by Cassie Cole
I’m the meat in a football player sandwich. Lance Overmire on one side, and Danny Armstrong on the other. Two of the most popular, sought-after athletes on campus, and they were both in bed with me.
The thought made me giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Lance breathed, still half-asleep.
“I was just thinking,” I said. “If you two got married, your name would become Lance Armstrong.”
Danny laughed into the back of my neck.
“Hell no,” Lance grumbled. “Danny would take my name.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I’m an only child, bro,” Lance said simply. “I have to pass on the Overmire name.”
“I’m an only child too!” Danny protested.
“Yeah, well, dibs.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Sure it does,” Lance said. “I called dibs on the last name. End of discussion.”
“There’s no way I’m changing my name to Danny Overmire.”
“Why not, bro? That shit sounds good.”
“You two,” I cut in, “are awfully passionate about a hypothetical gay marriage that I totally just made up.”
None of us went back to sleep. We spent the early morning hours snuggling and chatting about other nonsensical things that didn’t matter. Career aspirations outside of football. Which NFL teams they’d want to draft them, and which ones they definitely didn’t want to be drafted by. The parts of Texas that had the best barbecue. Brands of beer.
Eventually Danny got out of bed and stretched. I smacked his nude butt and then giggled at his reproachful stare.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked.
“I need to study,” he said forlornly. “And I know Lance does too.”
“Bro, don’t remind me.” Lance rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head. I reached over and caressed his bare back, running my fingertips along the muscle. He made a happy noise underneath the pillow.
“Mind if I come study with you guys?” I asked.
Danny bent down and kissed me on the lips. “I mean actually study. No distractions.”
“I mean that too,” I replied. “I need to study too, and Aly usually watches TV too loud on Sundays. It’d be better if I was around you guys. Plus, I’m hoping to talk to Feña when he gets back from practice. To clear the air.”
“Okay,” Danny said after a moment. “You can study with us. But just studying.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
I took a quick shower, and then we left. Thankfully Aly was still in bed and didn’t see the three of us leaving my room together, or I’d never hear the end of it. But even still, the thought of having a threesome with them filled me with giddiness and excitement. I didn’t think I could keep it to myself.
She’s going to be so jealous.
Feña was already gone by the time we got to their house. The two of them took turns showering, and then the three of us spread out on the kitchen table with our books and laptops.
“Alright, Babs,” Lance said after a few minutes of silence. “You said you weren’t going to distract us.”
“I’m just sitting here!”
“Exactly,” he grinned. “You’re just sitting there, being all smoking hot without even trying. You’re making me think dirty thoughts.”
“Ha ha,” Danny said dryly. “Seriously though, I need to study.”
Lance spread his wide hands. “Just sayin’.”
We eventually fell into a good groove studying together. I put the guys out of my mind and slogged through my assigned reading for my advanced anatomy class. It was nice being around them. Chill and relaxing. No pressure—just the three of us enjoying our company while we studied.
I got through two hours of reading and note-taking before my mind drifted to deeper thoughts of them. They want to share me. Two athletes and the same girlfriend. How would that even work? They didn’t seem jealous in the slightest. And last night…
Mmm. Last night had been incredible. And not just for me on the receiving end—they both seemed to love it too. I’d never had a threesome before, but I always assumed the guys would be awkward together. Like they didn’t know what to do about the other dick in the vicinity.
I guess it helped that they were already good friends.
But how long can it last?
Surely something like this wasn’t sustainable. I would drift toward one guy over the other. They might eventually get jealous. And then it would all fall apart, leaving someone unhappy.
What if it never falls apart?
Danny ran out to grab sandwiches from the campus deli for lunch, and when he got back we took a break to eat.
“Feña’s been at practice a while,” I said. I’d been thinking about what to say to him when he returned. I was going to apologize, explain how I had been wrong, and what I intended to do to fix it going forward. I was ready to move on… if he was too.
Lance looked at his watch. “Guess so. Coach must really be putting him to work.”
We finished our lunch and studied for another two hours. Eventually I finished my assigned reading, which just left the two papers I had to write on my laptop.
“I was enjoying your company,” Danny said as I got up to leave. “Thank you for adhering to our strict no-sex policy.”
“We should reward you for being good,” Lance grinned. “With sex.”
“As delightful as that sounds, I’ll take a rain check.”
Lance rose and pulled me into a strong hug, squeezing me so hard that my ribs ached. “See you later, Babs. Don’t work too hard.”
“No such thing,” I said, smiling up at his handsome green eyes.
Our kiss was natural, lips locking together magnetically like we had done it a thousand times before. Like we’d been together for years, rather than two days. Lance gave me another kiss on the forehead before parting, and I blushed all the way to the door.
Danny opened it for me, and then lingered in the doorway. “I had fun last night,” he said. “At the restaurant and on the bike, I mean. Well, and at your place too. I had fun the whole time.”
I smiled warmly. Was he flustered? “I had fun too. Looking forward to doing it again sometime.”
The kiss with Danny was different than Lance’s—it was more like the kiss after a first date, new and exciting and a little awkward. Maybe he just felt weird kissing me goodbye right after Lance, like it was a competition. Whatever the reason, I kissed him back and hugged him before leaving.
Two goodbye kisses. That was definitely unusual, although I guess it was no more unusual than the situation as a whole. But as strange as it all was, I couldn’t stop smiling as I walked home.
My smile only faded when I passed the football practice field.
Feña and Coach Mueller stood on the 35 yard line. There was a bin of footballs next to them. It was tough to tell from this distance, but it looked like Feña’s dark curls were completely soaked with sweat. So was his T-shirt, for that matter.
Feña took three steps forward, then swung his foot in a downward arc to kick a football propped up by a holding stick. The ball flipped through the air toward the field goal, soaring through with several yards to spare. In the end zone, one of the team assistants chased after the ball and then carried it back to the bin with the others.
“Again!” I heard Coach shout as he placed another football on the ground.
Feña’s body language was obvious from here. He was exhausted and unhappy. But all he said was, “Yes, Coach.”
“You’re going to stay out here until you can make ten field goals in a row,” Coach snapped. “Do you fucking understand me?”
“Yes, Coach.”
He took three steps forward and kicked the ball again.
It was 2:30 in the afternoon. They must have been out here for at least six hours. Probably closer to seven or eight. And he was still practicing.
I’m so sorry, I wished I could tell him as I w
alked back to my dorm.
32
Roberta
The weekend ended, and then it was back to the grind. I went to the gym Monday morning with a speech rehearsed to give to Feña if I could corner him alone, but when the team arrived for the workout he was nowhere to be found.
“Coach made him skip conditioning today,” Danny whispered as we jogged around the track on the second floor. “He’s at the field practicing kicks again.”
“Fucking brutal,” Lance muttered. “You want to fuck up a guy’s leg? Make him kick a thousand times in 24 hours. Probably doing more harm than good.”
Shit. I’d really messed things up for Feña.
I texted him later that morning, when I knew he would be done with practice and on his way to class. Assuming Coach didn’t make him skip classes to practice longer.
Me: Hey. I was hoping to say this to you in person, but text is better than nothing. I screwed up. It’s my fault you’re getting chewed out by the coach. I hope that you can forgive me, and I hope you’ll give me another chance to be your physical trainer.
He didn’t respond for 20 excruciating minutes.
Feña: It is okay. It is my fault.
Me: I definitely deserve some of the blame. But I’m going to be better from now on. Let me prove it to you.
Me: See you at weights tomorrow morning?
This time, he never responded. The message said it was delivered, but he never replied or even began to compose a response. I thought about what Danny had told me: give him some space. He’ll come around.
I hoped that was true, and that it would happen sooner rather than later.
The rest of the day was painfully long. I ate dinner in the campus cafeteria alone while studying because I was still too wary to go to study hall with the others and see Feña in person. Even just texting him today felt like I was disarming a bomb.
I slept in fits, constantly waking up and checking the clock to make sure I didn’t sleep in. I couldn’t let Feña down again.
When I did finally wake and get dressed in my gym clothes, it felt like I was preparing to get rejected for a job interview. I sat on the steps outside the gym and waited while listening to the summer insects chirping in the darkness. Everything was still. Normally I would have considered that peaceful, but today it felt like a funeral.
Our meeting time came and went. Still no Feña.
Just when I was getting ready to give up, his dark form appeared down the walkway. I breathed a sigh of relief and hopped to my feet.
“I didn’t think you were going to show.”
His sharp Chilean face was expressionless. “I still trust you more than Brett.”
“That’s a really low bar.”
The smallest hint of a smile touched his lips. “Indeed it is. Roberta?”
“Yes, Feña?”
“This had better work. I do not want to spend another Sunday kicking field goals for ten hours in the Texas heat.”
I unlocked the door. “Then you should have gone to school in Maine.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I should have.”
We did a short jog around the track together to warm up. Feña was still quieter and more tense than normal, but at least he was here. I had a chance to fix things.
I had him do more squats and deadlifts, this time incrementing the weight by five and ten pounds, respectively. I watched his form to ensure he did them properly, and then I mimicked his workout in the rack next to him since I had the opportunity and access to equipment. It felt good to find time in my crazy schedule to do some real exercise.
I didn’t ask him to, but Feña spotted me in between his own sets. I felt him hovering behind me while I squatted low, heat radiating off his body. He smelled like sweat and musk and Old Spice deodorant, and gave me encouragement while I drove my heels into the ground to raise the weight back up.
“Very nice!” he said after I completed my fifth set. He gave me a high-five and grinned proudly as if he were the trainer and I were the athlete.
“That’s nowhere near my five-rep max,” I said while wiping sweat off my forehead, “but I also haven’t lifted heavy since the spring semester.”
“You are quite strong,” he drawled in that smooth accent. “I am impressed.”
“I appreciate the flattery.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s been two minutes. Time for your final set, then I want to see you do some overhead press from a seated position.”
I found myself drawn to Feña during our workout. Part of it was that I was overjoyed he was no longer mad at me, but beyond that? Feña was an attractive guy. Very attractive. His tank-top clung to his body with sweat, outlining the ridges of his muscles. He wasn’t as huge as Danny or Lance, but he was still totally jacked for his height. Leaner rather than bulkier.
His accent was also totally sexy. The way my name rolled off his tongue, Roberta, every letter enunciated clearly as if he wanted to taste all of me…
I shook off the thoughts as we continued our workout.
The rest of the week went by faster now that I was back in Feña’s good graces. I watched the guys practice on the football field in the afternoons. Coach worked on special plays and new defensive strategies with the team while an assistant coach worked with Feña on his kicking at the far end of the field. Danny and Lance were smooth and expert in their respective roles, veteran seniors on the team. I didn’t have to worry about messing them up. For them, it was all a matter of keeping them healthy.
While watching Feña kick field goals, I tried to analyze how he was doing. It wasn’t my area of expertise, but from my spot on the bleachers it looked like most of his kicks were on-target.
Hopefully his distance improves, too.
*
The game that Saturday was on the road against Middle Texas. Their campus was two hours away, but Appleton paid for a certain number of students to travel to the game on busses. I waited in line that morning for a ticket, then boarded the bus with all the other excited Appleton fans.
Everyone was excited, but I tapped my foot nervously on the bus while trying to study for my anatomy class.
Their school was smaller than Appleton, but had a larger football stadium, which was already packed by the time we arrived and filed into the section reserved for the Appleton students, behind the Appleton marching band. Our seats faced west, directly into the 3:00 p.m. sun. Sweat beaded on my neck after a few seconds on the hot bleachers.
The game hadn’t started yet, but already the crowd was loud. There was a buzz of excitement in the air, almost like this was a playoff game.
“Hey,” I asked the guy next to me on the bleacher. “We’re favored this game, right?”
“Only by seven points,” the student replied.
“I thought their star quarterback transferred to Michigan.”
“Oh, he did,” he said. “But their backup is better than all the scouts expected. He’s got a cannon for an arm.”
The crowd rose another octave as the Middle Texas team came running onto the field. Our section cheered as Appleton appeared, wearing their road uniforms: orange pants and white jerseys. A chant of, “Let’s go Stingers!” went up in our section, but it was quickly drowned out by the home crowd.
Middle Texas won the coin toss, and chose to let Appleton receive to start the game. Lance caught the kick-off, then smoothly darted in and out of the opposing team on his way down the field toward our section. The Appleton students around me cheered and jumped up and down as Lance advanced, and my voice was one of the loudest ones.
Finally Lance was knocked out of bounds on the 30 yard line. The Appleton team high-fived him and then the offense took the field.
“Appleton starting with fantastic field position thanks to senior Lance Overmire,” the announcer said. “It’ll be first-and-ten from the 30.”
“Good start,” I whispered to myself. “Let’s keep up the pressure.”
The crowd was deafening as Danny lined up behind the center. He snapped the ball and
Danny rolled out, scanning downfield for a receiver.
I winced as the left tackle hit him from behind, wrapping him up and then slamming him to the ground. The ball came loose and bounced around the field before an Appleton linebacker jumped on it.
“That’s a loss of ten yards for Appleton as Ramirez sacks Armstrong!” the announcer said excitedly. “That ought to knock Appleton out of field goal range…”
I tapped my foot nervously as Danny got up and rejoined the huddle. They lined up for the next play, and this time Danny handed it off to the running back. He darted through two defenders before being tackled.
“Gain of six for Appleton. Third-and-long coming up for the visiting team.”
Somehow, the already deafening crowd rose in volume even more, like animals that smelled blood in the water. Danny lined up and then received the snap. He faked a hand-off to the running back, then rolled out like he had on the first play.
The left tackle spun around the outside. He had a clear path to Danny.
“Behind you!” I screamed, even though my voice was just one out of 70,000.
But Danny was ready. Just as the Middle Texas defender reached Danny, he quickly snapped his arm to dump the ball off to the running back, who had moved upfield to become a receiver. Danny took a hard hit on the ground, but the running back was able to gain a few yards before being tackled himself.
“Gain of six on the play,” the announcer said. “Right on the edge of field goal range for the Stingers.”
Sure enough, the offense trotted off the field and the field goal unit replaced them. I heard groans in the crowd around me.
“He missed three last week.”
“48 yards is too far for him! They should be going for it!”
“Great field position wasted.”
I ignored all the negative comments and said a prayer to the football gods that Feña’s leg was back to normal. He took three steps behind the holder, then side-stepped twice. The ball was snapped back, and the holder placed it on the ground and held the tip with a single finger.