Full Contact: A College Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

  I leaned in to give him a bro-hug, but instead he planted a wet kiss on my cheek. I laughed and shoved him away. “Dude.”

  “You looked like you were taking yourself too seriously. Just trying to lighten you up.” He punched me on the shoulder. “Let’s go fucking do this, bro.”

  We marched out to the field to do our pre-game warmups as a team. It was 10:30 in the morning, and the Texas sun was already beating down fiercely. Brett directed everyone in stretches, barking out the name of each static stretch loudly. I glanced up at the stands while doing the butterfly stretch. It was early enough that the stands weren’t completely full, and I spotted Roberta near the top almost immediately. As if a magnet drew my eyes to her small form, curly blonde hair resting around her head like a halo.

  I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like she was smiling at me.

  Once the static stretches were done and the team broke into individual groups, I went to the sideline to do Roberta’s dynamic stretches. Frankenstein touches, walking in a straight line while kicking my legs forward, touching my fingers to my toes. Then a series of side-shuffles. Across the field, I saw Lance doing the same thing next to the rest of the receiver corp.

  The thing about being an athlete was that it was easy to get complacent. I’d been playing football since I was six years old. Over the years I’d fallen into a pre-game routine, which got sloppier and sloppier as I let my mind drift toward the game itself. And as I stopped focusing, I relied on whatever the coaching staff had us do. In this case, Brett’s static stretches. It wasn’t just true for the pre-game routine either—it was true for everything in my athletic life.

  Having someone else come in and evaluate what I was doing was invaluable. Roberta instantly picked up on a series of things that I should do better, from workouts to stretches to nutrition. Already, I could feel her dynamic stretches working out my groin muscles better. I was feeling fresh and ready to go.

  I glanced back up at her in the stands. She flashed me a thumbs-up.

  We were lucky to have her in our life, now. Professionally, she knew what she was doing. Already I was beginning to trust her advice without thought. Which was needed in a trainer-athlete relationship. I had to trust and obey whatever she told me without second-guessing it. Right now, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she was going to make me a better football player.

  And then there’s everything else…

  I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made a mistake telling her we should cool things off. Because what I’d realized since last night was that I didn’t want to cool things off. I wanted to get hot and sweaty with her again. I wanted to grab her ass with both hands while burying my cock deep in her pussy again, feeling her from the inside just like that night…

  “Armstrong, the fuck are you doing?”

  I stopped my forward lunges as Coach approached. “Uh, just getting loose, Coach.”

  His scowl deepened. “Brett didn’t do a good enough job?”

  Shit. There was a dangerous tinge to his question. Coach liked Brett for whatever reason. Even though I was the captain of the team, anything I did to undermine Brett’s authority would not be accepted.

  I patted the side of my leg. “I’ve got some extra tightness in my IT band I’m trying to shake.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, and I realized it immediately. Coach’s eyes widened and he called for Brett.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I protested, but by then Brett was jogging over.

  “Your IT band?” Brett said, bending down. “Uh, where is that?”

  I blinked down at him. “You don’t know where the IT band is?”

  “Of course I know where it is,” the young freshman trainer sputtered. “It’s the iliotibial band… along the thigh.”

  It sounded like he was reciting it to help jog his memory. My first thought was, I can’t wait to tell Roberta about this.

  “Is it a problem?” Coach asked Brett.

  “Honestly, I’m fine,” I cut in, jogging in place. “It’s seriously nothing. I was doing some walking lunges and side-shuffles, and it feels great.”

  Coach stared at Brett, waiting for an answer. Finally the trainer bobbed his head and said, “Good, good. That’s what I would have had you do. Do, uh, three more of those.”

  “You got it,” I said, quickly side-shuffling away before they could talk about it more.

  After that we ran through some basic throwing drills that we always did before a game, and then the entire team returned to the locker room. Coach Mueller gave a short speech about teamwork and determination, and how we had all worked hard this summer to get to this point. I generally liked Coach, but always zoned out during these speeches. To me it always felt like someone trying to overly dramatize a speech from Friday Night Lights.

  Granted, we were in Texas. But still.

  Finally we lined up in the tunnel as the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Give it up for your Appleton State Stingers!”

  The crowd roared as we sprinted out of the tunnel onto the field. Every seat in the stadium was filled now, a sea of orange and white. My eyes drifted up to where Roberta was sitting, though now I couldn’t pick her out.

  We lined up on the sideline. The national anthem was played by the Appleton marching band. Then we met at mid-field with the captains of the opposing team—Austin College. We shook hands, and the referee flipped a coin. We got the ball first.

  The special teams unit went on the field to receive the kick. Lance was one of the faster guys on the team, so he typically received the kick-off. He stood at the end of the field by himself, tall and dangerous.

  The crowd noise rose to a crescendo as Austin College kicked the ball. And just like that, the 2019 season was underway.

  The kick was deep—Lance had to back up to catch it in the chest. He put his head down and ran upfield on long legs. He made it look effortless, and then abruptly changed directions as he met the first Austin College player, swiftly avoiding a tackle. The crowd screamed as he dodged another tackle and kicked it into a faster gear, sprinting down the sideline. He made it all the way to the 50-yard line before he was pushed out of bounds.

  “Great field position!” Coach shouted excitedly. “Let’s go take advantage of it!”

  I put on my helmet and jogged out onto the field. I was a ball of energy. Not nervous, but anxious. After practicing all summer I was ready to get started. Like I’d been in line for a roller coaster for three months and finally got to jump in the seat.

  Our center stood over the ball, and the rest of the offensive linemen arranged themselves on either side. A wall of enormous men whose entire purpose was to protect me. With them in front of me, I felt safe.

  Game time, Danny.

  The first play of the game was already chosen by Coach. As soon as the ball was hiked to me, I turned and handed it off to our running back. He darted forward, trying to slip through a hole that our linemen were creating, but the hole closed before he could and he was tackled for a one-yard loss.

  The crowd noise lowered a few notches. Not a good start.

  11 yards to go for a first down. Focus.

  On the next play, we lined up the same as before, except this time I faked the hand-off to the running back, then rolled out to the left. Lance was running a slant route across the middle of the field. I planted my feet, twisted my body, and snapped my arm to hurl the ball downfield. But the moment the ball left my hands I knew what would happen. The ball sailed ahead of Lance, just out of reach of his outstretched hands. The crowd rose with excitement and then groaned.

  Settle down, Danny. One play at a time.

  On third and long, the Austin College linebackers were blitzing. They charged forward the moment the ball was snapped. I shuffled backwards while looking for an open man, but there was a linebacker curling around the left to tackle me, so I had to dump the ball off to our tight end on the right. He caught it and gained a few yards, but ultimately we were five yards short of the first
down.

  Gritting my teeth in frustration, I jogged off the field as we were replaced by the punting unit.

  Lance met me on the sideline and pulled off his helmet. “Bro, I was open.”

  I wiped sweat off my face with a towel. “Did you not see the defensive tackle about to take my head off if I didn’t dump it off?”

  “Naw, I didn’t see it,” Lance said. “Because I was too busy being really fucking open.”

  “I’ll get you next time.” I swung my palm out, and he accepted the high-five before sitting down.

  That’s how it was with us. We bitched back and forth, but it was part of the process. Especially with a guy like Lance. He wanted the ball on every play.

  Brett appeared in front of me, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “How’s that IT band?”

  “Not a problem,” I said bluntly. I swear to God, if you try to take me out of this game…

  Coach came up to us, forcing Brett to step aside. “You see how that cornerback is hugging you to protect against a post route up the middle?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Next possession, give him a fake toward the inside, then go deep,” Coach said with a wolfish grin. “I’ll bet you $50 worth of barbecue he takes the bait.”

  Lance and I grinned at each other.

  While Austin College had the ball, our defense did its job and held them to a punt. As a quarterback, it was always motivating to get back on the field quickly. Sitting around on the sideline thinking about a failed drive never helped anyone.

  We huddled up and I called the play. I backed up into the shotgun formation, and the center hiked the ball all the way back to me. I faked the hand-off to the running back, pump-faked a throw to the tight end, and then turned my gaze downfield.

  There was Lance, running at full sprint. He faked a move toward the middle of the field, then abruptly continued on his go route. And sure enough, the move faked out the cornerback, who darted toward the center of the field and had to change course to cover Lance, who was now farther downfield.

  I shifted my weight to my back foot, then stepped forward with a powerful throw. It arced through the air in a perfect spiral, dropping down into Lance’s waiting hands. The crowd roared with ecstasy as the wide receiver high-stepped into the end zone, then spiked the ball into the ground.

  There we go.

  I relaxed as my teammates smacked me on the helmet in celebration.

  Now the 2019 season was really underway.

  16

  Roberta

  When Lance caught the ball, I screamed at the top of my lungs like I was the biggest Appleton football fan in the world. I think I even scared the crap out of Aly, who was a few notches below me in the excitement department.

  “Touchdown, Appleton State!” the announcer said over the sound system. “Danny Armstrong to receiver Lance Overmire in the seam. Appleton State over Austin College, six to zero.”

  Aly leaned in close to me and asked, “Did you cheer that loud when Danny put it in your seam?”

  “Shut up!” I said, but we both quickly devolved into a series of giggles.

  Lance celebrated in the end zone by prancing around like a bird with his chest puffed up, walking with a series of tiny little steps. Then he high-fived the teammates around him and jogged off to the sidelines as the kicking unit came out onto the field.

  “You’re shaking!” Aly said.

  I knew she was right. I’d been bubbling with nervousness since we arrived, then excitement when they scored. The adrenaline was surging through my veins as if I had been the one to catch the touchdown pass, not Lance.

  “I’m fine.”

  Aly waved a flask at me. “Want a drink? It’ll help you calm down.”

  Feña lined up behind the rest of the kicking team. The ball was hiked back to the holder, Feña strode forward confidently, and swung his leg in a powerful kick that ended with his leg nearly vertical. The ball sailed through the uprights.

  “And the extra point from Feña Martinez is good.”

  Aly waved the flask at me again. “I’m relaxed enough, now.”

  “You don’t look relaxed,” she said as we all sat back down on the bleachers. “You look like a gambler who bet your mortgage on red.”

  I’d watched a lot of football since coming to college. It was hard not to considering students received free tickets, and because it was relevant to my specific field of study. But I’d never felt like this. It was like I had a real stake in the game.

  When Brett examined Danny’s leg before the game, I’d begun to panic. Was something wrong with his IT band? Something I caused somehow? Especially after he went out there and had a poor showing for the first drive of the game.

  But then they’d come back and crushed it on the next drive. And the way Danny jogged off the field, jumping and celebrating with his teammates, proved he wasn’t injured.

  And now he was sitting on the sidelines with Lance and Feña, laughing and smiling.

  “Um. Hello?” Aly waved a hand in front of my face. “Now you’re grinning like an idiot. Did you pre-game before you got here?”

  “Just happy to see the home team score early,” I said.

  Aly took a swig from her flask and shook her head. “You’ve been different in the past week. Those boys are getting to your head.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted.

  I pulled up my phone and looked at the schedule for the season.

  8/31: Austin College

  9/07: St. Edwards

  9/14: Middle Texas State

  9/21: West Texas A&M

  9/28: Tarleton State

  10/05: Midwestern State

  10/12: Bye

  10/19: Northwestern Oklahoma

  10/26: Tulsa University

  11/02: Henderson State

  11/09: Lincoln Memorial College

  11/23: San Antonio State

  “This schedule is heavily back-loaded,” I said out loud.

  “Oh?” Aly said, out of politeness rather than genuine interest. But I felt like talking out loud, so I showed her my screen.

  “The first two games should be easy wins,” I said. “Middle Texas ought to be a cake-walk too, especially since their quarterback transferred to Michigan. The next three games are iffy, especially playing Midwestern on the road.” I sighed. “The schedule only gets harder from there. Northwestern Oklahoma and Tulsa are powerhouse programs. Henderson always punches above their weight. Lincoln should be easy, but then we have the last game…”

  Aly squinted. “San Antonio? Ugh. I remember losing to them in the playoffs last year. The campus was like one big funeral leading into finals week.”

  “Yeah,” I said simply. “And they got stronger with a few big transfer students. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  Aly got a funny look on her face. “You realize what you just did?”

  “What?”

  “You said we, and us. Like you’re part of the team.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “Hey, no judgment here,” Aly admitted. “The way you’re putting your hands on half the team, they ought to put your name in the program!”

  I elbowed her and looked around, but nobody else in the crowd had heard her.

  “We’ll be hard-pressed to even make the playoffs with this schedule,” I said. “That really sucks since Danny and them are all seniors.”

  Aly made an annoyed noise. “Do you have to talk about football? I’m trying to enjoy all these hunks in tight pants.”

  “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt what really matters.”

  She nodded gravely. “It’s important to focus on the moment, Roberta.”

  On the field, both teams were swapping out players. It looked like Austin College was punting the ball after a failed drive.

  “Lance Overmire back to receive the kick,” the announcer said.

  They punted, and Lance ran over to get under the ball. He caught it against his chest with both han
ds, then suddenly sprinted sideways across the field to avoid the two Austin College players rushing in to tackle him. As he circled around to the far end of the field, the entire Austin College kicking team had to adjust to catch up with him.

  But Lance was too fast.

  He reached the sidelines, and sprinted just in-bounds up the field. Everyone around us in the crowd cheered and stood up, so we stood up too, so we could see. Lance was at the 40-yard line, the 30, the 20, and he’d gotten past all the defenders except the kicker…

  The kicker launched himself off his feet like a missile. His shoulder caught Lance in the hip, folding him sideways and buckling one leg under his body as he fell out of bounds.

  I lost sight of him from my vantage, but the crowd’s cheers suddenly changed to groans and cries of pain.

  “What happened!” I said, trying to get a better view. The players on the field were blocking it. “What happened!”

  “He went down hard,” someone said.

  “Looked bad.”

  I caught a glimpse of Lance as the players on the sideline dispersed. Lance was on the ground, rolling from his belly to his back. He bent one knee up like a steeple, but kept the other one flat on the ground.

  One of the linemen stood over him and extended a hand. Lance grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and then jogged over toward the opposite sideline.

  I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Then Aly said, “Um, Roberta? You can let go of my arm now.”

  I was gripping her arm so tight my knuckles were white. When I let go, her forearm was striped with red finger indentations.

  “I’ll take that flask now,” I said.

  Aly chuckled and handed it to me. I unscrewed the top and took a swig, then winced and coughed. I had been expecting the fire-like sensation of hard liquor down my throat, but instead was cool and tart.

  “Is this… a wine cooler?”

  “I like cold drinks,” Aly said defensively.

  “Who brings a wine cooler to a football game?”

  Aly snatched the flask back. “If you wanted something else, you should have brought it yourself!”