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CHAPTER 31
JACK
"My parents are going to love you," Aniyah says. "Actually, they already do. They watched the Heisman presentation on ESPN. My mom cried. She thought what you said was sooo sweet."
I give her a tight-lipped smile and pretend to be paying attention to the GPS display, even though we're on a highway and our exit isn't for another twenty minutes. The three-hour drive to Highland Park is both not long enough, and too long. Not long enough for me to calm the panic that is clawing at my chest, and too long to sit next to Aniyah and play pretend.
We both know why we're here. Why she's in the passenger seat of her own car, while I drive us to her parent's house to spend Christmas. We both know, but she's either an excellent actress, or she's delusional enough to believe her own lies.
She unbuckles her seatbelt and gets up on her knees. "I could get you off, help settle some of those nerves, if you like," she says, unbuttoning the top three buttons of her cardigan and exposing her lacy red bra.
I take a moment to marvel that she's doing nothing for me. This time last year, I would have been pulling out my cock enthusiastically. She's gorgeous and has a killer body. Her hair, clothes, and makeup are all perfect—it's clear she comes from money. And underneath it all, there's a naughty little freak that likes to act innocent. Until you've made her cum all over your hand, with her face stuffed in her best friend's pussy. On camera. She was definitely a better actor than her friend. Still is.
She's had me traipsing around campus with her on my arm, accompanying her on shopping trips and putting on a show when we get together with her friends. She even gave me a credit card to use to buy her gifts and offer to pay for things when we're around other people, making a huge deal out of how much I spoil her. Which is ridiculous, because everyone knows I'm one of the few scholarship students on campus. I'm the underdog charity case that everyone looked down on until they saw what my future holds. I don't think she's actually fooling anyone into thinking that I'm paying for shit, although she has spent a lot of time talking up my big NFL signing bonus. That six-million-dollar salary, which was enough to make my head spin, is nothing to these people. Getting handed a thirty-million-dollar check is nothing to scoff at, though, even for the Richie Riches of the world. Especially because they know it's just the beginning.
And that's exactly why she's sticking to me like glue, showing off our fake relationship. Because at least half of whatever they give me will be hers, if not more. But she seems to be forgetting that the whole thing is a sham, and that makes it ten times more uncomfortable. It's bad enough I have to kiss and grope her in public, but she keeps trying to do things in private, too. When we got home from the Heisman awards, there was a huge party, and she all but humped me on the dance floor. I had to lift her up, wrap her legs around me, and carry her off to a private room before I could get any space. But she was riding high, rubbing herself on my leg like a cat in heat. She believed me when I carried her into the room, thought I was really going to fuck her. She started crying and told me that I was being a bad boyfriend.
Bitch. Is. Nuts.
"I'm, uh. I'm good. Thanks."
She huffs and returns to her seat, fixing her clothes. Aniyah sulks the entire rest of the drive until we're pulling into her neighborhood, and then once again it's like she's forgotten everything.
"Turn left up here, bae." I wince. Every time she calls me bae, I want to lobotomize myself with a screwdriver. "My house is the big one on the left."
I can't help but whistle as we pull into a circular driveway. She wasn't kidding when she said it was a big house. It looks like it might be the same size as my entire dorm building, or bigger if you count the detached five-car garage and two other smaller houses in the backyard. Those buildings–which turn out to be the pool house and guesthouse–are each two to three times bigger than the trailer I grew up in. This place is ridiculous.
When we walk in, I'm overwhelmed by the three-story tall foyer with a massive chandelier that I'm pretty sure wouldn't fit in my dorm room by itself. Just the entryway to her house looks like what I imagine an opera house would look like. It's huge–cavernous–and I'm afraid to so much as walk on the polished floors, even though my shoes are clean and new. Thanks to him.
Aniyah shrieks as a girl that looks almost identical to her, but clearly younger, comes bounding down one side of the grand staircase.
"Bae, this is my little sister, Brenleigh, but you can call her Bre."
"Nice to meet you," I say, putting on my most charming smile and shaking her delicate hand. The younger girl blinks up at me like she's meeting a celebrity, and it makes me uncomfortable.
"Come on," Aniyah says, pulling me along. "Let's go find mom and dad."
"They're in the dining room, planning out the seating chart," Bre says, hooking her arm with Aniyah.
They walk ahead of me, whispering and giggling, while I try not to panic about what a seating chart is needed for. How big is her family? How many people are going to be here to witness this travesty?
"Mommy! Daddy!"
Aniyah runs over to her parents like she hasn't seen them in years, when I know they visit her regularly since they're close enough and her mother is on the Board of Trustees. I narrowly avoided meeting her two weeks ago.
I stand back awkwardly for a few minutes until Aniyah gives me a look that clearly is meant to spur me into action. Right. Clearing my throat, I step up beside her.
"Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Wilcox, I'm–"
"Jack Perry," her father answers, unimpressed. He gives my hand an overly firm grip, but it's nothing I wasn't expecting. Aniyah had mentioned that she's a bit of a daddy's girl and that he's super protective of his daughters.
"Yes, sir. It's nice to meet you." I turn to Aniyah's mother and turn on the charm as best I can. "Ma'am, it's nice to finally meet you. I almost got the chance a couple weeks ago, but I had to get in some extra practice time."
"Gotta get ready for that bowl game coming up!" Mr. Wilcox says, slapping me on the back. It's like the reminder that I'm Groveton's football star opens him up, and then we're talking about football while the women retire to look at the dresses Mrs. Wilcox picked them all out to wear to Christmas dinner. There's also apparently matching Christmas pajamas for us all to wear tonight, which is apparently a family tradition. They all wear matching jammies and drink hot cocoa while they watch ‘It's A Wonderful Life’ in the screening room. A fucking screening room.
Before that, we head out to Aniyah's favorite French restaurant and then drive around looking at Christmas lights. We are spending tomorrow with the entire extended family, followed by a formal Christmas Eve dinner, and then a "traditional Christmas morning" which is the moment my life will basically end. I don't bother telling them that I have no idea what a "traditional Christmas morning" means, because we didn't really do Christmas growing up. My mother was usually working, or drunk. We didn't do presents or celebrations for any holidays. That might seem sad if I told anyone, but it just wasn't a thing that we did. Maybe it bothered me some when I was little, because I thought I wasn't good enough for Santa to come, and never got a cake with candles on my birthday. But I grew out of that pretty quickly, and it didn't bother me.
Aniyah did make sure that "I" got her family gifts, though. I told her that giving people jerseys with my name and number on them was gross, but she bought one for every member of her family.
