Big Shot | ✓

40 | the heisman, pt i

There were three and a half weeks between the ACC Championship game and the first round of the college football playoffs. For all but four teams, the college football season was over, and as the practices and game-planning continued, it was finally starting to sink in that we were one of those four teams.

Did Clemson sneak in undeserved? Should our spot have been given to Florida State instead? It was a hotly debated topic on pretty much every sports news program from ESPN down to the local South Carolina sports blogger. All the hearsay and all the chatter seemed to ignite something in Reid - something ravenous and animalistic that smelled blood.

Any down time that we had more or less consisted of Reid and I being physically incapable of keeping our hands off of each other. Or our mouths. The ravenous animal he was on the field had spilled over into the bedroom, and I relished it. Part of me would always love this side of him. I've had to cover up solar systems of hickeys on my neck and collarbone, and I was sure he got some side-eyes in the locker room about the scratches on his back.

The only time we had to take a truly planned and intentional break from touching each other was to get Reid fitted for his new suit for the Heisman ceremony. Even though all the experts and analysts claim that Reid's performance in the ACC Championship game shouldn't affect his odds, we all knew better. Any time there was human involvement, you had to assume humans would behave like humans do - they'd see his stat line and go well, is that really our Heisman winner? They can't unsee the game, whether they're supposed to use it in consideration for his voting or not.

The odds between Reid and Cade were all but tied now, and seeing the betting line on Instagram made me want to vomit.

"What do you think?" Reid's voice brought me back to the present, and I quickly swiped out of Instagram.

We'd been sequestered to the back of MH Frank, an upscale men's store on Clemson's campus where a lot of the guys on the team got their suits and accouterments, reminiscent of an old country gun club with old rifles and animal heads mounted on the deep wood paneled wall. Whether those animal heads were real or not was yet to be determined.

Reid had special-ordered a suit when his Heisman nomination came out, since the ceremony was more or less a massive dog and pony show at Jazz at the Lincoln Center in New York City, and he couldn't keep wearing the same suit from Macy's that Missy had gotten him last year. He stood in front of one of those three paneled mirrors, wearing a pastel teal suit and a crisp white shirt that had been tailored to fit his body perfectly.

"Do a little twirl so I can see all of it," I spun my finger around with a grin, sitting back in one of the plush leather chairs in their special suit-fitting area.

He obliged, waddling around in a slow circle like a penguin. "Are you sure you're not making me do this just so you can check out my ass?"

"Your ass looks great," I reassured him, softening the smile I gave him. "You look great. Blue is so your color."

Reid groaned and ran his hand down the side of his face before spinning back around to look at his reflection. "You think so?"

I scoffed. "Yes, my goodness. I cannot believe I have to remind you how good looking you are. How are you the same guy that had me bent over his bed this morning practically screaming his name?"

Reid's face burned scarlet, but he still managed a little smirk. "Entirely different circumstances."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are they really, though?"

Before our banter got a little too lewd for our current location, the elderly salesman hobbled on up to us.

"Will your girlfriend be needing a dress? Something to subtly match, perhaps?"