I sneak her into the athletic center because I want to christen my locker. She rides me, rubbing her body all over mine while she comes on my dick. That may be a mistake, because every time I sit in my locker, I think of her, us, and I get hard. Getting hard in the locker room is not a good idea. But she has her own problems. She’s taken to wearing skirts and thigh high tights because I’ve ripped the crotch of so many of her regular tights, and because, she admitted, she’s tired of her tights having a wet crotch after an encounter with me.

The new obsession I have with her doesn’t affect my play on the field. If anything, my focus is sharper there. Things happen in slow motion. It’s like I know the play before the ball even gets hiked. I start racking up ridiculous numbers. Two sacks in one game. Three in another. I get an interception and run it in for a touchdown in three different games. It’s unheard of. ESPN’s College Game Day becomes a Knox Masters highlight reel.

Life is fucking good.

26 Ellie

Week 8: Warriors 6-0

“You look exhausted,” Riley observes as I drop onto the sofa by her. She’s studying some kind of ethics and law, based on the paperwork strewn about. “Is it all the sex you’re getting? Because I swear if I was getting it as much as you do, I’d have trouble walking.”

“I wish.” Although truthfully some days I am sore. It’s been five weeks of non-stop sex whenever Knox can find a spare minute from football and classes. The team is still undefeated and there are only five weeks left in the regular season with a conference title game in December.

Knox had suggested we visit his brother over the bye week—the week that the team has no game, but I had softball practice. Knox took my rejection with ease and we spent that entire weekend in his apartment, trying out as many positions as he could dream up. I did not like the one where my head was lower than my hips but all others were a go.

He has the stamina of Secretariat, not to mention that he’s hung like a horse, too. Apparently my sex has muscles in it that can get bruised and worn out. Complaining about this to Knox results in more oral. He loves giving head. It’s kind of amazing. Sometimes he acts like he enjoys going down on me more than anything else, which can’t possibly be—

“Earth to Ellie. Come in, Ellie. The little people who don’t have sex are pretending not to be jealous of your nonstop action, but your horny face isn’t helping.” Riley waves a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry.” I try to look repentant. “It’s the game theory class. I barely understand it myself.”

“Which makes it difficult to help Jack,” Riley finishes.

I swing around in surprise. “You know?”

She grimaces. “I’ve suspected for a while, but since you didn’t want to say anything, I didn’t bring it up.”

Panicked, I grab her wrist. “You can’t say anything, Riley. If it got out…Jack’s eligibility would be gone. He might get kicked off the team, lose his scholarship.” I swallow. “I could get kicked out, too. If you saw him in class, Riles.” I scrub both hands down the sides of my face. “It’d break your heart.”

Riley turns her hand over and grips mine. “I’m not saying anything. Why’d he take it anyway? Isn’t it supposed to be hard? Every time I mention it to someone they get this haunted look in their eye. It’s like the class causes PTSD.”

I lean my head back against the rolled edge of the sofa. “It’s the name. Politics and Games? People sign up thinking that it’s this fun class that will give them something semi-coherent to talk about at networking parties when we graduate. Instead, it’s this soul-sucking combination of applied mathematics and theoretical behavioral studies. Jack took it because his stupid liaison told him it was math heavy, but it’s not. It’s not about numbers and equations at all, or at least not in a way that he understands it.”

“What are you doing? How much trouble could you get into?”

“I’m changing some of his answers. Not all of them, but he plans to write a paper about the Super Bowl, and the decision that the coach had to make at the end of it whether to run or pass during a short yardage play. I wanted to make sure that his worksheet answers match up with the paper he’ll turn in at the end of the year.”

“How are you substituting your paper for Jack’s?” She nibbles on the side of her thumb. How ironic that she’s studying ethics and I’m detailing the way I’m cheating for Jack.

“I suggested the topic to him. He’ll write it and I’ll proof it.”

“So, you aren’t really cheating.”

“I am.” I hang my head. “He’s got all the concepts down, but he doesn’t articulate them well. So I rewrite sentences or sometimes whole paragraphs…or whole pages.”

“Oh.” She wrinkles her nose. It’s the perfect summary of my terrible situation.

“What do your ethics books say about this?” I try to make a joke of it but it comes out bitter. I regret immediately but Riley doesn’t take offense.

“How long have you done it?”

“When haven’t I? My parents are not the warmest people. Dad has very high expectations of Jack. In eighth grade, Jack came home with two Ds on his report card. One in English and one in history. Dad lit into him. Called him every name in the book. Said he was so dumb that it’d be a shock if he could even get a job pumping gas at the local convenience store. I couldn’t sleep that night. Jack’s face, the terrible expression on his face, like he was worthless, kept me up. I couldn’t let him be a target for Dad again, not if I could do something about it.” My face is wet from tears I didn’t even realize I shed. I dash them away. “My mom found out and suggested—” more like demanded, “—I keep it up.”

“So you’ve covered for him for years.”

I nod.

“I suppose he never got tested because of your father?”

I nod again.

Riley whistles. “Wow. I guess my ethics class would say to look to the harm. Is it affecting the curve of the class? Probably not. Is his getting a passing grade diminishing opportunities for someone else? No, he’s not taking away any academic scholarships. The only person who could be hurt would be…” She pauses, not wanting to say the obvious so I finish for her.

“Jack. Jack’s the one who gets hurt by my doing his work for him. But the entire team would get harmed if it got out.” The hard lump that lives in my stomach travels up to my throat. Hoarsely, I continue, “Not only does the cheating endanger his right to play, but the entire season could be affected. The Warriors could be excluded from bowl contention.”

“This sucks,” Riley sympathizes.

I spend two seconds internally debating the rest of it, but figure if I can talk to anyone, it’s Riley.

“Riley, I’ve been writing this mock grant for the learning center, remember?”

She bobs her head. “You’re writing a proposal for your grade?”

“Yes, that’s the one. So I’ve been doing all this research, and did you know that colleges have to offer accommodations for people who have learning disabilities?”

“I suppose that would make sense.” Her eyes grow wide as she gets exactly where I’m going with this.

“I want to tell Jack, Riley. At Western—or heck at any school—if he’s determined to have any kind of disability, they have to make special arrangements. It’s the law! He could do an oral exam, instead of a written one. Instead of a paper, he does a presentation. We haven’t done anything wrong…yet. I’ve changed some worksheet answers, but nothing’s graded. He gets one grade based on a final paper.”

“But you’re afraid,” she guesses.

I nod slowly. Each time I’ve approached it with Jack he’s shut me down. I don’t want the only member of my family to turn his back on me, but like Riley said. The only person who I’m hurting right now is Jack. “I am scared. He’s the iron at my back. He’s supported me and cared for me. I don’t want to lose his love or respect. And I don’t know what Knox would say either.”