Jock Hard

by Ney, Sara

  “What about you?” Renee asks. “Do you hang out there?”

  I laugh. “Ugh, that’s where I met Kip. He, um, caught me at the keg, pouring beer for people, and—I don’t know. We became friends in an awkward sort of way.”

  “Awkward sort of way? What do you mean?” Miranda cocks her head, interested.

  “You know, we’ve been hanging out at his place, and just…it’s different. He doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks, and he’s kind of rude, and sometimes I’m shy so we’re opposites that way. Plus, I didn’t think I’d like him because of the whole beard thing. It was really off-putting at first, but…he’s grown on me.”

  Grown on me—an understatement if there ever was one.

  “And you’re just friends?”

  “I mean…yes?”

  “Why the question mark at the end?” Renee leans in. “Do you like him?”

  “I might?”

  “Does he like you?”

  He likes my body, I can’t stop myself from thinking.

  “Shit—he sees you! Act natural.” Miranda nudges me in the ribcage. “Don’t look at him!”

  I look.

  She clocks me again. “I said don’t look at him.”

  “Why? Why can’t I look?”

  “Guy 101, that’s why! If he sees you watching, he’s going to think you don’t have a life and you just came here to see him.”

  That makes no sense. None.

  At all.

  “But I am watching. That is exactly why I’m here—to see him.” I sound like I’m defending myself, but there’s laughter in my voice.

  I’m having fun with these two—more fun than I’ve had with Mariah in a long, long time.

  “Miranda, give her a break.” Renee giggles. “Okay, he’s not looking over here anymore. You can relax.”

  Like that’s going to happen. “Can I watch him once the game starts?”

  “It’s called a match, and yes, you can watch him once it starts, which is in”—she checks her phone—“less than ten minutes. They usually try to start on time.”

  “I hope they call it early—I’m freezing, and Thomas is taking me to dinner.”

  “Speaking of freezing,” I carefully start. “I was, um, at Kip’s last night, and he had no heat. It was awful.”

  I’m desperate to discuss what happened with someone who isn’t going to have an angle, like Mariah, who would pump me for information about Kip—not for me, but for herself.

  I’ve realized over the past few weekends that she doesn’t have my best interests at heart, not like a best friend should, and it’s probably time to distance myself from her.

  “You were at Kip’s place, and you had no heat. Interestingggggg.” Miranda wiggles her eyebrows. “So what did you do to keep warm?”

  More brow wiggles.

  “We…” I hesitate. I’ve never engaged in girl talk like this before, gossiping about my own relationships, because I’ve never had any to gossip about. I test the waters.

  Snuggled.”

  “You snuggled.” Neither of them look impressed with my answer.

  I nod, biting down on my lower lip before busting out into a smile.

  “Did this snuggling include any exchange of bodily fluid?” Miranda impishly smirks over the rim of her cup.

  “Miranda! That’s private!” Renee scolds her. Then she turns to me. “But did it?”

  I’m not sure what they mean by that exactly, but, “Some, I guess?”

  “Did you do it?” Miranda has no filter. Or boundaries.

  “No! Nothing like that.”

  “Oh.” She’s clearly disappointed.

  “But he did go down…” I point to my vajayjay. “There.”

  “Stop it right now! He went down on you? What was it like with, you know—the beard?”

  Ha! I knew girls were obsessed with beards and oral.

  “Let me just put it to you this way: I’m walking crooked and I have rug burn on the insides of my thighs.” I lean back, bracing myself with both palms on the blanket, feeling smug at having impressed these girls.

  “Oh. My. God! Did you orgasm more than once?” Miranda hovers in my personal space.

  I sit up. “You can do that?”

  “Are you being serious right now? Yes, you can have more than one ‘gasm. One time, Thomas gave me three—two from eating me out, and then he fucked me from behind. My god, I was exhausted.”

  “Miranda!” Renee is horrified. “What the hell? Too much information!”

  Miranda rolls her eyes. “Puh-lease, I told you all this already.”

  “But we just met Teddy, like, five minutes ago,” Renee chastises. “Give her a minute to get to know us before you scare her away. Ease into it, Jesus!”

  “Teddy isn’t going anywhere, are you Teddy?” She pats me on the shoulder. “She’s going to be one of us, I can tell.” Miranda winks flirtatiously.

  “I didn’t say we were dating, you guys,” I hasten to point out. “I might not come back.”

  “Not yet, but Kip has looked over at you at least a dozen times in the last three minutes, so I’d say you were headed that way, especially if he asked you to be here in the first place. And went down on you last night.”

  “Did you give him a blowjob?” Renee blurts out, and has Miranda letting out a peal of laughter.

  “You just yelled at me for getting too personal, you hypocrite.”

  Renee covers her mouth with her hands, laughing. “I’m sorry, it just came out. Teddy, you don’t have to answer that.”

  “Yes she does,” Miranda chides. “Kidding, only if you want to.”

  “I…didn’t. Should I have?”

  “Did he want you to?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “He didn’t ask for a blowie?” Miranda’s brows are in her hairline. “Dang girl—you’ve got yourself a unicorn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He gave you oral without wanting it in return? That’s a true find, my friend. Thomas always wants a BJ after he’s gone down on me, unless I let him bang me.”

  “Um, I didn’t let him, uh…bang me, but…we did dry hump first. Does that count?”

  “You dry fucked first? That is so hot.”

  “I remember when Brian and I used to dry hump all the time.” Renee recalls it wistfully, gazing off into the line of trees at the back of the park. “I’m totally doing that to him tonight. I’m gonna try to make him come in his boxers for old time’s sake.”

  “Like when we were in high school—I was always afraid to get pregnant, so I would only let my boyfriend dry fuck me through my clothes. God, I was such a prude.”

  “It’s not prudish—it’s sexy.”

  “Right, but do you know how much chafing is involved?

  Dude. So much chafing.” These girls are too much.

  I lie back on the blanket, laughing up at the sky, and they join me until we hear a whistle blowing, three short blasts.

  “Op! Match is starting.” I get a pat on the thigh. “Pay attention, and we’ll talk you through it so you know what’s going on. It looks like football but the rules are completely different.”

  “It’s mostly guys who like to pile on top of each other, get dirty, punch each other in the face, and then go drinking afterward,” Renee teases.

  For once, Miranda is the serious one. “Stop that—you know that’s not true. Rugby is a real physical strain on their bodies. See? They’ve only been playing thirty seconds and that guy is already limping.”

  “That guy is a pussy,” Renee mumbles under her breath about the opposing player limping to the sideline. He’s replaced quickly by another giant. “And those pileups are called scrums. It’s part of the game.”

  I nod, though I don’t understand.

  Some of the guys are wearing helmets; most of them aren’t. They’re all wearing mouth guards, their jerseys all stained. Each and every one of them has bruises, gashes, and scrapes.

  I hadn’t noticed them on
Kip before, but I’m noticing them now. The dark bruise on his thigh I didn’t see in the dark. A cut on his forehead, right at his hairline.

  “How long do these things last?” I ask.

  “Eighty minutes. Two halves.”

  “Basically an eternity, unless they’re playing someone really good, like Penn State or Notre Dame.”

  Notre Dame.

  “Oo! Watch, watch, watch—Thomas is about to get pummeled. Ugh, why does he do shit like that?”

  “Do shit like what?” I ask. “What did he do?”

  “He always has to be in the middle of those stupid scrums— he’s going to get hurt again.”

  The players from both teams are huddled in the middle of the field, and it looks like a giant bar fight as each man struggles to gain control of the ball.

  “Who invented this? It looks awful.” My voice sounds dazed as I watch men jump on top of each other, throwing elbows, shoulders, and gabs. “Jesus, where are the refs?”

  “Right? Brian spends the whole next day after one of these complaining, icing himself, and bandaging up bloody wounds.” She smiles. “I think he feels really masculine playing this stupid game, like a gladiator or something.”

  I can see that—no padding, no hard helmets, nothing to prevent them from getting seriously injured.

  Spandex shorts.

  Perfect asses and toned backs. Thick thighs. Muscular arms.

  It’s hard not to stare, hard not to appreciate how hard and fine these bodies are.

  They’re rough. They’re dirty.

  Some of them are as hairy as Kip, but not many.

  I train my eyes on him as he dips low to tackle an opponent, heels digging into the ground for traction.

  “What position is he? Fullback? Linebacker?”

  “You’re confusing rugby with soccer and football.” Miranda chuckles. “Kip is a loose head because he’s bigger and heavier. They wouldn’t put him in the back—they need him in the front.”

  “Not that he stays there.” Renee smirks. “He’s a ball hog.”

  That doesn’t surprise me.

  “So what’s his job?”

  “Well…hmm.” Miranda thinks. “He lifts guys up in the scrum—that giant pile we just saw. He mauls people like a savage and shoves dudes out of the way.”

  Renee nods along her agreement. “Yup. That about sums it up, but if you really want to find out more, google it.”

  I will. For sure.

  The game drags on, the ground unrelentingly cold. I’m relieved when the final whistle blows and the referee calls the game in our favor. The girls pack up to leave, and I rise along with them since I brought nothing.

  “Come over with us and say hi to Kip.” Renee has the blanket folded over her arm and pulls at my jacket with her free hand.

  “No, that’s okay. You guys go, I’m gonna just…I’m gonna go.”

  “Why? He’ll be happy to see you.”

  “I…no. I’ll feel weird. We’re not dating or anything.”

  Rushing the boys after the match seems like a girlfriend-y thing to do, and I know I’m not close to that level with Kip.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” He’s not likely to notice when I don’t show up at their side.

  The two girls rush off to gush over their boyfriends and congratulate them on their victory, hugging and kissing them all over. I give Kip one last look before turning my back—he’s bent over the bench, untying a cleat, perfect rear end in the air, black socks highlighting his ridiculous calves.

  I sigh, walking toward the car I borrowed from Tessa to get here, the beige Camry she’s been sweet enough to loan me from time to time to make my life easier.

  It’ll be a few more years before I’ll be able to save enough to afford a car.

  “Teddy! Wait up.”

  I pause at Kip’s voice, at the sound of his cleats clicking across the pavement in my direction.

  “Where you goin’?”

  I look him up and down.

  “How are you so dirty?” are the first words out of my mouth by way of greeting, because honestly, he’s filthy. Positively covered in dirt and grime. “It’s not even raining—how are you caked with mud?”

  Those giant shoulders shrug. “Don’t know.”

  He looks like a Viking warrior, tall and imposing and blond. Beard knotted with that rubber band, so it’s out of his way, hair falling out all over the damn place.

  He’s a Viking who just did battle in a yellow and black jersey.

  Feet spread apart, he’s breathing heavily and regarding me under the now illuminated street lamps. We’ve been here so long it’s gotten dark, the parking lot beginning to empty as players and spectators head home.

  “So…where you going?” he asks again, hands going up behind his head. Biceps bulging.

  “Home?”

  “Why?”

  Uh. Was home not the right answer? “I have to return Tessa’s car, but, I mean, I don’t have plans to do anything.”

  “You’re not coming over?”

  He wants me to come over? He saw me last night and this morning—isn’t that enough? “I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

  “I don’t have any plans either.”

  “Of course not—it’s not Friday night.” I find myself winking at him flirtatiously.

  “We could go see a movie.” His legs are still spread apart, the cold air causing his breath—and mine—to puff out in a slow stream of steam.

  “After the match you just played? You must be tired.” And beat, if the blood on his jersey is any indication, the scratch on his knee and the gash in his lip…

  Jesus, he looks like hell. Like a total brute.

  And I kind of like it.

  “Or we could order a pizza, ice my leg, and sit around doing nothing,” he offers, hands still clasped behind his head. It makes his chest look wider and harder, mesh jersey stretched taught across it.

  Damn he’s in good shape.

  “That’s what I usually do,” he goes on.

  “We could.”

  His arms come down, hands falling to his sides, settling the matter. “I’ll follow you so you can drop off Tessa’s car then take you to my place.”

  He says it casually, as if it’s that easy, like we’ve done it a million times before.

  “All right.”

  “Cool.”

  Cool.

  SECOND SATURDAY (After Game)

  “Go ahead. Touch it.”

  KIP

  Something is on Teddy’s mind; I can tell by the way she keeps looking at me. Small, quick, furtive glances when she thinks I’m not watching her—which I am.

  She’s been flushed since we got to my place, a ball of nervous energy I can’t quite figure out the cause of.

  It’s not like she hasn’t been here before.

  It’s not like I haven’t touched her tits or had my tongue in her pussy.

  I plop an ice pack on my swollen knee at the same time my eyes drop to her breasts. Her flat stomach. Legs tucked neatly under her ass as she sits beside me on the living room floor.

  She moves just then, uncurling herself and stretching out, wiggling her toes when she extends them out in front of her. The nails are painted a pretty bright pink.

  “Nice toes.”

  She wiggles them again. “Thanks.” Nice toes. Nice tits. Nice…everything.

  It’s a damn shame it was dark when I went down on her last night; I’m dying to see her naked, dying to see her spread out on my bed again. I want to hear her moan and feel her grabbing at my hair.

  We plowed through an entire large pizza over two hours ago, and neither of us are watching the movie we selected, some comedy about some old guys who play tag blah blah blah who gives a shit.

  “Should we watch something else?” I offer, bored.

  “Nah. It’s getting late.”

  It is.

  I flip my phone to check the time: 12:29.

  “I should get going,” Ted
dy says hesitantly, fiddling with the hem on her basic, gray T-shirt.

  “Or…you could spend the night.” I throw her a lazy smile. “Heat’s fixed.” Meaning: neither of us will freeze if we get naked.

  She pauses. “It is fixed, isn’t it?”

  “Yup. Did it all by myself, remember?”

  “So handy,” she teases. “On a scale of one to ten, how sore are you?”

  I consider the question. “Five.”

  Fifteen, but I don’t tell her that. I don’t want her being gentle with me in case she decides to stay and get handsy with me later.

  “Only five?” Doubt is written all over her gorgeous face. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because I’m an accomplished liar. Plus, the beard hides most of my expression.” I grin wolfishly.

  “You don’t think I should leave?”

  “Only if you want to.” I give her toes a tap with my big toe.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Oh shit—she’s going to make me say it. Why do girls do this? Doesn’t she get that by me saying You could spend the night, I’m telling her I want her to spend the night? She needs me to spell it out for her, now, too?

  Ugh. Fuck me.

  “I want you to stay.” And I don’t want you sleeping in the guest bedroom. I want you sleeping with me. Under me. Over me. Sideways.

  “Do you want to spoon me too?”

  I want to do more than spoon her.

  I realize Teddy is a virgin, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

  She’s amazing company. She’s sweet, pretty, and smart. She has a kind heart and a great ass, and who can beat all that?

  “Yup.”

  “I don’t have pajamas.”

  Pretty sure my nostrils flare just then. The fact that she doesn’t have anything to sleep in gets me excited.

  I grin. “Me either.”

  “Are you even tired?”

  What does that have to do with bedtime? “Actually, yes.”

  Though now I wish like hell that I wasn’t.

  “Me too.”

  I rise then offer my hand to help her up. Plant a kiss on the crown of her head, and…take her fucking hand.

  Jesus.

  So domestic.

  I let her lead the way up the stairs, gaze resting on her tight ass and the sway of her hips.