“Uh, babe. Sweet cake!” Dad yelled over the crowd, grabbing her arm. “You know what else happened on our first date?” Oh God. No. I needed to plug my ears, but my fingers weren’t fast enough as he propositioned her, “Why don’t I get us a hotel room so we can recreate it?”

“Oh, Crosby, you devil!!” Mom playfully patted him on the chest. “What about the game?”

I was trying not to vomit but managed to speak up. “I have to work the rest of the night anyway, Mom. We can catch up tomorrow.”

She giggled and pinched my father’s butt.

Yep. I saw that.

“Well, if you insist!” Both my parents gave me quick goodbyes and started fumbling up the stadium stairs and out the door.

I would have to scrub my mind with bleach after this. I loved that my parents were in love, but I hadn’t expected the bangle flask to work that well.

The rest of the game went by quickly. We won the game, scoring in the last thirty seconds. Everyone was going fucking wild. I loved the adrenaline of it, and even screamed. Maybe I liked sports after all.

It took me a while to get to the locker rooms. I struggled through the crowd of drunk, happy coeds, and by the time I made it there, I had booze in my hair and a sweat-soaked shirt. When I walked in, the players all started shouting, “Ball!” I didn’t even have to remind myself that it was a term of endearment. I was surprised by how happy it made me that they were all happy to see me.

Oakley ran up to me, practically giddy, and wrapped his thick arms around my waist. He easily lifted me and twirled me around. I briefly wondered if he could lift me over his head Dirty Dancing style, but he set me back down. I giggled at the look of pure happiness on Oakley’s face.

“Hey there, Stud. Word around town is that you just won a football game. How does that make you feel?” I joked and held my fist up to his face like a microphone. The entire locker room went nuts when I mentioned the win. I didn’t understand it before, but now it was easy to see why people celebrated for days.

Oakley leaned in close so that only I could hear him and asked in a low throaty voice, “So you think I’m a stud?” His hot breath on my neck sent an instant wave of heat up my entire body.

“Uh, no. I mean yes, on the field. You’re a stud on the field,” I said lamely. “Have you done your interviews yet? How about that party? We don’t want to leave Kelseigh hanging!”