I blinked. Four months ago, I’d been such a nerd. I was a twenty-year-old virgin. No one had ever looked at me twice. If I was extraordinary, it was because this man had seen me as such, and seeing me that way had made it so.
Just as I was feeling warm and fuzzy about myself, someone walked up behind me and lightly flicked my ear, just to reintroduce humility to the moment.
Rand and Tray stepped in front of us in all their perfection. Tray grinned. “Hedgehog! Bubba! ’Sup? You seen PJ?”
“Nah. You need him for something?” Bubba asked.
“Heard he’s over here selling tickets. Wanted to see for ourselves,” Rand said.
“Tickets for what?” I asked.
Tray ignored my question and gave me a disturbingly soft look. As a team captain, he was a veritable drill sergeant. I wasn’t familiar with his nice face. “How you feeling, Hedge? Whiplash can be a real bitch. Hope they’re giving you good drugs at least.”
“Anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers are helpful,” I agreed. “Though Bubba’s massages are the best therapy.” They certainly were, but I had to order him not to baby me and really work the tissue. It loosened the stiff muscles of my neck to my great relief. But the massages hadn’t helped my sexual frustration since Bubba insisted on keeping them strictly medicinal.
“Yeah, don’t wanna hear about the massages.” Tray grimaced. “So, you’re coming to the finals, right? You can root for the team from the bench.”
“I’ll be there,” I promised. Dean Robberts had excused me from the final game because of my injury, but it was probably wise to at least be present with the team. Besides, I wouldn’t miss the chance to watch Bubba and the others play. I’d never watched sports in my life, but I had a newfound enthusiasm for the game.
"There’s PJ.” Rand pointed into the distance.
“Cool. See you guys,” Tray said.
Rand jerked his chin at us in lieu of a goodbye, and they took off.
There was a small job fair going on in front of the union today, so I hadn’t paid much attention to the tables, booths, or small crowd. We’d purposefully seated ourselves apart from all of that. But now I noticed that the table with the longest line—one that snaked for a good hundred yards—didn’t have the traditional man or woman in a suit at the head of it, or the dorky balloons, or other typical job fair accoutrements.
Someone in the line moved, and I saw that PJ was behind the table. PJ and someone else. I got a flash of dark hair and a black jacket. It might be…Felix?
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Let’s go see.” Bubba stood and offered his hands. With a gentle pull that inspired another flurry of goosebumps, he helped me to my feet. I was a little disappointed I didn’t land flush against him, but he was being so careful due to my injury. That was a situation I intended to address soon.
The line at the table was comprised of students, most of them chatting or on their phones. They stared at us as we went by as if they knew us. Yes, Bubba was well-known, and we’d been stared at before, but this felt different.
“You think the flag team is gonna win finals?” a guy called out to Bubba.
“Could be,” Bubba said. “We’ve got a good shot.”
“Sean, what about Quiz Bowl?” someone else called out. “Where are you placing your bet?”
My bet?
We bypassed the line to go behind the table and join Rand and Tray, PJ and—yes, Felix was there. He and PJ had a money box and looked harried, writing down names and taking cash.
“What are you selling?” I asked Felix.
He spared me a glance. “Hey, Hedge. What does it look like? Tickets to the finals.”
“The Quiz Bowl finals?” I asked, confused.
“Both,” Felix said. “Quiz Bowl and flag. Shit, PJ got a ton of tickets, and I thought we’d be stuck with them. It turns out we didn’t get enough.”
“We’re almost sold out of the flag tickets,” PJ said, giving Bubba a smirk. “Cause flag is a thousand times more entertaining to watch than Quiz Bowl.”
“Because people are too ignorant to realize Quiz Bowl is infinitely better,” Felix muttered.
PJ stood up and shouted to the crowd. “For those waiting in line for the betting pool—tickets are ten dollars each! The current score is tied since both ALA and SMT won their semifinals. So, the finals will be winner takes all! Place a bet on SMT, on ALA, or on a tie. Get your money ready!”
“Two pool tickets, please. Betting on the flag team for the win,” said the guy in front of PJ. “They kick ass, even with two Poins on the team. Besides, the Poins are up against Harvard and Chicago in the Quiz Bowl finals. They’ll crash and burn.” He produced a much-folded twenty-dollar bill from a pocket and straightened it out.
PJ tore two numbered red tickets off a large roll. “Fill out the stub. Name, phone, and address.”
Behind PJ, Rand and Tray bumped fists and smirked at each other, obviously in complete agreement with the guy’s little speech.
But I stood there with my mouth hanging open. Since when did Madison students who weren’t in SMT know who the big Quiz Bowl teams were and who we’d face in the finals? Or care enough to put money on it?
“Woo hoo!” said PJ as the guy walked away. He raised his voice. “The pot just topped five grand!”
“Holy shit!” said Tray. “Damn. I need me some of that action.”
“I bought ten tickets,” said Rand. “Had to go for ALA, baby. We’re gonna win the finals.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.” Jax stepped out of the crowd and came over to stand beside me. “Hey, Sean.”
I blinked at him. “Did you know about all this?”
Jax shrugged and looked at Rand. Well, look was putting it mildly. If eyes could shoot lasers, Rand would evaporate in two seconds flat. “I heard. Not surprised given the level of maturity in the A-hoe house.”
Rand bared his teeth. “I don’t see you putting your money where your mouth is, Jax.”
Jax took a step toward Rand. “Because I’m not a total loser. Gambling is idiotic.”
Rand’s face grew red, and he took an aggressive step toward Jax. “Sure it is. Sounds better than I’m a chickenshit anyway.”
“What on Earth is going on here?”
Everyone froze at the sound of the voice. I turned to see Dean Robberts, with his maniacal eyebrows, standing on far side of the table. His expression was that of a hanging judge. I heard PJ gulp.
“It’s totally legal,” PJ said hurriedly. “We’re doing a betting pool. People can buy in with a ten-dollar ticket. The pool will be split among everyone who bets on the correct outcome. Simple.”
“I see. And you get a cut, I assume?” the dean pressed.
PJ licked his lips and glanced at Felix. “Just, uh, five percent. It’s a lot of work to organize. And we have overhead.” He waved the roll of tickets, which probably cost less than twenty dollars.
The dean took out his wallet. “Hmph. We have a football pool among faculty. I have the damnedest luck. Maybe it’ll be better here. I’ll take five tickets.”
My jaw dropped. PJ’s face shone with the joy of a pardoned man as the dean filled out his ticket stubs. Robberts looked around, then whispered in PJ’s ear which house he was betting on. It was probably just as well he didn’t say it out loud, especially since Rand and Jax looked ready to duel to the death as it was.