by Britney Bell
Using the gate code I’ve had forever, I pull into the mansion’s beautiful courtyard. Tonight the driveway is full of cars. Mr. Briggs must have people over. I park my Jeep off to the side of the wide circle drive. Looking up at the house and taking in again its stunning size, warm sand colored stucco, and huge windows framed with large dark grey bricks, I am reminded I have work to do. With a huff, I lug my gear over the pavement and up the few steps to the front door. As I reach the top step, the door suddenly opens, and a rush of very large men come pouring out of the house. I’m frozen to my standing position while these tall, extremely handsome men, try to avoid knocking me over. Okay, it looks like the coast is clear to walk in now.
Wow, that was a rush.
I’m not really paying attention to where I step next, as I cross the doorway and stumble into yet another fine specimen of a man. My face lands square in his chest, with his arms wrapping around my shoulders to catch me.
“Oh, sorry,” a deep voice says. “Are you okay?”
Utterly embarrassed, I stay still for a moment to catch my breath. That breath brings a masculine cool and spicy scent that spurs my senses and awakens my lower half. His arms are still around me, and somehow I’ve managed to keep my equipment locked in my hands, but I don’t look up to answer him. I just shake my head yes, skirt out of his arms and pass him to move up the stairs.
A minute later, I stand in the large ornate room Suzy has dedicated as the spa. Despite the size of this house, it is quite homey with warm colors and oversized furniture. The few minutes calms my racing heart, and lets me push the way that man’s body felt to the back of my brain and focus only on business.
Suzy is soon there, it’s just her tonight, and I quickly get lost in my work with the man downstairs totally escaping my mind. I am done within an hour, and as I pack up, Mr. Briggs knocks on the door and talks with his wife briefly.
She turns back to me with a warm smile and asks, “Jordan, I am sorry to ask this, but would you mind staying a little longer and give Jeff a deep tissue massage? He has a bad crick in his neck, but the massage therapist at the stadium has been really busy, and he hasn’t been able to fit Jeff in.”
“Oh, certainly, that’s no trouble at all.”
“Thank you so much. I know he will greatly appreciate it. Let me tell him to get ready, and he will be right in,” she replies and walks out into the hallway.
Jeff soon returns, gets settled on the table, and I begin by loosening his neck muscles with some hot stones. Afterwards, I go to work on the deep neck and shoulder tissues, working out the crick that has been nagging him. He is squirming, grunting, and gritting through the pain, but I am used to my clients being this way during a deep tissue massage.
They are always surprised how strong my hands are. I’m all of five feet, seven, but they pack a great punch.
I leave Jeff on the table to rest for five minutes, grab him a bottle of water, and make him a shot of vitamin-C to help with muscle soreness and reduce the inflammation. Just as I return, the alarm for him to get up is going off, and I wait in the lounge chair outside the divider, so he can put his robe on and come out when he’s ready. He emerges disheveled with sleepy eyes. I give him the vitamin-C shot and bottle of water, reminding him to hydrate well tonight and tomorrow.
As I’m preparing to leave, Suzy gives me her high praises just like she always does, and we agree to meet next week at the same time. I load up for the night.
On my drive back the phone rings, and my car notifies me that my best friend, Harper, is calling.
Answering it using my car’s Bluetooth, I say, “Hey, Harper, what’s up?”
“Where are you? You are late!” she yells through the phone.
“What do you mean, late? We didn’t have any...”
Oh damn, it just dawned on me that we were supposed to have a double date with Harper, her boyfriend, and one of his friends, who I have never met. Yeah, I wasn’t looking forward to that. That’s probably why it slipped my mind.
“Sorry, Harper, I totally forgot that was tonight.”
“Well, you have exactly 30 seconds to get here, and I can’t guarantee that your date won’t be wasted by the time you arrive. He started hitting it hard as soon as we walked in the door.”
She pauses and is quiet for a second.
“Harper, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking this wasn’t such a good idea after all, and I think you need to come rescue me. Oh, oh, there he goes… and now he’s dancing or humping some chick on the dance floor. He practically has that girl bent in two, acting like she’s a horse he’s riding. He’s moving his arm around behind him, as if he’s whipping the horse’s ass to make it move faster. I can’t really tell, it looks like he’s convulsing out there. Please, dear God, hurry.”
“Shit, that sounds fucked up. Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in 20. Hang tight.”
At least I won’t have to worry about getting all dressed up. I’ll just drive straight to the bar and pick Harper up in my work uniform. Looking funny and out of place in my scrubs with my blonde hair up in a messy bun, it will be a good excuse to say that there’s an emergency. Harper’s boyfriend can stay and babysit his friend. It’s what he gets for trying to set me up with someone like that.
Her boyfriend is a dickhead. They’ve been dating for about six months, and I can’t put my finger on it, but something is off with him. You know, like one of those people who never looks you straight in the eyes when they talk to you. Makes you wonder what he’s hiding.
With the 20 minutes it takes me to reach the bar, I think about why Harper continues to try to set me up. My relationships in the past have not been stellar, to say the least. The few that I have had didn’t last long, because I was always too busy with trying to get better grades in school in order to keep my scholarships. That was the only way I could afford college, my parents certainly couldn’t pay for it. Now my time is consumed with building a business.
Even though I repeatedly tell Harper that I don’t have time for a relationship, she still tells me, “Yes, Jordan, I know you don’t have time. But, you still need to have some contact with the opposite sex, and get those girly parts worked over. Or else, you’ll revert back to virgin hood.”
3
Tyler
The week is filled with the usual practices and film review each day. On Thursday, my body’s pounding from last Sunday’s game seems to dissipate, but Sunday is here again for another round.
Pre-game regimen achieved, I dress in my tailor-made suit and leave for the stadium. If the offensive line can hold up, tonight should be a good game, and we can leave with the win to solidify our placement in the playoffs.
The coin is tossed and before we know it, we are down by four points and need a touchdown to win. It’s a rough game, and the offensive line has been doing a much better job of keeping me off the ground. However, the defense has still managed to get through a few times and put some nice shots on me.
With 30 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, the Texas Tornados just intercepted the ball, which gives us the possession at our own 20 yard line. The first three attempts were no good. We only have one chance, five yards and five seconds remaining to score the touchdown for the win. This is it. All or nothing. Every day for the last 20 years has trained me for this very moment.
Coach calls a Quarterback Keep. The object is to sneak in the sliver of a hole that the offensive line will create with their blocks, and I will cross the end zone for the game winning touchdown.
“Set. Hut hut.” I catch the snap from the center, and I’m off with the ball. Moving and not thinking, just trusting that my guys will have the hole open within the ten steps that it will take me to get to the goal line.
Last thing I see is the wide white line on the ground, and I stretch with everything I have to get the ball across it. Just another inch to go, suddenly I am pushed from behind to cross the goal line. I’m hit from several different angles all at once. My
body twists into a weird way, and I know something is not right with my lower back, it hurts like a mother-fucker.
Laying there excited that we won, but in no rush to get up and celebrate, my back muscles spasm as if crying out for help. Before I try to move, the trainers are at my side, kneeling down asking me a million questions, all at once. They finally rule out neck injury and let me sit up. When I do, my back retaliates and begins to scream out even more. I definitely twisted it in a precarious way.
I make it off the field and back to the locker room on my own two feet. Immediately, I am taken in to the onsite medical suite, and they take X-rays and do a MRI in order to determine that no major damage is done and the recovery is minimal. Just a strained lower back that can be treated with orders for ice rotation and massage therapy. As of right now, they give me some pain relievers, and wrap my lower back with an ice pack attached for a little while. About 20 minutes later, I’m able to shower, get dressed, and meet with the coaches to see how I need to proceed this week.
Administration offices are on the top floor of the stadium. Nervously, I meet with the head coach, my quarterback coach, the offensive coordinator, the owner of the team, and the team doctor to find out if I’ll be able to play next week in the playoff game. It’s like a fucking court room where my career will be given the verdict of a life or death sentence. Not really, I’m on a contract, but that’s kind of what it feels like. As I enter they are all sitting at an oval shaped table with only one seat left. I’m glad it’s the one that faces out the windows, overlooking the stadium.
“Tyler, how are you feeling?” Coach Briggs ask.
“Sore, but it’s all good. I’ll be back to 100 percent in no time,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulder, and my back tenses immediately reminding me that I’m definitely not okay, but I keep my face from showing it. This organization and team need me to be all good.
“That’s good to hear. Doc here tells us that you have to sit out for at least two games,” Coach says kicking his thumb to point over to the doctor.
I turn to stare at Doc, and he has a stern, don’t even question me, look.
“Surely that can’t be. I just need to rest a little, ice therapy, and maybe some massage therapy. I’ll be good to go for Sunday.”
I can see the wheels turning in Doc’s head. “I tell you what, if you can pass all the physical tests by Friday night and work out fine on Saturday’s run through, you can play Sunday.”
“Deal!” I fist pump the air excitedly, but immediately realize that was such a bad idea. It sends my back muscles into very painful spasms. Dammit! I have to get out of here and get home to start the recovery process.
Coach Briggs says as I stand up to leave, “Tyler, go home and rest. I’ll work out all the therapy details and call you later.”
Walking out to my car, I slide my phone out of my bag, to check it. My family was here tonight in there box seats, and sure enough, they have been blowing up my phone with questions of how I am.
I go ahead and hit dial to call Mom, a simple ‘I’m fine’ text reply back to her, will not satisfy them, and they will show up at my house if I don’t give them the answer they are concerned with.
She picks up on the first ring, “Oh, Tyler. How are you, dear?”
“Mom, I’m good. I just have to sit out of practice this week, but I’ll be back to practice Saturday.”
I don’t fill her in on all the coach and Doc stuff, she knows how all that goes, and I personally don’t want to rehash it. I just want to get home.
“Honey, when your father used to get hit like that, he would be down for days. Your sisters and I have already put together a schedule to come take care of you.”
“That is really not necessary, Mom. I just have a strained back, I’m able to still fend for myself.”
“See, if you had a good woman around, we wouldn’t even have to be having this conversation.”
Replying back with a little agitation, “I love you. Have a good evening, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I hear her loud sigh through the phone, as she says, “Alright, Tyler. Get some rest, I love you too. Oh, and don’t forget about the fundraising gala on Saturday night, please bring a date.”
Dammit, I had forgotten about that. Holidays bring on way too many events that I have to attend, especially right now during the critical part of our season. Finding and bringing a date is the least of my concerns.
4
Jordan
After that disastrous date, I brought Harper back to my apartment with me for the night, so we could order pizza, eat cookies, and drink off the evening. Sunday, we slept in and decided to have a girl’s day with staying in our pajamas, just watching movies and lounging around.
Later that evening, Harper’s boyfriend picks her up, and I’m sure she’ll get an earful about us leaving him with his dance humping friend last night.
A nice hot bubble bath is a great way to end this relaxing day
Just as I lean my head back, sink slowly into the warm bubbles, and close my eyes, my phone starts ringing. I look down on the tile and see that it’s Mrs. Briggs, and I let it go to voicemail. I can call her back later. Leaning back, I relax into my solitude. The phone starts ringing again. I glance at it one more time, and it’s Mrs. Briggs again.
“Hello, Mrs. Briggs, is everything alright?” I ask, answering on the first ring.
“Oh, Jordan, I’m so glad you answered. No, actually, something is wrong. Jeff came home in a state this evening and needs your help and a huge favor. Can you please take on a new client tonight, and go to the address I’ll text you right away? So, can you help us out?” Suzy is talking so fast, I don’t know if I caught all of what she is saying.
“Umm, yes?” I question myself as I answer.
“Wonderful, dear. Thank you so much, and I’m sending the address and details now,” she spits out and hangs up before I can ask for any more details.
Well, okay, there goes my day off. With a big sigh, I drop the phone and sink all the way down into the warm water until it covers the top of my neck. Exhaling to let out the breath I’ve been holding in, and release all the tension I sensed from Suzy’s obvious high stress level. I’ve never heard her worked up like that. This must be really important to her, Jeff, and the poor guy who has to be in a lot of pain.
My phone dings with a text from Mrs. Briggs giving me the address, and telling me that, Matt, the masseuse at the stadium, told Jeff that this will be a week-long job with massages every four hours, except at night, for eight hours of recovery sleep. She knows I will have to cancel my other clients’ appointments this week, but said she will compensate me for the loss in income. She said money is no object, and to send her the bill.
Ten minutes later I’m loaded up and on my way to an address located in an upscale neighborhood of Dallas. It’s dark out, and I can’t see much, but I am able to locate the house. It’s set a little back from the road with a privacy fence and gate. Pulling up to the gate, I go to push the button to ring the intercom, but it automatically opens before I even push it.
I guess they are expecting me, I proceed forward and park in the drive closest to the front door. Unloading, I carry all of my stuff to the door, and like the gate, it automatically opens when I step onto the porch.
A short skinny man with wiry black hair and large black framed glasses opens the door, welcomes me and invites me in to the entry way foyer of the home.
I can see all the way through the house from the front door. It is a gorgeous open concept floor plan. The house is a nice size, with a large arched entrance opening up to a beautiful entryway and high ceilings. Off to the right, there’s a curved stairwell, to my left is a large dining room and sitting area, while straight ahead opens to a gourmet kitchen and great room.
“Maxwell, please show the guy that Coach Briggs sent to the game room downstairs. He can set up down there, and make sure he has everything he needs. I’ll be down in a little bit.” I hear this voice speaking from som
ewhere upstairs, but can’t see him.
“Yes, sir,” Maxwell answers as he bends to pick up the collapsible table to help me carry my things, and we pass through the great room and to the left, down a stairwell that leads to an enormous room. It’s furnished with a bar in one of the corners, a poker table just in front of it, a pool table off to the side and an oversized brown leather couch paired with a matching recliner that faces a huge television. The wall that is on the same side as the stairs is empty, and my equipment could be set up there.
The abstract artwork on the walls is magnificent with bright colors mixed together to form pictures of football action shots. It’s interesting to see scenes like these made from just large broken strokes of a paint brush.
Maxwell cleared his throat to break me out of my trance of staring at the art. “How would you like to set up?”
“Oh, yes. How about we set the massage table over here, and I will need two plugins for my warmers. So, those on this wall will work. That will be all I’ll need. If you can tell Mr… Umm, what is his name?”
“Tyler Beckett,” he answers.
“Okay, please let Mr. Beckett know that I will have everything ready to go in 10 minutes.”
5
Tyler
What the fuck? I’m frozen to the bottom step as the sight before me is of a perfectly peach-shaped ass bent over a massage table stretching to tuck the sheet over the corner. It’s wiggling in my face while she struggles to wrestle the sheet. I am instantly rock hard, and my hand involuntarily reaches down to stroke myself for some relief. If she turns around right now there is no way to hide it. Who is she, and where is Jordan, the guy that Coach sent?
My grandma’s dog, Fifi, she’s a crazy little thing; Mom’s beef stew, yum, that’s so good; 57 sweep right, option one is the out receiver; 10 and out, option two is the left deep receiver. Just trying to think of anything to move my mind from that beautiful luscious ass, which her dark purple scrubs display those nice round curves. Dammit, now my dick is thinking instead of my brain again.