“Let’s see that one,” Matty says.
“This is a beautiful piece.” The sales lady flips open a black velvet pad and drapes the gold necklace across it.
“I think I need to see it on.” He picks it up and gestures for me to turn around.
“Your mom is four inches taller than me,” I protest, worried that if I see it around my neck, I’ll want to keep it.
“So? You both have necks right?”
I can’t argue with that. I lift my hair and Matty hooks it in the back. The gold sparkles in the brightly lit store.
“We’ll take it.” He hands over the card to the store clerk. I start to take it off, but Matty grabs my arm. “I heard you had a birthday.” His smile is bright, his words an echo of mine.
“In May.”
He tugs my hand away from my neck and curls his fingers around my own so I can’t remove the necklace. He gives a chin nod to the clerk who scuttles off to run Matty’s credit card before we can change our minds.
“What about your mom?” I ask, my hand still under his.
“I bought her a Fitbit already. I know I forgot Valentine’s Day.”
“Matthew…”
He laughs and catches me up in a hard embrace. He dips his head and kisses my neck, catching both chain and flesh under his lips. “I’ve missed all your previous birthdays, Christmases and Valentine’s Day, so this is something small. Don’t tell me you don’t want it because you’ll hurt my feelings.”
“I highly doubt that, but thank you. It is too much.” I saw the price tag, and this is definitely the most expensive piece of anything I’ve ever owned besides the laptop my dad surprised me with when I graduated.
“I wanted to.” He kisses me again, this time on the lips.
Had I ever thought Matty was a risk? I was such a foolish girl.
30
Matty
“We’ve got a recruit coming,” Coach announces. March has rolled around and we’re halfway through spring practice. I’m antsy for it to be over because it means I’ll have more time to spend with Luce. I’m looking forward to this summer, particularly grateful that she’s a townie and will be here with me because I’m getting tired of Coach’s shit. It’s eroding my love for the game. “You and Ace are going to show him a good time.”
I’ve spent more time in Coach’s office since the National Championship game than I had in all four years prior. I’m getting sick of the leather chairs, the nice carpet, and frankly, his goddamn face.
“Isn’t this guy a linebacker?” Ace asks sarcastically. “Mr. Texas isn’t here yet.”
Ace’s attitude toward Coach borders on insubordination. It’s definitely insolent, but what the hell? It’s not like Ace has a lot to lose. I feel sorry for him. I really do, but then I think about the shit he vomited all over me a couple weeks ago. I still can’t convince Luce to spend the night with me. She doesn’t want to hurt little Ace’s feelings, even though I sense a serious amount of distance between the two of them.
I’m guessing Ace had a throw down with her, much like he had with me. Like me, she didn’t take it well. Unlike me, she kinda cares.
There’s something highly ironic about the fact I’m pretty much begging her to stay with me but she keeps turning me down. If I want to sleep with her, I have to do it in her apartment, in her tiny-ass bed that’s about as comfortable as sleeping on my yoga mats. Which is to say, not fucking comfortable. We only do it when I’m desperate. So like three, four times a week.
“You two need to start working together. Your team is falling apart and I want you to fix it. Starting with this new recruit.”
I half believe Ace will tell Coach that the new recruit can go suck a goat, but he doesn’t.
Instead, we take Lucious Deakins—for serious, that’s the fucker’s name—the new recruit, out for dinner. He’s big bodied, and needs to lose about thirty pounds of fat and trade that in for fifty pounds of muscle. Worse? He’s got a loud fucking mouth and I’m not talking volume. The kid has a Twitter account, a Facebook account, an Instagram account, and a fucking Pinterest board where he pins pictures of food.
I hate that I’m even using the word pin. I could feel the testosterone draining out of me each second I had that site up on my computer.
His Twitter account is the worst. He’s been documenting every single thing associated with his recruiting trips from the snacks he received on the airplane to the sidewalk cracks outside each stadium.
Oh, yeah, and he doesn’t shut up.
“What are we doing later tonight?” he asks.
Two seconds later. “You guys bringing me strippers?”
Before I can draw my next breath. “Are they jumping out of a cake? I’ve always wanted a stripper cake.”
Jesus, does he think we’re putting on some Mardi Gras parade for him?
“No,” I say shortly.
“How about the booze. I can do a two-story beer bong.” Call me Lucious cuz that’s my name rubs his hands together.
I share another long-suffering glance with Ace, who smiles back at me. He’s enjoying this. “You’re eighteen. We can’t serve you booze,” I tell him.
“But…why are you taking me around then?”
“So you can get a feel for the campus. You want us to violate some NCAA rules and make it impossible for you to get a D-1 scholarship here?”