the time ran out. I was bouncing on the balls of
my feet at the snap, watching, watching. Waiting like everyone else in the
crowd was. For the moment, I wasn’t a reporter at all; I was just another
spectator, watching the fates of the two teams unfolding.

In a moment that made everyone go silent,
our team intercepted the ball in the midst of a pass. After a shocked moment,
everyone on our side cheered. We made it onto the other side of the field,
landing in the Wild Cats’ territory by fifteen yards before they were able to
scramble up their players enough to tackle the player. We had possession of the
ball once more. There was time for one more play. I was in an agony of
anticipation—what would the decision be? Would we go for a touchdown—a decisive
victory—or would there be a field goal attempt? Just enough of a score to win
the game by a few points. Both would be major risks. Zack ran to the sidelines
to confer with coach Bullden, and some of the players switched up for the last
play of regulation time. I wasn’t sure whether the shrieking of the fans or the
pounding of my blood in my ears was louder. I watched the two sides form up.
The players were in a tight formation, and I saw Zack and another player
cautiously moving farther back from the line of scrimmage. It could be a field
goal. It could be.

The play started and I watched with wide
eyes: it was a field goal attempt. I clenched my hands into fists—it was a
major risk. The defense kept the other team at bay while they set up the kick.
I jumped up and down with everyone else, screaming as the kick launched the
ball into the air. I watched as it turned end over end, moving inexorably
towards the crossbars. Would it be good? Would it go through, or fall short, or
would it hit instead of getting through?

It went through—and everyone went silent
for just a moment, reeling in the stands. There were 30 more seconds left in
the game, but there was no real chance for the other team to make the points
up. The final play was almost anti-climactic, a formality to run down the
clock. The game was decided and everyone in our side of the stands was cheering
and screaming, already starting to celebrate.

I sat down heavily in my seat, happy but
exhausted at how nerve-wracking the game had been. I knew there would be major
celebrations in the city—a party at the hotel, partying in the parking lot, and
probably wherever else any group of fans for our team were staying or could
congregate. For sure, the football team would be living it up for the rest of
the night. I stood as soon as I could recover from my shock and delight and
snapped pictures of the field, the crowd, everything going on. Our team was
running around the field, leaping up and down, the players delirious with
excitement at their win; I managed to capture the moment when they upended the
cooler of Gatorade on coach Bullden.

For a long time it seemed as though the
on-field celebrations would never end. The members of the team were holding the
trophy up in the air, kissing it, dancing with it—and I couldn’t blame them.
Slowly, as gradually as molasses, people in the stands started filtering out;
on the other team’s side of the stadium, they were subdued and quiet, probably
talking amongst themselves about how they’d do it differently, or how next year
would be better. On our side, no one seemed to want to leave, but everyone knew
that there was a better celebration to go to. I looked around for Jess; she was
making out with the guy she’d been flirting with, the two of them kissing in
such a hot and heavy way that they were only one or two steps away from public
indecency. I decided that I’d wait for her at the gate.

I watched the people passing by as I stood
by the gate, waiting for Jess to finish up with the guy she had apparently
decided to make out with. I didn’t know if the bus for students had already left,
but there would almost certainly be cabs that we could take to get back to the
hotel. If Jess had decided to take the guy with her, I’d have to hang out at
the pool or somewhere else; maybe I’d start working on the rough draft of the
front-page piece since I couldn’t exactly stay in the room while she screwed
someone. But I was thinking longingly of the big, plush bed that had come with
the room—bigger than my twin bed at the dorm at least, and much more
comfortable. My body ached from all the tension in it, and I hoped that at
least she would kick the guy out after she’d finished with him. I was
glad—really glad—that we had separate beds.

After a few minutes, when the steady
stream of people leaving the stadium had died down to a trickle, Jess appeared—and
I was surprised to see that she was by herself.

“Hey, Evie,” she said with a
self-satisfied grin.

“What about your boytoy?” I asked with a
raised eyebrow.

Jess shrugged. “He wasn’t that great of a
kisser. Anyone who isn’t a good kisser isn’t good in bed either, so I just made
the excuse that I had to share the room with you and gave him a fake number.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know if the bus
is still here or if it’s gone already. For a guy who didn’t kiss that well you
certainly gave him plenty of time to improve.”

“I was caught up in the excitement of it,”
Jess said with an indolent shrug. “I mean, there were like three or four guys
watching you all game—you could’ve easily had a
we just won the game
make out session yourself.”

I shook my head. “I was more interested in
getting plenty of material for the article. C’mon, let’s see if we can catch
the bus or at least a cab. I’m exhausted.”

We both turned to head out.

“Evie! Evie!” A man’s voice calling my
name made me stop in my tracks. I turned around slowly; I was so exhausted that
it didn’t occur to me that there were only a few people who could possibly be
in the building still who would know my name, much less my nickname. So, when I
spotted Zack running towards Jess and me, it actually surprised me.

“Looks like you’ll get your make-out
session after all,” Jess told me in a quick aside as Zack came up to us.

He must have been the first one into the
showers; he was clean, dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt,
his hair still damp but no sign of his exertions on him whatsoever. He stared
at me for a long moment, smiling slightly, looking me up and down.

“Bullden told me he’d requested you to
cover the game,” Zack said, the smile still not leaving his face.

“I’ll just go check on that bus,” Jess
said, walking away quickly and leaving us perfectly alone in the echoing hall.

I looked down at my feet for a moment.
“How did you know I was still here?” I couldn’t quite look Zack in the eyes. I
was so ashamed of how I’d broken things off with him—and I was shocked that he
had sought me out.

“I didn’t know, but I hoped. If I hadn’t
been able to catch you here, I’d have just found your hotel room.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but
silence between us. I didn’t know what to say—I didn’t know how to feel. I
swallowed against the tight feeling in my throat.

“I wanted to apologize,” I started,
speaking slowly, trying to keep my voice level. “I shouldn’t have gone crazy
like that. I should have let you explain what the situation was instead of just
assuming…” I swallowed again.

“No—I mean, I understand. I don’t have the
best reputation. No one at the frat does.” Zack was still staring at me. I
could feel his gaze lingering on the curves of my body, and then on my face,
drinking me in.

“Still, I knew you before that. I should
have known…” I shrugged. “I should have at least given you a chance to
explain.” I finally worked up the nerve to look up, to meet his gaze. Zack was
smiling still, looking as hot as ever.

“You know, Evie, I don’t even care,” Zack
said, moving closer to me. He dropped his hands down onto my waist, holding me
in place, only a few inches away from me, and my heart was beating faster
again—only this time not from the thrill of the game but from the sudden rush
of desire. “All I want—all I’ve wanted ever since you showed up in my life
again—is to be with you.” He smiled again and leaned in closer. “If you’ll be
with me, I can forget everything else.”

“Don’t forget your classes,” I said,
smiling up into his eyes. “You still need to graduate someday, you know.”

Zack closed the distance, pressing his
lips against mine. He kissed me hungrily, wrapping his arms tightly around my
waist, pressing me against him. I moaned against his lips, feeling the heat of
his body through his clothes, remembering all the times we had been together.
Zack’s tongue batted against mine, plunging deep into my mouth, tasting and
exploring me as if it had been months or years instead of a few short weeks
since we’d broken up.

I lost track of time and place, uncaring
of anything but the feeling of Zack’s body pressed against mine and the taste
of his lips. If my phone, stuffed into my pocket, hadn’t vibrated, Zack and I
might have stood there for hours continuing to kiss each other, with no more
concern for the rest of the world than a couple of statues—at least until
security came through the clear the building. But the buzz of my phone startled
me enough to break the kiss, and I pulled back, reeling, my mind spinning with
a dozen feelings at once. I slipped my phone out of my pocket irritably,
wondering who in the world would text me at a time like this; it was Jess.

I
am on the bus and it just left the stadium. I may see if any of these nice
gentlemen with me is interested in sharing their room for the night. Have fun!
I groaned and showed Zack the message. He laughed, pulling me up against him
and kissing me lightly on the forehead.

“We’ll grab a cab,” he said. “We can start
off in your room and if your roommate hasn’t found someone to spend the night
with we’ll go to mine.”

He took me by the hand and led me out of
the stadium, and I didn’t think there was a single woman in the city who was as
happy as I was.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

It was strange to realize that I felt
nervous as Zack and I turned the corner in the hall leading up to the hotel
room. Zack and I had had sex plenty of times; he had seen me naked when we were
in high school and he had seen me naked a little over a month before. But there
was something just a little bit different about this time—something that made
it more like the first time we had ever had sex together. I fumbled with my key
card, my hands shaking just enough to make it fall to the floor. I knelt down
and grabbed at it before Zack could, forcing myself to focus just enough on the
task at hand to keep from dropping the card once again and managing after two
attempts to get it swiped and read properly. The door unlocked and Zack
propelled me through it, following quickly behind me and closing out the world
in a quick movement that I had to envy; wasn’t he tired after the tough game
he’d played?