As I walked toward the Union Building to get some lunch, thoughts whirled in my mind like drinks flying on spring break in Daytona. I liked a girl. A woman. A chick. A young lady. Whatever. I liked Cate.
Talking to her grounded me, which was good, because at the moment I needed grounding. I’d turned down a shit-ton of interest from the pros the year before to stay in school, to finish my last few credits and graduate. Was it worth it? I didn’t fucking know. At the end of the day, I was going to play ball. It’s all I wanted to do.
And now I wanted to be with Cate, but that wasn’t going to be so easy. First of all, I didn’t even know how I wanted to be with her, and second, there was Coach and what he just laid down.
The dare came back to mind, so I turned toward the radio station instead of the student union. I burst through the front doors and made my way toward the studio and banged on the door. Not waiting for an answer, I walked right in, into a zone defense all by myself.
Another bullshit Phish melody had just ended, and Sonny was making love to his mic when he saw me.
“Oh, looks like we poked the bear, Hafton. I wouldn’t have believed it myself unless I saw it with my own eyes, which I’m doing right now. The Stealer just stormed into my booth, eyes blazing. I guess he heard my latest dare. Did you know Mr. Steele has a thing for our intern? He’s our Catie P.’s protector and, perhaps, suitor?” He raised an eyebrow at me, challenging me.
Asshole.
“Okay, Haftees, let’s do something about this little challenge in front of me. Last pair of tickets is up for grabs for the first girl to get The Stealer tattooed on her body.”
I slammed my hand onto the table, shaking the equipment, and imagined it was my fist making contact with Sonny’s pretty-boy face.
“If your little honey, Hafton’s 96.9’s own Catie, is the first to mark her body with your name, we know it’s meant to be, Steele. It’s only a matter of time!”
Sonny shoved the mic back in its holder and hit PLAY, sending some awful music blaring into my ears, and I turned to leave. I couldn’t even talk to the jerk.
His challenges and dares were giving me whiplash. First it was don’t fuck around, then he messed with my intern, goading everyone on campus to ask her out, and now ball babies were going to be running around with my name tattooed on their bodies.
When my mom named me Blane Steele, I was pretty sure she thought I was going to be a porn star. Thank fuck, shaking my junk wasn’t my big break out; playing ball was.
Although the thought of having a bunch of women running around with my name inked on their skin made me feel like I was some kind of gigolo, a role I didn’t have to be.
At least, not anymore.
Catie
“Caterina?” Stanwick called my name with disdain. “Please stay after class.”
Stanwick waited for me at the bottom of the steps, her hair scraped back in a severe bun, her stance stiff and off-putting, a smirk on her lips.
“Yes?” I clenched my hands, stilling their shaking.
She towered over me in her pumps, and I found myself wishing for height for the millionth time.
“Caterina, I need to reconsider having you in this class.”
“If it’s the paper, I plan to document my stance even further. I’m just trying to see their choice to go into pornography from their side. The girls—”
She stepped toward me and whispered, “It’s not that, Caterina. Although I do find the whole premise despicable. It’s this job you have at the radio, and the consorting you’re doing with the shock jock and the basketball player.”
I swallowed my self-disdain for liking boys. “What?”
“Do you live in a bubble? Even I heard the incorrigible Sonny Be Knocking Boots this morning.” She said his name on a snarl, her teeth biting off each syllable.
“Um, no, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Walk with me, Caterina, to the window.” She motioned to the large window at the opposite side of the room.
We made our way over to the window. Through the small panes, I saw men, lots of them, standing and waiting. Some held up signs with slogans like GO OUT WITH ME, CATIE P. or PICK ME, CATIE P. I especially liked GO PHISHING FOR A REAL MAN, CATIE P.
“I don’t know what this is all about,” I admitted to Stanwick.
“This morning, Sonny B. promised a pair of Phish tickets to the first guy to get you to go on a date.” She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me and waited for me to explain.
“Oh,” I said, feeling like a thousand-ton elephant was sitting on my chest.
“You don’t see how disgusting this is? To set you up with the highest bidder, a man—any man—who is just in it for a contest? That is morally degrading and an embarrassment to this department. I thought I could let it go after your lackluster night of dating advice on Halloween, but now this.”
“It’s radio,” I said weakly. “They need ratings.”
“Then does it make you happy to know that right now, dozens of college girls are running around town looking for an open tattoo parlor?”