“Then what? What’s the plan after the pros?” She asks it naturally, but it takes me by surprise. No one ever asks me that. Playing in the League is the goal, the final step, the be-all-end-all. You play until you’re too injured or they won’t offer you a contract, and then you fade off into obscurity. There is no plan for after, or at least not one that most folks give a shit about.
“Put my degree to work, I guess. I’ve got this year, plus one more, on my Sports Management degree. Figured that’d help me with my own contracts and negotiations in the pros, and then when I can’t play, I can help other guys get fair deals. But it’s all football, always football. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I love it just the same today as I did when I was five. Maybe more.”
“I’m just guessing here, but I think that’s why you’re better than Jake Robertson,” she says.
I interrupt her, teasing and feeling better after getting everything off my chest and talking about my parents. “You don’t even know if I’m better. You’re just taking my word for it.”
She laughs a bit. “Should I take it that you’re full of shit then? That this Robertson guy is better than you?”
I growl. “No. I’m better than he is.”
She nods. “Duh. Then as I was saying, I think you’re better than him because you have such a passion for the game. It’s not about making your own mark on the world to stand out of your dad’s shadow. It’s just about your love for football and leading the team to victory. You want what’s best for all the guys, not just yourself.”
I nod but then smirk. “Well, all the guys except for Robertson. He can drive that fancy fucking Mercedes off the road somewhere and never show up to practice again. I wouldn’t be sad, wouldn’t shed a tear. And we’d win games all the same without him.” They’re harsh words but tempered with the snobby humor in my voice. I don’t actually wish harm to Jake. I just want him to get his shit in line.
She purses her lips, weighing my seriousness. “Oh, he’s back, the cocky bastard who can do no wrong. Too much serious talk for you, caveman?” She makes a silly grunting noise to drive her point home, but it’s too cute to be insulting.
I glance to the road, noting that there are no headlights for miles, and lean across the console, breathing in her ear. “But you fucking love it when I go all ‘caveman’ on your bratty ass, don’t you?”
She sticks her tongue out at me but admits, “Maybe.”
“Stick that tongue out again, Brat, and I’m gonna put it to work,” I warn her, but she doesn’t back down. I knew she wouldn’t. I hoped she wouldn’t.
“Work?” She gulps, but I can see her eyes flick down to my groin.
“On dinner. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving,” I say, delighted at the way she deflates that I didn’t say something sexy. But I really do want to grab a bite. “And then after that, maybe you can stick that tongue out again for my cock, leave a nice ring of that pretty red lipstick on me like you’re marking your fucking territory.”
Norma signals, getting off the highway and pulling into a parking lot. “While door number two sounds delightful, I think I’ll take door number one . . . a dinner date.”
Norma
I know it’s not a typical first date, where the well-dressed guy picks the nervous girl up and drives her to a restaurant for polite conversation. But this is us, and through some twist of fate, grabbing a bite to eat after a long drive is our actual first date. Not just meeting in the library or grabbing lunch in the food court. Not secret sexcapades or conversations about centuries-old poetry. Our first date is real conversation, connecting as Zach works out some sketchy shit with his team, and a steak dinner. Okay, and probably some racy action later, I think with a small smile.
But a secret thrill goes through my body when Zach holds the door open for me like a total gentleman and then takes my hand as we approach the hostess stand. He keeps the link until we reach the table and then he gestures for me to sit before sliding into the booth next to me. His muscular thigh is pressed against mine under the table, and when he places his palm along the bare stretch of skin below the hem of my skirt, I fully expect him to start working his way higher.
But he doesn’t. He just rests it there, casually and comfortably, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And instead of sparks of arousal at his touch, I feel a warmth settle in my heart.
“What are you thinking?” Zach asks, his eyes scanning the menu.
I look over my own plastic-coated list of choices, glad that I’m not one of those girls that only eats organically paleo vegan or whatever. I think everything on this menu, including the menu itself, probably consists of beef. “I’m going for the Angus burger,” I finally say. “Oh, and a strawberry milkshake.”
He smiles, and I can’t help but say the same thing I do every time I order a shake, though I keep it quiet so the next table over doesn’t hear me. “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard . . .” I can’t sing for shit, but I add a little shoulder move to spice it up a bit.
Zach barks out a laugh, then leans in close, his growl in my ear. “You’d better not bring any boys to the yard, Brat. Just me. I’m the only one in your yard, and don’t you forget it.” He leans back, his eyes hard and hot as they glance over my face, now flushed from his words.
“What are you going to get?” I ask, disappointed that I don’t have a snappy comeback, but when he looks at me like that, I swear my brain shuts down in favor of other body parts getting priority functioning.
He smirks, knowing he got me. “Sirloin and veggies, with iced tea. Maybe a bit of your milkshake.” I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s not talking about the frozen drink the waitress is going to bring.
Luckily, my brain is starting to be useful again and I fire back, “You think I’m gonna share my shake? Ooh, that’s a big ask, Zach Knight. We’ll have to see if you play your cards right to see if you can get a . . . taste.”
Our shared smile is one of silly humor, but more importantly, it’s one of finding someone to play with and have fun.
After ordering, we sit back and conversation flows easily. I don’t want to get Zach riled up about Jake again, so I stick with checking in on his English progress. “So, how are your grades in English now? I know you’ve had several papers that were B or higher, but have you checked your overall? Your eligibility shouldn’t be in jeopardy now, right?”
Zach grabs his phone from the table top and clicks for a second and then flashes the screen at me. He’s logged into the university’s app and the screen shows his current overall grade . . .75! “Oh, my gosh, Zach! That’s great! Congratulations! By the time midterms roll around, you might even have a B if you keep up the hard work.”
Zach looks at the screen like he can’t believe it. “Not bad for a dumbass jock, huh?”
I smack his bicep. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not a dumbass and you know it. You said you did well in high school English and all your other college courses are going well. You’re smart. You just checked out on Paradise Lost and that’s totally understandable.”
He smiles. “I know you’re right. I’ve just always done better with a football in my hand than a book. I can get by, but I won’t claim to be smart.”
“I think you’ve got plenty of brains,” I reply, slipping my hand around his bicep and holding him loosely, not forcing his hand to stay on my thigh but certainly not dissuading it either. “You’re juggling college with football, and that’s a lot. How big is your playbook?”
Zach thinks before answering. “Over a hundred plays easily, plus formation variations.”
“And every week, you have to adjust that to the other team, right?” I continue. “Then you have to execute on the field, and you’re making decisions in what, thirty seconds at a time?”
Zach nods. “Something like that, though we have an offensive coordinator who sends in plays.”
“That takes brains, Zach. And before you tell me that there’s a system, a formula to your plays a
“Is that what you did with me? Break your formula?” He’s teasing, but I can see the hint of realness to his question.
“I think we both broke our formulas here. But so far, I’m thinking this play has gone pretty well.” I raise one eyebrow, daring him to disagree.
His eyes trace down to my red lips, and he whispers, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this audible is gonna lead to a touchdown.”
I grin and whisper back, “Does football talk as seduction usually work for you?”
“Oh, yeah. Watch this . . .” He leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. Then he says, “Rally . . . six-nine . . . connect and smash.”
A breathy sigh escapes my lips and then what he said filters through the fog of my arousal and I grin. “That’s not even a thing, is it?”
He smirks like the cocky bastard he can be. “Not even close, but I’m not calling plays on the field. I’m calling plays on your body, and smashing into your sweet pussy sounds like the game-winning move.”
I laugh at his arrogant outrageousness, our smiles mirrored on each other’s faces. The waitress stops by, dropping off our food, and a pleasant tension fills each bite as we look forward to what’s going to happen after dinner. It’s another new change to our dynamic. Normally, when we meet up for studying, it seems the sex comes out of nowhere with no leadup. Oh, there’s plenty of foreplay, but not like this.
I take a big bite of my burger and Zach grins. “I feel like we’ve been talking about football all night. Tell me . . . why journalism?”
He waits while I chew and swallow, using the moment to gather my thoughts. “I’ve always been inquisitive by nature, I guess. I like finding out about people, what makes them tick, what makes them do the things they do. And watching my dad, while he’s a good guy, there’s just so much behind-the-scenes shit that goes on. I think that in some cases, the public deserves to know what’s happening with their friendly global corporate monopoly.”
He nods. “You ever think about going into the family business? You said your brother started his own company too. But what about you?”
I shake my head. “Hell no. I like the nuances of business, but I like reporting on them, not directing the success or failure of the whole thing. My brother and dad are like two peas in a pod, though they’d kill me if they heard me say that. Both are super-driven and competitive, willing to work themselves to the bone, but with just enough charm that they’re benign leaders of their companies, not cartoonish evil empire villains. Although it was touch-and-go there for a while with Liam, until he met Arianna. But she got him whipped into shape. I think you’d like him . . . now.”
He looks at me in surprise. “Are you asking me to meet your family, Brat?”
The look of horror on his face has me stuttering. I didn’t mean my comment like that, but he doesn’t have to be so put off by the mere thought of meeting my brother. “No . . . no, I just meant, you two would get along, I think. But not like there’s a family dinner I’m asking you to or anything . . .” I trail off, heat flushing my face and burning the backs of my eyes.
Zach realizes it and cups my cheek. “Shit. I’m sorry, Norma. I was just kidding . . . seriously. I would love to meet your infamous brother, and your mom and dad too, if you want. Let’s have a whole fucking pony parade and I can meet them all if it’ll make you not cry.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. You were just pushing my buttons like we always do. I’m not sure why that one just felt like a sting instead of a tease.” I huff out a breath, letting my unexpected reaction go as I realize that it was only in my head. Just a momentary uprising of doubt. About myself or about Zach, I’m not sure which. Or maybe just about us. In the back of my mind, there’s a whisper . . . the jock and the nerd . . . so cliché. But I force it away, knowing that Zach has done nothing to make me think he’s not just as into this thing between us as I am.
Zach
The drive is quiet as we head back to campus, and finally, I can’t take it. “Pull over somewhere.”
She looks at me questioningly but does as I say, finding a dark side road that’s deserted and stopping the car. “Now what?” she asks, and I can hear the hesitation in her voice.
I get out and walk around the driver’s side of the car, opening her door and leading her out. I lift her up and set her on the hood of the car. Her skirt rides up as I step between her knees, forcing her to spread to give me room. With my hands on her hips, I hold her in place.
“On the side of the road? Going for something extra-kinky now, are we?” She’s teasing me, and I know that if I laid her back, she’d let me fuck her tight little pussy right here, right now. But I can hear the hurt in her voice, her usual spark lacking.
“Brat, that’s not what I’m doing. Or at least not yet. First, we need to talk. And not snarky fun this time. Serious and real. You in?” I ask, but I’m not going to let her say no. This conversation is happening.
“Ooh, cocky bastard is back, is he?” she tries once more, her eyes begging me not to do this. But I think she doesn’t quite know where I’m going with this conversation and that’s why she doesn’t want to give in to having it.
“Stop. I’m not fucking around, Norma.” Her eyes flash fire at me, and if looks could kill, I’d probably be dead where I stand. I reach up, pulling the scarf from its near-constant place around her head, and move to use it in the other place it usually resides. “Put your hands together.”
She sighs but gives me her wrists, and I loosely tie them together. She could get out, same as always, but the symbolism of her letting me be in control is more powerful in this moment than ever before. I know she’s kicking and screaming against this conversation on the inside, but it’s what we need, a dose of seriousness in the midst of all our usual play.
She rests her bound hands in her lap, but I lift them, placing them behind my neck and crowding into her, face to face. The bumper of her car presses against my knees, but I need to be close to her for this. “Listen to me. I detested the idea of needing a tutor in the first place. Thought the whole secret girlfriend shit was stupid as fuck. And then I walked in that library and you busted my balls like no one ever has, completely unimpressed with me and my shit.” Her eyes drift down, but they snap back up at my next words.
“I liked it. Liked your sass and your backbone and the way you can use words like knives but only do it in a fun way. When you sparred with me verbally, it made me feel like I was a worthy opponent. And fucking you, here, there, and everywhere, has been hotter than I could’ve ever imagined. Being the first man to be inside you is an honor I will always cherish.”
I can see the tears glistening in her eyes, but strong-willed woman that she is, she holds them back along with any verbal indication of what she’s thinking. My girl who usually won’t shut up isn’t saying a word.
“I wasn’t looking for any of this, but I found it. I found you, and I will shout from any damn mountaintop you want me to that we’re together. I’ll meet your brother and your parents. We can walk hand-in-fucking-hand along the field at half-time if you want. Tattoo your name on my ass in that fancy scripty font girls like . . .” I’m running out of grand gestures to list so I thank God when she laughs.
She sniffs a bit, her nose runny from the unshed tears, but the smile is back on her face and her laughter is like a balm. “No tattoos, hero. But the rest sounds pretty stellar.” She sobers, though this time, it feels like she’s with me, no walls and unfiltered. “I’m sorry, Zach. Truly. I wasn’t looking for this either, and I don’t exactly have the best track record with guys hanging around. Sure, I’m fun to be friends with and have literally been told that I’m great in small doses, so I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to figure out that I’m not worth the effort to hang around. I’m not easy and I know that, and you’re . . . you. You could have any girl on campus you want, so why would you be with me?”
The admission seems like it hurts her to say, and I realize that for all her strength, my Brat is a softie underneath, scared to get hurt just like the rest of us. It’s a surprising revelation, though I guess it shouldn’t be. She’s human and victim to the same insecurities we all are. She just hides hers a bit better than most, deeper in the shadows of her heart, not one to show her weak spots.
Wanting to soften it for her, I let just a hint of tease into my voice and let her see the sparkle in my eye as I say, “Let’s be clear. I’m a fucking football god. I could have virtually any woman I want, period. Not just on campus.” She rolls her eyes, and I continue as I grasp her chin, forcing her to see the truth in my words. “And I chose you. I choose you every damn day, Brat. You keep me on my toes, keep things interesting. Choose me back.”
She chuckles a bit. “Fine. I choose you too.” The words are full of humor, like she’s giving in to something silly, but I can hear the honesty in them, feel the weight of them, and I know they mean just as much to her as they do to me.
She looks around us, the dark night pressing in like a blanket, stars above us twinkling like fairy lights, and down below, the occasional headlight or taillight passing on the main road. “So . . . you said you like to keep things interesting, right?”
I can hear the dare in her voice, the challenge to fuck her right here on the side of the road where anyone might drive by or even someone on the main road might notice if they looked up at just the right time.
I yank her from the hood of the car, her hands scrambling to grab at me, but they’re uselessly tossed over my head still and she can’t get purchase. I grab her head in my hand, tilting it the way I want and taking her mouth in a hot, passionate kiss. She moans into me, and I swallow every sound, wanting to keep not just her sass but her submission as my own.
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