GIN AND JUICE pt 20 : THE SPRING GAME

“Come on, babe. We’re almost there!” Caroline called from about fifteen feet ahead of you. You’d made it through the gate, through the small sea of people near the entrance, now you just had to make it up the ramp and into the special seats marked off for friends and family of team members. The stadium was so big. Ninety-five thousand regularly flocked in and out of the gates on a normal fall weekend. Thank God this was just the spring game.

You caught up with Caroline and drug your feet up the ramp still trailing behind her, while you thought back to a couple of days ago…

Dr. Michaels had suggested pre-planning where you would sit at the game. With as many variables as a situation like a live football game could have, she’d said in a session last week, knowing exactly where you were going and your physical surroundings could be beneficial. She had actually yelled all of this over the crowd noise she was pumping out of her office sound system to help you prepare for the sensory overload of a football game. It had been jarring and you’d needed a two hour nap afterward, but it helped to know what you were getting yourself into.

You showed up to the stadium after Shawn’s practice a few days before the big event. He met you at the gate, insisting on helping you pick out the perfect seat. His hair was still damp from his post-practice shower, hanging in lifted tendrils across his forehead. You reached up to push some of them back and gave him a quick hello peck on his full lips.

“You ready?” he asked, a little pink clinging to his cheeks after your public affection. He was still getting used to you wanting to be seen with him in public, let alone kiss him.

He held your hand and walked you through the empty concrete maze, up the ramp to your section, and down to the bleacher seats that the tickets he’d given you would allow you to sit. It was technically a general admission but Shawn promised to reserve the seats you picked out before the game.

“Okay,” he stopped at the third row and stayed right on the aisle, “so I thought about this for awhile after you told me you wanted to come see me play. I think right here,” he stood right at the last seat of the aisle, “is perfect. It’s far enough up for you to see over the players’ heads and it’s on an aisle so there’s easy access in and out if you get overwhelmed.” He looked down at you, his chest out. He was so proud of himself.

“Will you be able to see me?” You hopped up on top of the bleachers in front of the seat he’d picked out so you could look him in the eye. He brought his hands up around your waist and slowly turned you around, resting his head against your side. The massive field stretched out in front of you.

“You see that sideline over there?” Shawn pointed across the field and waited until he could feel you shaking your head, “I’ll either be over there or on the field the whole time. If you stand on the bleachers like everyone else does, I’ll be able to see you.” You rested your arm around his neck and squeezed, skin against skin, letting the all the anxiety and words you weren’t saying flow out of you, comforted by his solid presence.

You were both silent for awhile, looking out onto the field in the fading light. His breathing helped you focus, the slow inhales and exhales of a conditioned athlete. Your fingers grazed his collar bone underneath his shirt, his brushed your side delicately just above the waist of your jeans. The simple touches in the quiet moments were your secondary therapy, the blissful release of the anxiety that built up throughout the day.

“I’m excited to see you play,” you scratched his scalp and he leaned into your hand, purring softly.

“You’ve been working on it in therapy? The noise?” He was so worried that this wasn’t going to work, that your eagerness to see him play, to be a normal couple, would set your progress back.

“I have,” you leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, “it’s been okay. You might have to take a nap with me after the game.” You laughed, enough to lighten the moment, but not enough to take the half-truth out of your joke.

“I read these will help too,” he rummaged around in his pocket and slipped a pair of neon orange earplugs into your hand. Sometimes, when he did stuff like this, you couldn’t help but choke back tears. It was the little things that knocked you on your *** about him—the gentle touches, the verbal check-ins, the little orange earplugs—all the things that showed how much he cared, how much he valued your progress. As much, if not more so, than he cared about his own recovery.

“I have to go to a meeting before the game,” he tensed a little, still struggling with being open about his failures, “but there will be passes for you and Caroline at the box office. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” His tension melted into the easy ribbing that he and Caroline had adopted. He exhaled, turning you back around in his hands and burying his head in your middle.

“I’m so happy you’re coming,” he whispered, so low you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it. It was like he’d waited until now, until he was sure you’d be there, to let you know how much it meant to him. You took his face in your hands and looked down at him, that familiar feeling under your sternum drawing you even closer to him, his hook and line calling you home.

“It’s going to be fine,” you reassured him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and hopping down from the bleachers. He needed to hear it, and if you were being honest, so did you.

It was deafening. It was so loud that it blocked out all your other senses. Where there should have been the smell of turf and rubber, the taste and feel of grit in your mouth, the sight of 50,000 people, there was nothing. Just an ocean of noise. The game hadn’t even started yet and still all the voices together felt like waves crashing against your eardrums. You pulled out the earplugs Shawn had given you and jammed them in your ears. It dampened the noise enough to let you inhale, rough and audible, pushing the pressure of voices and eyes off your chest. Caroline knocked your arm to check in and you grimaced at her.

“It’ll be better once the game starts,” she squeezed your leg comfortingly, “you’ll have something to focus on…and so will they.” She scoffed at the group of girls across the aisle openly whispering.

You were wearing Shawn’s hoodie, his name emblazoned on the back. That coupled with the fact that you were in the player’s section and gossip around campus, it was obvious that you were her. The previously secret girlfriend. The One from the Article. The girls all the jersey chasers wanted to be. It came with all the eyes and whispers you’d thought it would, louder in the beginning, but it had mostly blown over. Only the desperate few still pointed and whispered.

Turning toward Caroline, your back to the band of buzzing girls, you flipped your hood up, making sure they could see the bolded MENDES on the back. Their jealous tittering ceased immediately and you smiled to yourself, blushing at your own self-satisfaction.

“Well, well,” Caroline whistled, her eyebrows raised somewhere near her hairline, “I’ve never been more fucking proud of you than I am right now. Fucking stake that claim, bitch.” She wiped a fake tear off her cheek and giggled, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing.

After awhile, the ebb and flow of voices and whispers was easier to block out. There was a countdown clock on the jumbotron at the end of the field and as it moved closer to zero, the crowd ramped up. Caroline had to explain that during a normal game there would be more people, more eyes, and the band would play and 90,000 people would cheer and scream. You took a moment to thank whatever power above that your first game was just the spring scrimmage.

Smoke built in the corner of the field, signaling the crowd to stand and cheer. You were a little slow on the uptake, but Caroline pulled at your arm and you both stood on the bleachers with everyone else. The earplugs helped to amplify your own voice over the others when you cheered, swiveling your head back and forth looking for the only player that mattered to you. Familiar names, ones you’d met in the months since the national championship game, ran by and you just barely recognized Zubin, Mike, and Andrew through their helmets.

But everything faded away when he came smashing through the fog with his pointer finger held toward the sky. Distantly, you heard the crowd roar, but it didn’t matter. The stadium could have been empty and you wouldn’t have noticed. You’d never seen him like this. He ran a lap around the sidelines to thunderous cheering, his curls whipping around in the wind, a beautiful pink, adrenaline-fueled flush on his cheeks. His earring, the little hoop he’d put in after his Heisman win, gleamed in the early evening light. Everyone was watching him, cheering for him and him alone. He was magnetic. He was yours.

When the game started, after the shock of seeing him in his element, the sound of the crowd slowly filtered back in. It was a low-stakes game. The spring game was just a scrimmage, the offense and defense playing against each other. But it didn’t matter. The crowd chanted Shawn’s name whenever he was on the field, boosting the energy level in the stadium to near bursting every time he crossed the sideline. It was overwhelming.

At one point the defense had beat Shawn’s side back to their own five yard line. Coach Bradford had let the second string quarterback play, much to the dismay of Shawn’s adoring crowd. When Coach sent Shawn out, the crowd cheered so loud you had to close your eyes, forcing them open at the sound of the referee’s whistle. Shawn snapped the ball. His bicep, wrapped around with a little white band, reached back for a throw and when he let loose, the stadium went almost completely silent. The ball hung in the air for what felt like minutes, hours, a beautiful spiral that reached yards through the air and into Mike’s waiting arms. Shawn was already celebrating when Mike crossed the endzone, the crowd screaming right along with him. You jumped up and down and hugged Caroline, screaming louder than you thought you could right along with the rest of the crowd. It felt good. It felt…normal. Adjusted, Dr. Michaels would have corrected.

You rode the adrenaline to the end of the game, marveling at his athleticism, his easy grace running the ball to the sheer strength required to launch the ball from his hand to his target in the endzone. The way his muscles flexed and his chest rose and fell from his labored breathing, it was beautiful. It was intoxicating. You swore to yourself that you’d never miss another game. A few times, even though you couldn’t see it, you felt him notice you in the crowd. It was like the pull of a magnet to the sideline, seeking his eyes. He never seemed to take his eyes off the field, never took his attention away from the team that needed him, but you could sense it, knew he knew you were there as sure as you knew he was standing on the sideline in front of you.

Shawn’s “team” won, the other side totally demoralized after his ninety-yard pass for a touchdown in the third quarter. He stood victorious in the center of the field while the crowd cheered, his head tilted back and yelling nonsensically. He looked like a dinosaur, roaring after winning a primal fight, his sweat-drenched curls shaking out behind him. After a round of press, he took a victory lap, waving to the fans that had come to see him.

You took off like a shot down the aisle, ignoring Caroline’s startled protestations. Pressing yourself against the brick barrier between the stands and the field, you mustered all the breath in your lungs.

“SHAWN!”

His head whipped toward you, eyes wide in shock. He stopped in his tracks and re-routed, making a beeline toward you. It was the loudest he’d ever heard you, and in front of so many people, it was no wonder he looked like you’d grown a second head and four arms.

“Babe, you ca—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence before you kissed him. Half-draped over the barrier, you had to jump a little to reach him, your arms wrapping around his neck and connecting with his lips so hard your teeth clash for a moment. You were sure the crowd went wild, were sure there were jeers and catcalls and disappointed cries from every body still left in the stadium, but you didn’t care. No one mattered outside of you and Shawn. All you could feel was his lips on yours, moving in synch, a rhythm as natural to you as breathing. He lifted you over the barrier, his arms strong around you, squeezing reassuringly, before setting you down on your feet. His hands wrapped around your wrists as his lips disconnected from yours, foreheads pressed together. His panting breaths washed over your face, helping to steady you.

“Where the hell did that come from?” his chest shook with laughter, disbelief coloring his voice.

You shrugged your shoulders and giggled into his neck, giddy from the game and the kiss. As your pulse came down and the adrenaline faded, the crowd volume slowly crept back up, pressing your body involuntarily into him. He felt the rising tension in your body, knew your discomfort could only be held at bay for so long.

“Hey, look at me,” he sandwiched your face between his hands, making sure he was the only thing in your field of vision. You locked eyes with him, panic threatening in the peripheral.

“Ready for that nap?”

You nodded your head, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion. Yawning, you threaded your fingers with his and let him lead you, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other instead of the thousands of people that were definitely staring at you. In the endzone, you stopped suddenly, pulling Shawn’s arm backwards to a halt.

“Baby, are you okay?” He looked worried, his eyebrows knitted together. You reached up and smoothed them, tracing a line over his forehead to his cheek where you cupped his jaw.

“You’re amazing, you know.” It wasn’t a question. You refused to give him room to deny it. It was just a simple fact. He blushed right up into his ears, giving his head a little shake and kicking the turf, a million little rubber pellets jumping up around his feet.

“And hey?” he looked up, his rounded hazel eyes searching for what else you could possibly say to make this day better.

“I love you so fucking much.”

His face broke into the most glorious smile, glittering off the stadium lights and radiating pure, unbridled joy.

“I love you more.”

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AUTHOR'S NOTE :

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING GIN AND JUICE.

Make sure to go check out my other 2 books i have " The Alpha's mate " and "The Beast within"  i will make sure to keep updating as soon as i can, but  this is my first book series i hope you guys like it.

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