Pregnant With The Douchebag Jock novel Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Ellic**

I can’t shake the feeling of being an outsider in this vibrant sea of humanity. I came here with the simple intention of watching Maddoc’s football game, yet I never anticipated the sheer magnitude of the crowd. As an introvert, being surrounded by so many people feels like a personal nightmare, each voice blending into a cacophony that makes my heart race. My nerves are jangled, like marbles clattering around in a blender—no exaggeration. Honestly, I’m teetering on the edge of nausea.

This is my first time attending a game of this scale. My only previous encounters with football have been through the lens of television shows and live broadcasts, and I’m completely unprepared for the intensity of the atmosphere here. My heart is thumping erratically, my palms are slick with sweat, and to add insult to injury, I’m flat broke.

In a moment of foolish optimism, I purchased my ticket with my own limited funds, convinced it would be a low-key event. But as I stand outside the stadium, chaos reigns: children are getting their faces painted in vibrant colors, cheerleaders are flipping and tumbling in the air, and—believe it or not—an entire orchestra is performing as if we were attending a royal wedding, not just a football game.

As I scan the crowd, I spot girls holding up glittering signs. One in particular catches my eye, emblazoned with bold letters that scream, “WE WANT MADDOC’S BABIES!!” surrounded by hearts.

I can’t help but feel a wave of nausea wash over me. They don’t even know him.

But then again… perhaps this is just the way things are in this wild world?

A little further down the row, another girl waves a sign that reads, “Jason, call me!!” with a crudely drawn phone sketched beside it.

I let out a heavy sigh and sink into my seat. Maddoc had actually offered me a better spot closer to the VIP section, but I turned him down. It feels far too soon to be sitting next to his parents, especially since they seem to have their sights set on him marrying… was it Vanja? Or Ronja? Honestly, I can’t keep track of all the names.

In a last-minute panic, I changed my outfit four times before finally settling on a comfortable hoodie and jeans. I have no idea what a fake girlfriend is supposed to wear, but comfort triumphed over style. I’d rather look like a couch potato than risk dying of anxiety sitting next to people who could ruin my life with a single icy glance.

Suddenly, a girl leans toward me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Aren’t you excited?” she asks, her voice bright and cheerful.

I blink in surprise, wondering if she’s genuinely talking to me.

She turns toward me, her smile radiant. She’s beautiful, with blonde hair styled into adorable twin buns adorned with sparkly pins, dressed in pastel colors that seem to light up the dreary stadium. Her face looks like it belongs to a character straight out of an anime—Sailor Moon would probably want her aesthetic back.

Realizing she’s waiting for a response, I manage to muster an awkward smile. “Y-yeah… I guess you could say that. This is actually the first game I’ve ever been to.”

“Really?” she beams, revealing braces—the only thing that slightly detracts from her magical-girl appearance. “I’ve been to tons. I even know someone on the team!”

“Oh…” I blink, eager to keep the conversation flowing. “Who?”

“Jason Deluca. He’s a linebacker, number fifty. We’ve been childhood friends.”

I smile politely, trying to hide my ignorance. “I have no idea who that is.”

She grins wide. “I’ll point him out. I’m Addison, by the way.”

“Ellie,” I reply, feeling a flicker of warmth at this new connection.

What begins as a simple introduction blossoms into a delightful moment of camaraderie. We chat about food, fashion, and the crushes we spot across the crowd. When I sheepishly admit that I don’t have money for stadium snacks, Addison casually offers me a soda and a hotdog as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Just like that, she becomes my best friend.

She even pulls out matching foam fingers. “I brought two. Just in case I made a friend,” she says with a grin, and I feel a lump form in my throat.

We end up using her binoculars to get a better look at the players, as she brought two pairs—just in case, of course.

Addison tries to explain the game to me, her enthusiasm infectious. “Okay, so when they gain ten yards, that’s called a first down.”

“Is that like a goal?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“No, no, that’s a first down,” she corrects me gently.

“Oh. So a first down isn’t when someone falls?” I inquire, still trying to grasp the rules.

“No, but that’s adorable,” she laughs, and we both burst into giggles.

Addison radiates positivity and cheer, yet beneath her bubbly exterior, I catch a glimpse of something deeper—a flicker of hesitation when she hands me the hotdog, a hint of loneliness lurking behind her sparkling eyes. She’s not just friendly; she’s longing for connection, just like I am.

In that moment, I resolve that we’re going to become best friends. As the game kicks off, we dive into full-on creeper mode.

Addison leans in closer and whispers conspiratorially, “Let’s be honest, we’re both here for the butts.”

I snort in laughter. She’s not wrong.

All the guys on the field are undeniably attractive, even if most don’t quite make my heart race.

Except for one.

Maddoc.

But of course, he’s leagues ahead of me. Plus, I doubt we’ll ever engage in any couple-like activities, even if this fake dating thing continues. The scars of my past still haunt me, and I’m too terrified to even think about getting close to anyone after… well, after the assault. Kissing is one thing, but actual intimacy? No way.

“I’m not dead, just traumatized,” I mutter under my breath, half-joking.

“Huh?” Addison glances at me, confusion etched on her face.

Did I just say that out loud? Oh no.

“Nothing,” I quickly correct myself.

Addison, however, is too busy ogling Jason to notice my slip. “Jason sure has grown himself a fine ass. Like, seriously, what the hell? Is he squatting cars or something?”

I laugh, relieved to find another girl who appreciates muscular guys. Friendship confirmed.

“Why don’t you talk to him if you like him?” I suggest, curious.

She makes a face that screams reluctance. “It’s complicated. Jason kind of… hates me.”

I blink, taken aback. “Why?”

“I was popular in middle school and had a huge crush on him. So, naturally, I bullied him,” she admits, a hint of regret in her voice.

My jaw drops in disbelief. “You LIED. You’re not childhood friends—you’re childhood enemies!”

“We were friends before I turned into a monster,” she sighs, her expression turning somber. “I was awful. I called him names and made fun of him. My parents were divorcing, and I just… lashed out.”

“You need to apologize,” I insist, feeling a surge of sympathy for both of them.

“Jason would body-slam me. Have you seen him lately? He’s like a walking Greek statue with legs,” she replies, laughing despite her embarrassment.

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