But it was hotter than the devil’s sweaty ass crack. I had lines of moisture trailing down my spine, and I stupidly left a hair tie at the hotel. I felt bloated from all the food I had to eat in order for Oakley to have enough energy for today’s game, and the humidity in the air tasted like evaporated beer.

“Yaaaaaaas!!” a girl next to me screamed. She kept bumping into me every time she cheered, knocking her hard lemonade onto me. I was annoyed by her shrieks but envied her short outfit. Unlike me, she paired a cute orange sports bra with short cut-off shorts and flip-flops. If I didn’t think it would ruin Oakley’s reputation, I’d strip down to my panties and air out my pits.

How long were football games, anyway? There were four quarters that were fifteen minutes each, so like an hour? I could literally feel the makeup melting off my face. The one time I actually made an effort to look nice. Figured.

I had no idea what was happening on the field. They were passing, dribbling, or defending pretty fiercely though. I started thinking about things I could say that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete asshat if someone asked me about the game. “They sure did a good job of moving the ball from one side of the field to the other!” and “They played with a lot of heart!” both sounded pretty lame. I started writing down some things that the announcer said so I could memorize them and sound like I knew what I was talking about.

Perky orange sports bra bumped into me again and slurred in my general direction, “Like, what are you even doing?” she asked while nodding at my notepad.

“I don’t really know much about football, but I’m here to support one of the players,” I replied.

“I can help!” she said enthusiastically. “I totally know about football!” I instantly felt a strong Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants connection with sports bra girl.

“So you see the dude with dreads peeking out of his helmet?” she asked while pointing toward the field. I vaguely recognized who she was indicating and nodded. “He’s sleeping with my roommate and has an eight-inch dick.”

I wasn’t sure what this had to do with football, but call me intrigued.

“Oh really?” I asked.

“Yep. He’s the quarterback. Basically when the ball goes there, we score.”

I made a mental note. Score = Good.

“And do you see that dude right there?” she asked, waving her skinny index finger in Oakley’s direction.

“Yep,” I replied with a swallow.

“He eats ass like nobody’s business.” Sports bra held her dainty hand up to her mouth and giggled. “I mean, seriously. I didn’t think I liked rim jobs, but—”