He looked like the type of guy to cum down a girl’s throat in some frat house bathroom and expect gratitude. As if letting her swallow his Taco Bell-and-vodka flavored jizz was some sort of gift from God. I was not amused. It was like watching a documentary on Antarctica: fascinating to watch, but I wouldn’t be freezing my tits off to experience it any time soon. Oakley was, like, literally the worst kind of privileged.

His ego was huge. Gigantic. Heavy. I could already tell that he was a complete douchebag based on the way he treated his coach, but seeing him here, in action, furthered that belief. I started to wonder what exactly I had gotten myself into and if I could do this.

His strong jaw could cut granite. His defined Adam’s apple that bobbed whenever he swallowed down large gulps of his beer would forever be ingrained in my mind. He had a sense of swagger that couldn’t be duplicated. It was in how he spoke to people. It was also in the way he wore casual clothes that perfectly fit his body with name brands that cost more than some people’s rent.

Oakley even occasionally stopped to take photos with fans. He took requests, going as far as to pose in football stances or with his arms draped across a girl’s shoulders. It seemed almost expected. He didn’t seem annoyed by the attention—he thrived on it. Oakley Davis was a big fucking deal.

I watched him toss back drinks without a care in the world. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been here before I got here, but he wasn’t showing any signs of stopping after the fourth pint. Sorority girls with tequila in their shot glasses rubbed their breasts against his chest in the crowded area. He looked down at them with cocky pleasure but didn’t entertain anyone specific.

It wasn’t until someone jokingly asked him to sign her tits that I decided to intervene. It was important to watch him and get a feel for his presence, but now I had to do my job. From now on, autographing boobs was off the table.

As I walked over to him, I couldn’t help but think how much my life had changed over the last few months. Before, I probably would’ve been trying to get his attention for entirely different reasons. I would have been wearing Spanx and an uncomfortable dress that clung to my body like a second skin. Just a few short months ago, I would’ve worn heels and caked-on foundation and smoky eyeshadow just to feel a little bit pretty. I would’ve ordered a couple of pitchers of margaritas for myself and drowned my insecurities so that I could be the life of the party.