Damaged Petals.

[djp73]

47 passes, damn. I know you were sweating the end watching that super sim
Looked like the OL played pretty well for the most, a bit more leaky toward the end.

[Soapy]

Threw that bitch 47 times

Time to go finish against the Longhorns

47 passes, damn. I know you were sweating the end watching that super sim
Looked like the OL played pretty well for the most, a bit more leaky toward the end.

not having Justin hurt, had to rely on the passing game. hopefully he has a bounce back game

this shit is brazy

was curious when Brian would finally make a mov on Nia

they doubted us!

(i am they)

Skylar ass probably just as racist as the Coltons thinking about it. She probably backdoored Connie because she Asian.

Amber rolled her eyes but her mouth curved into a smile despite herself. “I hope you don’t think you’re getting any pussy tonight.”

She turned her head, looking directly at Nia. “Maybe try the cradle tonight.”

Brice still a fucking fraud. Garbage ass.

[Soapy]

Season 6, Episode 32
Serena pulled the red dress off the rack, holding it against her body as she turned toward the mirror.

“That’s cute,” Kennedy said, appearing beside her with an armful of hangers. “Very New Orleans.”

“Right?” Serena turned slightly, checking the back.

Jasmine emerged from behind a display rack, holding up a sequined top. "Have you seen the hotel prices?"

“That ain’t a problem for Big Momma,” Kimmy corrected, scrolling through her phone. "Ain’t that right?"

Serena only offered a coy smile as she moved toward the dressing room, the red dress draped over her arm. The other girls followed, their voices bouncing off the walls as they debated outfit combinations. Kennedy was already pulling up Airbnb listings on her phone. Jasmine was complaining about needing new luggage.

The tilted mirror in the dressing room made everything look slightly wrong, but Serena could work with it. She slipped into the red dress, adjusting the straps, turning to see the back. The fit was good. Not perfect, but good enough.

She stepped out of the stall. The other girls looked up from their phones.

“Okay, that’s the one,” Kennedy said immediately.

“For real,” Jasmine agreed. "That is a very lucky man."

"He sure is," Serena teased.

“Speaking of,” Jasmine cleared her throat. “When are you two going to go like, you know, public public?”

Serena kept her eyes on her reflection. "I don’t care about that shit."

"Not even a cryptic IG post? A story? I just know y’all would look good together.”

“I don’t care about Instagram,” Serena turned away from the mirror, moving back toward the dressing room. “If he wants to post me, cool. If he doesn’t, also cool. I’m not in a rush to post him either.”

The silence behind her stretched. Then Kennedy’s voice, careful but curious. “So like, are you guys exclusive or…?”

Serena paused in the doorway of the dressing room, one hand on the frame.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” she said, letting a smile pull at her mouth.

…

The studio lights were hot against Brice’s face. He’d been sitting in this chair for twenty minutes, the ESPN reporter cycling through questions that all felt like variations of the same thing.

“So talk to us about this season,” the reporter said, leaning forward slightly. “Did you ever imagine Purdue would be here when the year started?”

Brice’s smile came easily. “Honestly? No. But that’s what makes it special, you know? We believed in ourselves when nobody else did. We trusted the process, trusted our coaches, and we just kept working.”

“And now you’re playing for a national championship.”

“It’s insane to think about. It really is.” Brice’s hands moved as he talked. “But we’re not satisfied yet. We didn’t come this far just to be happy we got here. We came to win.”

The reporter nodded, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I have to ask about your brother, Jimmy. How have you been able to stay focused this season while dealing with that loss?”

Brice’s throat tightened for just a second. Then the mask slid back into place, his expression arranging itself into something appropriately solemn but not broken.

“It’s been tough,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “Really tough. But I know Jimmy would want me out there. He’d want me playing my heart out, leaving everything on the field. So that’s what I try to do. Every game. Every play. I’m doing it for him.”

“I just miss him, you know?” Brice let his eyes drop for a moment, then brought them back up. “But I carry him with me. Always.”

The reporter’s expression had gone soft, sympathetic. “Well, we’re all rooting for you out there. Best of luck in the championship.”

“Appreciate it.”

The lights cut. Someone appeared with a tablet, gesturing for Brice to move to the next setup. He stood, his legs stiff from sitting, and followed them through a maze of equipment and cables to another area where photographers waited.

The green room was too small for the number of bodies crammed into it. Brice dropped into one of the folding chairs near the back, his phone already in his hand. Justin sat beside him, scrolling through Instagram. Demeco sat on the arm of a couch, his eyes half-closed. Ahmad was stretched out on the floor, his back against the wall. Corey and Ja’Marrion were sharing a bag of chips, neither of them talking.

The Texas players occupied the other side of the room. Jaime, Kobe, Zina, Derek.

The door opened. DJ Lagway, Texas’ Heisman winning quarterback, walked in and spotted Brice and grinned, moving across the room.

“Man, they had me doing the same pose like fifteen times,” DJ said, dropping into the chair beside him. “My face hurts from smiling.”

Brice laughed. “For real. I don’t know how people do this shit all the time."

“Y’all better enjoy it,” Jaime called from across the room. “That Cinderela shit ends after this week."

"Turn them boys into a pumpkin," Zina added with a cackle of laughter.

“Good thing its a quick trip back for y’all fuck niggas,” Justin fired back.

“Y’all played a good game against Ohio State,” Demeco added, "But we spanked them niggas, real belt to ass shit."

"Y’all boys some ducks,” Derek laughed. "Ain’t nobody worried about y’all."

Justin’s leg started bouncing. Brice’s hand moved to his phone, pretending to scroll through something, pretending not to be listening.

“Just keep that same energy after the game,” Demeco stood up from the arm of the couch. “Don’t nobody give a fuck about no Heisman. Your boy DJ gonna be screaming for help by the time we done with his sorry ass."

DJ’s smile faltered slightly. The Texas players shifted in their seats.

Zina stood up slowly. “Oh, that’s how we’re doing this?”

“Yeah, nigga, that’s how we doing it,” Demeco responded quickly.

“If that’s how we moving,” Zina moved closer. “Your little soft ass White boy ain’t gonna make it to halftime, then. Have that little nigga calling for his momma and daddy."

Brice’s phone screen went dark in his hand.

“Y’all boys chill out,” DJ said, standing up.

“Nah, we’re just talking, ain’t we?” Derek cut him off. He was looking directly at Brice now. “Gonna have that nigga screaming like we had that bitch screaming last night. Straight dogged that hoe. What was her name again? Skylar, right?"

The chair clattered behind Brice as he surged forward. Derek stood, meeting him halfway.

Hands grabbed him from behind. Justin’s voice in his ear, telling him to chill. Corey and Ahmad pulling him back. Across the room, Jaime and Kobe had Derek, their arms around his chest as he tried to push forward.

“Say that shit again,” Brice heard himself yelling. “Say that shit again, bitch ass motherfucker.”

The door burst open. Event officials flooded in. Someone was yelling about conduct. Bodies separated them further, pushing Brice toward one side of the room, Derek toward the other.

…

Serena’s phone sat beside her laptop, the screen dark. She picked it up, unlocking it, scrolling to Brice’s name in her messages. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

She typed.

Deleted it. Too needy.

Typed again. Better.

She hit send and set the phone down, face up on the desk.

The laptop screen glowed in front of her. Flights to New Orleans. She’d been looking at them for the past twenty minutes. Every refresh brought higher numbers.

She clicked through to hotels. The Ritz-Carlton. Four Seasons.

Her phone stayed dark.

She refreshed the flight page.

The red dress she’d bought earlier hung on the back of her closet door.

Her phone buzzed.

She grabbed it immediately.

Not Brice.

…

Brice’s phone buzzed in his pocket. His hand stayed on the table, fingers wrapped around the stem of his water glass.

The restaurant was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every fork scrape against china sound like a gunshot. Brice lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip while his eyes moved across the table.

Tom sat at one end, cutting into his steak. Liz sat beside him, her meal mostly untouched, her attention fixed on James in the high chair between her and Skylar. Skylar’s parents sat across from them, her father working on a piece of bread, her mother’s hands folded in her lap. Skylar’s brother—who Brice kept forgetting his name—scrolled through his phone with one hand while pushing food around his plate with the other.

Sophie sat beside Brice, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

James made a sound, something between a coo and a whine. Liz immediately reached over, adjusting the strap on his bib. Skylar’s hand moved to do the same thing, their fingers nearly colliding. Both women pulled back slightly, then Skylar took over.

“This is a nice place,” Skylar’s mother said.

Tom and Liz nodded in agreement before silence once again fell over the table.

“How was the flight?” Liz asked, directing the question toward Skylar’s parents.

“Fine,” Skylar’s father said. “A little bumpy coming in, but fine.”

“The hotel is lovely too,” Skylar’s mother added. “Very generous.”

Brice nodded in acknowledge. Another silence. Brice cut into his chicken, chewing slowly.

His phone buzzed again.

“So,” Skylar’s father set down his fork, his eyes finding Brice. “Big game coming up.”

“Yes sir.”

“You boys ready?”

“About as ready as we’re going to be,” Brice answered.

“That’s good to hear,” Skylar’s father leaned back slightly in his chair. “Though I heard there was some drama earlier today."

Brice forced a smile, "That’s just Twitter. Just some playful back and forth."

"Can’t trust the media these days," Skylar’s father shook his head, "So much fake news."

Tom cleared his throat. "I think the boys are just revving to play. On both sides."

Brice’s phone buzzed a third time. He didn’t reach for it.

…

Skylar let out a breath that turned into a laugh. “Well, that was fucking terrible.”

Brice’s mouth twitched. Then he was laughing too. “Yeah. Yeah, that was bad.”

“Whose idea was this again?”

“Yours, I think.”

“No way,” Skylar shook her head, still laughing. “This has your mom written all over it.”

“Probably,” Brice admitted. He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. "Aren’t all families a bit weird though?"

The words hung there. Skylar’s smile softened, her eyes dropping to the table.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess they are.”

The server appeared, asking if they needed anything else. Brice shook his head, and the server left the check on the table before disappearing again.

Skylar straightened in her chair. “Don’t you have curfew?"

Brice pulled out his phone, checking the time. “I got an hour until I’m on time. Another hour after that until I’m on time for Brice Colton.”

Skylar laughed, the sound genuine. “Must be nice.”

“It has its perks,” Brice stood, pulling out his wallet and dropping his card on the check without looking at it. "You heading in?"

“I don’t know,” Skylar’s voice went sheepish, her fingers playing with the napkin on the table. “I’ve always wanted to check out New Orleans."

Brice made a face. “Bring a hazmat suit. And a gun."

“Come on,” Skylar was already standing, grabbing her purse. "It can’t be that bad if it’s hosting a national championship."

"What did you want to check out?"

"I don’t know," she shrugged, "Just walk around. See what the hype is about. Try not to get mugged."

"Is that your way of asking me to come with you?" Brice raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe," she smiled, "Is that a yes?"

"Whatever," he let out a small laugh as they walked out into the warm night, "You’ve got an hour."

[Caesar]

Brice made a face. “Bring a hazmat suit. And a gun."

A hazmat suit? Sounds like he’s implying the citizens of one of the world’s greatest majority Black cities are dirty. We know what you are, Brice Colton.

Serena has been officially lost to the sauce. Her membership in the Foundational Black American Sphere is under review.

Liz still trying to snatch their girl baby.

DJ Lagway winning the Heisman is disgusting.

[djp73]

putting both teams in the same green room seems egregious

[redsox907]

if Brice can't handle the defense saying the trained his baby momma in a PR shoot, how he gonna handle it when they dry humping him up and down the field

Serena finding now.

Gotta say - you having a Serena and Caes having a Sena is fucking me up

[Soapy]

Brice made a face. “Bring a hazmat suit. And a gun."

A hazmat suit? Sounds like he’s implying the citizens of one of the world’s greatest majority Black cities are dirty. We know what you are, Brice Colton.

Serena has been officially lost to the sauce. Her membership in the Foundational Black American Sphere is under review.

Liz still trying to snatch their girl baby.

DJ Lagway winning the Heisman is disgusting.

dirty city. dirt people. he said what he said.

putting both teams in the same green room seems egregious

i think its a fair expectation that the captains/star players from the two teams about to play in a national championship game are going to behave themselves lmao

if Brice can't handle the defense saying the trained his baby momma in a PR shoot, how he gonna handle it when they dry humping him up and down the field

Serena finding now.

Gotta say - you having a Serena and Caes having a Sena is fucking me up

i was looking for a name and that Ro commercial with Serena Williams was playing

blame Ro

[Soapy]

season finale gotta be on top of the page

[Soapy]

that's what the chise goat said

[Soapy]

so i, not the chise goat, must follow suit as well