I turn to Bobby, who’s obviously still angry judging by the way he’s clenching his fists. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Let it go.”
He smiles sheepishly and his hands relax at his sides. “He needs to see you kick and score points. He’ll be fine after that.” His grin expands and I can’t help smiling back at him. I wish I had his optimism.
“You’re right,” I assure Bobby. “After I prove myself in a game, things will be easier.” How I wished this was true. I’m beginning to think I’ll never truly belong.
My dressing room and shower are in the back corner of the locker room. It’s a large space with hooks for my clothes, a dry place to change, and a shower in the back. On one wall of the changing area there’s a shelf with towels. I unpack my football travel bag and place deodorant, shampoo, and conditioner on the shelf.
A whistle blows in the main locker room and a coach shouts, “Hustle out. This isn’t cheer camp.”
I smile and with a last look at my small domain, I hustle out with the other players.
∞∞∞
That evening I can barely keep my eyes open during my shower. I’m exhausted and everything hurts. We ran plays, ran laps, and worked drills. The team has robotic tackle dummies that someone with a twisted mind designed. They kick ass and never grow tired. The coaches are also in rare form and I suspect they stay awake at night dreaming of evil torture for players.
The cool water feels wonderful on my skin. During one of my breaks, I watched Aiden tossing the ball to Kelson Miller, the second-string quarterback. Aiden’s powerful arms held so much control over the ball and he made a fifty yard spiral pass look easy.
My hand slides down my abdomen and moves between my legs. I use the other hand to massage my breasts and pinch my nipples. In my mind, my tongue travels across Aiden’s throat and moves down to his chest. My fingers work faster, I pinch a little harder, and an orgasm rockets through me.
Damn.
Hunger eventually pulls me from the shower. As soon as I put on panties and a bra there’s a knock at the door. I pull a tee over my head and slip into a pair of running shorts. I don’t bother checking who’s on the other side of the door because I’m pretty sure it’s Lane. I throw it open.
Double damn.
It’s Aiden holding a bag, which by the smell I’m assuming is dinner. He glides past me like he has that right.
“What are you doing?” I ask in confusion.
He sets the bag on the table and turns. “I owe you an apology and figured you would be tired, so I ordered dinner.”
“I’m having dinner with Lane and I don’t need your apologies.”
He gives me a smirk that turns my insides to jelly. No one should be that gorgeous. “I brought enough for your boyfriend. I figure the three of us can get to know each other.”
He’s such an ass. “You know damn good and well he’s not my boyfriend.” I look at the flash in his eyes and realization dawns. “You’re jealous.”
He nods. “I admit it. I’m jealous.”
My heartrate accelerates. This should not be happening. I open my mouth to answer, but I hear Lane from the other side of the open door. “Is three a crowd?”
I whip around. Heat fills my cheeks. “Apparently our star quarterback is sharing dinner with us tonight. He brought dinner for three.”
Lane’s eyebrows rise. “How about I go my own way and leave the two of you to work things out.”
“I like that idea,” Aiden says from beside me.
“I don’t,” I say furiously. I hold onto the need to stomp my foot. “If you leave, I leave,” I tell Lane while completely ignoring Aiden.
“What’s for dinner?” Lane asks with a grimace of understanding. I know I’m putting him in a bad spot but I don’t want to be alone with Aiden. Something bad might happen…like my panties melting off me or something equally as terrible.
“Chinese takeout. I brought an assortment.” Aiden unpacks the meal like he didn’t just tell Lane to leave. I’m tired, sore, and hungry. Aiden is far too much to deal with right now but food wins. We sit down and divvy up the cartons. “How was your first real day of practice?” Aiden asks after we’re settled.
I don’t bother looking up from my plate as I twirl noodles onto a plastic fork. “My legs are killing me and I’m bitchy.”
I hear the smile in his reply. “Duly noted. How about you, Lane?”
“My back hurts because of the reporters.”
I look at him having no idea what he’s talking about.
Lane nudges my chair and I realize we’ve fallen into the role of brother and sister very quickly. He enjoys ribbing me about the media attention I receive and he’ll make an occasional jab about Aiden. He looks straight at Aiden and says, “You know…I stand up straighter and puff up my chest more because they’re always tagging along with our new kicker. My muscles aren’t accustomed to all the attention.”
“Haha,” I say without mirth. “You know you dig those cameras.”
He ignores my comment and continues speaking to Aiden. “She’s stealing all your limelight this year. Any chance this will throw you off your game and Kelson will claim your spot?”
“Not a chance in hell,” Aiden grunts.
“Good to know. Kelson needs to make his own way on another team. His attitude sucks and he’ll be holding the ball for Jordan. I don’t think it’s a good thing.”
“Hello. I’m right here.” They both look at me. “If I have problems with Kelson, I’ll deal with it. The two of you butt out.”
They look at each other again and continue like they didn’t hear me. “Has he given her a hard time?” Aiden asks.
“Nothing overt. He glares and mumbles. That seems to be his MO with anyone he doesn’t like, including you.”
Aiden grabs a packet of soy sauce and liberally covers his meal. “He’s usually more bark than bite but he’s pushing it right now. Let me know if he steps out of line and I’ll handle it.”
I can’t take it anymore. I take a small sip of water from the bottle in my hand and then liberally splash it at both of them. Lane jumps back from the table. Aiden simply wipes the water from his eyes and keeps talking. “Camaraderie on the team will make a bigger difference once we get into regular season. If he’s not a good mix, Coach needs to know.”
Before I can punch Aiden, Lane reaches over and wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me closer. He kisses the top of my head, releases me, and then stands. “Sorry to eat and run but my bed is calling. Don’t stay up talking too late.” His eyebrows go up and down in a ridiculous manner.
I scramble up and follow him to the door. “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper frantically.
“Work it out and get your head in the game. It’s affecting your kicking ability.” He steps back and pulls the door closed in my face.
“Am I affecting your kicking?” Aiden asks from a foot behind me, making me jump. I also realize how close I am to the door. I don’t want him trapping me and us having a repeat of the night I ate dinner at his mom’s. I give Aiden a wide berth and head back to the table.
“He’s full of crap. Of course you’re not responsible for how I kick.” I sit and take another bite of food. Aiden’s fingers cover my shoulders. I’m about to object but they dig in and he begins working my sore muscles. The moan that escapes me is almost embarrassing.
“I remember some of what happened at the party. I know I stepped out of line in front of the team. For that I’m sorry.”
My head has fallen forward. “No worries.” I breathe out a sigh. God, am I easy or what? His fingers feel so darn good. I rest my fork back in the container of takeout and pray he doesn’t stop. A minute later, he moves and wraps his arms under my legs and around my back. He lifts me from the chair like I weigh nothing.
“What are you doing?” I ask dreamily.
“You’ll see,” he whispers and places me on the bed. This can’t be good. I should never get near a bed or a door with Aiden around.
&n
bsp; He moves away and reaches for my left leg. My shoe flies off the side of the bed followed quickly by the other one. “Oh, hell,” I mutter when he begins massaging my instep. “I remember three years ago and my first training camp. I could barely walk for days. You need to take advantage of the whirlpool. Consider taking ibuprofen if it’s too bad.”
I want to ask if he’ll come by and do this every night. I don’t, though. He moves to my calf and I moan again. I can’t believe he’s doing this. His fingers move up the muscles of my legs and he doesn’t stop until he’s inches from my inner thighs. I’m about to object. Truly I am. Before I can properly form words, he moves to my other leg and begins the process over again.
I’m so damn easy.
Chapter Eighteen
Aiden
The look on her face pushes my cock harder against the zipper of my shorts. Her eyes are closed and her beautiful lips partially open in ecstasy. I’ve accomplished everything I set out to do this evening.
“You’re not into him, are you?” I ask as I run my fingers along her calf.
“Into whom?” she moans.
Whom, I love it. “Lane,” I clarify.
“Is that what this is about?” She peels open her eyes and gives me a glare. I dig into a small ball of muscle and her eyes close again.
I change the subject. “If Kelson becomes a problem, at least talk to Morely. If I hear through the grapevine that you’re putting up with shit and not reporting it, I’ll handle it myself.”
“You will, will you?” She doesn’t bother opening her eyes this time.
My fingers dig in and travel farther up her leg. She smells heavenly. Once I’ve reached the stopping point, I skim my fingers across the crotch of her shorts. Her eyes pop open and I lean up and kiss her. Her moan into my mouth is better than the others combined. I slide my fingers beneath her shirt until her breasts fill my hands. She doesn’t stop me and it takes everything I have to pull back.
Her long lashes drift down over her languid hazel eyes. I adjust her shirt so it’s covering her breasts, lean forward, kiss her pert little nose, and stand. Seeing her lips swollen from my kisses is more than I can take, so without sinking into her sweet mouth, I head to the door. “I provided dinner, so I’m leaving you with the dishes.”
“You jerk.” She laughs and sits up. I fight the need to rejoin her in bed.
“Believe me. I need to leave right now or neither of us will sleep tonight.” I close the door behind me and head back to my room. Kelson is kicked back on his bed watching TV. I strip down to my boxer briefs and climb under the covers. I roll away and shut my eyes. Neither of us has made any effort to talk since our first year of rooming together at training camp. I’m thankful tonight is no different.
The relief I feel that nothing is going on between Jordan and Lane allows sleep to invade my consciousness; one minute I’m awake and the next the world is dark.
∞∞∞
Two weeks charges by without weekends putting a stop to our torture. The only time I see Jordan is at dinner. She and Lane stick close to each other. Lane is now sitting at my table when I’m in the hotel’s restaurant and Jordan joins us. Our first preseason game is tomorrow and most of the team is eating dinner out of their rooms this evening. I feel for the guys who have everything on the line. Three more weeks to prove themselves or be cut in preseason’s slimming of the roster.
Nervous energy fills the dining room. I’ll play a series or two tomorrow, but for most of the game I’ll look on from the sidelines. This gives Kelson a chance to shine. Won’t do him much good in the long run but we need a solid second-string QB and he’s the best we have. If I’m injured during the season, the ball passes to him.
“Patrickson, make your damn toast so we aren’t jinxed this year,” Randy Byer shouts from the table next to mine.
I had actually forgotten about the yearly pregame toast. Hell. I stand and lift my water to the shouts of hear, hear. “Pronghorns,” I say loudly. “We’re weeks away from regular season and it’s time to leave everything you have on the field. Look to the players on either side of you.” I give everyone a chance to glance at the players sitting beside them. “You or a player beside you won’t be here in a few weeks. This is as real as it gets. Kick ass and take no names.” I drink my water to shouts from around the room.
I sit down and slide my hand beneath the table giving Jordan’s cold fingers a squeeze. She has her position and doesn’t need to worry about someone breathing down her neck to steal it. Her problems are actually larger than the other players’. She has something to prove to the world.
∞∞∞
We fly out at five o’clock the next morning. In regular season we travel a day early. With the tortures of preseason traveling a day early is a luxury we don’t have time for. This might not be a true game but it’s still game day and we have our game faces on. Thick tension fills the air. Some players have earbuds in and are zoning out with pregame music. Laughter is what’s lacking. We’re paid a lot of money to win and we take that seriously. Even in preseason.
I’m two seats back from Jordan. She’s one of the players with headphones. I would love to listen to music, but my job never ends and I review plays and scenarios in my head during the flight. I lean my seat back and close my eyes while spreading my fingers on the armrest and picturing a football in my hands. I grip the rippled leather, spin, and hand off to the running back, who fires the ball to the tight end. Is Jordan nervous? Of course she is. “Hell,” I mutter and snap my mind back to pregame mental preparations.
It doesn’t work because I can’t help wondering if I’m interfering with her zone. The faint stirring of air and her scent make me open my eyes. She brushes past me without looking. I don’t turn and watch as she heads down the aisle. That would be too obvious. I wait a few minutes before heading to the back of the plane. She’s coming out of the lavatory at the same time I arrive. She glances up and sees me.
With a faint smile, she moves aside but I stop her with a hand on her forearm. “You doing okay?” I whisper. This will be an easy game for me. A few plays and they’ll pull me from the game. Jordan, on the other hand, will be kicking when she’s needed without backup to take some of the slack.
Her lips purse delightfully. “I’m good,” she replies and then looks nervously down the aisle.
No one is paying attention to us, so I crowd her a bit and lean in so I’m whispering in her ear. “Good luck,” I tell her. I inhale the delicious scent at her throat and my dick responds. Hell. Hard-ons on game day are not good. I give my own cursory glance to see if anyone has taken notice of us and then take her hand and give it a brief squeeze. I slip into the lavatory without watching her walk back to her seat. I need my hard-on under control before I leave the restroom.
We land in Seattle and head out of the terminal. I notice the reporters as soon as the area past security is in sight. They were a no-brainer. What I hadn’t expected were hundreds of girls of all ages and all with something in common.
Pink footballs.
Larry Modiess steps up to Jordan as soon as she’s clear of the security line. He hands her a permanent marker and says something to her that I can’t hear over the reporters and excited girls.
“Will you sign my football?” a young girl asks me. She’s maybe six years old and has curly hair and rosy cheeks.
“Sure,” I tell her with a smile. “I need to find a pen.”
“I’s has one,” she says with a cute lisp and hands me her pen.
I take a knee and prop her pink football against my leg while I sign it. “You like football?”
She shakes her head. “I be a kicker too.” She points at Jordan, who is completely surrounded by girls while she signs their pink footballs. The look of worship on the little girl’s face is impossible to miss. “I be just like her.”
Something snaps in my brain. It literally happens that fast. I remember dreaming about playing pro football. I wasn’t any older than the little girl standing before
me. I look into her eyes and hope shines up at me. This young girl has a shot at any future she chooses, even football, and there is no way I would say differently.
I turn to the girl’s mother. “May I take her to Jordan and get this signed?” The woman is an older version of her daughter. “Please, and thank you.”
“What’s your name?” I ask the little girl.
“Shaywee.”
“Shaylee,” her mother clarifies.
“Okay, Shaylee. Let’s go see Jordan.” I hold out my hand and her little fingers grab mine. I walk her through the sea of reporters and lead her directly up to Jordan. “This young lady’s name is Shaylee and she wants to be a kicker too.”
Jordan’s smile is priceless. “Thank you, Shaylee. Kicking is hard work and fun too. You’ll make a great kicker.”
I hand Jordan Shaylee’s football. Jordan’s eyebrows lift when she spins the football around and sees my signature. Below mine, she writes, “Kick like a girl,” and signs it Jordan Givens. Jordan hands the football to Shaylee and takes another from a waiting fan as I lead Shaylee back to her mom. “Are you coming to the game?” I ask her mom.
Her smile drops just a bit. “No, not this one. We’ll try to later in the season.”
“Give me your name and I’ll have tickets waiting at will-call. How many do you need?” I ask her.
“Oh gosh, that’s wonderful. Two, just two.”
“Your daughter seems to be the only girl interested in my signature, so it’s the least I can do.” I smile at the shy mom.
“She loves football.”
I put her name in my phone and turn back to Jordan after Shaylee and her mother leave. The reporters have moved back slightly so more girls can have their footballs signed. Larry walks over and stops next to me. “A local radio station gave out a thousand pink footballs in honor of Jordan’s first preseason game. Too bad Mike Goodwyn is such an ass. He could do the same thing in Albuquerque and be part of history.”
Goal (Completion #6) Page 11